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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57760 ***</div>

<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 26.5em;">
  <img src="images/i002.jpg" width="424" height="600" alt="" />
  <div class="caption"><p>George Miles White</p></div>
</div>

<div class="wspace">
<h1>FROM BONIFACE TO<br />
BANK BURGLAR</h1>

<p class="p1 center">OR</p>

<p class="p1 center large">THE PRICE OF PERSECUTION</p>

<p class="p2 center">HOW A SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS MAN, THROUGH<br />
THE MISCARRIAGE OF JUSTICE, BECAME<br />
A NOTORIOUS BANK LOOTER</p>

<p class="p2 center">BY</p>

<p class="center vspace larger">GEORGE M. WHITE<br />
<span class="smaller"><span class="smcap">Alias</span> GEORGE BLISS</span></p>

<p class="p2 center vspace">BELLOWS FALLS, VT.<br />
<span class="larger">TRUAX PRINTING COMPANY<br />
1905</span>
</p>
</div>

<hr />

<p class="newpage p4 center vspace smaller">
<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1905,<br />
<span class="smcap">By B. F. SLEEPER, Westminster, Vt.</span></p>

<p class="p2 center small"><span class="bold">Norwood Press</span><br />
J. S. Cushing &amp; Co.—Berwick &amp; Smith Co.<br />
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2>
</div>

<p>While paying the penalty of a last misdeed, I
resolved that no more of life’s precious years should
be spent in sowing to the wind and that my life’s
sun should not set in eternal night; and I have been
able to keep my resolution. In the awful moments
of lonesomeness in the prison cell, I conceived the
idea of publishing my life history in so far as I could
make it interesting to the financial world and general
public. Many hours of solitude, while others
slept, I devoted to rummaging through the past in
search of facts, dating them from the innocent days
of my young manhood and resurrecting them from
period to period, until I succeeded in compiling a
life history which, I sincerely trust, will prove not
only a helper to those who have the care of great
sums of money devolving upon them, but will also
be accepted by those tempted to depart from the
path of rectitude as a warning not to be lightly
regarded.</p>

<p>I have endeavored to be accurate in my treatment
of each part of this history, and if there shall be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span>
discovered an error here and there, kindly, dear
reader, attribute it to a lapse of memory. I kept
no record of events, for in leading the life of a
transgressor it is not conducive to safety; so I have
been forced to depend solely upon my memory,
which, as it dwelt on the past, soon became alive
again with old scenes. Acts long forgotten returned
to me clothed as they were more than twoscore years
ago, and I found myself living over the bright days,
the dark days, the days of wealth, and the days of
poverty. I started to write a small book, but facts
crowded upon me until I have been enabled to issue
a volume of no mean proportions.</p>

<p class="sigright">G. M. WHITE.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>
</div>

<table id="toc" summary="Contents">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc part" colspan="3"><a href="#PART_I">PART I</a></td></tr>
  <tr class="small">
    <td class="tdr top">CHAPTER</td>
    <td> </td>
    <td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">I.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">My Hotel Days</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">II.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Walpole Bank Burglary</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">9</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">III.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">One Sheriff I Knew</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">17</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">IV.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Unequal Fight</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">22</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">V.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hanging of the Millstone</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">31</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">VI.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Persecution</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">56</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc part" colspan="3"><a href="#PART_II">PART II</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">I.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sidetracked</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_I">73</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">II.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Visited by the Whitecaps</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_II">83</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">III.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Cadiz Bank Loot</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_III">96</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">IV.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">An Expensive Chicken</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_IV">109</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">V.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Rock cleft for Me</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_V">130</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">VI.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">’Twas a Sweet Babe</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_VI">156</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">VII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Police Shield not worn for Health</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_VII">165</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">VIII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Sheriff Smith’s Bribe—The Little Joker</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_VIII">185</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">IX.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Brevoort Stables</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_IX">207</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">X.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">I corrupt a Bank Clerk</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_X">215</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XI.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Colossal Bank Burgling Enterprise</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XI">232</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Juggling with Death</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XII">244</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XIII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Captain John Young’s Grab</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XIII">272</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XIV.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Plotting against Young</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XIV">286</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XV.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">My Patent Safety Switch and Jim Irving</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XV">303</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XVI.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Hard Work under Great Difficulties</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XVI">319</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XVII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mark makes Pi of Lock Tumblers</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XVII">337</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XVIII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Disposition of Ocean Bank Loot</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XVIII">341</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XIX.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Clean Bill of Health</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XIX">356</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XX.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Tall Jim moves from Columbus Prison</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XX">368</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XXI.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Jim Burns and his Congressman Pal</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XXI">380</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XXII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">William Hatch, Esquire, Day Watchman</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XXII">403</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XXIII.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Plot that Failed</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XXIII">421</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XXIV.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Perfidy of Captain Jim Irving</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XXIV">440</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XXV.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Some Detectives I found Useful</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XXV">463</a></td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdr top">XXVI.</td>
    <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Microbe “Callousitis”</span></td>
    <td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER2_XXVI">480</a></td></tr>
</table>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="FROM_BONIFACE_TO_BANK"><span class="large">FROM BONIFACE TO BANK<br />
BURGLAR</span></h2>
</div>

<h2 id="PART_I" class="nobreak p2"><span class="larger">PART I</span></h2>

<h2 id="CHAPTER_I" class="nobreak p2 vspace">CHAPTER I<br />

<span class="subhead">MY HOTEL DAYS</span></h2>

<p>“Here I am back again, Ellis, my dear boy!” I
said to my clerk in the Central House, as comfortable
and inviting a country hostelry as the average man
of travel would want to make an occasional visit to,
if I do say it myself.</p>

<p>“Glad of it, Mr. White,” returned Ellis Merrill,
as he reciprocated my hearty hand-grasp. He had
been with me in the hotel business for some time, and
I rather fancied him. And he was a most trustworthy
young man too.</p>

<p>I glanced at the register on the desk, as any hotel
proprietor is apt to do after several days’ absence.</p>

<p>“Ah,” remarked I, as my eyes fell on two names—“Wyckoff
and Cummings. They came yesterday.
Are they together?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span>
“Yes, Mr. White; and they seemed to be mighty
well stocked with cash. Up to date they’ve been
very prompt in paying their bills; in fact, have
paid for everything in advance.”</p>

<p>I glanced over a file of business papers. Then I
said: “It seems they’ve hired one of our best teams
for three days, paid for it, and will return to-morrow.
That’s good business, Ellis.”</p>

<p>“Right you are, sir.”</p>

<p>I gossiped more about my guests,—as to what
business they might be engaged in, and the like.</p>

<p>“Mr. Wyckoff told me that he’s a United States
deputy marshal. As to his companion, he didn’t say
anything,” said Merrill. “I allowed him to have
about the best team we had in the stable, on the
representation that he was a government official.”</p>

<p>This was in the spring of 1864, when there was
much reason to believe that the war between the
North and South over the negro was drawing to a
close. I was a resident of Stoneham, Massachusetts,
and, after a fashion, felt pretty well satisfied with
myself and surroundings. I was the owner of a
hotel, a large livery with a fine stock of horses
and vehicles, besides a grocery business in which I
employed several clerks, and a goodly interest in
Towle &amp; Seavy’s wine house at 21 Congress Street,
Boston. Also, I had a few parcels of real estate in
Stoneham, which were increasing in value. In these
days of colossal fortunes, the total of my worldly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span>
possessions then would be of no account; but I, the
holder of thirty thousand dollars and a happy home,
surrounded by a happier family, my father and
mother still living, and I barely thirty, with the
spirits of youth, felt, as I have just said, pretty
well satisfied with my life and the world generally.</p>

<p>I had just returned from a delightful visit to my
paternal home in Vermont, to find this United States
deputy marshal and his friend, James Cummings,
guests at my hotel. I must confess to having a feeling
of curiosity as to what they looked like, which
may have been a trifle effeminate in me; so I was not
sorry when, the next day, this Mr. Wyckoff, unaccompanied
by his friend, drove up to the hotel.
Aside from curiosity, I had the excusable characteristic,
usually found in public-house proprietors,
of wanting to cater to patrons with full purses and
a disposition to spend money freely. Naturally, I
greeted Wyckoff effusively and made him a welcome
guest. He seemed to be of a good sort; a bright,
stirring young fellow, with a pleasing address and a
ready flow of language. I was very much interested
in his conversation on war topics, his knowledge, it
seemed to me, being based on a wide experience.
He appeared to be well versed in the financial opportunities
of the war, particularly as to army contracts,—how
they were obtained and the large amount of
money that was being made out of them.</p>

<p>Wyckoff was not the first marshal to stop at my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span>
hotel, for in those tumultuous times they popped
up frequently in search of deserters from the army.
I confess to taking a great liking to him, and when
in a few hours he left the hotel, saying he must go on
farther, I felt genuine regret, in which there was not
mingled an avaricious thought.</p>

<p>“I hope you’ll stop here whenever you come down
this way,” I said to him at parting.</p>

<p>“I certainly shall,” was his reply; “and I’m quite
likely to be along soon, too. I liked the team I had,
and all of your hotel accommodations. If I do
come, I shall need another team no doubt, and I
hope you’ll let me have your best.”</p>

<p>“That you shall, Mr. Wyckoff. The best service
of my house and stable shall be yours.”</p>

<p>The next I saw of him was in September, when he
put up with me again. He engaged one of my best
spans and was away three days. Later in the same
month he was my guest, and, hiring another outfit,
was gone three or four days. In October I saw him,
but in a most unexpected manner, as shall be related
in due time.</p>

<p>Affairs prospered with me in the usual happy
channel, and day by day saw me adding a few dollars
to my little fortune. I saw no speck, portentous
of trouble, on life’s horizon, nor did I discover
anything that foretold disaster. My business was
firmly established and my credit was of the highest
order. For my honesty I was respected, and as for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>
wisdom, I was supposed to possess as much, if not
more, than the average resident of my town. On an
occasion I had been a postmaster, with all the honor
that office of the United States government confers
upon one living outside of the great cities. As I
have said, life was flowing like a placid river, when,
one day, James Cummings, the companion of Marshal
Wyckoff, registered at the Central House. Now
I did not like this man from the first, though he
seemed a good enough fellow and talked freely of
his affairs and his home in Rochester, New York,
where there was a big fruit-tree nursery, of which
he said he was an agent. I had not met him on his
first visit, and it was not until I had seen the register
and asked who the stranger in the bar-room was,
that I knew Marshal Wyckoff’s friend.</p>

<p>Presently Merrill told me Cummings wanted a
team to make a hurried journey to Keene, New Hampshire,
something like a hundred miles distant. I
objected to sending my horses on a trip like that;
but Cummings insisted that he must meet Wyckoff
at Keene the following night, as they had a very
important matter to transact there.</p>

<p>“I have certain business interests to look after in
Lowell and Nashua,” declared Cummings, “and I
can’t get through in time to make railroad connections
to Keene.”</p>

<p>I said it was not possible to accommodate him,
that my time was occupied sixteen hours out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span>
twenty-four, and that I hadn’t a man in the stable
who knew the way to Keene. If a team was furnished,
Cummings was told, I would have to go
along with it, and that I didn’t feel like doing, as
the trip would require too much of my time. But
he insisted that it was of the utmost importance to
him and Wyckoff that he get to Keene. Having in
mind that Wyckoff was such a good fellow, and desiring
very much to be of service to him, though I
couldn’t see my way clear to spare the time, I told
Cummings that I would undertake the journey,
provided I was paid twenty-five dollars a day and
my expenses. I really hoped that I had fixed a
figure that would not be accepted, for the regular
charge was nearly one-half less. But to my astonishment,
he took me up. Indeed, I have reason to
believe, having learned more of Cummings, that I
could have had double the amount I asked, for he
snapped me up in a breath.</p>

<p>Early the next day we started with one of my
finest double turnouts. The roads were heavy with
mud, yet the trip to Lowell was accomplished in
excellent season. There Cummings had me drive
him to the American House, where I waited for him
nearly an hour. He told me he had called on a man
who put him on the track of a very important matter,
but he was careful not to tell me what his business
was. The time was passing in an uninteresting way,
to my mind, and I would have been glad enough to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span>
listen to any sort of drivel. Somewhere about noon
we reached Nashua and put up at the Indian Head
Hotel. Cummings had another engagement, which
left me alone for more than an hour. He seemed a
little excited on returning, but said nothing, other
than that he was getting through with his business
in fine shape, and we would reach Keene in time to
see Wyckoff according to their agreement. After a
needed bite to eat, we resumed our journey, and got
to Keene about eight o’clock, just as darkness had
well come down. Cummings congratulated me on
the quick trip we had made, as I let him down at
the Cheshire House, after which I put up at Harrington’s
Eagle Hotel, having known the genial-faced
proprietor since my early boyhood days. While I
was at supper, a tap on the shoulder caused me to
look up. Beside me stood Marshal Wyckoff. Before
I had time to speak he took a seat opposite me,
and remarked with a smile, “I caught you napping!”
Then he added: “Cummings has received word from
his business house in Rochester to start back at
once, and he must leave on the first train. Indeed,
he has already gone.”</p>

<p>I said something commonplace at this, and then
Wyckoff went on, “I’ve got a matter of importance
to look up at Claremont, about forty-five miles from
here, and I’d like you to drive me there to-morrow.”</p>

<p>I knew that the distance would be too much for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span>
my horses, so I said that I’d take him there if he’d
hire a rig in Keene. This was agreeable to him, and
on the following morning we got an early start, I
having engaged a team from Layton Martin’s stables,
and arrived at Claremont about midday. At Wyckoff’s
request we drove to a hotel, where I remained
while he went to transact the business for which he
came. We were off for Keene not long after one
o’clock, and passing through Surrey about supper-time,
I drove Marshal Wyckoff to the residence of a
kinsman of mine, where we pulled up and had a
hearty meal. My companion made a great impression
on my relatives, who urged him with much earnestness
to visit them if ever he chanced to be in the
neighborhood again. Resuming our way, we reached
Keene not long after nightfall. The following day,
with my team, we went to Concord, Massachusetts,
where the marshal got a train for Boston—or so he
told me. I started for Stoneham, with the better
part of a hundred dollars in my pocket, which had
been paid me for my services. On the way I
thought not a little of Marshal Wyckoff. Never
had I come in contact with a man so active in business
affairs, yet so affable, considerate, and generous.
Withal, he was a most jolly companion, and I
say once more that I felt great regret at parting
with him. It was foolish of me, no doubt, but I have
to record the fact. When we next met, seven months
had intervened.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER_II" class="vspace">CHAPTER II<br />

<span class="subhead">THE WALPOLE BANK BURGLARY</span></h2>
</div>

<p>B. F. Aldrich was the cashier of the Walpole
Savings-bank, and the bank was in his general merchandise
store. Thus it can be readily understood
that the village of Walpole wasn’t much from the
viewpoint of map-makers, though its residents were
not a little proud of their abiding-place.</p>

<p>These facts being known, it will not be difficult to
imagine the consternation of the Walpole people,
when one morning, just prior to Thanksgiving Day in
1864, they got out of bed to find that their only bank
had been robbed of nearly half a hundred thousand
dollars. At first it was doubted; but not long delayed
was the confirmation, and it came with all the
thunder that such events create in small villages.
Soon, scared and white-faced men, women, and children,
depositors and bank officials, crowded to Aldrich’s
store. I will not deal with the clamoring ones
who thought their savings of years, perhaps, were
gone forever. My object is more to tell how the
robbery became known and in what manner the
burglars were apprehended. I have it from an eye-witness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span>
that Cashier Aldrich was in a state bordering
on frenzy at times, and at others seemed to be on the
verge of a collapse. The keys found dangling in the
store door were his, and had been undoubtedly left
there to hide the identity of the real perpetrators of
the crime. Any one with reason would not deny
that, and Aldrich realized his awful position only too
well.</p>

<p>He told the bank officials that the store door was
strongly secured, when he left, late the previous
night; but upon waking the next morning, he
missed the keys from his trousers pocket, the
trousers being found on the floor in the hall. He
could not believe that any one had been in the house
during the night, for not a soul had heard a sound.
He could not make himself believe that he’d been
so careless as to leave the keys in the store door,
but to be certain, no time was lost in making an
investigation.</p>

<p>All his worst fears were confirmed. The keys
were dangling in the lock, the safe had been opened
with a key, and papers were scattered over the floor.
Every dollar of the cash and bonds had been taken.
The bank was ruined, and great was the excitement
in Walpole for many days.</p>

<p>The town constables and the sheriff of the county
looked wise for several weeks, but got no trace of
the burglars. The depositors of the bank were
wroth at this, and declared that some action that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span>
would bring results must be taken. Herbert T.
Bellows, one of the largest of these, led the movement.
He was powerful in social and political
life, and more able to lose his interest in the bank
than almost any one else. He said that good
detective work would be sure to result in the
recovery of some of the property. So he went to
New York City for detectives. Bellows was determined
that his wealth should not be taken from
him without his putting forth a great effort to recover
it. The New York police force sent Timothy
Golden and James Kelso, two of the ablest sleuths
of which it could boast, and placed them at his disposal.
They hadn’t been at work long when it was
concluded that the robbery had not been committed
without the assistance of some one familiar with
the routine of Aldrich’s store. The directors were
told that the cashier’s story of the loss of the keys
was exceedingly flimsy, and that it looked very
much as though he knew more about the robbery
than he cared to tell.</p>

<p>“We admit that it is a delicate matter,” said
Detective Golden, with great decision, “but unless
your cashier can offer a better explanation,
you’d better direct us to arrest him.”</p>

<p>The directors repelled this conclusion with the
greatest vigor. Cashier Aldrich, they declared,
had not been unfaithful to his trust. They said
they’d stake their reputations and lives, if necessary,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span>
on it. However, Golden and Kelso believed he
was guilty, and pushed their investigation on that
line. Their persistence in this belief, after many
weeks, began to weaken the confidence of some
of the bank officials, and it was only a matter of
a very few days, when he would have been arrested,
that an unexpected clew turned up. It served to
change the tide of suspicion from Aldrich, who
eventually came from under the cloud, with his
character undefiled. It was like giving him a new
life. For many weeks he’d borne the torture—that
mental agony that must come to the innocent
man suspected of a crime by those who had once
believed him to be honest beyond question.</p>

<p>At the verge of casting Aldrich in jail the
detectives were suddenly called back to New York.
It was long past the time when a tangible clew was
expected from that quarter, but at last one of the
government bonds taken from the Walpole Bank
had turned up in the United States Treasury at
Washington. It had been purchased from a man
named Cummings, by a reputable business man of
Scranton, Pennsylvania. Armed with this information,
the detectives interviewed the Scranton man,
who told them he understood that Cummings was
an agent for a fruit-tree nursery at Rochester,
New York, and that he was said to be a friend of
a Dr. Hollister at Providence, a hamlet on the
outskirts of Scranton. Golden and Kelso went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span>
to Providence, though they didn’t believe that
Cummings would be the real game they were after.
However, if he proved to be a link in the chain
that would lead them to the “looters” of the
Walpole Bank, they would be satisfied. Arriving
in Providence, Dr. Hollister was found, but
Cummings wasn’t there. The doctor at once became
a mystery in the case. While insisting that
Cummings was merely one of his patients, his
information was so unsatisfactory, and so evidently
reluctant was he to assist the detectives, that they
began to suspect him of knowing more about the
Walpole burglary than he cared to tell.</p>

<p>The result was that Dr. Hollister was arrested,
and extradited to New Hampshire as quickly as
the law would allow. It proved to be a fruitless
piece of work of the detectives and undoubtedly
a most unpleasant experience for the doctor. They
could only prove that Cummings had been his
patient, which was less than nothing. An early
hearing resulted in the prisoner’s discharge from
custody and his return to Pennsylvania. As for
Golden and Kelso, they were deeply chagrined,
to say the least. They felt happy indeed, when,
finally, no serious financial loss through a criminal
libel suit came of the arrest.</p>

<p>But the tireless energy they’d put in the case
was at last rewarded. Cummings was located in
New York City. Thither they returned, but arrived<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span>
one day too late, for the bird had flown. However,
as Golden was talking to the housekeeper, his eyes
fell on a sensational weekly story paper lying on a
table, which bore the name of Cummings,—and he
gained the information from the housekeeper that
the paper had been changed to another address.
As she apparently knew little or nothing about
Cummings, the detectives went to the office of the
story paper. There they found that the paper was
being sent to “M. Shinburn, Saratoga, New York.”
This was a mighty small clew to follow. At their
wits’ end, however, the detectives decided to make
the trip. Possibly they might find Cummings there.</p>

<p>It was not difficult to find “M. Shinburn.” The
gossips in Saratoga believed him to be a wealthy
business man who had recently located there and who
had purchased a large farm on the outskirts of the
village, where he lived with a brother, whose name,
they had heard, was Frank. The few who had made
his acquaintance found him to be of a most affable
sort. Indeed, they declared that he had come from
the South or West, and had bought the farm about
a month previous. Just when he first put in an
appearance at Saratoga they could not tell, however.</p>

<p>As the days wore on, many little characteristics in
Shinburn made the detectives believe that he was
not all he professed to be. They felt certain that it
would be a wise move to arrest him; yet there was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>
the Dr. Hollister <em>fiasco</em> still fresh in their minds,
and to make another mistake was something not to
be relished. At last, driven to desperation by circumstances,
Golden told Kelso that the risk must be
taken; and it was—but I will allow the former to
relate, in his own way, what came of it.</p>

<p>“We were at our last ditch,” said he, “when we
decided to take him in. It was a big risk,—much
like a plunge in the dark,—but we determined to
do it. The favorable opportunity came one night
right after the theatre. Kelso and I waited on the
outside, and when Shinburn came to the street, we
pinched him. Now, mind you, it was just speculation.
Well, he put up the stiffest kind of a kick,
but we would not let up on him until every pocket
had been turned inside out and every scrap of paper
examined. We found on him five coupons cut from
bonds, and two railroad bonds, all stolen from the
Walpole Bank. Of course that settled it for keeps.
We locked him up, and then, armed with only our
nerve, we searched his house, his brother Frank
putting up a big holler, and found files, skeleton
keys, wax impressions, and other burglars’ tools.
Among the keys we discovered was a duplicate
that would open the outer vault door of the Ashuilot
Bank at Keene.”</p>

<p>I have it from Golden that Cashier Faulkner of
the Ashuilot was about unnerved when shown how
easily the key opened the vault door. He realized<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span>
how narrow had been his escape from an experience
like that of Cashier Aldrich. The detectives told
him there was no doubt that the Ashuilot would
have been robbed as soon as the excitement of the
Walpole case had died out.</p>

<p>Shinburn was taken to New Hampshire and locked
under a strong guard in the jail at Keene. Meanwhile
the detectives took up the trail after James
Cummings, which led them to Philadelphia, where
he was arrested a few days later. In his possession
were something more than five thousand dollars in
currency, undoubtedly the result of the bond sale.
He was extradited to New Hampshire and lodged
in the same jail with Shinburn. District Attorney
Lane was handed the money by Golden and Kelso.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER_III" class="vspace">CHAPTER III<br />

<span class="subhead">ONE SHERIFF I KNEW</span></h2>
</div>

<p>“Good afternoon, George!”</p>

<p>“How do you do? Upon my word, sheriff, but
you’re the last man I expected to see in Stoneham
to-day. How’s business in Fitchburg?” Such was
my response to Sheriff Butterick, who, with a young
man, very sprucely dressed, had called at my hotel.
It was a delightful afternoon on the second day of
June in 1865.</p>

<p>“Shake hands with Mr. Golden—Mr. Tim Golden!”
said the sheriff, introducing his companion, and a
warm hand-clasp followed. I told the sheriff that
I was pleased to meet any friend of his in all seasons.
I laughed loudly when Mr. Golden <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“I suppose you don’t know you’re under arrest,
Mr. White?”</p>

<p>“Why, certainly I do,” was my answer, being
perfectly willing to carry on the joke. “What’s
the charge? Chicken-roost theft, bank robbery, or
high-handed murder?”</p>

<p>I turned to Sheriff Butterick, and a laugh died on
my lips. I’d caught a peculiar light in his eyes, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span>
it sobered me up in a moment. I looked again at
Mr. Golden. A silver shield of some sort was on
his vest, and he was holding his coat back that I
might read an inscription on it. “New York City
Detective Bureau” was what I saw.</p>

<p>“I’m Tim Golden, one of the New York detective
force,” said he. “I’m here with the sheriff to get
you for that Walpole Savings-bank job.”</p>

<p>“Bank job?” I repeated, failing to catch his
meaning.</p>

<p>“Yes, the Walpole bank burglary.”</p>

<p>I had begun to feel a little upset. The worst I
could think of was, that by the barest possibility I
had made a business mistake and that a lawsuit was
confronting me. At the mention of a bank burglary
I felt that little worriment vanish, and bursting
into a laugh, I cried: “Come, come! you can’t
persist in that joke, sheriff, for it won’t work. Try
another, old fellow.”</p>

<p>Detective Golden’s next words frightened me,
for I realized that he was in earnest.</p>

<p>“This is serious, Mr. White. You’re wanted in
New Hampshire for that Walpole bank burglary,
and there is no dodging it.”</p>

<p>“Burglary! Why, man, my business affairs
occupy me from sixteen to twenty hours a day, and
I’ve been at it every day.”</p>

<p>“Can’t help that,” said Golden.</p>

<p>“But I can.” I felt my anger rising rapidly.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>
“You had time enough to be much in the company
of Mark Shinburn,” said the detective, looking at
me, his eyes half closed. There was a harsh appearance
about his face I failed to like when he did
that.</p>

<p>“And who’s Shinburn?” I asked. “Never have
I heard of such a name.”</p>

<p>“You were with him a lot last fall.”</p>

<p>“It’s a mistake—a big mistake!” I insisted
angrily.</p>

<p>“But you have heard of Wyckoff?” insinuatingly
inquired Detective Golden. I started. Any
one else as innocent as I would have done the same.
I had actually forgotten Wyckoff; yes, I had been
with him last fall when he made the trip to Claremont
and Concord.</p>

<p>“True, I have heard of Wyckoff, a deputy marshal
who stopped at my hotel and hired my teams, and I
did drive him from Keene to Claremont and to Concord,”
said I. “But what of it? Is that bank
burglary?”</p>

<p>“It seems to be of no use, Mr. White,” put in
the sheriff, “for that Wyckoff you were trundling
about the country is Mark Shinburn, now under
arrest at Keene. I confess the whole thing is a
puzzle to me, but Golden, here, says you’re mixed
up in the case somehow, and you’ll have to come up
to Keene with us.”</p>

<p>“But it is an outrage,” cried I, following up the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>
outburst with an argument much too long for the
occasion, for it profited me nothing. Not a word
I could say would in any way straighten out the
tangle. In short, I was under arrest. Detective
Golden asked me if I would go with him to New
Hampshire without extradition formalities.</p>

<p>“Of course I’ll go, if I must go at all; but, being
innocent of this mess, I hate to be treated in such
an ignominious manner. It is not the result I dread,
for an innocent man can’t be proved guilty in this
age. Yes, I’m ready to go with you now.”</p>

<p>And I went on to my fate—a fate I could not
have foreseen. What a trip it was—one I never
shall forget. We arrived at Keene, a lively though
old-fashioned town, and the county-seat of Cheshire
County, and I was, for the first time in my life, behind
prison bars.</p>

<p>After all the years since that tremendous affliction,
the like of which turns black hair to gray and
the smooth brow into furrows, I can’t bring myself
to a calm retrospection of the scenes in which I
was powerless in the strong hands of my unscrupulous
enemies. But in all the blackness that
memory still brings up to me, I have one bright
remembrance of the faithfulness of my relatives and
close friends, who, thank God, believed me innocent
then, and do to this day.</p>

<p>While awaiting the action of the law and consulting
frequently with my lawyers, I had ample time<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span>
to learn the inside story of the Walpole bank robbery,
of which I had no knowledge, save what I
heard from neighbors and the newspapers. I had
no pecuniary interest in the bank; therefore, when
the arrest came, I had forgotten that a crime of that
sort had been committed. Many of its details were
told me later, by Detective Golden, and such as he
didn’t know were supplied me by others, among
whom were my legal advisers.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV" class="vspace">CHAPTER IV<br />

<span class="subhead">THE UNEQUAL FIGHT</span></h2>
</div>

<p>May no other man realize what I suffered in the
weeks of confinement in the jail at Keene.</p>

<p>Innocent of the crime of burglary, a man who had
always stood up boldly among his fellow-men,
looking all squarely in the eye, to be thus ignominiously,
horribly entangled in the meshes of the law
was to set upon him the torments of hell. I doubt,
if there be a corner set apart, in the infernal region,
in which certain condemned ones must meditate
forever over their evil deeds, whether their mental
agony will be a tittle of the writhing anguish that
besieged my soul, until I was left a wreck of my
former self.</p>

<p>Ay, the torture I endured—an indescribable,
lingering horror—can in no manner be compared
with the most excruciating physical distress that
mortal may bear and survive, except to demonstrate,
by comparison, the insignificance of the latter. So
far apart are they, that they stand as the East from
the West, the remotest Past from the remotest
Future.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span>
I was at times far removed from a calm contemplation
of my position, and on more than one
occasion wondered if my brain would retain its
normal reasoning. Once I feared that I would go
stark mad, with the wild rush of a thousand fancies,
pursuing each other through my brain, like so many
little green-eyed imps. Oh, it was horrible. And
there came moments when I cursed man and God,
and raved that man was a misnomer for all that
was devilish and that God was only a myth. Again,
and I was being sifted, as it were, through a sieve of
the finest mesh, that part of me left in the sieve
being transformed into all that was vile, and my
pulverized self passing through, all the good in me,
being blown to the four winds of heaven. No doubt
that this was a fantasy, yet as I lay in my cold cell
I was so vividly impressed that it seemed a hideous
reality.</p>

<p>Following such an affliction, there would come
calmer moments, in which I was able to contemplate
my condition, in much the same manner as a hardened
criminal. When this mood possessed me, I had an
awful, haunting dread of what the future might
hold to rule my after days. But, as the time passed,
and I had frequent consultations with my attorney;
talked of the associations I had had with the man
Wyckoff, whom I had come to know as Mark Shinburn;
discussed my arrest at Stoneham, when I
believed, at first, that I was the victim of a joke;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>
and went over the various stages of my case, I began,
at intervals, to be somewhat philosophical.</p>

<p>It was a hard matter to realize, that I, an innocent
man, was actually under arrest and locked in the
same jail with professional criminals, and accused,
jointly with them, of burglary. Yet more difficult
was it to believe that this man Shinburn was
Wyckoff, the United States deputy marshal and
guest at my hotel. Though he was identically the
same smooth, affable gentleman in jail that I had
met and travelled with the year before, I found it
almost impossible at times to believe that he was a
criminal—which I knew from the accumulating
evidence. Day after day I came in contact with
him, talked with him, discussed the evidence for and
against him, and heard him confess to being sorry
that his acts had involved me. I had liked Wyckoff
the deputy marshal, and I liked none the less Mark
Shinburn, though he was the means of my undoing.</p>

<p>My attorney, A. V. Lynde, with whom I had done
no little real-estate business, often visited me in
jail, and we discussed the points that were held by
the prosecution to be positive proof of my guilt.
There was my journeying about the country with
Shinburn and Cummings, while they were, at the
same time, plotting to rob the Walpole Bank, and
many other points that were brought against me,
but of a still more circumstantial nature. All these
matters were laid before me, and I could well understand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span>
how some people might honestly believe me
guilty.</p>

<p>As I lay in jail, I did not know that the avarice of
a stockholder of the Walpole Bank would lead him
to persecute me almost beyond measure. I did not
think that he would, with good reason to believe me
guiltless, use his influence to set one of the real
criminals free, and set the law upon me, in order
that he might recover the loss he had sustained
through the robbery. I did not know that he would
continue his persecution until every dollar of my
wealth was stripped from me, and I was left at the
mercy of my friends to defend my innocence. But
so it was.</p>

<p>While I lay in jail, asking day by day for a
hearing, the coils of injustice were being tightened
about me. The prosecution did not show its hand
by any too quick action. It was only when the
process of the law must be carried out that there was
no longer secrecy kept by those who held my fate in
their hands. I had asked for an immediate hearing
on the day of my arrest, but it had been denied me.
One would have thought that a man who had borne
a good reputation in a community bordering on the
very jail that held him, would have been given more
consideration than a professed criminal. It was not
so. The earliest opportunity given me to be heard
was four weeks after my arrest. Then I was afforded
only a chance to plead not guilty to the charge, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span>
the district attorney, F. F. Lane, asked for an adjournment
for two weeks and was given it. What
conspiracy was hatched during those two weeks, I
shall allow the facts to tell in their undeniable way.</p>

<p>The jail was one, for strength, that modern builders
might copy with profit to governments. It was of
granite walls, two feet thick, with double-barred
windows and ponderous doors, well secured with
massive locks. The main floor of the jail proper
was used for small fry thieves and petty offenders,
but the second floor contained three cells which
were used for the safe keeping of those charged
with murder and felony. Shinburn, Cummings, and
I occupied these cells. The two end ones were
light, but that in the middle was on the order of a
dungeon. My cell was large, and two windows
opened from it to the street.</p>

<p>One morning, shortly after the adjourned hearing,
I missed Cummings. No meals were brought to
him that day, and when I could speak to the jailer’s
wife, she told me that he had been set free. At
the first opportunity I communicated with Shinburn,
whose cell was the farthest from mine. He
said that Cummings had been let out of the back
door of the jail, so to speak, after relinquishing all
claim to the five thousand dollars he had when
Detective Golden arrested him.</p>

<p>“Although the district attorney knew that Jim
sold the bond to the Scranton man, it was not possible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span>
to prove that the cash found on him was received
from the sale,” said Shinburn; “and when Jim said
he’d let up on the dust in case there was no conviction,
Lane let him go. What’s more, Jim’s railroad
fare was paid to Rochester.”</p>

<p>Galling to me were these facts, if facts they were;
and I had no reason to doubt Shinburn in view of
the positive information that Cummings was no
longer a prisoner. What a turn of fate was it, indeed,
that wrought out the freedom of a guilty man
and left me, the innocent one, still in jail! Was it
any wonder that I groaned aloud and wondered
whether there was a God?</p>

<p>I now recall with what rapidity my case was
called after the district attorney had gotten Cummings
out of the way. It was put forward with all
the vigor that I had clamored for six weeks prior,
and excuses were made that the delay was caused
by the difficulty in framing the case. As the time
for the hearing drew near, I had a feeling that I was
in deadly peril, though Mr. Lynde assured me that
there was no doubt that I would not be held for the
grand jury.</p>

<p>At last the day of the hearing before the magistrate
came, and Shinburn and I were taken into
court. Mr. Lynde represented me, while Don H.
Woodward, a bright young attorney, had been retained
by Shinburn. The latter’s brother Frank, of
Saratoga, had come East to look after his interests.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span>
At times I had hopes that I would be free at the
close of the hearing, and again I would be despondent.
I knew that I ought not to be where I was,
and it did seem to me that no circumstances ought
to be convincing enough to long imprison an innocent
man. The discharge of Cummings, by what
means I never quite knew, created a grave doubt in
me; besides, I hadn’t much faith in the wisdom of
the magistrate at the hearing.</p>

<p>Mr. Lynde made a good representation for me,
and so did Woodward for Shinburn. In taking up
my case, Mr. Lynde asked for a separate hearing
on my behalf, on the ground that the facts in the
charge were vastly different from those Shinburn
must meet. This, District Attorney Lane opposed
with all his legal power and personal influence.
All the pleading that my attorney or I could do
fell on unsympathetic ears, apparently. My plea,
as an innocent man, for the administration of common,
humane justice, was as futile as was Mr. Lynde’s.
It was ruled that Shinburn, the guilty, and White,
the innocent, must be examined together. And we
were. The facts were against him, and I, with him
for a millstone about my neck, as it were, was held
to await the action of the grand jury. Shinburn,
being guilty of the crime charged, had hoped to
escape, and it seemed to me that I had a right to.</p>

<p>Thus was I doomed to stand in the same prisoners’
dock with him, my case tightly fastened to his with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span>
legal thongs,—the innocent and the guilty to stand
or fall together! What an unequal fight, what an
injustice, was dealt me!</p>

<p>In my declining years I often wonder, if there
be a Supreme Ruler,—and I believe there is,—whether,
on the Judgment Day, there’ll not be an
awful reckoning for those who were so unjustly
against me in my vain battle to establish my innocence.</p>

<p>Realizing how matters were going, I asked Mr.
Lynde to retain the services of Mr. Woodward, and
as I bade him good-night at the jail, we’d decided
to call to our aid also, ex-Judge Cushion and John
M. Way, both of whom I knew very well. The bail
in my case was fixed at fifteen thousand dollars, and
in Shinburn’s, five thousand more. I hoped to be
out into the world again, before many hours, no
matter what the future held for me beyond the
grand jury. As I meditated over the release of
Cummings and the action of the magistrate, I actually
would not have been surprised if Shinburn had
been discharged, while I, alone, was held to an
accounting.</p>

<p>While I had lain in jail, Herbert Bellows began
a suit in tort in Middlesex County, Massachusetts,
and, attaching my property, sacrificed it at a forced
sale. Though the trial of the suit was never had,
I was stripped of my property and left financially
helpless, save for the loyalty of my friends. Notwithstanding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span>
this lack of means, these friends, not
a few of them my creditors, came to my assistance,
and I was admitted to bail. In the meantime the
grand jury handed down a joint indictment against
Shinburn and myself, and the case was placed on the
calendar of the October term of the Cheshire County
Court.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER_V" class="vspace">CHAPTER V<br />

<span class="subhead">HANGING OF THE MILLSTONE</span></h2>
</div>

<p>It was toward the middle of October that Shinburn
and I were brought to trial, in the meantime
the grand jury having presented indictments against
us, but that didn’t seem to affect me greatly, for
the reason that I was becoming more hopeful every
day. Having been admitted to bail and afforded
an opportunity to be among my friends once more,
the despondency which attacked me in jail had
given way to a feeling of almost certainty that I
would be declared not guilty. My attorneys, the
day before the trial, having examined all of our witnesses,
from Stoneham and Boston, were even more
sanguine than I. John M. Way told me that the
prosecution could no more convict me than it could
walk on air. In fact, he said there wasn’t “a peg to
hang a hat on.” And as to Shinburn, though he
had not been able to get bail, his counsel said there
would be no trouble in proving an alibi for him.
If Shinburn, who, I had no doubt, was guilty, could
hope to escape, how much more reason was there for
me to expect a verdict of acquittal.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span>
The trial day came, but our case was not called
until long after noon. A big crowd was in the
court-room, as widespread interest had been caused
by the predicament which I was in. There were
hundreds of people present from several counties,
a great many of whom could not obtain admittance,
owing to the lack of room.</p>

<p>I sat with my counsel, while Shinburn was seated
twenty feet away, with his. My attorneys had
planned to make a great fight for a separate trial,
and had come to court primed with material to wage
the battle. While District Attorney Lane, who I
knew was as persistent as ever to convict me, was
trying to get a jury, I had an opportunity to look
about me. Herbert T. Bellows was there to press
the charge against us, and as I looked in his face,
I could see that he had no sympathy for me. Two
women and a man, sitting not far from Shinburn,
were pointed out to me as Mrs. and Miss Kimball
and Frank Shinburn. The former, mother and
daughter, and the latter, Shinburn’s brother from
Saratoga, had come to testify to an alibi for him.
The women, I was told, had dined in a Boston hotel
with him, at the time of the burglary. Another
friend, whose name was said to be William Matthews,
of New York City, sat near Shinburn and was present
to testify that the latter was in Boston at the
time of the burglary; and again, in testimony as
to character, would swear that he knew the prisoner<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span>
in New York, as a respectable Wall Street
broker.</p>

<p>There were many of my friends present, which
included my Boston business partners, Charles
Meriam, a broker who had done no little business
for me, and my friends and my employees from
Stoneham. Besides these, I saw, what was dearer
than all, my relatives, sitting there to say by their
acts that they believed me innocent, though the
whole world should be against me.</p>

<p>Disregarding the district attorney’s anxiety to
get a jury together, we registered a plea of not
guilty to the crime of burglary, and Judge Cushion,
addressing Judge Doe, the ruler of the court, asked
for a separate trial of the indictment against me.</p>

<p>“We do not, your honor, dispute the law,” said
he, “but we wish to plead for a deep consideration
of the merits of the case. It has been set forth that
the prisoner Shinburn and my client, Mr. White, must,
under the construction of the statutes of this state,
be tried together, because the acts alleged to have
been committed by one are linked with the acts
committed by the other, as charged, and that this is
the best procedure, in order to best serve the interests
of the state, to the end that the law shall be
vindicated and those punished who committed the
Walpole bank burglary.</p>

<p>“Now, your honor, there is no man who stands
firmer than I for the elevation of the moral and legal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span>
standards. I would see men walk in the best paths
of citizenship, and I would have the people look upon
the law as something too pure and unsullied to be
lightly held, instead of being obeyed for fear of
the consequences. I would have the law respected
because it is right, and not because there is a penalty
if it is violated. But in the case of the prisoners
before the court to-day, there is a distinct difference.
In Shinburn we have a man about whom there is
nothing known in this community. He may be
guilty of the charge of burglary or he may not. So
far as I know, he is falsely accused. But, as to
George White, my client, many of you here know,
and I know, that until this damnable accusation was
brought against him he was untouched by the
shadow of suspicion.</p>

<p>“There are, no doubt, many in this court-room to-day
who have known him as child and man, and who
know him to be all that a well-bred youth and man
should be. Born almost on this very soil, he has
been educated, instructed in business affairs, and by
his diligence and unusual energy has won the respect
of all who have personally known him, and such
as have not been fortunate enough to have an intimate
acquaintance with him have respected him for
the fine business reputation that his efforts have won.
From one pursuit to another he went on, only to become
more and more successful, and until the day
that this awful charge was laid at his door, no man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span>
had dared to breathe a vile word against his splendid
character. I doubt if he had an enemy in the world
the day of his arrest, and, as far as I know, he has
none to-day.</p>

<p>“But a robbery was committed in Walpole; a
bank was unlocked with the cashier’s keys, and several
thousands of dollars were appropriated. Presently
we find that two men, accused of that crime,
have been apprehended. In the course of an investigation
by the authorities, it was developed that these
men, one alleging himself to be a United States
deputy marshal, had hired, at various times, horses
and carriages from the livery stable owned by my
client, Mr. White, and that on an occasion he drove
them to the points they desired, as he had been engaged
to do. Having acted as their servant, and
having been well paid for it, Mr. White returned to
the pursuit of his business, and was in entire ignorance
of the fact that the two men he had thus served
were, at the very time, plotting to rob the Walpole
Savings-bank, as is charged in the indictment.</p>

<p>“Now I claim, your honor, that in Mr. White, an
innocent citizen, a reputable business man, whose
character is above the awful imputation against him,
we have an unusual case; and that this court of justice,
in view of the fact that all men are entitled to
every privilege whereby they may establish their
innocence, is bound to respect those rights.</p>

<p>“In Mr. White we have a man known to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span>
community in which he is to be tried. In the moral
court he has been on trial before his fellow-men all
his life, and the verdict has been handed down, that
he has done well. We find that the magistrate who
held him for the grand jury declared that he must
stand trial, side by side, with a man who is an entire
stranger in the community; and why? Because,
your honor, this man saw fit to hire horses and
vehicles from him! One of the men who went to
Mr. White’s stable and engaged a carriage, and who
was apprehended and charged with the Walpole
bank burglary, has been set free. Why is it that
the man Cummings, about whom we know nothing,
is given a clean bill of health, while my client here,
Mr. White, whose life has been an open book, is held
to prove his innocence? If the prisoner Shinburn,
who, with Cummings, hired vehicles from Mr. White,
is guilty, why is not the man Cummings brought
before the bar to answer? Instead of that, your
honor, the district attorney has arraigned one of the
accused and permitted the other to go, and my client,
Mr. White, seems to have been brought in to fill up
the vacancy.</p>

<p>“But of the man Shinburn I know nothing. It is
alleged, however, that bonds were found in his possession,
the same the property of the Walpole Bank,
and it is also charged that he was seen in Keene
shortly before the burglary. As I have stated, I
know nothing of this, but I do know that the evidence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>
such as it is, is entirely different from that
alleged against my client. I do know that he had
nothing to do with stolen bonds, that none were found
in his possession, that he had no guilty knowledge
that he had been driving criminals about the country,
and that, in view of these facts, he is entitled to a
separate trial from that given the other prisoner at
the bar.</p>

<p>“And now, your honor, in the name of common
justice, in the name of humanity, I ask, ay, demand,
that Mr. George White, the honorable business man
of Stoneham, be given a fair opportunity to prove his
innocence of this infamous allegation the district
attorney has made against him. And, your honor,
the way to accord him that right which the constitution
bestows on him, in my opinion, is to give him a
separate trial. In the name of justice I demand
that right.”</p>

<p>Judge Cushion’s plea made a profound impression,
it seemed to me, on every one in the court-room; not
excluding Judge Doe and the district attorney.
There was an intense feeling within me that I would
be accorded the privilege for which my counsel had
spoken. Judge Doe looked at the district attorney as
if to say, “I’ll hear you now,” and Mr. Lane arose and
began his short opposition, in a cold, hard voice.</p>

<p>“We have a case against two men,” said he, “and
they are before the court—Mark Shinburn and
George White. The Walpole Savings-bank burglary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span>
was committed by two men, and we are prepared
to show by competent testimony that the prisoners
at the bar are guilty of the crime with which
they are charged. They are jointly indicted, are
jointly guilty, and they, according to the law of
this state, must be tried together.</p>

<p>“The prisoner White was a poor farmer but a
few years ago. It is not possible that he could have
honestly accumulated the wealth he now possesses.
Where did he get it? He was seen driving about
the country with the prisoner Shinburn at the time
the plot to rob the Walpole Bank was being concocted.
These are the plain facts which the state
will prove. There can be no legal decision rendered
by the court which will accord the prisoner White
a separate trial. I will quote the law.”</p>

<p>District Attorney Lane then read at length from
the criminal law of the state, and sat down.</p>

<p>Don H. Woodward, as I have said, was a young
attorney, and never had had an opportunity to show
his powers. Undoubtedly fired by the injustice
which had been meted out to me, he pressed
into the fight with an energy that even surprised
himself. He spoke of the unfairness of the law that
precluded a separate trial for the prisoners, and then
proceeded to bitterly arraign the district attorney.
Seldom has a prosecutor been compelled to listen to
a flaying such as was administered him by this dashing
young lawyer. His words were fearless, and at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span>
times he charged the district attorney with being
influenced by ulterior motives.</p>

<p>“A man was arrested in Saratoga, your honor,”
said he, “a business man, a broker. That man is
the prisoner, Mr. Mark Shinburn. Bonds were
found on him by the police. Two weeks later a
man known to the district attorney as James Cummings
was apprehended and held in the jail with
Shinburn by Mr. Lane. The first knowledge of the
whereabouts of the property taken from the Walpole
Bank was obtained through the sale of one of
the government bonds, and the man who sold the
bond was James Cummings. When the detectives
arrested him, they found more than five thousand
dollars in his possession, the result of the sale of
one or more of the stolen bonds. This man Cummings
placed bonds in the keeping of my client,
Mr. Shinburn, to be sold in the open market. The
result of doing a legitimate business for a man who
has turned out to be a ‘looter’ of the Walpole
Bank, is that my client is before this court accused
of the crime of burglary.</p>

<p>“Now, your honor, I wish to show, in plain words,
that mighty queer proceedings have been going on
since the arrest of this man Cummings, and particularly
since a third prisoner, Mr. George White, was
brought into the case. The district attorney has
placed himself, through certain acts, mighty near
where a foul cesspool of conspiracy can be scented.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>
Whether he has readied that condition of his own
volition, or whether the powerful political influence
of a stockholder of the Walpole Bank has forced
him into it, I am not in the position to say. But
I do charge that there has come into this case an
element that should bring to the cheeks of all honest
men the blush of shame.</p>

<p>“Why, your honor, the district attorney brings
into this court two men, one a respectable business
man and broker of Saratoga, New York, and the
other an honorable gentleman known to this community
for nearly all his life, and charges them with
an infamous crime. He has come here to ask a
jury to convict them and your honor to pass sentences
that shall put them in state prison, to their
everlasting disgrace, the loss of their citizenship, the
loss of their fair reputations, and what is more, the
district attorney would further tear the bosoms of
loving mothers and fathers already grievously
afflicted with sorrow. All this District Attorney
Lane would do, in face of the fact that he has allowed
James Cummings, the actual Walpole burglar,
the Walpole stolen bond seller, to go entirely
free of prosecution. He dare not deny it, your
honor. And why has he done this? Ask Herbert
T. Bellows, sitting in this court-room, and perhaps
he can tell you and the others why this unheard-of
thing has been done. Will Mr. Bellows speak out?
No, sir—not he! Neither will the district attorney.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span>
“Why, your honor, the very money found on
Cummings was from the sale of one or more
of the Walpole bonds. When Detective Golden
arrested him, this money was confiscated and turned
over to District Attorney Lane. While it may not
be proved that it was the fruit of the bond-selling,
it can be proved that Cummings sold the stolen
bonds. My client, Mr. Shinburn, sold no bonds,
neither did Mr. White; but Cummings did. Why
was Cummings allowed to slip out of the back door
of the jail, your honor? Will the district attorney
tell us? What has become of the five thousand and
more dollars? Was that money the price of the
release of the ‘looter’ of the Walpole Bank? If
so, who prompted District Attorney Lane to accept
the price, if he did?</p>

<p>“Again, your honor, I wish to call your attention
to the fact that the defendants, through their counsel,
made persistent efforts to get an early hearing, but
it was denied them at the instigation of District
Attorney Lane. For six long weeks their pleas
were disregarded, and in the meanwhile the district
attorney made a dicker with Cummings, the Walpole
bank burglar, and in that bargain this Cummings
turned over to Mr. Lane more than five thousand
dollars. Then the enterprising burglar was set
at liberty, to continue his preying upon the public,
it being done in a star chamber proceeding, and
supplied with money to pay his railroad fare to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span>
Rochester, New York. I state all this, your
honor, with a view of opening your eyes to what
is going on in this case, and with the hope that
the prisoners, so infamously charged, may be given
the benefit of this warning.</p>

<p>“All of this looks very plain to me, sir. Cummings
was arrested with a large amount of cash
in his possession, and some one wanted it, and he
was willing to give it up, provided he was set
free. Two men, it is alleged, your honor, robbed
the Walpole Bank. Mr. Shinburn was arrested
and would do for one prisoner; but if Cummings
were given his liberty, who would take his place?
That was the question. Where was the second
victim to come from? Ah, a thought strikes some
one! A certain hotel keeper and liveryman in
Stoneham let teams, according to the district attorney,
to a man resembling Mr. Shinburn, one of
the defendants here. Excellent! Grand idea!
The liveryman was arrested, and was none other
than Mr. George White, the other defendant here.
The men behind this case got detectives from New
York to journey to Stoneham and drag into this
awful mess this respectable business man; and we
find him in court before your honor to-day, the
second victim, standing in the shoes which Cummings
should fill. Is not this an infamous state
of affairs, your honor? I charge that the district
attorney set James Cummings free. I charge that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span>
Cummings did not take the five thousand dollars
with him, and that the district attorney paid for the
railway ticket that took him to Rochester. If ever
there was a case of compounding a felony, then this
is one. In view of all these facts, your honor, I say
that the prisoners at the bar should be granted
separate trials.”</p>

<p>Judge Doe had listened to this impassioned speech
with much interest, apparently, but without any
delay decided that Shinburn and I must be tried
together. Asking for a moment in which to consult,
Judge Cushion, and Mr. Woodward and the
others of Shinburn’s and my counsel drew aside
and earnestly discussed the attitude of the court
and district attorney. My counsel believed me to
be innocent and Shinburn guilty, yet in view of
the ultimatum that both must be tried at once, it
was a question whether there could be found a way
to further fight for separate trials, or, bowing submissively
to the ruling, proceed to establish a joint
defence in which the innocent and guilty must stand
or fall together.</p>

<p>“It’s sink or swim, gentlemen!” Judge Cushion
told the others at the termination of the conference;
and they returned to the tables.</p>

<p>Well, when court adjourned that afternoon, a jury
to try us had been chosen, Sumner Warren being
its foreman, and the preliminaries had been accomplished
so that the prosecution was ready to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span>
call its witnesses the first thing the next morning.
As for my feelings, they had undergone a great
change since the convening of the court. All the
fear that possessed me after the hearing at which
I was denied a separate chance to prove my innocence,
was upon me again. The hopefulness of
the morning had resolved into the gloom of night.
I must fight my way through the great cloud that
beset me, handicapped by the case of a man I had
no reason to doubt was guilty of the crime with
which he stood accused. Linked with a criminal,
I must prove my innocence or be convicted a felon.</p>

<p>My lawyers said there was no reason for me to
feel despondent; that we would win despite all that
was pitted against us; that there wasn’t any evidence
upon which the jury could possibly base a
verdict of guilty, though they might be ever so prejudiced.
As to the jury being a fair and well-disposed
body of men, Judge Cushion said he had no
doubt of that. I took all this as poor comfort, however,
and in my hotel that night there was precious
little sleep for me. After a long, weary vigil, the
dawn came, and with it the nerve-distracting trial,
which lasted ten days.</p>

<p>I shall not go into the details of the testimony.
Herbert Bellows was a witness, testifying to the
ownership of the bonds found in Shinburn’s pockets;
and another witness declared that Shinburn was a
man he’d seen riding in a rig, between Walpole and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span>
Keene, early in the morning following the burglary,
and upon being asked to identify the other man
with Shinburn, said I looked very much like him.
Detectives Golden and Kelso swore to the facts surrounding
Shinburn’s arrest, and to the search in the
Saratoga farm-house where burglars’ tools were discovered.
Other witnesses told how I let horses and
carriages to Shinburn, and drove him to Claremont
and Keene, and that I had engaged a turnout from
Layton Martin’s stables to do so. All of which I
had done; but was it not horrible to sit and listen
to the criminal construction placed upon these innocent
acts? to listen to the motive attributed to
me? And still other witnesses swore that I had
accumulated a fortune in two years, that was impossible
of accomplishment through honest means,
and that being the case, I must have gotten the
money somewhere, and why not from the Walpole
Bank? At times I writhed under these damning
words, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I
was restrained, time and time and again, from springing
to my feet and crying out that they who talked
thus were liars. Glad I am that my friends made
me hold my peace!</p>

<p>At last the prosecution rested and the defence
called its witnesses. Frank Shinburn told the jury
that his brother was a broker and that James Cummings
placed the bonds in Mark’s hands for sale.
Shinburn’s sister corroborated him. On cross-examination<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span>
this testimony was shaken, particularly that
of the brother. Mrs. Kimball and her daughter
testified that they dined with Shinburn and Billy
Matthews at the Revere House in Boston at the
very time District Attorney Lane alleged he was in
Keene plotting the burglary. These women were
honest in giving this testimony, but a subsequent
examination of the hotel register showed that the
dinner took place the day after the robbery. William
Matthews swore that Shinburn was a broker
who did much business in Wall Street, New York
City, and that he had often sold bonds for him, and
that he’d dined with the prisoner and the two women
in the Revere House, Boston, as had been testified to.</p>

<p>My witnesses from Boston testified to the business
which took me to that city every day, from ten
o’clock in the morning until evening. The time for
every day in the week prior and after the burglary
was accounted for. One of my partners in the
Boston firm of Towle &amp; Seavy told of the manner
in which I had accumulated wealth. Several bank
officials testified to the dates on checks which showed
where I was at vital moments,—the moments when
I was supposed to be actually engaged in robbing
the Walpole Bank. A number of witnesses testified
to various business ventures in which I was engaged
with John M. Way and several other reputable
business men, and how many checks passed in this
business; and Charles Meriam, a broker of Boston,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span>
swore to the sums of money that he received and
invested for us, all of which made a perfect accounting
of the prodigious wealth which the district attorney
had conjured up against me. A. V. Lynde
went on the stand and told of my real-estate transactions
with him; how I had bought tracts of land
from him and how I had dealt at all times honorably.
My clerks, Ellis Merrill and Fred Benson, told in
detail of my strict attention to business; of how I
got up every week day at five o’clock in the morning,
attended to my business in Stoneham, and
leaving that in charge of my employees, went to
Boston to look after my business interests there.
After finishing in Boston I would return to Stoneham
to look after things at the close of the day.
In fact, all of my time was well accounted for, making
a complete alibi. Ellis Merrill testified to the
fact that he had been the first to meet Wyckoff and
Cummings at the Central House; that I was away
when they came, and that he let a team to them of
which I knew nothing until my return from Vermont.
All these witnesses testified to my splendid
business and social reputation, my honesty, veracity,
and integrity. Fully twenty witnesses, all intimate
friends, took oath on my behalf, to combat the testimony
of a few witnesses, none of whom could
swear positively to a point against me, except that I
drove about the country a man who, they swore, was
Shinburn.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span>
Shinburn was not wanted by his counsel to take
the witness stand; but I impatiently awaited my
time to tell what I could, in the minutest detail, of
my movements that could in any way be dragged,
even by conspiracy, into the case. At last Judge
Cushion called my name, and I arose to testify.
District Attorney Lane was on his feet in an instant,
protesting loudly that I had no right to witness
for myself, that it was contrary to the New
Hampshire laws; and he quickly quoted from the
statutes.</p>

<p>Judge Cushion answered back in clarion tones,
that, law or no law, I must be given an opportunity
to explain many circumstances; that the law of God
and common sense entitled me to every opportunity
to prove my innocence. He declared that I could
easily explain away all the ugly suspicion that
attached to me through my association with the
bogus United States deputy marshal. But it was
a fruitless argument for me. Judge Doe decided
that I could not testify on my own behalf, and
in this manner another thong was added to those
already binding the millstone to my neck. The
remainder of the trial was a vague dream to me.
Judge Cushion made a masterly plea for the defence,
and Assistant District Attorney Wheeler, the brightest
legal brain then attached to Mr. Lane’s office,
wove a web of evidence about Shinburn and spoke
of my suspicious acquaintance with the man Wyckoff.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span>
I know the judge wept as he pleaded my case, and I
know that Lawyer Wheeler was bitter in his arraignment
of Shinburn. Standing out prominently
in my memory, however, are the words he chose
in closing his “summing up” for the prosecution.
They were directed to the witness William Matthews.</p>

<p>“And this is the sort of a witness they bring from
the reeking hells of New York to be a witness in a
New Hampshire court of justice,” he cried, pointing
to Matthews. I thought it was a terrible thing to
hear said of a man, and wondered why this friend
of Shinburn’s did not measure the assistant district
attorney’s length on the floor, in front of the very
eyes of the judge and jury.</p>

<p>Judge Doe charged the jurors to consider well the
facts in the testimony, and told them what was evidence
and what was not. It was a hard, merciless
review of the case, and I shivered with apprehension.
It struck me like a chill wind from a damp, mouldy
cavern. The jury retired, and when it was evident
that they would not bring in a verdict that day, I
was taken to a cell to await the morning. Oh,
the uncertainty, the horror of it all!</p>

<p>As I was conducted to the court-room the next
day, it did not take long to tell what the verdict
was; for I could read the dreaded news in the face
of Sumner Warren, the foreman, as he and the other
jurymen filed to their seats. I felt faint with the
strain.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span>
“Guilty!” I heard Sumner Warren say, in response
to the clerk’s solemn question.</p>

<p>“Guilty!” I groaned to myself. “Was ever there
such injustice?”</p>

<p>“Bad enough, but I’m glad it’s no worse, George,”
said my good friend and attorney, Mr. Lynde.
“We’ll have you free—a disagreement is as good as
an acquittal, in this case.”</p>

<p>“How? what? why?” I stammered, all but
dazed.</p>

<p>“Shinburn has been convicted, but the jury has
disagreed in your case!” said he. “That’s why
they were out all night. Six of them believe you
are not guilty.”</p>

<p>“Thank God!” I breathed. “Then six of them
believe that I could not be guilty of the awful crime
charged to me. But how in God’s name can <em>any</em>
of them believe it?”</p>

<p>I could not see all the hope that my attorneys
seemed to derive from the situation. I wanted to
be entirely free from the horrible accusation. Six
men, under oath to render a verdict according to the
evidence, had determined that I was guilty, though
I was innocent. I was half condemned, and to me
that meant a stigma would ever be hovering about my
reputation, and some one always would believe that
I was not the good man I claimed to be. Judge
Cushion freely expressed the opinion that there
would never be another trial; that I would be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span>
admitted to a nominal bail, if not allowed to go
on my own recognizance, and that in due time the
indictment would be dismissed. Despite the depression
that the verdict had left upon me, I went
to the jail that morning with a faint hope.</p>

<p>Later in the day Shinburn was sentenced to ten
years at hard labor in the Concord state prison. He
took the judge’s words with an indifference which I
couldn’t understand. In fact, a little later, in his
cell, I saw him making eyes at a pretty woman who
lived in a house across the street, just back of the
jail. She was married, and seemed to enjoy very
much the many sly flirtations she had had with
him from her windows. I thought that she was
better off attending to her husband’s affairs than
wasting her smiles on a man convicted of burglary.
But then, there was never a gauge that would truly
measure the taste of women. Some of them do most
unaccountable things where a man is concerned.</p>

<p>At the first opportunity Shinburn told me that he
was really sorry I’d got into trouble at all, but congratulated
me on the prospect of my getting entirely
free of the charge. He seemed to entertain the same
idea with my counsel as to the outcome of my case,
and expressed the wish that he’d been as fortunate
as I.</p>

<p>During the day I had a long consultation with
Judge Cushion and my faithful attorneys, who said
that they would get Judge Doe to fix a bail for me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span>
at the earliest possible moment. I urged them to
do so, as I wanted to get away from the terrible
haunting thoughts that besieged me. I said that
prison bars were not conducive to pleasant
thoughts.</p>

<p>At about five o’clock that day I saw Shinburn,
coat and hat on, come out of his cell. He had
unlocked his door, as I could plainly see, with a
key that looked very much like a piece of heavy
tin. He relocked it, motioning me to keep silent,
and slipped behind the grated door through which the
jailer and his wife were expected to appear, almost
any minute, from the corridor into the cell room.
I waited. Almost immediately the couple came
in and passed over toward his cell; why he was
not discovered with only the grated door between
him and the jailer, I can’t understand. The instant
the way was clear he slipped from behind the door
and, waving his hand to me, disappeared. In an
instant the visitors to Shinburn’s cell found it
empty, and then there was excitement enough for
all hands in the jail.</p>

<p>The next morning I heard how Shinburn fared as
far as those engaged in pursuing him would tell.
Upon passing from my view he had hastened
downstairs, and through the apartments of Jailer
Wilder, threw up a window sash in the parlor, and
jumped into the yard. Getting into the street, he
encountered Under-sheriff Davis, who chanced to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span>
passing the jail. Dodging him, Shinburn started
eastward out of the village toward the woods. The
under-sheriff, recovering from his surprise, began
yelling like a madman, and started in pursuit, followed
by a crowd of shouting villagers. Soon there
was a mob after him, but not one of them was
armed, and it was supposed that Shinburn was no
better off.</p>

<p>For three-quarters of a mile the fugitive kept
ahead of his pursuers, and by that time he had
reached the woods, in front of which was a tall
fence. Climbing over it, he coolly seated himself
on a log and waited for his enemies to come near.
When they had, he drew his revolver and, covering
them, said sudden death was awaiting any one who
attempted to cross over the fence. Not one dared to
disobey him.</p>

<p>In the meantime Jailer Wilder, arming himself,
followed on after the first party. When Shinburn
saw reënforcements approaching, he got up from
the log, and, smiling cheerfully, said, “Now you see
me and now you don’t!” At this he turned and
plunged into the woods and was lost to view. He
left his overcoat behind, for it had retarded his
escape.</p>

<p>For several hours, according to the story I was
told, the woods were searched, but Shinburn was not
found. Later I heard there was a wholesome dread of
the pistol he carried, and that none of the party was too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span>
venturesome. Jailer Wilder was at loss to know
where Shinburn got a key to his cell door and where
he had obtained a revolver. I was asked more than
once, but of a truth I knew nothing of the plan of
escape. It was as much a surprise to me as it was
to the sheriff.</p>

<p>High-sheriff George Holbrook made an investigation
which resulted in putting upon the jailer the
suspicion that he conspired in Shinburn’s escape.
Subsequently Wilder was removed from office, and
the stigma of it he carried with him to his grave.
But be it recorded here, that he was innocent beyond
all doubt. In later years I had it from Shinburn’s
own lips, that the unfortunate jailer was
blameless; and that his descendants may know it,
even at this tardy day, is why I have been thus
earnest and painstaking in recording the fact.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 27em;">
  <img src="images/i063.jpg" width="431" height="600" alt="" />
  <div class="caption"><p>Maximilian Shinburn</p></div>
</div>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI" class="vspace">CHAPTER VI<br />

<span class="subhead">PERSECUTION</span></h2>
</div>

<p>I awoke the next morning, with a start, from a
night of interrupted slumber. The closing hours of
the trial and the escape of Shinburn had command of
my brain till it was a relief to open my eyes and become
conscious of my surroundings. As I thought
of Shinburn away from the horror of the jail, I will
not attempt to deny that I had a sense of gladness
for him. I had seen considerable of this man in jail,
and I had to confess to myself that he possessed the
rare faculty of winning the friendship of almost any
one. He had won mine as the fictitious deputy
marshal, and knowing him at length as the bank
burglar, I could not do else but like him. His
whole-souled, generous nature shone through his
criminal craft, until at times I found myself wondering
if he really were a felon,—wondering if I were
not in a dream. When this mood was dissolved, and
I realized that he was a criminal of exceptional cunning,—all
he’d been proved at the trial,—I asked
myself what it was that had sent him on to the commission
of crime. At times, when I would hear his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span>
soft, gracious voice, look in his kindly blue eyes, and
admire his genial smile, it was not difficult to fancy
him standing in a pulpit, preaching the word of God.
But I am digressing too much.</p>

<p>These thoughts gave way to the more important
matter of getting bail. Now that the jury had disagreed,
my counsel applied for my release, believing
that only nominal bail would be required; but imagine
their astonishment when Judge Doe announced he’d
increased it to twenty thousand dollars. This was as
outrageous as it was unexpected, in view of the issue
of the trial. Had I not been declared innocent, practically,
by some of the jurymen? Was not their action
sufficient in itself to warrant the authorities, on the
moral ground, if on no other, in giving me the benefit
of the doubt, so far as bail was concerned? My counsel
were up and doing, unsparing of words in protesting
against the injustice, proceeding almost to the
point of offending Judge Doe. And my loyal friends
again came to the rescue. Speedily setting about,
they subscribed the new bail, and in a few days my
release was once more applied for. To our consternation
this sum was declared to be insufficient, and
when an explanation was demanded of Judge Doe,
he answered by increasing the bond to forty thousand
dollars.</p>

<p>“And if that is offered,” he declared coldly, “I’ll
make it eighty thousand dollars!”</p>

<p>Here was persecution absolute. His decision was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span>
a flat refusal to accord the right guaranteed me by
the constitution,—the right of admission to bail,
charged as I was with a felony only. A constitutional
guaranty had been swept away like so much
waste paper. My trial had been a travesty on
justice, and then to crown that, I was being persecuted,
was hopelessly bound in the toils of a relentless,
powerful enemy, it seemed. I must remain in
jail to await another trial—bear the agony longer—helpless,
because a certain influential man had
schemed to drag my wealth from me to reimburse
himself and others. As to getting my wealth, that,
indeed, had been accomplished. My business had
been seized and sold, and I was penniless and dependent.
What more did they want? Would the
human vultures not be satisfied until my body had
been thrust in a prison cell and kept there for years—until
torture had devoured it? Was there, I cried
out to God, no limit to the persecution of an innocent
man? Where was that boasted justice, that love
and that piety of the Puritans? Had mammon
ridden roughshod over and crushed out those high
ideals of old New Hampshire? I found no answer,
not even an echo of my words from the four bleak
walls of my prison-house.</p>

<p>As the weeks wore on and there was no relief, the
evil that persisted in forcing itself upon me, from
time to time, and which I had as often conquered,
came back again with still greater force. Made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span>
reckless to the danger point by the power of my
wrongs, I fostered the evil thoughts until they were
almost my ruling passion. I swore one day I would
no longer willingly submit to such inhuman treatment;
that I would be a law unto myself, and that I
would accept the consequences, be what they might.</p>

<p>The dreary autumn days had merged into winter
when the decision to break out of jail became an
accepted thought. Day and night I meditated over
a plot that would make freedom from my cell
certain. My friends, aroused over the injustice
heaped upon me, were only too willing, at last, to lend
their aid. All the tools, clothing, and money needed
would be forthcoming at the proper time, and I
believed that God would forgive any one who would
brave a violation of the law to succor an unfortunate
one like me.</p>

<p>At last I completed a plan, and when February
came I had secreted in my cell the saws, files, and
other implements necessary to cut my way to freedom.
In the cell with me at that time was a young
burglar named Woods, whom I did not much trust,
but felt obliged to include in my plans. He, naturally,
was willing, and from then on we labored
together in one common interest.</p>

<p>It looked like a hopeless job at the beginning,
barred and triple barred as the cell window was.
There were two sets of inner iron bars in trellis
work, and attached to the set nearest to the window<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span>
sash by four iron rods in sockets was yet an outer
trellis. The only way to get through this network
of bars was to cut an opening in the two inner
trellises, large enough to admit the passage of our
bodies, and sever the inner ends of the four rods
supporting the outer trellis. This done, the outside
trellis could be pried off, when it would drop in the
jail yard. But all this necessitated sawing twenty-seven
square inches of iron—a tremendous undertaking,
as can be readily understood. However, I
was determined to succeed, even to the surmounting
of greater difficulties.</p>

<p>I decided that the sawing must be done in the
daytime, else the rasping of the saw would attract
the attention of some one in the jail. Besides,
Sheriff Aldrich, who had succeeded Jailer Wilder
after Shinburn’s escape, slept in an apartment
on the floor below, and not any too far away for
our purpose. By daylight we could work fairly
well by dodging people passing in front of the jail
and those who occasionally came in the corridor
leading to the cell. From the inside was where we
must expect the most interference. Believing that
I could best throw off suspicion, in case any one
came near while we were busy, I had Woods do the
sawing. The points most pregnable were pointed
out, and we began. At once it became a most difficult
and tedious job. The weather was frigid, and
when we weren’t shivering with apprehension lest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span>
we be discovered, we were being badly nipped by
Jack Frost. Very frequently people passed in the
road, or Jailer Aldrich came in the corridor, or there
was danger of our work attracting the attention
of some one of the prisoners below. There were
days when we accomplished scarcely anything, owing
to the almost incessant interference; while on
other days we made hopeful advancement. Finally,
after two weeks of work and worry, we had cut, all
but the shreds, an aperture in the inner trellises,
sufficiently large, we believed, through which we
could crawl. The shreds we would cut the afternoon
before we made the exit. The four bars holding the
outside trellis had been similarly treated. Then,
having been provided with what we needed to make
the journey, we set the following midnight as the
hour for our surreptitious exit. The next evening,
after supper, we finished the opening in the bars and
prepared for the vital moment. We had a stout
piece of wood in the cell to use as a lever for prying
off the outside trellis, and at midnight, all being
ready, I proceeded. Despite my greatest effort, the
lever would not move the trellis, and when Woods
added his weight, there was no better success. I
was shocked and disappointed. It seemed that we
had not sawed near enough to the severing point, so
far as the four rods supporting the outer trellis were
concerned. I had feared that the thing would fall
off before we were ready and spoil our escape. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span>
stick seemed too short to furnish the leverage needed.
I looked about for something better, feeling satisfied
I wouldn’t find it in the cell. Suddenly it flashed
across me that I could use a part of the iron bedstead,
and I cut off one of its legs, and we went at the
work again like madmen, as time was fast leaving
us in a sore predicament. Even the new lever didn’t
avail us anything further than to show me that we
had made the opening in the inner trellises too
small. We were confronting a critical situation
indeed.</p>

<p>It would soon be daylight, and the jailer would
call with our morning meal; and if the aperture in
the grating was not filled, we could not expect anything
but discovery.</p>

<p>“What can we do, White?” asked young Woods,
pale-faced. It was bad enough, he thought, to be in
jail for burglary without facing a charge of attempting
to escape from it.</p>

<p>I recalled we had cosmetic. Perhaps the iron-work
could be kept in place with it until we could
get something better. I put the patches of grating
back in their places and filled the crevices with the
cosmetic. It didn’t seem to me they would stay
in. Any vibration, I thought, might tumble them
out.</p>

<p>“It’s the best we can do, Woods,” I said, not
cheerfully; “and as to that lame bed, we’ll have
to be mighty careful it doesn’t betray us. We’ll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span>
see that it is carefully made,—no one can do that
job so well this morning as one of us.”</p>

<p>“I’ll be the chambermaid,” Woods said, with a
laugh that had a false ring in it.</p>

<p>“By cracky, how my back hurts!” I said, with a
groan, as I doubled forward and hobbled about the
cell. “I never had such a peculiar pain in my
life.”</p>

<p>“Must have caught it from the open window,”
suggested the young man. “Hope it won’t make
you sick. Better get a porous plaster from Aldrich.
Mother allers uses ’em.”</p>

<p>“The ordinary kind won’t cure my pain, lad,”
I answered, with a laugh and straightening up;
“I’ve got to have some pitch—the real pine. Nothing
else will relieve me.”</p>

<p>Woods looked mystified.</p>

<p>“Wait,” said I.</p>

<p>When Jailer Aldrich brought in breakfast, he
was sorry to see me in such “rheumatiz” distress,
and I had little difficulty in inducing him to fetch
me a quantity of pitch with which to make a “home-made”
porous plaster. It was to be differently
applied than he dreamed. It was not difficult to
obtain the pitch, because Aldrich usually supplied
the prisoners with any necessities.</p>

<p>With it I patched up the grating so that it would
stand inspection at long distance, though a casual
examination close by would have meant instant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span>
exposure. However, that day we began to make the
opening in the inner trellises five inches larger. On
the third day we received a fright that caused me to
tremble for an hour afterward and wonder how it
all turned out so well for us. High-sheriff George
Holbrook and two visitors came unexpectedly upon
us, despite my precaution. It was with great difficulty
that we assumed our normal conditions. Any
other time I would have been glad to see them, but
now it was simply, it seemed to me, like playing
tag with discovery. Holbrook must not be allowed
to get near the window or all would be over. I never
was too much of a talker. I had often declared I
would never make a book agent or an insurance
solicitor, but how I did chatter away at them. I
said anything, nothing, talked of all subjects I could
think of, until it seemed I must have driven them
away in disgust. Indeed, they were about to depart
when the sheriff moved toward the window.</p>

<p>“Holbrook!” I cried, in sheer desperation. “Here—see
this!” and caught up a law book Don Woodward,
one of my counsel, had loaned me. I don’t
know what I said or read and I don’t care, for
it did the trick. Holbrook and the visitors a
moment or two later had gone. Woods was near
the window, trembling. I sat down and wiped the
clammy sweat from my brow. My heart was beating
sluggishly; and for a few minutes my vision was
dazed and I could see naught but dancing sparks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span>
like little stars. I came mighty close to swooning.</p>

<p>“We’ve got to get out of this to-night, Woods,”
I said, on recovering. “It won’t do to spend another
day here under these conditions.”</p>

<p>And we went to work again and at dark had
finished the sawing, practically. Five minutes more
of that kind of work would suffice.</p>

<p>Clothed, a rope of blankets ready, and in every
way fitted for our journey, we waited for midnight.
I well remember the weather—severely cold and
plenty of snow on the ground. We were to race
for the farm-house of Woods’s father, two miles out
of Keene. There, without Mr. Woods’s permission,
we were to get a horse and sleigh.</p>

<p>At last the hour came, and with the bed leg for a
lever I pried at the outer trellis. Thank goodness,
this time it moved, and I shoved it outward, expecting
it to fall to the ground. Fate was with us—instead,
one of the shreds of iron tenaciously hung
fast and answered as a hinge. The two hundred
and fifty pounds of iron swung back almost noiselessly
against the masonry and remained there.
Had it fallen, the crash, notwithstanding the snow,
might have aroused Jailer Aldrich, sleeping not far
away. The rest of the journey to <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">terra firma</i> was
not difficult. With blankets tied end to end, we
let ourselves down to the ground, and, scaling
the stone wall, quit the jail at one o’clock in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span>
morning. We found it pretty hard plodding through
the snow. Getting to Woods’s barn, we stealthily as
possible hitched up the horse, but not without some
trouble with the family watch-dog. However, Woods
succeeded in quieting him, and, getting off with no
further discovery, we were soon driving at a fast
pace through Surrey, past Walpole, and toward
Bellows Falls. When near the bridge over the
Connecticut River we passed a noisy sleighing
party, among whom I recognized, by his voice,
Sheriff Stebbins of Charlestown, Sullivan County.
We kept our heads well down in our coats and felt
glad when we’d got by without being discovered.
Several years after that I saw Sheriff Stebbins at
Charlestown under rather peculiar circumstances.</p>

<p>We encountered nothing unpleasant in the six
miles drive from Bellows Falls to Saxton’s River,
where lived a fine old uncle of mine. He and my
aunt had a comfortable place on the outskirts of
the village, and although they knew we were fugitives,
they made us welcome. My aunt prepared a
nice breakfast while I sent Woods to the village with
his father’s rig, instructing him to leave it there to
be returned and gave him money to pay for the
hire of another. He came back, and after breakfast
we resumed our journey toward Londonderry. It
was my plan to drive over the Green Mountains
into New York State, and, getting rid of the team,
to strike out for a large city, probably New York.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span>
Woods had a cousin in Londonderry, where he said
we could get some food for ourselves and fodder for
the horse, after which the next point to be made
would be Salem, just over the Vermont border in
New York. This we did to a dot. I, being ready
to continue the journey from Salem by rail, directed
Woods to drive the team from there eastward twelve
miles to a village, where he was to put it in charge of
the stage driver who journeyed regularly to Saxton’s
River. Thus the liveryman would get back his
property in the good condition we found it. Woods
was to make Troy or any other place he saw fit.</p>

<p>By rail from Salem to Troy, thence to New York,
was a matter of only a few hours, and as I whirled
along I had ample time to meditate over my lot; but
the more I thought of what I had gone through, the
more I seemed to be forced down to by-paths into
which I had never dreamt of setting foot. After a
time I compelled myself by sheer force to think of
other things—what I would do, whether I would
go farther west or remain in New York, and whether
it would be wise to immediately ask for employment
in some big dry-goods store there. I knew I could
do passably well as a clerk in that line, for the experience
in my father’s store and in my own later
would stand me in hand.</p>

<p>At Albany I managed to get a newspaper, but saw
nothing in it about my escape. A few hours later I
was in New York. It was a dreary day, but after<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span>
all there was a sense of freedom about me. I was
no longer in a grewsome cell at Keene. I was away
from those months of horror. Reflecting over what
I had done, I felt certain that a reward would be
offered for my capture. In plain terms I realized
that I was a fugitive from justice. As the word
“justice” came to me I seemed to fill up with hatred.
What a travesty my experience had proved the
word to be. I shuddered at the possession of such
thoughts, for hitherto I had been a firm believer in
the righteous adjustment of all things; had been a
sincere believer in the law. Again I stifled these
ugly feelings that surged up within me.</p>

<p>Starting out for lodgings, I soon found them and
sat down to lay out my plans. Again despite all
my best efforts to the contrary, the terrible experiences
dating from the second day of June would
come to the fore, and I seemed to hear evil voices
urging me to forsake all that was good and plunge
into the swift-flowing current of vice. But, as on
other occasions when I’d battled with evil, I could
see the faces of my father and mother looming up
in this train of thought, like a shaft of silver light
athwart a threatening cloud, and I could hear, it
seemed, the earnest solicitation of my loyal friends
to be courageous though the worst come, and that
they would stand by me until the last. When these
good thoughts gained the ascendency, again I resolved
to profit by it, and straightway set about to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span>
seek honest employment in which I could make a
fresh start, endeavor to fight down my persecutors,
and rebuild my fortune.</p>

<p>I found a clerkship in A. T. Stewart &amp; Company’s
retail dry-goods house after some effort, and though
the wage was small and the prospects of an advancement
were not encouraging, I began once more to
take on a little hope. I succeeded in communicating
with my friends at home in good time, but obtained
precious little encouraging information. A reward
of a thousand dollars had been posted throughout
the country for my apprehension, and it was with a
feeling that only a man can know who has experienced
woes like mine that I read the description of
the desperate bank burglar, George White, and of
his midnight escape from jail along with another
burglar.</p>

<p>The first knowledge in the jail of our escape came
from a citizen passing just at daylight. He saw the
rope of blankets hanging from the open window,
and, rushing excitedly into the jail, woke up Jailer
Aldrich with the cry, “Better look after your
boarders—there’s a blanket hanging out of the
jail windows.” Poor Aldrich, I was afterward told,
rushed about as though bereft of his reason.</p>

<p>Another piece of unpleasant news was the row
made by the liveryman of Saxton’s River. It seems
that Woods had disregarded my instructions as to
the team we hired from there, and, instead of paying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span>
for it with the money I gave him, had it charged
against me. Besides that he had driven to Troy, got
intoxicated, and while attempting to sell the outfit
was arrested and taken back to Keene. The liveryman,
ascertaining who had engaged the team, lodged
a complaint against me, and in the minds of some
people I had become a horse thief as well as a bank
burglar. Eventually the liveryman recovered his
turnout unharmed. Later, though, through my
brother, I paid him one hundred and twenty-five
dollars to escape an indictment for horse stealing.
Woods’s love for liquor and disregard of my instructions
was the means of casting further odium on me.</p>

<p>I had been in Stewart’s nearly three weeks when I
learned that Shinburn had been recaptured and sent
to Concord prison to complete his sentence. I was
sorry to hear this. Indeed, I felt despondent for
several days over the mishap to that criminal, regardless
of my effort to shake off the almost unaccountable
feeling. I hadn’t succeeded when a development
forcibly turned my attention into another channel.
My hopes, which had grown wonderfully since my
employment, were suddenly dissipated like a morning
mist before an August sun. One morning a man
whom I had known intimately in Boston—indeed,
considered to be a trusted friend—came to the store.
He was as much surprised at the meeting as I was
frightened. There was no opportunity to evade
him, so I made the best attempt I could to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span>
unconcerned, and declared my delight at seeing him.
We shook hands heartily and talked over my predicament,
not forgetting to speak of the reward that
was offered for my return to New Hampshire. He
expressed sympathy for me and bemoaned the fact
that I had been dealt with so unjustly, and held me
blameless for escaping from my enemies. We were
about to say adieu when I asked him if he would
mention anything of our meeting when he returned
to Boston.</p>

<p>“On my honor, no!” he answered with a ring in
his voice which sounded true and friendly.</p>

<p>“I hope not,” said I, gratefully, “for I’ve been
pretty badly handled, and I’m trying hard to get
myself together again. If they find I’m here, it’ll be
all day with me.”</p>

<p>And so we parted, but in my heart there came
a heaviness, a sense of depression that I couldn’t
shake off, try as I would. I had a premonition that
this friend, regardless of his protestations, would be
sadly tempted by the reward. I felt that he would
argue that I would sooner or later be captured, and
that there was no reason why he shouldn’t get the
benefit of the thousand dollars. In the scales, his
friendship on one side and avarice on the other, I
believed that the former would prove the lighter
weight. Indeed, I was so deeply impressed with
impending danger that I resigned that day, drew five
dollars due me, and left the store forever. It was well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span>
that I acted thus promptly, for not many hours subsequently
the police were searching for me. My friend’s
faithfulness had been of the kind that wouldn’t stand
the test. In the balance, weighed against his love
for money, his friendship for me had proved many
ounces too light.</p>

<p>Verily, I was being persecuted to the end.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="PART_II"><span class="larger">PART II</span></h2>
</div>

<h2 id="CHAPTER2_I" class="nobreak p2 vspace">CHAPTER I<br />

<span class="subhead">SIDETRACKED</span></h2>

<p>Hunted out of honest employment, I found myself
very much in the position of the pursued rabbit;
therefore I was compelled to seek the first cover that
presented itself. I had been robbed of every dollar
of my hard-earned fortune. A fugitive from justice,
there was a reward proclaimed abroad for my arrest,
though I was an innocent man. All this was awful
to realize, the bitterness of it eating still deeper
into my soul. What would the end be?</p>

<p>Anxious to begin life afresh, I had sought a
strange city and under a new name had attempted
to do it, but fate was horribly, relentlessly cruel.
What would I do? where could I turn? I had
only five dollars in the world, and that wouldn’t
carry me far. Alas, I was not unlike the hunted
rabbit. I had been the victim of a cruel game of
life. It was a most critical period at which I had
arrived. The fatal line must soon be crossed. Good
and evil would fight out their battle. In the jail
at Keene I had been besieged by thoughts that made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span>
me shudder, but the evil that battered my soul now
was as the blackness of hell in comparison. Bitterness
was rapidly eating into my worst nature; the
tender words of a fond father and the sweet prayers
of a loving mother were fast becoming far-off sounds
in my dulled ears. Recollections of the sort that
sear consciences came to the fore, uppermost being
the words I had heard from the lips of an old conductor
of the Fitchburg railway, not far from my
home. I had often been with him on his trips and
talked with him, for he was well known to me in my
youthful days. How well I remembered the words.
They burn in my brain even to-day, as well they
should, for they played a strong part in the influence
which sent me on to a life of reaching out for that
which was not lawfully mine.</p>

<p>“See that fine property?” this conductor said to
me one day, as he pointed out a big country residence;
and when I nodded assent, he added, “Well,
I’ve got a first mortgage on that.” Presently he
said, with a meaning I could not misunderstand,
“We conductors have the name of knocking down
fares, so we may as well have the game.”</p>

<p>Twice on the trip he made that remark. For
several years the meaning of the words “name” and
“game” lay dormant in my mind, but how freshly
it came back to me in the moment of my standing
balanced between the narrow path of rectitude and
the broad road of crime. Homeless, desolate, hunted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span>
like a real criminal, a reward hanging over my head,
made a good soil in which the seeds of evil deeds
might take quick root. To whom in this extremity
might I turn? I asked this question of myself many
times, and the only reply was the echo of my own
words. There was a Boston man in the city with
whom I was well acquainted, and who knew my side
of the case thoroughly, and whose sympathy I had.
I must have some money, therefore I appealed to
him, and he loaned me twenty dollars. This, with
five I had, constituted my cash capital. The remainder
of it was my brain, and it shall be seen to
what purpose I put it, ere many days passed.</p>

<p>There was another man in New York I knew—Shinburn’s
friend Matthews; Billy, he called him.
I remembered that his address was 681 Broadway,
so I determined to look him up. Knowing Shinburn,
I ought not to have been surprised at anything
in Matthews, but I was actually dumfounded
when I learned that 681 Broadway was a notorious
gambling house kept by one Harvey Young, and
that Matthews was a faro dealer there. Young’s
place was at that time an attractive resort for the
younglings of New York’s rich men, thousands of
whose dollars passed over the green cloth every
night. I now knew why Mr. Wheeler, the assistant
prosecutor, in summing up at the Keene trial,
had pointed out Matthews and asked the court in
scornful tones to look upon the sort of man “they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>
bring from the reeking hells of New York to be a
witness in a New Hampshire court of justice.”
Undoubtedly the New York detectives had known
that much of Matthews and had told it to Mr.
Wheeler.</p>

<p>But I had reached and passed the fatal line now,
and it seemed to me that I wasn’t sorry to learn
what this man Matthews was,—an employee in a
gambling den. Even if he were a criminal like
Shinburn, I felt that I didn’t care. When I rang
the bell, a man who looked like a servant answered
it, and to my inquiry said Matthews wasn’t in,
but would be that night. I said I would come
again, and did several hours later. I had only
met Matthews speaking with Shinburn in the jail
at Keene, altogether perhaps a half-dozen times.
He was a dapper, earnest little fellow, and seemed
in all ways a better man than I imagined a gambler
could be. I was greeted heartily by him, and he
told me that my escape wasn’t news, an account of
it having been in the newspapers. My face must
have been a delineator of my determination to do
something desperate, for he asked me if he could
assist me in any way. I told him he might, and
that there could be none too much haste to suit
me.</p>

<p>“You see the fix I am in by accommodating your
friend Shinburn, whom I believed to be a government
official,” I said with great feeling. “I had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span>
a clerkship here, but have been forced to resign
it, that I may keep clear of arrest. Here I am,
practically on my knees; and, frankly, I don’t know
what to do. Can you help me on my feet again?”
I knew what was in my mind to do, for I was
desperate, and I awaited his answer with anxiety.</p>

<p>“What can I do?” he asked; “you certainly are
in a peculiar fix.”</p>

<p>“I’ve got to get out and hustle,” exclaimed I,
while trembling in every joint.</p>

<p>“What do you mean?”</p>

<p>I meant to say steal, but my tongue couldn’t,
seemingly, utter the word. Swallowing hard, I
asked him to put me in with some of Shinburn’s
friends; and thus was forged the first link in the
chain that was to fasten me to a criminal career
for many years. A few days later Matthews introduced
me to George Wilson, a partner of Mark
Shinburn. He took me to Wilson’s rooms at
303 Bleecker Street, where there was assembled
the first gang of safe burglars I ever set eyes on.</p>

<p>Wilson was forming a prospecting party which
was going West in search of banks whose vaults
could be cleaned of cash and salable bonds and
securities. With him were Big Bill, another of
Shinburn’s partners hailing from Canada; Eddie
Hughes, <em>alias</em> Miles; and John Utley, a partner of
the latter. The trio last named had just returned
from a failure to crack a bank at Schuylerville,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span>
New York. Surprised in their work by a constable,
they would have been arrested had this
country official possessed the nerve to tackle them.
Finding himself pitted against three big, husky
fellows, he retired for reënforcements; but while
he was thus engaged, the quarry reached Saratoga,
boarded a train, alighted at Troy, and thus clouding
the trail, managed to arrive safely in New York.</p>

<p>In the proposed party was another of the crooked
fraternity, whom Wilson described as Tall Jim, he
making the fifth one—and a mighty fine sort of
a fellow he proved to be. Then I was mentioned
as the sixth and last member. The introduction of
my name precipitated a row, perhaps through the
fact that I was a stranger, not only to the party, but
to the art of bank “burgling.” However, George
Wilson had proposed me for membership, which
was sufficient to squelch all the objectors, with the
exception of Jack Utley, who seemed to take a
dislike to me from the start.</p>

<p>“What does this man know about robbing banks?”
growled he. “You’d see his heels showing their color
at the first bark of one of them Western dogs.”</p>

<p>I half believe that Wilson would have listened to
Utley’s protests, which were many, had it not been
for Matthews, who put up a strong argument on my
behalf. However, Wilson soon settled the matter
by announcing that I must be considered in, whereupon
Utley ceased his objections. But he did a lot<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span>
of grumbling on the side, and I could see that he
would not, of his own volition, do me a favor in the
future, should I need one even more than at the
moment.</p>

<p>All being ready in a few days for the launching of
the enterprise, we started out. It was in the middle
of April, 1866, and spring had opened up in excellent
style as if for our convenience. Big Bill, Eddie
Hughes, Tall Jim, and I went to Pittsburg, where
we were to begin prospecting for loot. When the
first bank selected to fall under our attack had been
settled upon, Wilson and Jack Utley were to be notified
by telegraph, to follow on immediately with the
necessary tools.</p>

<p>No man can tell what my feelings were, when at
last I found myself pushing out into the world of
crime, hitherto unknown to me, unless he were placed
identically where I was. There were moments when
I was at the point of abandoning the short road
of contemplated crime, which would soon lead
me into the absolutely broad road of crime committed.
In such moments as these, retrospection
would bring up before me the green hills of Vermont,
the far-away old homestead I loved so well,
the dear old folks at home; the happy days in Stoneham,
with its prosperous years, when I could walk
forth in God’s free air and be respected and honored
by those who knew me, and no hand was raised
against me.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>
All these bright remembrances would come up to
me, with powerful influences for good; but when the
real present crowded in, and crushed back those
dreamlike days, I had to ask where I could go, if
I cut away from the men with whom I had cast my
lot. Nowhere among those I had known; for was
I not a man with a price on my head? I could not
return to the Vermont hills and the old place and
dwell openly with my dear old folks, nor even in
secret be near them; for not then would I be safe
from the clutches of the law. Nor could I wend my
way back to the later home of my prosperity; for
there the same hand, the same hard injustice of the
law, would close in on me. No! I was an outlaw,
not daring to clasp hands with any one save those of
the outlawed men with whom I was now associated.
One by one the influences for good were counted and
laid away. What could I do—I, an innocent man
with the scales of justice weighing against me. And
one by one I buried the thoughts of those things,
which were no longer to be my stepping-stones along
life’s journey, as far as I could tell, and passed on to
what the unsolved future held in reserve for me.
Come what might, I would accept the gauntlet
thrown down to me by a cruel fate.</p>

<p>I put up at the Scott House in Pittsburg. When
Big Bill, Eddie Hughes, and Tall Jim concluded to
spread out and canvass the surrounding country,
they assigned me to look over a small bank in Allegheny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span>
City, near by. We were to meet again in
five days, at my hotel. I felt that a considerable
responsibility had been placed on my shoulders for
one so young in the business, therefore I determined
to try my best and disprove, if the chance came my
way, what Jack Utley had said of me. Somewhat to
my disappointment, the bank I inspected proved to
be an impracticable undertaking, so the experienced
ones said on their return, and I had to wait for another
opportunity to show what sort of an inspector
of lootable banks I was. When all the reports were
in, that of Tall Jim’s seemed to be the most alluring,
so it was voted to make a strike at his bank, which
was in Wellsburg, a small town in Brooks County,
West Virginia, several miles below Steubenville, on
the left bank of the Ohio River.</p>

<p>The next day Wilson and Utley, having been
notified, joined us, fully prepared for business, whereupon
we started by rail to Steubenville, leaving there
on foot early in the evening. We followed the railroad
track until we reached a point about opposite
Wellsburg. Here a boat was borrowed without a
consultation with its owner, and in this way we
rowed across to the other shore, where we set it
adrift. When within three-quarters of a mile of
the village, we camped in a piece of woods, thick
enough to make a good hiding-place. Being the
greenhorn of the party, I was detailed the “chief
cook and bottle-washer” of our feeding department,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span>
and immediately upon getting into camp I was sent
hustling for provender. I made for the village in
the fresh hours of the morning and foraged for food,
and later prepared our first meal in camp. During
the daylight hours Tall Jim and Eddie Hughes took
a turn in town to investigate, and when they returned,
which was near evening, all hands excepting
the cook went away again. They were absent several
hours, and when they came back I had prepared
a breakfast for them, consisting of cold ham, sardines,
bread, and hot coffee.</p>

<p>There was nothing the matter with the appetites
of the lads, unless they could be called devouring.
Though I had provided a goodly quantity, one meal
made a sad inroad on my larder. When the inner
man of my associates had been somewhat satisfied,
all but the cook stretched themselves out for a sleep.
I, not unwilling to do my part, stood at picket duty
until they awoke, late in the afternoon, when I
managed to get another meal together. I cannot
refrain from saying that furnishing food to my
comrades was much like shovelling coal into the
mouth of a mine, as far as satisfying them was concerned.
Never in my hotel days had I come across
such hungry two-legged animals. But enough of
this, and to the other and more important subject.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_II" class="vspace">CHAPTER II<br />

<span class="subhead">VISITED BY THE WHITECAPS</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Eddie Hughes was to be the leader in the crack
at the Wellsburg Bank, and soon he, with suggestions
from others, laid out the plan. I took no part
except that of the snubbed one at the hands of the
snubber, Jack Utley, who lost no opportunity to exercise
that much-relished self-constituted right. I
don’t know but that I enjoyed it as much as he, for
the time had come when I disliked him so much that
his snubs were more acceptable to me than would
have been his praise.</p>

<p>The bank which we were to break was a single
story affair of stone, constructed with the strength
of an arsenal. Evidently the bank officials had had
some experience with guerilla attacks during the
Civil War, just closed, for the building was fortified
much like a stronghold and seemed fit to resist any
attack, like a miniature Gibraltar. There was a
great door of oak, heavily ironed on the inside, while
the windows were strongly protected by iron shutters.
Besides this resistance, the bank had a robust
night watchman whose appearance indicated that he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span>
would not sneak in a corner and hide in case of a
meeting with some one anxious to get at the funds
he was guarding.</p>

<p>Tall Jim said there were two ways of getting in
the bank—with a gatling gun being one, and the
other an adroit manipulation of a certain amount
of duplicity applied to a night watchman.</p>

<p>“There’s a gas-house not far from the bank in
charge of a one-armed watchman,” explained Jim,
“and he’s a warm friend of the bank watchman.
This I know, for I kept my eye on them a long time
last night. I think we can use the one-armed
fellow to a good purpose; in other words, work the
sympathetic dodge on the other fellow.”</p>

<p>Jim was confident that the gas-house man could
be captured without any trouble.</p>

<p>“We can run him up to the bank door, and
then—”</p>

<p>“Well,” grumbled Jack Utley, “and then
what?”</p>

<p>“As I said,” continued Tall Jim, disregarding
the interruption, “we have no gatling gun, so we’ll
have to use this one-armed man, he being the next
best weapon to force a way into the bank.”</p>

<p>As no better means were offered, his plan was
accepted, and immediate preparations were made to
begin the work at ten that night. We broke camp
and moved to the outskirts of the village, hardly
half a dozen minutes’ walk from the bank, and close<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span>
by the river. Tall Jim and Big Bill went after a
skiff which they had rounded up previously, but
much time was wasted in getting the oars, the
owner having taken great pains to stow them away
against just such a quest as ours. This means for
our escape being provided, we were ready for the
start, and hoping for the best for us, which of course
would be the worst for the people of the town.</p>

<p>It was what the poetic fellows would call a beautiful
night. The moon, big and full, was impudently
bright, I thought, for such an undertaking as we
had on foot; in which thought I was not alone.
But the hour had come when we must strike, as
our funds were getting low and food was far from
plenty, and as to stealing it, the experienced ones
of the party would not do that, such a thing being
far below their trade. It got to be half an hour of
midnight, when, with our shirts on the outside of
our coats and white masks on our faces and feet
thrust in rubbers, we, a constituted band of whitecaps,
descended upon the one-armed night watchman.
Hughes, Jim, and Big Bill got him without
a struggle, before he knew what was on foot. I
trow he was more than half frightened out of his
wits as his eyes lit on the grotesque-looking figures
we presented. The poor maimed one was told that
the whitecaps had him, and that death would be
his, handed him on anything but a golden platter, if
our slightest command was disobeyed; while on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span>
other hand obedience would merit his release without
harm, presently.</p>

<p>We presented a queer spectacle indeed in the
moonlight, as with the watchman in the fore, we
started for the bank. Hughes and Tall Jim had
him in durance, Big Bill trailed next, while Wilson,
Jack Utley, and I formed the tail end of the procession.
I shall never forget the ludicrous picture
the poor one-armed fellow presented, with his face
white as chalk and his teeth chattering like a fast-working
sewing-machine needle. He was like so
much putty in the hands of his supposed white-capped
subjectors.</p>

<p>In the meantime I was reminded that I had to
run back to our rendezvous, the moment the bank
watchman was secured, after the burglar tools,
which it was thought not wise to bring on the scene
too early in the game. All we had brought with us
was a pair of stout handcuffs, which were in the
possession of Jack Utley, ready to be snapped on
the bank watchman.</p>

<p>As our one-armed assistant must be instructed in
the enforced rôle planned for him, Tall Jim undertook
the task, being better able to perform it, he being
a handy man with language of the forceful kind.
Under the penalty of death the one-armed watchman
was told that he must boldly walk up to the bank
door, taking no pains to step lightly, while two of our
men tiptoed beside him, giving the impression to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span>
the watchman inside that no more than one person
was at the door. Then he was to rap and ask for
admittance. What was told the tool, to be used as
a bait to induce the bank watchman to open the door,
I will leave for the important moment. If the first
attempt failed, it was agreed that some sort of a game
would be played, with the whitecap dodge much in
evidence.</p>

<p>It was getting to be, as each moment passed, a
mighty interesting experience, and I felt fading from
me much of the reluctance which from time to time
came to the fore and seemed to warn me away from
the path I was pursuing, if indeed it had not all gone.
I could feel myself really enjoying the situation; a
sort of fascination for the work seemed to have taken
hold of me. This same attraction, I must relate, ruled
my doings the whole of my criminal career, overshadowing
any desire for amassing wealth; for I can
truly say that a longing for riches never drove me to
the commission of crime, and to the breaking of the
laws of my country which I loved.</p>

<p>As I recollect the scene of the night, it was better
entertainment than many a stage performance I have
since witnessed. At the right moment the gas-house
watchman, purposely, under the direction of his
captors, walked heavily up the bank steps, while Tall
Jim and Hughes, treading softly, gave the impression
that there was no one with him. The remainder
of the party hovered near, but kept well within the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span>
shadows of the bank building. When the signal was
given, the one-armed man thumped vigorously on the
oaken door and called loudly: “Bill, Bill! oh, Bill!
I’ve mashed my hand—it’s bleeding bad—let
me in!”</p>

<p>There was no response, and Hughes ordered him
to rap again, which he did, in a most earnest fashion.
I was afraid that some one sleeping in a near-by store
might be awakened. If the bank watchman couldn’t
hear the pounding, he must be a sound sleeper indeed.
Our very pliable tool thumped against the
great door again, this time with the result that a
voice from within shouted out, “Who’s there?”</p>

<p>“Me, Bill!” answered our one-armed man, in compliance
with his promise. “I’ve jammed my hand
bad.” Again there was a long silence, so it seemed
to me; nothing but silence. I could hear my heart
throb with excitement, as loudly, I imagined, as the
thumping made by the watchman. Prodded again
by Hughes, he rapped once more, and for the third
time we listened for an answer, but none came. The
watchman called again: “Bill, don’t you hear me?
I’ve smashed my hand and I’m bleeding to death.
For heaven’s sake open the door!”</p>

<p>“Oh, go to thunder!” came in a roar from
within; a most sympathetic response, indeed, to a
man in imminent danger of bleeding to death, and
the men friendly too, as Tall Jim had informed us.</p>

<p>There was a wait of fully three minutes, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span>
seemed like as many hours to me, but not another
sound came from inside the bank. Tall Jim agreed
with Hughes that the jig was over, so we retreated
cautiously. We didn’t know, but felt inclined to
believe, that the bank watchman had seen our approach,
and thinking that we really were whitecaps,
or perhaps guessing more accurately as to our mission,
had remained discreetly inside his stronghold,
quite satisfied that his one-armed friend would not
bleed to death. I have since concluded that we were
mighty lucky that some cold lead did not find a lodgment
in the carcass of one or more of us.</p>

<p>The game being over, even before it had begun,
we marched the gas-house man to where he had been
picked up, and proceeded to dispose of him in a way
to insure our safe departure. We certainly had no
blame to put on him, for had he been one of us of his
own free will, he couldn’t have done better. As a
tool, he responded to our bidding with the same
directness that a needle responds to the magnet.
But for our safety he must be made to believe that
we were actually a band of whitecaps, and not a lot
of hungry bank looters. Tall Jim was the <span class="locked">spokesman:—</span></p>

<p>“See here, one-armed chap,” said he, in a threatening
voice, “our faces are covered, and you don’t
know us, though some of us do you. More of us
have seen the man in yonder bank, and he’s the feller
we’re after. We’ll show him what happens to a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span>
man trotting around with another man’s wife, before
morning.”</p>

<p>The old man was trembling with apprehension;
not over the bank watchman’s doings, as alleged,
but for fear of what we might do with him. He
managed to gasp out, “I—I—never heard Bill
wuz after wimmen; I—I think ye must be mistaken,
sirs.”</p>

<p>“But we know, and that’s enough!” Tall Jim
hissed the words much like a stage villain; and I
laughed to myself, though I’d have felt better could
I have roared freely, there was so much earnestness
in the poor fellow’s voice.</p>

<p>“Oh, it don’t seem possible, sirs, it don’t,” he said
tremblingly.</p>

<p>“He’s been tracing around with the wife of one of
my friends here, I tell you, old man; and what’s
more, she’s in the bank with him this moment.”</p>

<p>“I didn’t see her go in, sir; and if a wooman did
go there, sir, I couldn’t help it, sir.”</p>

<p>“Well, I did,” insisted Tall Jim, with affected
fierceness. “I saw my friend’s wife go in that
bank, early in the evening, and she’s been there
ever since. Now, sir, there’s going to be a little
rail-riding done before sunrise, and at the end of
the journey there’ll be found a big smoking kettle
of tar and a fine fat tick of soft geese feathers;
and when we’re through, there’ll be a new sort of
a bird in this community, and we’re going to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span>
it out of your friend the watchman. We’ll soon
be in the bank, so don’t have any doubt about it.”</p>

<p>“Oh, gentlemen, let me go!” pleaded the poor
fellow, at this harangue from Jim. “I h’ain’t been
runnin’ ’round with wimmin, and if I had, I h’ain’t
got a place t’ take ’em, except this gas-house; and
what wooman would come here?”</p>

<p>“We believe you,” replied Tall Jim; “and the
only way to prevent two birds, like I’ve described
to you, being made, and the last bird is likely to
be a dead one, is for you to point your face toward
that gas-house door, and going inside, stay there
till daylight. Then, when you think of what you’ve
heard and seen to-night, just call it all a dream,
and be sure to forget the dream so you can’t tell it
to any one. What’s your answer, old man?”</p>

<p>“My answer, sir, my answer, sir—yes—yes, sir,
I promise you all, everything, sir,” cried the bewildered
man. I was glad that he was soon to be
out of his trouble.</p>

<p>“Well, then, you’re free, and there’s the door,”
said Jim, giving the fellow a shove that sent him
hurtling toward the gas-house; “and don’t dare to
come out till sunrise, and then don’t be in too much
of a hurry about it. In with you!”</p>

<p>Though at times I was filled up to the bursting
point with laughter over the ridiculousness of the
scene, it seemed a trifle hard to thus treat the poor
fellow, maimed as he was; but I presumed our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span>
safety depended somewhat upon the close tongue
this man kept, at least for a few hours. But as
I saw his dark form stagger into the doorway,
I was not sorry. Then we lost no time in getting
to the skiff and putting ourselves on the other
side of the river, where we set out on foot toward
Steubenville. Some of the party, particularly Jack
Utley, did a lot of grumbling over the dismal failure
of our first bank-breaking venture.</p>

<p>Before reaching Steubenville, we decided to camp
in a squatty wood through which we had come on
our journey out, it seeming to offer a fair hiding-place.
At daylight I went to the village and got
some provisions. After breakfast the gang went
to sleep, while I did picket duty again. About
ten o’clock in the morning Tall Jim and Hughes
made a trip to Steubenville and canvassed it, but
returned shortly, reporting their failure to find any
bank there worth tackling. When the question
of funds came up, some one suggested taking an
inventory, which was done, with the result that
our combined capital was a little less than ten
dollars. This showed all hands that something
must be done forthwith to replenish our treasury;
for with the furnishing of each meal the situation
was growing worse. I had in mind what my task
would be, presently, in the way of supplying food
for these gullets, and with little or no cash to do it.
It made me faint-hearted to think of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span>
With a determination to take immediate action,
Tall Jim’s list of banks was consulted earnestly,
the outcome being the selection of a rich little bank
at Cadiz, Ohio. As we were to lose no time, it was
decided that enough of our funds must be used to
take us by rail to Cadiz Junction; but from there,
for different reasons, it was deemed best, as a precautionary
measure, to walk the remainder of the
way, some ten miles. Arriving at the junction,
we found that Cadiz was at the other end of a
spur extending from the main line of the road.
When within a safe camping distance, we selected
a spot in a dense part of a wood and waited for
daylight. Then I set before the hungry ones the
remainder of my hard-pressed larder, and that
stowed away, all hands, including the cook, fell
into a sleep, the need of which I badly felt.
Eddie Hughes and Tall Jim awoke about ten
o’clock and went to Cadiz. They spent a good
part of the morning there prospecting, but on returning
I could see a “promised land” sort of a
look on their faces; and when Hughes said, “We’ll
soon have plenty of money,” I really had a feeling
of satisfaction steal over me, which I didn’t think
myself capable of possessing under such circumstances;
at least not yet. With this news, the
gang’s appetites seemed to wax greater; and I,
therefore, was compelled to make a trip to town
after such a supply of food as I could obtain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span>
with my limited pocket-book. I presented myself
in camp, pretty soon, with some bacon, a fair quantity
of bread, and none too much coffee; but, do
my best, I couldn’t make the meal fit the increasing
desires of my hungry ones. Whether it was the
country air that urged on these appetites to greater
accomplishments, or the rapidly decreasing funds
with which to renew the larder, made me misjudge
these demands, I will not attempt to determine.
However, I took hope from Tall Jim and Hughes,
and continued to do my best, uncomplainingly. At
dark, George Wilson and I remained in camp, while
the others walked to Cadiz for further observations,
all returning by two in the morning. Tall Jim
and Hughes were very much elated over the second
visit, but I didn’t hear much of the reason for it
then. At dawn I prepared a mighty meagre meal,
after which there was more sleeping until two
o’clock in the afternoon. Then I was given something
to do, which was more to my taste than being
chief cook of the gang, though it was no sort of
a job a first-class bank burglar would delight in
doing. It was to inspect a hand-car shanty near
the railway about a mile this side of Cadiz, and
to ascertain if it were kept locked, and, in fact,
make preparations for a quick escape by rail to
Cadiz Junction. I returned in good season, fully
satisfying my associates with the report I made
them. Before dark I dished out the last round of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span>
food, much limited in quantity, which having been
eaten, there was a general hustling to get ready
for the job, it being decided to do it that night. I
would say at this point that it was Saturday, and
further, that I did not put another morsel of food
in my mouth, save two raw eggs and a nibble at
a chicken’s drumstick, until two o’clock in the
morning of the following Thursday. While this
fast was at its height I had the roughest experience
of all my eventful life.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_III" class="vspace">CHAPTER III<br />

<span class="subhead">THE CADIZ BANK LOOT</span></h2>
</div>

<p>We were to be ready at ten o’clock that night to
begin our work, and the hour having come upon us
almost too soon, there was not a little hurrying to
the various points at which each man had his part
to perform. I, having been assigned to the car
shanty, proceeded there, my purpose being to break
through the lock and have the car ready to be
pushed on to the track the moment my companions
came to me. I was cautioned to make no mistake;
not to be misled, by any one else walking on the
track, into the belief that my time had come to act,
and thus spoil the scheme for our escape. It is needless
to say that I quite realized my inexperience;
nevertheless I, with rising spirits, assured all hands,
more for Jack Utley’s ears than any one else, that
I would perform my part well, and that I was
no fool. I think my self-assurance rather pleased
George Wilson, for he smiled toward me in an
approving way.</p>

<p>It was dark that night, so I picked my steps to
the railway cautiously, while the others started for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span>
Cadiz, which was the last I saw of them for four
hours. Arriving at the car shanty, I soon had nothing
to do but wrestle with my own thoughts, for I
was absolutely alone, with nothing to divert me for
two hours at least. It was so much different from
being in the company of one or more of the gang.
Then I was either busy at some menial work for
them, or asleep, and had no time for my thoughts
to run riot. Now I began to feel the lack of that
assurance of which I had so recently boasted. Away
from Utley’s sneers and jeering words, I felt none of
that antagonism which usually ruled me. Instead
of it, the past came back—first my wrongs, then my
younger days, when life was like a dream; and I
thought that, no matter what had befallen me, no
matter how much injustice had been served out to
me, I should have stood up against it, and proclaimed
to the very last my innocence; and, that
availing me naught, to have suffered martyrdom, as
others much better than I had suffered. How I
was tortured with these reflections as the moments
dragged by! Once I did resolve, that, getting safely
back to New York and well out of the life I was
now leading, I would renounce my companions forever,
and make another and more persistent effort to
travel in a better path. While reason remains with
me I will never forget the mental racking that I
endured as those four long hours crawled on.</p>

<p>The part I had to do had been well performed, so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>
far as I could proceed, and it was, I imagined, not
far from two o’clock when it seemed to me I heard
the distant beating of feet coming from the direction
of Cadiz. The wind was blowing rather heavily
toward the village, now and then, one gust stronger
than another, so my ears may have been attuned to
its fitfulness, and I had really heard no more than
that. But listening intently for the least indication
of the approach of my companions, I could detect
no repetition of the tread of feet. At the moment,
however, I caught the tones of a distant bell striking
out two o’clock. Four hours had passed and not a
sign of them—my associates. I thought of the
word “associates.” They were mine in crime of a
truth, for already I was, if nothing more, criminally
implicated before the fact. If at the moment the
bank had actually been robbed, then I was one of a
band of bank robbers, with my part in the enterprise,
though small, as fully played, and I was equally
guilty. With this phase of the situation so clearly
before me, I turned to another, and perhaps more
important one. Where were these associates? Had
they come to grief; fallen into the hands of the law,
and would I not be sought for as their accomplice
in the crime? Perhaps the authorities had been
warned that a lot of safe burglars were waiting in
the neighborhood of Cadiz for game, the <em>fiasco</em> in
the West Virginian village having been the means
of spreading the information. All sorts of unreasonable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span>
and strange things flashed through my confused
brain. Nor will I state that I was not, for a
moment, on the very verge of forsaking my post, and,
putting forth my best speed, placing between me and
the present situation all the distance I was able to
before the coming of dawn. While this impulse
was with me, my ears again caught the sounds of
fast-moving feet, just as I had heard them a few
minutes before. I listened yet more intently, if that
were possible. Yes, I could hear more than one
person running toward me, though I could not see a
form fifteen feet away. I reasoned that no one, save
those for whom I was waiting, would be abroad in
that manner and at that hour, so I took the chance,
and, with all the strength I had, the hand-car, which
stood in the doorway of the shanty, was shoved down
to the track. The rough hemlock planking cracked
and creaked and splintered as the iron wheels ground
across them, and I was on the point of lifting the
car to the rails, or rather attempting to, when a
man rushed up to me, almost breathless, and threw
a satchel on the car. I had made no mistake, for it
was Eddie Hughes. A glance at the bag showed me
that it was bulging with its contents, and I knew
right away that the Cadiz job had been successful.
Tall Jim, Big Bill, Wilson, and Jack Utley came up,
in this order, a few minutes later, blowing like steam-engines.
The latter was so shy of breath that for
once in his life he could not grumble. No time was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span>
lost in catching vagrant breath and less in talk, so in
a jiffy the car was lifted to the track, and off we went
as fast as the crank could be turned. My blood,
which had been seemingly at a low ebb, began to
flow hotly with the excitement, and soon the depressed
spirits which had so greatly tormented me
were left far behind with the old car shanty. In
reality I was now the pal of crooks, actually had
taken part in a bank robbery, and, for the first time
in my life, was fleeing from a burglary of which I
was guilty. In fact, I began to feel that it was
better to have the “game” with the “name,” than
otherwise. If any one condemn me for this, I pray
it may be put down to an intoxication of the moment
and not to a callous heart. These brain flittings
gave way to thoughts of the propulsion of
our “bumpous” vehicle, for in shifts of four we did
our best, two men at each handle. When one pair
showed signs of weariness, they were relieved by
two fresh men, and so we six, in turn, kept at the
work. In this manner, at least two pairs of fairly
fresh arms were at the handles all the time. Notwithstanding
our energetic efforts, the rails being
rough and sadly out of repair, we made far from the
speed we desired; so the first streak of dawn was
flashing in the east when we got to Cadiz Junction,
which was only ten miles on our race to safety. But,
shifting the car to the main line, we pushed on eastward
toward Steubenville, for about two miles. Here<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span>
we put on brakes and paused for a consultation, all
hands agreeing it was getting almost too light for
further use of the car, and besides, we didn’t have
any idea of the schedule of trains on that line.
At any moment we might meet a locomotive, which,
to say the least, would cause us great concern in getting
out of its way, if, indeed, nothing worse resulted.</p>

<p>We didn’t stop long to consider any question,
time being too precious, but while five of us were discussing
these subjects, Tall Jim had tried unsuccessfully
to destroy any telegraphic communication that
might, uninterrupted, aid in our capture. Not being
equipped with the right sort of tools, he was compelled
to give up the task, having severed only a
few of the wires. He had climbed telegraph poles
and done all sorts of stunts, but could not sever all
the wires; therefore he might as well have spared
his efforts. But, for a fact, he did his best, and I
praised him for it.</p>

<p>By this time we had concluded that we might go
on a little farther; at least until we heard a train
approaching. As we might get separated at any
moment and each of us have to work out his own problem
of escape, Hughes handed us five hundred dollars a
man, with the understanding that we keep together,
if possible, until a safe hiding-place was found, where
we could remain until nightfall. In the temporary
refuge a plan of escape could be calmly discussed
and the final division of the spoils made.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span>
We hadn’t been on the fresh start long when it
was discovered that we were just ahead of the running
time of a passenger train. Tall Jim chanced to
recall that it was due at Steubenville a minute or so
before or after five <span class="smcap smaller">A.M.</span> As near as Jim could tell, it
was possible to run the car to the village before the
train reached there, in which event we could board
it and sooner get away from the neighborhood.
Nevertheless there was the chance that we would
not make Steubenville in season, therefore I declared
that I would not endanger, not only my neck by
a possible collision with a wildcat engine or the
passenger train, but my freedom as well, by proceeding
on an uncertainty. I argued that it had been
a useless task to break a bank successfully and then
throw away the spoils through a reckless disregard
of caution.</p>

<p>“I agree with the young feller,” put in Tall Jim,
“and I’ll not go another foot on this car.”</p>

<p>That settled it, for Wilson and Hughes fell into
our way of thinking also; and for the first time I
scored one against Jack Utley, though at the moment
it did not enter my head. We had been moving at
a fair rate of speed while this talk was going on,
and had rounded several sharp curves, blind to what
we were to meet beyond them, when my strong protest
bore fruit. The car was stopped and dumped
over the bank with a “heave ho”; whereupon I
came to the fore again, which must have seemed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span>
very much the upstart in me, and proposed what
next we’d better do.</p>

<p>“Boys,” said I, “we’d find it to our advantage not
to quit the railroad here, for the bank is nothing
but mellow ground. We must not leave a trail.
Let our pursuers believe that we have kept to the
rails. I know we can find a grassy bank near, and
over it we can get to the fields without leaving any
footprints.”</p>

<p>I have no doubt that my advice would have been
taken, had it not been for Utley, who would not, this
time, pause for an argument.</p>

<p>“What’s the odds,” he roared, as he trotted down
the soft bank, his shoes sinking into the mellow earth,
half-ankle deep. I loudly entreated the others not
to follow him.</p>

<p>“The hand-car will be missed,” I cried, so vexed
that I felt the hot tears burning in my eyes; “it will
be known, right away, that we took it. And what
then? If the people of the bank have any gumption,
they’ll have a special engine, with the sheriff on
board, after us in no time. I’m surprised that we
are not under arrest already.”</p>

<p>“Tush,” yelled Utley, who stood at the foot of the
incline, “are you fools going to stand and listen to
that kid? Come on out of this. Are you looking
for trouble?”</p>

<p>I still held the attention of the boys, they feeling
that my words were worth considering. I urged<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span>
them to prevail with Utley, whom I knew had much
influence with most of them, owing to his skill as a
safe-breaking expert.</p>

<p>“Boys,” I insisted, with all the earnestness I could
master, “it will mean our undoing to follow Utley.
See! he’s already in that fresh-ploughed field.
What better guide do we want to leave for those
after us to follow?”</p>

<p>“Are you fools still listening to that green kid?”
Utley shouted. “Come on, I say. He chatters like
a parrot. Less talk and more get-away is my plan.
Never mind how.”</p>

<p>It was useless for me to protest further now. I
was overruled. The party stalked down the soft
bank and on after Utley, who piloted them for some
distance through the sinking earth, which left a fine
trail after us. I turned to look at it, more to satisfy
my wounded feelings, I guess, than anything else.
It was so apparent to me that our escape was in
jeopardy, that I, after taking in the full significance
of the danger, determined to make another appeal.
If that was of no avail, why, I would quit the party
and shift for myself, regardless of the division of the
money.</p>

<p>“Stop for a moment, lads,” said I, “and listen to
me before I leave you. Most of you have been good
to me and took me in when I didn’t know where to
turn, but I’m not going to jail with my eyes wide
open, and I hate to see you do it. As for me, I’m<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span>
going to cut to that nearest field to the right of us,
and get to grass. The field we’re in leads to the
woods; so does that pasture lot.”</p>

<p>At this emphatic stand, a halt was called by Tall
Jim, with the result that all but Utley came to my
way of thinking, and followed my lead to the pasture;
and he too, after much swearing, seeing he was in
the minority, trailed along. But the mischief had
been done, as I have remarked. After reaching the
grass, where our course could not be traced to a
certainty, we made for the woods, which, to my
regret, proved to be a shallow ravine, with trees,
none too thickly placed for our purpose, on either
side. I announced that this was no spot for us to
dally in a minute; but Jack Utley went up in opposition
again, and producing a weapon in the shape of
a luscious-looking apple pie, as an argument with
which to beat the others into his way of thinking,
sat down at the bottom of the ravine, close by a
brook, and began to devour a part of it. This was
too much for the others, even Tall Jim, and they
sat down and joined in the pie-eating.</p>

<p>“In the name of common sense, lads, are you all
crazy?” I exclaimed angrily. “Will you invite
trouble? Mark my words, the constables will be on
our track in less than an hour. Will you plan for
days, win, and then throw all overboard for the lack
of a little reason?”</p>

<p>They would not heed me, even in earnest as I was,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span>
but, with appetites more than keen, continued to
greedily munch pie. I would have done the same
thing had I not fully realized the danger, being
hungry enough; but I ventured one more plea:
“Let’s get out of this trap, boys, and find a thick
woods, no matter how far we have to go. This
place will be the first to be searched, seeing that we
have made a beaten path almost to it. If we are
discovered, where, I put it up to you, will we find
cover? There’s nothing but open country on both
sides of us now.”</p>

<p>With his big, cavernous mouth—though all together
he was a good-looking chap, priding himself
much on being a ladies’ man—filled to overflowing
with pie, Utley managed to say: “Blather all you
want to, greeny; we’re going to stay right here till
night comes. We’re not fools enough to steer out
into the open country by daylight, and you might as
well smoke up.”</p>

<p>If it would have availed me anything, I might
have still argued; but as everything indicated to
the contrary, I stopped here, though I felt that a
real outpouring of hot anger upon the whole lot of
them would have lifted a great pressure from my
mind. Up to the moment of getting the money the
lads had used excellent judgment, but since then all
but Tall Jim had seemed to lack even the brains of
an idiot. And as for Jim, I saw that a big appetite
had suddenly clouded his intellect.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>
“Stay here if you like,” I said, as calmly as I was
able; “stay here and lose all you’ve gained, but do
it at your own risk, and don’t think, when it is too
late, that you’ve not been warned. As for me, I’m
going to strike for safety.”</p>

<p>Thus firing my last warning gun, I left them at
their pie-eating, and began a search for a hiding-place
suited to my own ideas. After much diligent scouring
over several acres of land, about an eighth of a
mile farther down the ravine, and a little from it, I
found a shelving ledge below which was a sort of
cave, where I believed a dozen men could stow themselves
away by a little squeezing. Though not much
of a cave to my mind, it seemed to be a place that
might not be discovered, though a right good search
of the neighborhood was made. Its mouth was
pretty well hidden in all directions by a scrubby
growth of bushes, though any one in hiding in it
could without much trouble see the ravine and hear
any one approaching from that quarter. So, returning,
I, with renewed arguments and armed with the
possibilities of my discovery, induced the lads, including
the pig-headed Utley, to occupy the new
refuge, they in the meantime having taken my
advice not to leave the slightest trace of our course
from the ravine. Having accomplished this, I experienced
a grim satisfaction I could not conceal
from Utley. I felt confident that I had warded off,
in a measure, the danger which he had brought upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span>
us by his headstrong plunging down the railroad
bank and in the ploughed field.</p>

<p>I had been deceived as to the space in the cave,
for I must tell it, that I may be truthful on all
points, that when all hands were inside, and well
out of the casual view of any one of the expected
searching party, there was scarcely an inch left in
which to move or change one’s position. But it was,
at all events, a real hiding-place.</p>

<p>It may appear rather of the dime-novel order, but
in chronicling this most thrilling experience of my
life I must tell that we had not been in our retreat
more than an hour when we were set a-tremble by
hearing voices in the ravine. When they were near
enough to be distinguished, we heard sufficient to
make us know who the disturbers were and what
they were after. Our feelings can be imagined as
we, remaining almost breathless, listened to the
shouts and heard the searchers beating into every
nook and corner of the ravine. And as the moments
passed we could hear them getting nearer and
nearer. Presently the pursuers were not more than
a dozen feet away.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_IV" class="vspace">CHAPTER IV<br />

<span class="subhead">AN EXPENSIVE CHICKEN</span></h2>
</div>

<p>At midnight the first telling stroke in the attack
on the Cadiz Bank was made when Eddie Hughes,
with a pair of nippers, “turned off” the key in the
front door of the cashier’s house. With him were
Big Bill, Jack Utley, and Tall Jim. On the outside
of the house was George Wilson, standing on guard,
ready to send a warning if danger were approaching
from that quarter.</p>

<p>“You remain here in the front hall,” said Hughes
to the trio, as he vanished in the still greater darkness,
his only guide being the occasional flash of a
bull’s-eye. He found the cashier’s sleeping room
without much trouble. On a chair at the bedside
was the cashier’s trousers, and in the bed lay their
owner and his wife. Both were sleeping soundly.
Hughes decided that the bank keys he wanted
were either in the clothing or under the cashier’s
pillow. If under the pillow, so much the more
hazardous the undertaking. He flashed his light on
the sleepers’ faces to make certain all was right.
The keys were found in the trousers, and Hughes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span>
had them in hand, when, evidently disturbed by
the instant glimmering of the light, the cashier
awoke. It was a critical moment, and Hughes,
knowing it, was prepared. Instantly, and probably
before the victim was fully aware of the true situation,
he felt strong hands about his throat and his
face forced in the bedclothing. The noise of the
struggle roused the wife, who cried out to know what
was the matter. It was a terrifying position for her,
to be thus awakened from a sound sleep and in the
dark, to hear strange noises and get no reply to her
call. Immediately she became quiet, and from all
accounts I believe she fainted from fright.</p>

<p>In the meantime, the men in the hall, being
on the alert, heard the cry and hastened to the
assistance of Hughes. Tall Jim threw a light for an
instant on the scene, and Big Bill helped to subdue
the cashier. Realizing at last his predicament, the
latter ceased to resist, and, cowed by the threat of
violence to him and his wife, promised implicit
obedience. Then they were securely bound hand
and foot, and left lying in bed, with Wilson, who
had been called in, to remain on guard.</p>

<p>Having secured the keys, Hughes and his associates
hastened to the bank. While they were
away, Wilson kept stern guard over his captives,
telling them that if they kept quiet, they would
not be harmed. Ninety-nine persons out of a
hundred would have done just as this cashier did,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span>
under the circumstances. Knowing my associates
as I afterward found them, it was well for the
cashier and his wife that they obeyed the instructions
to the letter. They were a desperate lot in a
pinch.</p>

<p>In the meanwhile, Hughes led the way to the
bank, where they made a cautious survey of the
surroundings, and finding them favorable, proceeded
to make the final strike for the loot. The watchman,
who had been under surveillance the night
before, had shown every indication of being a faithful
employee, so it was necessary to make certain
just where he was. This was accomplished by peeping
through a window which did not face the street.
The watchman was sitting behind the counter with
his back to the door, and, in the dim light not far
from him, he seemed to be awake.</p>

<p>The importance of making a clean job of overcoming
this bar to the vault was not lost to Hughes,
so it was decided that the unlocking of the bank
door must be done so quietly that at least one of our
party would be up to the counter before the watchman
knew of his presence. So, with this in mind,
Hughes worked the nippers on the key in the front
door lock. It turned without a click under the
deft handling of the expert, and the door was swung
open far enough for Hughes to peep in. The watchman
sat motionless. At the silent signal, all but
Tall Jim sprang over the counter only a step from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span>
the door, and were on top of the victim ere he could
make an outcry, or for that matter knew what was
amiss. It took less than a minute to stuff a rag in
his mouth, blindfold him, and bind him securely to
his chair. Hughes stood on guard while Utley and
Big Bill went at the vault lock. The keys did their
work, and it was the matter of but a few minutes to
transfer the cash and bonds to a satchel there for the
purpose. Besides this, the lads tied up a big bag of
silver coin, weighing much more than the average
man would care to carry a great distance, even
travelling at his leisure. It was a question, considering
the anticipated flight for safety, whether it
were wise to burden the party with the coin; but
Jack Utley said they’d better take it along, and so it
was decided. Ready to quit the bank, the doors
were left as they were found, and a quickstep was
taken back to the cashier’s house after Wilson.
They found everything satisfactory there, and with
a parting warning to the cashier that one of the
party would remain on guard outside of the house,
hurried away as rapidly as they could, being much
hampered by the bag of silver. When all hands
became convinced that the load was much like a
millstone about their necks, Hughes threw it over
a barnyard fence, somewhere on the outskirts of
the village. Notwithstanding, this tossing away
of so much money was done with many qualms of
regret, and I, upon hearing of it, in a measure could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span>
understand the feelings of my associates. No doubt
some early-rising farm lad that day made big, round
eyes when he espied the prize. Subsequent information
has not enlightened me as to whether the
bag of coin ever found its way back to the Cadiz
Bank. Unhampered by money,—so strange would
be the term without the explanation,—the lads now
made a dash for the hand-car shanty, Hughes, being
fleet of foot, leading with the precious black bag of
treasure tightly gripped.</p>

<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div>

<p>There being no one in the house besides the cashier
and his wife, no relief came to them till their negro
serving-woman, who slept at home, reported for duty
at five <span class="smcap smaller">A.M.</span> On going to the pantry, its tumbled
condition led her to suspect something was amiss. A
moment later and she had discovered her master and
mistress in their wretched plight and released them.
But for Jack Utley’s pantry thieving, in which he,
among other things, carried off two pies, they
would have remained prisoners some time longer.
As soon as possible the cashier was at the bank,
where he found the poor night watchman in his
unpleasant situation. Severing the bonds, he demanded
to know how it all had happened, not
forgetting to berate the poor fellow for being overcome
by the robbers. No doubt the cashier had
forgotten his own helplessness in his vain search
for something soothing for his mind, fully realizing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span>
that he and the other officials of the bank had a
grave situation to face. He lost little time, however,
in this sort of meditation, but, ascertaining in
a general way what the loss was, alarmed the constables
and sent a fleet-footed messenger to the
house of the sheriff, some distance away. Then he
went to the bank president’s residence, knocked
him out of bed, and, pale-faced, told him briefly
what had happened, after which there was a consultation
as to what steps must be taken to capture
the burglars and recover the property. At the
earliest moment telegrams were sent to the near-by
cities and railway stations, asking that all suspicious
men be detained, with the hope that such a
drag-net would bag the game.</p>

<p>About this time the section men found their car
shanty broken open and empty. They had not
heard of the bank robbery, but on complaining of
their loss to the authorities, the latter at once saw
a clew that might put them on the track of the
bank looters. There was only one way that the
hand-car could be run, and that was toward Cadiz
Junction, ten miles away. Those for whom they
sought had at least three hours the start, they
argued, so the problem which confronted them was
to reduce that advantage, and the only thing to
accomplish it was a locomotive. That was hired
and steamed up in the shortest possible time, and
when it was ready to move, a posse of constables,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span>
several deputy sheriffs, and still others not vested
with official authority, all armed for any encounter,
was at hand, and, piling aboard, the pursuit soon
began.</p>

<p>A close watch was kept on both sides of the
track with the hope of soon finding the hand-car.
It was not believed that the burglars would do
other than make a break for the more open country.
The question was how far they would go by rail
before branching off into the wooded land, which
was not inconsiderable in that particular neighborhood.
Not coming across the car at Cadiz Junction,
the pursuers learned, a little beyond there to
the eastward, that one had been seen going in that
direction, so, putting on all steam, they sped toward
Steubenville. Presently the overturned car was
sighted, and the party got down to reconnoitre;
whereupon they found many footprints, which lay
like a beaten path from the railroad side, across the
fence and into a ploughed field.</p>

<p>Satisfied that the game for which they sought was
not far off, as the marks in the soft earth were still
fresh, the pursuers examined their weapons, and,
quitting the track, bent to the trail. They lost it
upon reaching the field of grass, but, sighting a
ridge of trees, decided that there was the point to
which their game would steer. Reaching the woods,
they began to make a thorough search, presently
coming across footprints alongside a brook, besides<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span>
some crumbs, which they made out to be bread.
Here, they declared, the men they wanted had
breakfasted. The footmarks led to a stone a few
feet up the ravine. There they ended, to the confusion
of the posse, which then began to make a
search of any hiding-place they could find. For
hours they kept at it, many times giving up their
task, and as many times going at it again.</p>

<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div>

<p>“That was a d—d narrow call!” whispered Tall
Jim to me, as we, almost breathless, listened to the
tramping of receding feet.</p>

<p>“I don’t know how they came to overlook us,” I
returned softly, as I rubbed the cold drops of sweat
from my forehead. I was trembling like a leaf in
a strong wind.</p>

<p>There we were, packed in the cave I had so
fortunately found, like so many figs in a box. A
moment before several of our pursuers had been
standing on the rocky ledge above us, talking in
our very ears. Not more than ten feet away, we
heard them declaring their belief that we were hiding
in that very neighborhood; that we had had no
opportunity to get away, for if that were the case
some of the farmers thereabouts would have seen
us. Twice before this some of the posse had been
on the same shelving rock and discussed us without
stint, for the most part their talk being far from
complimentary to us; yet on one occasion I heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span>
a man speak as to our sagacity in so skilfully keeping
clear of their most diligent “search and scouring
of every nook and corner,” as he described it. From
the moment we heard the approach of our enemy,
when they beat into every hole and seam of the
ravine in a vain search there; from the moment
they discovered the crumbs of pie that Jack Utley
introduced in the ravine, which caused the posse to
declare that the trail was getting hot,—we lay in our
hole in the ground, with a few scrub trees or bushes
between us and discovery, wondering what the outcome
would be. When I say “we,” I mean all but
Eddie Hughes and George Wilson. They appeared
to be so exhausted for want of sleep that they would
slide off into a snoring match that I could only
break off by the frequent use of a pin. At the
time the pursuers made the second visit to the rock
over us, I vow that I jabbed it into Wilson’s leg a
score of times, to suppress a rising, insistent snore,
and then the pain was so great that it awoke him
enough to induce a bad humor. He was about to
rip out an oath, which I smothered at its birth by
pressing my hand hard over his mouth and whispering
in his ear. Then he awoke to the danger we
were in. Between caring for these sleepers and
wondering how long it would be before we would
be marched to jail, if we escaped with our lives, I
passed a most uncomfortable day, to say the least.
It was well toward the fading of the afternoon when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>
the enemy paid us a final visit; and when an hour
had worn by and nothing more was heard of them,
we began to take hope. Tall Jim had remarked
many times in that hour upon the narrow margin
that had lain between us and discovery.</p>

<p>“We owe it to you, George!” he said to me half
a dozen times. “That ravine was a mighty hot
place soon after we left it.”</p>

<p>I said nothing to these reminders of my sound
judgment, but I felt a sense of satisfaction, as no
doubt any one would, under similar circumstances.</p>

<p>Finally the shades of night began to come down,
and with them we crawled from our cramped quarters,
and having scanned the immediate neighborhood
as best we could in the twilight, found our
way to the brook in the ravine, where we treated
ourselves to a good wash and quenched our thirst,
using our hands for cups. Feeling somewhat better,
but subject to very serious clamorings for food, we
started for the Ohio River, hoping to follow it until
we reached Wheeling. We had not gone far when
I became convinced that we were moving in the
wrong direction, and so informed the lads. Jack
Utley, still smarting over the morning’s experience,
insisted that we were on the right course. He was
so positive, while I, though convinced in my own
mind, would not declare so to a certainty, that the
boys would not say nay to him. So, snubbing me
and insisting upon calling me an upstart, Utley continued<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span>
his leadership. About midnight, or thereabouts,
we came to a small stream of water, which
we were forced to wade, with the result that we had
a good wetting added to our discomfort, the water
coming well up to our waists. Reaching the other
side, to my astonishment Utley, who was still in the
lead, started up-stream.</p>

<p>“Now, see here, lads,” said I, savagely, “we are
all wrong as to our course.” I added, “Do you
want to make the Ohio River?”</p>

<p>“Certainly,” replied Tall Jim.</p>

<p>“Well,” I went on, “this stream empties into the
Ohio, and you’ll never find it by going up hill.”</p>

<p>“You have a cheek to tell me what course to
take,” put in Utley, angrily, adding a curse by way
of emphasis. Turning to Wilson, he asked, “Are
you going to stick with me, or are you for that
interloper?”</p>

<p>With this thrust at me, he resumed the course
up-stream, the others following meekly; and I, hardly
knowing what to do under the conditions, trailed on,
but doing some pretty tall thinking. After what
seemed about half an hour, Tall Jim called on Utley
to halt and declared he thought I was right. This
brought forth an argument from the obstructionist,
and considerable time was wasted in high words, but
to my relief it resulted in our course being reversed.
Retracing our steps, we continued alongside the
stream, and as we pushed on the moon showed its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span>
face, in some respects to our advantage, in others
not so much so. In the first place, it made travelling,
which had been difficult, easier, the darkness often
causing us to pitch headlong into pitfalls, and, on
the other hand, the better light made a much surer
mark of us, should we chance upon our enemies. As
it was not within our power to control the queen o’
the night, we tramped on, taking a great chance
of losing our liberty. Finally I decided to brave the
bulldozing tactics of Jack Utley, and, addressing my
words to George Wilson, though in a way to all, I
said, “It’s sheer folly to expose ourselves like
this!”</p>

<p>But Wilson cautioned me to refrain from expressing
my views a few minutes longer, which I did,
though feeling that we were walking into the lion’s
mouth. It was somewhat near two o’clock when
we came to a pike road, running parallel with the
stream, and upon pursuing it for a short distance,
we came up to a small village. The lads were
inclined to pass through it, but then I would not be
kept quiet.</p>

<p>“I’ll not go a step farther,” was my decision.
“Here we are, in a light fit to read a newspaper, taking
this tremendous chance. I’ll not do it longer.”</p>

<p>Addressing myself to Wilson, I continued: “You
must know that the whole country has heard of the
robbery by this time, and here we are, six of us,
wandering through a strange land, half the time not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span>
knowing where we are going. It’s simply a case of
breaking in jail, instead of keeping out of it.”</p>

<p>Again Wilson urged me to stick to him and the
gang, and to show a disposition to be ruled by the
majority, whatever my private opinions might be.</p>

<p>“Now, George,” I went on, “if there is anything
coming to me, I’ll meet you in New York and get
it.”</p>

<p>Still he, in a most kindly way, urged me to keep
along with them, declaring it would not be for much
longer. As I owed considerable to him for admitting
me to the gang, and as he had always treated
me in the most cordial manner, I consented to go on
with them for a short time. In the meantime, I
will say that we didn’t pass through the heart of
the village!</p>

<p>I think we had gone about two miles farther when
we sighted the Ohio River. There we paused for a
moment, to realize what we had accomplished. It
came back forcibly that we had passed over a very
eventful Sunday and a night of travel into Monday,
and had, in fact, been on the move or the anxious
seat for more than twenty-four hours. Indeed,
much had happened since we made that precipitous
flight from the Cadiz car shanty. I shall never
forget it.</p>

<p>Having our course well in hand now, we soon
came up to the railroad, which would take us direct
to Wheeling. As we plodded along the ties, we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span>
had less to think about our bearings, and consequently
more time to lend an ear to the yearnings
of our stomachs. We were much in need of food
to sustain our strength, for there was no telling
what we yet had to encounter. Jack Utley was
particularly hungry; or if not more so than the
rest of us, he was less philosophical about it, for he
presently insisted that he must appease the inner
man at any risk whatsoever.</p>

<p>“I’ll tackle the first hen-roost I spot,” said he,
emphatically.</p>

<p>“Better starve the stomach a little, than bar the
whole body,” spoke up Tall Jim, with an observable
emphasis on the word “bar,” which I interpreted to
mean jail. Thus thinking, I nudged Jim, by whose
side I was walking.</p>

<p>Just then we came abreast of a barnyard, upon
spying which Utley started on a sharp trot toward
it. I had a vision of dogs, flying men, and clews
thick enough to capture a regiment. I presume it
would have been fully as well if I had kept my own
counsel, but here was a man not only endangering
his own neck, but putting me in the same fix with
him.</p>

<p>“Jack Utley, you fool!” I cried to him as loudly
as I dared, “don’t you dare to do it. What’s
hunger alongside of our liberty?”</p>

<p>All I heard was a smothered reply, the tenor of
which I could guess without hitting wide of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span>
mark, and he went on his way, while we continued
on ours, hearing no sound for upward of three
minutes. Then there came to us a loud squawking
of a chicken, which was quickly stifled, only to be
succeeded by a chorus of similar squawks, the difference
in them being their tones, some tenor, others of
a lower scale of voice, the whole making a most
discordant and disheartening din to our ears. I
seemed to see ourselves in a pretty mess. There
lay the farm-house, plain in the moonlight, and
just in the rear was the barn. Two minutes later
Utley came rushing up behind us with a big fowl
stuffed under his coat, but a dead one, he having
wrung its neck.</p>

<p>The curses we flung at him from all sides were
like so much water on a duck’s back, his only retort
being something about his stomach,—that it had to
be considered once in a while. I feared the worst
would come of this experience, and so remarked to
the whole lot of them. As we went on I thought
I heard the slam of a door, and, halting the lads for
an instant, listened intently, but heard nothing more
like it.</p>

<p>After hurrying forward for two miles or more,
a deep cut was encountered, through which the
track went, curving somewhat to the left where the
bank on either side was the highest. Notwithstanding
the bright moonlight, there was plenty of
shadow at this curve, and not knowing what the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span>
darkness might conceal from us, we halted while
Hughes went to investigate. He returned in a few
minutes, and we could tell by his manner that he had
something interesting to relate.</p>

<p>“What do you think,” said he, in beginning, “I
found at the other end of the cut? There was
a shanty with several straw bunks in it. I did the
soft-foot and found there wasn’t any one inside,
but there had been, for the straw was yet warm
from the duffers that had lain in it. A little
beyond the shanty, sitting against a pile of ties, I
saw two men, smoking pipes, because I could see the
fire of the tobacco. On the way back I tripped my
foot against something, and, by—, if it wasn’t a rope
stretched across the track. It was lucky for me
that I hit it just as I did, else there would have been
a row.”</p>

<p>Immediately I saw in this rope a trap that had
been laid for us. It was expected that any one
hurrying along that way would stumble over the
rope and thus give an alarm. Evidently the men
hanging about the shanty were officers of the law,
waiting for us, but as it was getting very late they
had given up the idea of seeing us that night. I
was about to say this to Hughes, but he continued:
“It was well for us that the moon was up and we
thought best to investigate that cut. It was a trap
dead set for us, boys, you can bet your very last
cent.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span>
“Right you are, Eddie,” said Big Bill, who seldom
said anything. It was a pretty important
matter that brought an unnecessary word from him.</p>

<p>There was nothing to be done but to make a wide
<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">détour</i>, which we did, returning to the railroad
about half a mile below the shanty. Continuing
this route until half daylight, we concluded to leave
the track and strike off into the country and camp
there for the day. We had gone a mile, or such a
matter, when we came up to a strip of woods in
which was a deserted hut.</p>

<p>“Here’s where I eat chicken,” said Utley, as soon
as he set eyes on the place. “I don’t stir from here,
cops or no cops, till my belly stops grumbling. Do
you all hear?”</p>

<p>I waited for one of the others to protest against
building a fire, but no word came, so I spoke up,
though much against my will: “For heaven’s sake,
Utley, don’t attempt to roast your chicken here.
It’s daylight now, and smoke can be seen for miles.
It’ll betray us, as sure as hades.”</p>

<p>“Now, youngster, stop your confounded blathering,”
was his reply. “I’ll tell you once for all, my
belly isn’t going hungry when chicken’s around.”</p>

<p>And, true to his threat, he started a fire, which
sent up a cloud of smoke, and after half an hour he
passed around portions of the fowl, which, though
not well enough cooked, was most grateful eating.
I was too hungry to refuse a drumstick when George<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span>
Wilson handed me one, and I confess that I ate it
greedily, not having had a morsel to eat for fully
thirty-six hours. I had disdainfully declined to
partake of Utley’s pie in the ravine away back.</p>

<p>“Now that you’ve made a smoke, Jack,” said I,
“let’s move our camp to another clump of woods
I see about a mile farther on, before the fire of another
sort comes on the heels of your smoke.”</p>

<p>My persuasion was potent, and presently we were
located in a sort of hollow on a wooded side-hill. At
the base of the hill was a thick undergrowth, and
beyond that was a brook in a meadow. We had a
splendid vantage, from which we could see any one
approaching from the lowland. But our rear faced
the railroad, and at the top of the hill was an open
ploughed field. As to danger coming from over the
hill at the rear, most of us thought that it wouldn’t
reach us that way.</p>

<p>The time had now come when the treasure satchel
was to be opened and the division made. Eddie
Hughes was master of the treasury, and as such
divided the cash and bonds into six equal parts.
This was interesting to me, for I wasn’t sure that I
would be reckoned in a share and share alike, but
would be put off with a few hundred dollars. The
total amount of the haul was a few hundreds more
than two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, consequently
I was given forty-two thousand for my
share, seven thousand of which was in paper money.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span>
Strange things have happened in my life of turmoil,
but no incident has impressed me in so peculiar
a manner as when my eyes fell on the first twenty-dollar
bill handed me by Hughes. I read on the
face of the bill the name of “C. L. Beals, Cashier,”
and when I saw after this signature, “First National
Bank of Winchendon, Massachusetts,” I knew that
the author of that signature was a man with whom
I had done thousands of dollars’ worth of business,
had sold him carload upon carload of grain and other
merchandise. It seemed as though there must be
some hidden significance in that strip of paper money,
belonging away up in New England, coming into my
possession as a part of the proceeds of the first bank
burglary in which I had engaged. There I sat on
the side-hill on Ohio soil and looked long on this
reminder of my own native hills far away.</p>

<p>Presently George Wilson asked me if I were magnetized
by the money god, which aroused me from
my revery. I said nothing of what had so engrossed
me, deeming it too sacred for discussion. I carefully
wrapped my treasure in a piece of brown paper which
Hughes gave me, and put it in my pocket. All but
Wilson did likewise. He scratched away some dead
leaves from under a log and hid his share there. It
was in a small satchel. He said that he wouldn’t
lose it in case we were surprised by the constables.</p>

<p>In thinking over my treasure I could not but feel
some satisfaction in possessing it, though I had committed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span>
a crime. But a week before I had left New
York with only a few dollars, five of which I could
actually claim as my own. Here I was, the owner
of more than forty thousand dollars. I felt myself
growing so satisfied with having this money, gained
through crime, that I tried to crush the feeling. It
seemed impossible. There was some compensation,
at least, in having the “name” and the “game.”
Hitherto I had had the “name” and some one else
had the game. In the former case I had been dealt
out rare injustice, in which I had lost my hard-earned
competence, but now, though I had the name of being
a thief, yet I also had the “game,” and that several
thousands of dollars more than I had ever possessed.
But on the heels of these reflections, some of which
were far from soothing, I was presently drawn to the
fact that I was not yet out of the woods, possibly my
revery being interrupted by hearing Big Bill tell what
his plans would be when he got back to New York.</p>

<p>“Better not count your chickens before they’re
hatched,” was my comment, in a tone of warning,
yet withal said good-naturedly.</p>

<p>Jack Utley, who had been discussing Big Bill’s
plans, seized upon the opportunity to take another
thrust at me. Said he: “You’re always conjuring
up bugaboos. How the devil is it possible for the
cops to trail us here in these woods?”</p>

<p>“Squawking fowls and smoking fires, Jack Utley,”
I retorted, being unable to refrain from poking back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span>
at him. He shrugged his broad shoulders, smothered
an oath, and went back to the air-castle building
with Bill. After they had tired of that pastime,
they and the others spread themselves out on the
ground and prepared to sleep. Before Wilson
dropped off he and I had agreed to leave the party
at nightfall and strike out on our own hook. I
told him that he might rest easy; that I would stay
on guard, as I feared that we would not get out of
our troubles so easily as some of us thought.</p>

<p>The day wore on slowly enough, as I watched the
declining sun or kept my ears trained for any suspicious
sounds and my eyes alert for anything that
might indicate the approach of the enemy. I longed
for twilight, when Wilson and I would leave the
gang.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_V" class="vspace">CHAPTER V<br />

<span class="subhead">A ROCK CLEFT FOR ME</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Jack Utley’s persistent disregard of all caution
worried me much. As I thought of his chicken-stealing
episode and of the fire he insisted upon
having in the old hut, it occurred to me that we
might even at the moment be under the surveillance
of some of our enemies. Seeing the smoke in the
distance, they might have suspected that we were
the cause of it, and, circling to our rear, come over
the hill and rush down on us. I determined to keep
a close watch on all sides.</p>

<p>I was gazing up the hill, a little to the right of
our camp, somewhere about four o’clock, when I
detected the sound of fast-approaching feet. Instantly
my heart was set beating at a furious rate.
Scenting danger, I hurriedly roused the lads, telling
them what I had heard, and warning them to get
ready for flight. Even as I finished a horseman
came in view, but from his position I wasn’t certain
that he’d seen us. We all crouched low, and were
beginning to feel that all was well, when he wheeled
about and planted his horse on the hillside only a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span>
few rods below us and a little to the left. Immediately
he <span class="locked">yelled:—</span></p>

<p>“Come on with the guns, boys. Here they are,
like woodchucks in their holes.”</p>

<p>This shout was responded to by half a dozen
farmers on foot, most of them armed with either a
shotgun or a pistol. Down they came upon us, firing
and yelling at the same time. Their deliberation
told me better than words that they had a
perfect knowledge of what the game was they were
after. And what was worse, they showed unmistakably
that they would get us, even if they had
to fight to the end. My fears, therefore, that we
would be traced had not been groundless, after all.
Jack Utley’s foolhardiness was reaping its penalty,
and we all must suffer.</p>

<p>At the first shout of the horseman below, who
seemed not to be armed, we dashed down the hill,
diagonally away from him. He made no move to
intercept us. As a matter of fact, he was in range
of his comrades’ guns and did not dare to get too
near us, around whom the small shot and some bullets
were flying thick as hail. George Wilson and
I kept together as best we could, but presently I
heard him groan, and a side glance showed me that
his left arm was hanging limp at his side. One of
my fingers was stinging from the glance of a shot,
which, however, left no wound.</p>

<p>“Follow me, George,” I shouted, as I ran toward<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span>
a thick wall of undergrowth, and he came on. I
reached the bushes, followed, as I supposed, by Wilson,
and, making as wide a path as I could for him,
pushed on, never looking behind, though I lost my
hat and had my face sadly scratched with the sharp
twigs. Presently I was conscious that more than
Wilson were after me, and, not knowing who they
might be, I redoubled my speed, and, avoiding the
fate of the hapless wife of Lot as told in Holy
Writ, did not look behind, but bounded over a wide
brook and dashed across a meadow, leaving those
following some distance to the rear in a few minutes.
Then I paused to catch my wind, and saw, to
my surprise, Jack Utley and Big Bill coming as fast
as they could in my direction, but George Wilson
was nowhere to be seen. I was much disappointed
over this, and felt that I ought to have paid more
heed to him, wounded as he was, though I remembered
what the lads had said once about the sort of
chivalry I had in mind: that the misfortune of one
man was not sufficient reason for his mate or mates
to risk capture to go to his relief; for, as they put
it, one man in jail and the others out with money
could do more to aid him than a thousand men in
jail with him.</p>

<p>When my associates came up we resumed our
flight, wondering the while what had become of the
other half of the party, and how it was that none of
our pursuers was in sight. We decided that they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span>
had gone after the lads who had fled in another
direction, and in the mix-up we had got away. Our
best means of escape seemed to be up a road which
led past a farm-house. As we ran, a woman, near
whom were several children, all gazing at us, called
out that three of the robbers had turned into the
left fork of the road a few rods ahead of us. We
realized right away that the woman believed us to
be some of the pursuers, instead of the pursued, and
it was thought best for our safety to let her retain
that opinion.</p>

<p>As we turned into the right fork, which seemed to
be only a narrow path through thick woods, the
woman shouted to us, “They went the other way.”
Utley called back that two of the pursuing party had
already gone that road, and that it would be better
if we took the right fork. Thus assuring the good
woman, we broke into a smart pace and soon left her
behind a turn in the road. Our route was little
travelled, winding here and there, but averaging to
the right, occasionally through a sparse wood and
sometimes across a rocky chasm, and finally into a
ravine, at the end of which, a considerable distance
over a valley, could be seen a hill of no mean height.
After hastening on for ten minutes, it became evident
to me that my companions were beginning to feel
that dangerous sort of security which I so dreaded.</p>

<p>“Let’s foot it as fast as we can for that hill ahead,”
I said, pointing it out, “and having climbed to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span>
other side, we can double back on our pursuers, and
come pretty near the point from which we were driven.”</p>

<p>To my satisfaction there was no balking at this,
and, starting with renewed vigor and speed, we had
been going perhaps five minutes when I saw, with
much concern, that Big Bill was handicapping us
not a little. His upward of two hundred pounds of
flesh and bone were retarding him mightily.</p>

<p>“Come, come, Bill!” I called back to him; “for
goodness’ sake, run. We’ll never get clear of this
gang.”</p>

<p>“I can’t, I’m tuckered,” he gasped; “you fellers
had better go on, if you’re in a hurry.”</p>

<p>At that moment I spied what appeared to be a
deserted coal mine, only a little distance from the road.
Stopping, I pointed it out to my associates and suggested
that it was our only chance, since Bill was
unable to keep up the pace.</p>

<p>“We’ll get in that, wade or swim through the
water, as it may be,” I explained, “and perhaps we
can hide from the enemy till night comes; then we
can go on again.”</p>

<p>Utley objected to this, in the meantime eying the
pool of water, which looked more like liquid mud
than anything else, with great concern. I vow it
seemed to me that he was fearful of soiling his soft
hands or ruffling his collar; and such a time it was,
indeed, to have so great an admiration for himself!</p>

<p>“Very well,” I replied to his objections, “I’m<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span>
going in that hole, and you and Bill can trot as you
will.” And leave them I did without another word.
They continued on up the ravine, while I picked my
way to the opening in the mine. I found it, as I
have said, full of water that had the appearance of
clay. The light shone back through the opening for
thirty feet. An ordinary sized man could not stand
erect, reckoning from the surface of the water to the
roof. I could see fully fifty feet in this hole as I
grew more accustomed to the interior, and I believed
I saw a rocky shelf, easily accessible above the water.
Immediately beyond it all appeared to be darkness.
As I regarded it, there seemed to be only one way to
reach that sweet refuge before me, and that was by
getting through the mudpool.</p>

<p>Hiding my treasure under some leaves where there
seemed to be no danger of it being disturbed, and
taking a careful note of the location, I held my pistol
in one hand over my head and stepped in the little
mud lake, so to speak, expecting that I would have
to swim to the rock. I found, much to my relief,
in the beginning at least, that the water was not
more than shoulder high, and gave promise of being
no deeper as I advanced. Again and again,
with the utmost difficulty, I kept my feet from
fastening into the heavy bottom. Presently I felt
myself sinking into a still more dangerous bed of
some yielding substance, from which it seemed
almost an impossibility to withdraw my feet. I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span>
alarmed. If this continued, I knew what it meant
to me—death by drowning at the very least, and
perhaps worse: slow starvation, with death longed
for at the end, unless some one came to hear my cries,
and released me from a horrible imprisonment.</p>

<p>With hope all but gone, I made one more effort,
which must have been the strength of madness, and
succeeded in getting a half-dozen feet farther on,
where there seemed to be firmer bottom. A cold
perspiration like that I have heard visits the dying was
on my brow and I was trembling like an aspen. It
was well for me that I had reached a more secure
footing. Looking about, I saw the rock for which
I had started, and much nearer than I had believed
it to be. How beautiful it looked, covered as it was
with clay wash and amid its damp, unsightly surroundings.
As I rested for a moment my mind was
filled with the old song I had so often, in younger
days, heard my father and mother sing; that hymn
familiar in every part of the <span class="locked">globe:—</span></p>

<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let me hide myself in Thee.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>

<p class="in0">For the first time in my life I caught the real spirit
of what they must feel who, fully realizing their
helplessness in the depths of sin, suddenly know
that in the Saviour, emblemized in the Rock of
Ages, they have found their eternal refuge.</p>

<p>I say I believe that they must feel as I did, when,
exhausted, staggering, and on the verge of falling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span>
down in the mudpool, I finally dragged myself up
the incline to the rock, that precious rock, and fell
upon its sustaining bosom. I could not have gone a
foot farther, for the battle with the treacherous mud
bottom had shorn me of all the strength and nerve
I possessed. In a moment I would have sunk into
the death trap which seemingly yawned for me.</p>

<p>I lay on the rocky shelf for fully five minutes,
perhaps longer, ere I could find strength to draw my
body entirely from the water. Then, with my clothing
hanging like so much lead to my weak frame,
and shivering with the chill of the atmosphere until
my teeth were chattering, I painfully crawled farther
back on the precious support, wondering if, after all
my wrong-doing, it had not been cleft for me.</p>

<p>For fully half an hour I had no wish or inclination
to stir. It was yet daylight when I finally got
myself together, and then for the first time I had
leisure to notice my bedraggled appearance. I was
a sight to behold, being veneered with a sort of
clay wash that rendered me, I’ll warrant, to one
fifty feet away, not unlike my surroundings. I was
a man of clay, but not of the pure quality, for I
found my clothing underneath, after a little vigorous
rubbing. So would appear the baser metal through
the wash of fine gold, after similar treatment. The
only anxiety I felt now was the possibility that the
enemy would discover the mine. They might know
in the beginning, what I had learned after a terrible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span>
experience, that it was an undeveloped coal mine,
and, too, they might have a better way of investigating
it. I could only hope that they would feel
certain no living being would have the temerity to
exploit it.</p>

<p>Presently the murmur of voices, which grew more
distinct each moment, reached me, and, steadying
my nerves as well as I could, I watched and waited
for developments. They came quickly, for a crowd
of men, armed with muskets and shotguns, passed
along the road in my view, and with them were my
two associates, Big Bill and Jack Utley. It was
easy to note that the latter were prisoners. In the
momentary glance I had at them there was no
doubt of their identity, and I heartily wished they
had come along with me, though not long before I
had felt truly gratified for their leave-taking. Many
times had Utley’s pig-headedness gotten us into
trouble, from which some of us managed to pull
the party through; but his last perversity had been
the undoing of himself and Big Bill. I had feared
all along that he would get us all lodged behind
prison bars.</p>

<p>But it was fast growing dark, and I had no more
time for this sort of meditation; so, crawling along
the side of the rock until I reached the water, I
stepped in, and keeping well up against the sloping
wall of the mine entrance, I managed to get out of
my hiding-place with a minimum of difficulty, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span>
compared with my distressing experience in getting
in it. Out in the free air once more, I soon possessed
myself of the treasure under the leaves, and,
proceeding cautiously, soon made my way back to
the fork of the road near the farm-house. Here I sat
in a shadow and carefully went over the situation.</p>

<p>I wondered whether or not George Wilson, poor
fellow, had escaped, handicapped as he was, and
whether Tall Jim and Eddie Hughes had done as
they declared they would do, before surrendering. I
shuddered. If I had dared, I think I would have
prayed that no murder be committed in this affair.
The thought of it made a cold chill thread my spine.
At that moment I resolved that never, should I
continue the life I had entered, would I kill a
fellow-man, even though my life be taken as the
penalty. And I have kept my word to the letter.</p>

<p>My thoughts returning to Wilson, I recalled that
he had not had an opportunity to get his treasure
satchel from under the log, when the enemy came
upon us. I wondered if the searching party had
found it, and counted the cost to venture back to
camp and find out. Having become accustomed to
danger, I determined to recover the treasure, believing
it to be well worth the risk,—not for myself,
however, but for Wilson. I thought it only just
to save him his treasure, if I could do so without
getting my neck in too much danger. He would
better have it than many another man who might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span>
find it. And there was the chance that it would
never be found and that eventually the elements
would destroy what could be of great benefit to
even me.</p>

<p>Accordingly I started, skirting the woods so as
to approach our late camp at the rear, in about the
same manner the enemy had taken us by surprise.
I proceeded with great caution, not forgetting that
I might be entrapped. When I had gained a point
nearly abreast the log, I struck my foot against a
stone. It was well rounded and weighed fully
thirty pounds. It occurred to me that this stone
could be used as a decoy should any one be scheming
to entrap me. Sent rolling down the hill, if some
of the enemy were about, they would be quite likely
to pursue the stone, while I would get the bag and
flee in the opposite direction. I believed the scheme
worth trying, and accordingly sent the stone crashing
down the hill. Great heaven! It seemed to
me that it was urged on by some unseen master
hand. Down, down it rolled, bounded, and crashed
through dried leaves and twigs, bushes, and against
tree-trunks. With the first noise from the stone
there came the sound of many feet close by, and I
sped off with all my might across the field as though
a thousand imps were at my heels. I never ran so
in my life, not when I was a farm lad away up in
old New Hampshire. Indeed, I did not stop until
I had placed a mile between me and the ill-fated<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span>
woods. That our pursuers had discovered the bag
of cash and were in waiting for some one of our
party to return and get it was beyond question. I
would not venture near the place again for all the
money the Cadiz bank vault could hold.</p>

<p>Resting for a few minutes, I listened for any indication
that I had been followed, and finding none,
started out on a bold plan to walk my way back to
Steubenville in the very teeth of the enemy. The
very daring of the thing, I believed, would see me
safe on my way to New York. So determined, I
struck out, as near as I could tell, on a direct route
to the railroad leading to Wheeling, which we had
abandoned at daybreak.</p>

<p>It was not much like the night before when Utley
stole the chicken. Then there was a part moon, unclouded,
while now there was a sort of haze that made
walking rather uncertain. I picked my steps slowly,
pausing now and then to listen for anything that
might be construed into a signal of danger. I gave
the railway cut where the rope had been stretched a
wide berth, and, coming back to the track again, continued
at a rapid pace until the first streaks of dawn
began to warn me that I must soon get under cover
for the day. In crossing a bridge through which a
turnpike ran under the railroad, I found at the back
of one of the stone abutments what seemed to be an
excellent hiding-place for my treasure. Carefully
putting the cash and bonds far down in an opening,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span>
and placing stones over the top, I made as I hoped, a
safe depository, until I could reach New York, and,
fixing myself up, return and get the proceeds of my first
bank loot. But again a tremor of remorse came over
me at the thought of the way this treasure had come
into my possession. I drowned it quickly, however,
and seeing a brook not far off, drank freely to quench
a terrible thirst, filled my water flask, and began to
search for a hiding-place.</p>

<p>The first barn I visited had no hay in which I could
stow myself, nor had the second, though there I discovered
a couple of hen’s eggs, much to my delight,
yet wishing that I had come across a dozen. Carefully
I put them away, and going to the next barn,
was doomed to disappointment, finding no haymow
in which I dared to hide. But it was growing so light
that I must not go on farther, courting discovery, so
I crawled under the barn through a hole in the flooring,
and, squeezing myself along, I presently got to
within ten feet of one of the under-pinning walls,
where there was scarcely room enough for me to
move my body. Setting to work with my bare
hands, I dug, with much difficulty, a hole in the
ground that would permit me to sit upright with
some sort of comfort. The damp, sour earth I had
removed was formed into a sort of breastworks,
facing the direction from which I had come, while
toward the wall the space between the flooring was
so narrow that I feared no detection from that source.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span>
Thus intrenched, I realized for the first time that my
fingers were torn and bleeding, not being accustomed
to playing the part of a spade. But I bore the pain
without a murmur, believing that, if I escaped capture,
I must work out my salvation with much privation
and no end of hardship.</p>

<p>That I was in for a hard day I had no doubt. In
a welcome haymow I could have buried myself and
caught a few minutes of needed sleep, but here I did
not dare to contemplate it; besides it was so damp
that I feared to catch a chill that would be the death
of me. I must keep my circulation up as best I
could. I had forgotten the eggs, which I had guarded
from damage during all the worming journey to my
retreat, and soon I was taking the first nourishment
to pass my lips since the bite of chicken about twenty-four
hours previous. I ate them as slowly as I
could, seemingly in an attempt to stave off the
moment when I would not have anything else to eat.
The burning thirst I had had for several hours was
increasing, but I sipped from my flask in a most sparing
manner, hoping to make my water supply last
until I could replenish it.</p>

<p>It was not long after I had settled myself down to
a long wait that I heard voices not far off, and presently
two boys, probably not more than eight or ten
years old, were passing the barn. I detected the
sniffing of a dog at the under-pinning wall and then
a furious barking and the rapid pawing of feet.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span>
Evidently the dog had scented the fresh earth I had
turned up and took it to mean that there was game
not far off. It made me apprehensive. I wished that
such a beast as a dog never had been created. Everything
but a calm facing of the situation possessed me.
While my thoughts were running amuck, the boys
had been drawn into a discussion by their dog. I
think that this resulted in calming my nerves. One
boy, the younger one I judged by his voice, declared
that Major had scented a woodchuck, and that they
must help him find it.</p>

<p>“Naw!” contradicted the other; “don’t ye know,
foolish, that woodchucks don’t keep under barns?”</p>

<p>“They might, you funny!” argued the little
fellow. “Let’s see? Sick ’im, Maje! sick ’im!”</p>

<p>The pattering of paws I had heard was renewed
with great energy, interspersed with growls and
plentiful yelps of impatience.</p>

<p>“Aw, come on!” called out the big boy; “they
ain’t nothin’t heyar! I tell ye no woodchucks stay
under barns; it’s rats!”</p>

<p>This display of wisdom and emphatic decision put
an end to the little fellow’s case, and much to my
relief Major was dragged away from the wall. But
it wasn’t the end of my troubles from that source
entirely, for three times during the day the pestiferous
dog renewed the attack on my peace of mind,
each time being called off by his masters. Between
these visits I was seized with an intense desire to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span>
sleep, but, as I have said, did not feel it safe to humor
my brain. It seemed to me about like attempting
to commit suicide. Twice I discovered myself
drowsing away, and fearing to trust my will again, I
fished a pin from my clothing and prepared to jab
myself the instant I felt the drowsy desire mastering
me. Afterward I found many little wounds in my
arms and legs which at first I could not account for,
but tardily was reminded of the manner in which I
had applied that pin.</p>

<p>As night came on I began to feel less fearful, having
an idea that discovery under these conditions
would not necessarily mean capture, for I could run
for it and evade any pursuit in the darkness. Having
as a youth spent many days on the farm, I felt
at home in the fields and hills; and now I possessed
the confidence in myself, that with half a chance I
could outwit those who were, no doubt, on every
side, anxious to capture me. At last evening came,
and I crawled out into the world again, so to speak.
The word “crawled” expresses to a dot just what
I did do; for not only while getting from under the
barn, but after I got outside, I was so cramped that
walking was impossible for several minutes. It
was as though my locomotion had been suspended
by rust. Presently I managed to rise to my feet,
and, finding a brook behind the barn, quenched my
thirst, washed myself, and refilled my flask.</p>

<p>Feeling very much refreshed, I headed for the railroad<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span>
track and, with my eyes and ears open, arrived
at the outskirts of Steubenville in the vicinity of
one o’clock in the morning of Wednesday, having
been tramping and dodging my enemies nearly
seventy-two hours. Avoiding the principal streets,
I gained the other side of the town, where I
took time to decide whether I would go on foot
to Pittsburg, sixty-five miles away, or seek out a
barn, and, lying low until night, board an east-bound
train at Steubenville and make the journey by rail.
I chose the latter course and then set out to find
a suitable hiding-place, daybreak being fast on
my heels before I had accomplished it. The best I
could do was a small barn in which there was less
than a thousand pounds of hay in a loft about a
man’s height above the floor of a cow stable. With
my water flask full, but no food to nourish my body,
my stomach painfully distressing me for want of it,
I burrowed under the hay, and with but a few feet
between me and the stable, and no more than four
feet of covering above me, I fixed myself as comfortably
as I could for the day. All together it bade
fair to be a much more acceptable stopping-place
than the last one.</p>

<p>Soon after the sun rose—that I could tell by the
appearance of things below me—some one came to
the stable. It was the farmer or one of his men,
I reckoned, but a man I knew it to be, by the
unintelligible mumbling he kept up, a habit very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span>
frequently possessed by men when alone, though
unconscious of it. As I lay perhaps less than a
foot at times from the man’s head, I could hear and
sometimes see every move he made; and when he
was on the stool at the side of the cow, I could hear
the see-sawing “swirr” of the milk streaming down
in the pail, and I heartily wished I had a big
panful of the rich life-giving fluid in my almost
famished stomach. For the moment I was carried
back to my old farm home and its happy days, when
I had milk in plenty to drink, but had not the appetite
for it that possessed me as I lay in the hay-loft.</p>

<p>While the farmer was in the stable I did not dare
to stir, the hay being thick with seed and a fine
substance that would shower below through the
open floor at the slightest movement I made. Having
finished his morning chores, the man left, and I
had the barn to myself until about noon, as near as
I could judge, when I was aroused from a sort of
a doze by the voices of three young girls. They
had come to hunt eggs, I heard them say, and right
away I wondered if it would take them up in my
hay-loft. How they did chatter; I thought the
music of their happy voices was about the sweetest
I had listened to in many days. I lay still, for the
time being, forgetful of my surroundings, just feasting
my ears, when suddenly my enjoyment was
turned into apprehension; for the dear little girls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span>
had taken it into their heads to transfer the scene
of their egg-hunting from the lower part of the
barn to the hay-loft.</p>

<p>Sure enough, the next minute they came scrambling
up on the hay, and finding none of the article
of which they were in search, began to romp,
tumble, chase each other, roll over and over, and
in many other ways disport themselves in the
hay over me, until the seed and dust well-nigh
filled my ear that was uppermost and found a way
into my clothing, while my nostrils were choked so
that breathing was rendered most difficult. But
that was not the worst of it, for I was suddenly
seized with an almost ungovernable desire to sneeze.
I trembled at what the consequences might be, were
I to give way to this very natural rebellion of my
much imposed upon nose. I speak of it now in an
attempted vein of humor, but then it was a serious
predicament in which I was placed. A real healthy,
atmosphere-tearing sneeze might mean my undoing,
after having come safely through many dangers to
a point where I was beginning to believe that I
would outwit my enemies. Once I choked back
a spasm that caused my ears to snap and my eyes
to bulge from their sockets. I could not possibly
withstand another attack like that, I felt sure. I
was in a desperate situation, when the girls, suddenly
becoming weary of their romp, climbed down
from the loft and ran laughing from the barn.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span>
I’ll warrant they hadn’t gone twenty paces, when
I emitted a tornado of a sneeze that shook me from
top to toe. What it would have done for me I
fully realized upon hearing the stamping of hoofs
among the startled cows below me. For a few
minutes I lay quaking with dread, but after a little
I was glad that I and the dumb brutes underneath
were the only witnesses as to that sneeze. After the
possibility of danger was passed, I couldn’t feel
otherwise than gratified over the action of nature,
which had relieved me of the awful tickling in my
nostrils, and left in its stead the delicious sensation
of clear respiration.</p>

<p>The afternoon wore on without my nerves receiving
further shocks, as I continued in my nest of hay.
The farmer came in and did his milking, which
told me that it was nearly sunset; and after I heard
the slamming of doors I concluded that it was about
time for me to begin my next move on the road
toward New York and freedom from the dread of
momentary arrest. I was dull for want of sleep,
and half ill with the constant gnawing in my food-craving
stomach, but I knew that I must press on;
so, leaving my nest, I cautiously let myself out of a
rear door of the barn, and, hunting up a brook near
by, washed myself hurriedly, put more water in my
flask, and started through the barnyard to the road.
Suddenly my heart was set to throbbing violently
by coming close up to a man standing near a fence.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span>
It was no doubt the farmer who owned the place.
It was too late to retrace my steps, so, putting on a
bold front, I said “Good evening” and passed on.
He may have answered, that I don’t know; but he
did eye me curiously, as he had a perfect right
to do, under the circumstances. I haven’t the least
doubt that a man, a stranger in fact, walking hatless
in a fellow’s premises about dark, is an occurrence
not quite of the common order. It was gratifying
to me to know that night had set in enough
to hide from him the clay-washed clothing I wore
and the abundance of hayseed and dust that did
anything but adorn my hair.</p>

<p>After this experience my haste to get a hat was
augmented very much, and, stopping at the first
laborer’s shanty I came across, I bought one not
worth more than five cents, though I handed him a
script half-dollar. Indeed, I did not begrudge the
money, for had he said ten dollars he would have
been welcome to the amount, and even double that.
To divert any suspicion that the fellow might have
on seeing me without a hat, I glibly told him that I
had lost it in crossing the railroad bridge, having
come in contact with a heavy gust of wind, such was
my confounded luck. Then bidding him a pleasant
adieu, I cut a switch from a convenient bush and
attempted, with not much success, to whip some of
the clay-wash from my clothing. On finishing I
still cut a sorry figure. Next I hunted up a small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span>
store, where I purchased a collar, comb and brush,
and a stiff whisk broom. Again I found a secluded
spot in a side street, where I worked my broom
right vigorously. This time I had the satisfaction
of making my clothes somewhat presentable. No
Pullman car conductor ever worked his whisk broom
as I worked mine in the effort to find real cloth
through the veneering of mud. I’ve seen one of
those negroes do more hustling after dust in a minute,
when he knew there was none, with a big tip in
sight, than any other class of servants under the sun.
The dust he found wouldn’t have been much under
a microscope, but in my case I trow it would have
heaped up a tea-cup. With a clean collar and my
hair combed and brushed as best I could, the sky
having been the roof of my toilet room, I was ready
to invest a little more money, so, seeking out another
store, I fitted a becoming hat to my seeded locks and
was helped into a topcoat good enough to keep it
company. After this I began to have that feeling
which the dude possesses, and, to better fit the rôle,
I sought a barber-shop, where I asked to have my
bristled face shaved, but declined the sympathetic
barber’s invitation to have my hair “cut or
trimmed.” Of all the men with “an eye to business,”
I think the barber can discount the whole lot,
in making one really believe that he hasn’t the
slightest designs on money. He seems to think that
his customer has arrived at the brink of committing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span>
the unpardonable sin if he doesn’t have his hair cut,
and before the argument is finished, I’ll wager a
hen’s egg against a prize hennery that the deluded
one will accept his barber as a veritable oracle; and
the most curious phase of all this is that the knight
of the scissors has, through familiarity with the rôle,
come to believe it himself. But I venture to say
that he is nearly always round when the money is
handed out. But, back to my barber.</p>

<p>It almost brought tears to my eyes to resist the
mute appeal in his,—those eyes that were even more
eloquently solicitous of my welfare than his lips.
But for personal reasons I had to pain him, and
presently I was stretched out in a chair and had my
own way about it. Goodness knows this barber may
not be justly accused by me of sparing his labor, for
as I sat with my eyes closed most of the time, his
hands appeared to move rapidly enough, but I vow
they were not so active as was his voluble tongue.
When he was not bombarding me, he was exchanging
words with a pair of loungers in the shop, who,
like some women, must gossip about something to
pass the time away. I expected to hear the Cadiz
bank affair discussed, though I thought it must have
reached a stage of staleness by that time. Yet, when
I heard the barber broach the subject, a slight tremor,
despite an effort to control myself, went over me.</p>

<p>“Bright youngster that Dever,” he remarked to the
loungers. I listened intently.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span>
“Yes? Who?” queried one of them.</p>

<p>“Jim Dever’s boy, down on the Wheeling road.
You know, I s’pose, he wuz the one that put the
deputies on to the robbers. No? Well, he was up
that night, an’ it bein’ moonlight he sees a man at
the hencoop, an’ it turned out sure ’nough to be one
of ’em. He got in his pants in a jiffy, followed th’
feller, and pretty soon he sees two deputies an’ tells
’em that he thinks th’ robbers are round. Th’
deputies get up to snuff, and next day a gang of the
boys swoops down on ’em.”</p>

<p>“Got ’em all, I s’pose,” interposed one of the
loungers.</p>

<p>“Four of ’em,” answered the barber. “Two got
away. They wuz six all told. When th’ deputies
went at ’em, three scooted up a wood road in th’
ravine up there. Th’ boys cut round and got two
of ’em. One got away, but they know pretty much
what he looks like, an’ he is bound to be jugged in a
day or two. They may get th’ other feller too. I
don’t know ’bout it, ’cause them deputies are boastin’
cusses.”</p>

<p>“Heard thet a bareheaded man wuz seen snoopin’
about a barn four or five mile below here yesterday,”
drawled a man whom I had not noticed. He was
sitting in the rear of the shop. I started so visibly
that the barber inquired of me, very solicitously,
as to whether or not the razor was keen enough.
I said it pulled a little, whereupon he stropped it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span>
noisily. In the meantime I had a moment in which
to steady my nerves and get a peep from under my
eyebrows at the new speaker. I felt reassured then,
for he didn’t have the appearance of being any too
quick-witted. Nevertheless I had been seen by
some one in my tramping. I knew that I must be
cautious.</p>

<p>As I listened to the whole story, recounted and
discussed, I thought of the pig-headed Utley and
of how my words had come true, even to the deputies
finally locating us by the smoke at the old
shanty in the woods. I was glad that, if any of
us must be arrested, he had come in for his share
of the harvest of his making. I may as well add,
right here, that his stubbornness cost four of our
party the combined sentence to prison of fifty-four
years. It was a costly chicken indeed.</p>

<p>My thoughts were interrupted at this point by the
barber asking me to have my head shampooed. To
my reply in the negative, he insisted that my scalp
would be ruined, it being covered with dust, and
that my hair, too, was full of hayseed and ought to
be cleaned. I explained that I’d been baling hay for
a couple of days, that I really ought to have my head
washed, but that I’d come in the next day, when I
had more time. I spent no more minutes there than
necessary, after the half-hour edifying conversation
I was compelled to hear. Getting out, I went to
the opposite side of the street, and, securing a convenient<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span>
doorway for a shadow, remained there ten
minutes, intently watching the barber shop. To my
relief I saw nothing that made me think any one
there suspected me of being one of the Cadiz bank
burglars.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_VI" class="vspace">CHAPTER VI<br />

<span class="subhead">’TWAS A SWEET BABE</span></h2>
</div>

<p>To get out of town I determined to do at the
first opportunity, and by railroad too. I looked up
the best hotel I could find on short notice and consulted
a time-table. A train was due eastward in
forty minutes. It would be a bold move to get out
of town thus, but I vowed I’d attempt it. I was
certain that one man, or indeed two travelling together,
would be objects of suspicion, so I went to
the reading-room and waited an opportunity to strike
an acquaintance with at least three men who would
leave the hotel and walk to the depot together.
My efforts in that direction were unfruitful as far
as getting into conversation with those I desired to.
However, while waiting the unexpected to turn up,
I glanced at a newspaper, in which was a long
article, with big head-lines, about the bank loot.
According to a statement by the authorities, there
was no possibility of the two men still at liberty getting
away from that section of the country. They
were certain to be arrested. One part of the story
which interested me not a little was the sequel of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span>
exciting experience I had had the night I returned
to get George Wilson’s treasure satchel. It seemed
that a scheme had been laid by the enemy to capture
the remainder of us by using the satchel as a bait.
In searching our camp they found Wilson’s money
and bonds under the log. It was their opinion that
men who dared so much to rob the bank would not
abandon nearly half a hundred thousand dollars
without an effort to regain it, so it was schemed to
place a guard in hiding close by the satchel and
wait, if necessary, a week. In the meantime, if the
fugitives were not arrested elsewhere, one or both
of them might visit the camp, when they felt convinced
that the enemy had given up the search and
had of course overlooked the money. It appears
that I had approached the spot so cautiously that
none of the watchers had heard me, nor could they
see me easily, the night, as it will be remembered,
being not over light. I laughed to myself, and was
on the point of bursting into a roar at what I read
next, when I subdued the inclination in time. When
I, so fortunately as it now appeared, tumbled the
stone down the hillside, the enemy were lured into
the belief, as I hoped they would be, that one or
more of their game had come to the scene; and
it was in their mind, that the satchel had been
secured and was being carried off, and that the trap
had been discovered. The tearing of the stone on
its way downhill through the leaves and bushes was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span>
taken to mean the fleeing of more than one burglar,
and after the stone went the deluded deputies.
For more than an hour they beat about the woods
and then scattered in different directions, to remain
on watch for the game should they start from cover
before morning. The newspaper told with great
simplicity how the astute burglars had fooled the
deputies, and gloated over the fact that the treasure
satchel had been found and of my futile attempt to
get it. Fortunate indeed was the rolling downhill
of that stone. To me it was a lucky-stone of the
right sort. I was mighty near jail that night.</p>

<p>My attention was drawn from the paper at this
point by the announcement that the east-bound
train was due. Immediately a porter appeared
with several men, guests of the hotel, and passed
out into the street. I felt sure that here was my
opportunity. I allowed the party to get a short
distance ahead. To my satisfaction two men, behind
whom walked the porter, formed one group.
The situation could not have been more to my liking,—excepting
the assurance that I was safely out
of my troubles. I walked up to the porter and
opened a conversation.</p>

<p>“You started for the train sooner than I expected,”
I said, slipping a half-dollar piece in his palm. He
had never set eyes on me until that minute. Seeing
I had struck the right gait by means of the tip,
I continued: “Your house is giving much better<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span>
service now than when I was here last year. I’m
very much pleased with it indeed.”</p>

<p>Before we had gone a quarter of the way to the
depot, I had accomplished what I started out to do—placing
myself on the basis of a long-standing acquaintanceship
with the porter, so far as outward appearances
were concerned. The tip was an excellent
lubricant for his tongue, too, the rattling of which
would have tortured me unmercifully under other
conditions. I wanted it to run at its speediest notch
on this occasion, and it did wonders. No opportunity
on my part was neglected to keep it in motion.
In the meantime we were falling behind the two
guests, and that we might get closer I forged on
a mite; enough to make the porter step a little
faster. I wanted it to appear that I was the third
member of this group of departing guests. On
getting to the platform of the depot I felt like
congratulating myself on the splendid manner in
which my ruse had worked. It was well for me, I
think, that I had thus planned, for about the first
person my eyes met was a deputy sheriff, who was
joined by another almost immediately after my
arrival. I needed no one to tell me they were
officers of the law, their actions plainly indicating
the country sheriff. But I didn’t hesitate. Keeping
as near to the porter and his group as I safely could,
I bought a ticket for Pittsburg, and when it was
not wise to stay too near them I walked in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span>
shadows at the end of the platform. It was a season
of great anxiety to me, which was only removed
when the train came in on time. Casting a last sly
glance in the direction of the deputies, noting that
they were peering closely at this and that person,
I boarded the first coach, and when the depot was
left behind began to feel that I was really out of
the lion’s jaws. I was soon rapidly going from the
scenes of my ugly experiences, by means far more
satisfactory than walking railroad ties.</p>

<p>My next anxiety was over the detectives at the
depot in Pittsburg. They were in the employ of the
railroad, and had been pointed out to me by Eddie
Hughes when we were there before the start for the
Cadiz robbery. I was obliged to change cars there,
and would have to wait an hour for the train on the
connecting road. The newspaper I had read at the
hotel recited the offering of a reward for the capture
of the two burglars yet at large, and I felt that the
railroad sleuths might be on the watch for a man
about my size. Feeling apprehensive, I knew, would
not assist me a whit; therefore, upon arriving at
Pittsburg about half-past one in the morning, I
immediately ascertained the exact leaving time of
my next train and hurried from the depot. Happily
for me, not a detective was in sight, and feeling glad
of it, I went in search of a restaurant, finding one,
fortunately, two blocks away.</p>

<p>With the knowledge that I was at last nearing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span>
food and an opportunity to possess it, came a most
distressing pain in my stomach. It seized me with
so great a force that I was almost compelled to cry
out. Only the thought that I might have to be sent
to a hospital, which would, perhaps, lead to my
apprehension, kept me from succumbing. Grinding
my teeth to buoy up my courage, I went in the
restaurant and ordered a portion of whiskey and
swallowed it at a breath. I followed that with
another. While I was meditating over what I would
eat, the stimulant began to have a beneficial effect.
My body was strengthened and nerves soothed.
Sensibly, I ordered poached eggs, ate a little bread
with them and drank generously of coffee. By the
time I had finished my first meal in one hundred and
four hours, it behooved me to get back to the depot,
which I did, not long before the train arrived.</p>

<p>A railroad detective was there, but he seemed to
pay no attention to me, being more interested in
pickpockets than in bank looters, I guessed after
slyly looking him over. I climbed in the second
coach the moment the train came in, but as I did
so I observed that he went in the first. It occurred
to me that he would pass through the whole train,
scrutinizing the passengers. My imagination made
it easy for me to believe that he was, after all,
looking for any one answering the description of
the Cadiz burglars. I began looking for some
sort of an aid in the way of diverting his attention<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span>
from me, should he pass through my car. I had
provided myself with a ticket to Altoona, not deeming
it wise to get a through ticket to New York,
and it occurred to me that it might be wisdom on my
part to postpone my journey until another train.
But fate played a trump card for me in saving the
only vacant sitting in the car, and that was beside a
very pretty young woman who was holding on her
lap about the cutest two-year-old cherub my eyes ever
dwelt on. The mother, for so she proved to be,
was well dressed, and had an exceedingly refined
face. I considered it fortunate that I could sit beside
her in the predicament I believed myself in. She
graciously permitted me to occupy the seat, whereupon
I immediately put on my best deportment, and
much to my satisfaction we were in a quiet conversation
when the detective walked through the car, paying
not the slightest attention to me. Perhaps my
precaution was not at all necessary, but I will not believe
until this day that it was not a wise action on my
part. I have travelled many thousands of miles on
railroads, since that long-ago day, and, as I think of
it now, that was one of a very few occasions when
I sought out a woman for a companion on a train.</p>

<p>I soon learned that she was going to Harrisburg,
that her husband was a dry-goods merchant there,
and that she’d been away visiting and was anxious
to get back, which accounted for her travelling at
that unseemly hour.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span>
It was not at all to my liking to be untruthful to
so sweet a woman, but I was forced to for self-preservation.
I told her that I was a salesman for
A. T. Stewart and Company of New York, and was
on the way to Philadelphia on business. I wondered
if her husband bought his goods in the New York
market, and when she said no and added that he
believed that Philadelphia was the better place to
trade, I good-naturedly disagreed with her, winding
up by telling her that she’d better advise Mr. Harrisburg
to investigate the New York market, and the
prices of A. T. Stewart and Company in particular.
She smiled at what she believed to be my warm
recommendation of the firm employing me. We were
chatting on the most familiar terms when we reached
Altoona, whereat I politely requested her to join me
at a meal in the Logan House. She accepted the
invitation, and I, in as calm a manner as possible,
lifted the child, sleeping, like an angel in all its
innocence, thus relieving my matronly companion,
and escorted her to the dining room. After eating a
hasty meal, for which the dear little woman insisted
upon paying her share, and I as insistently declining
to let her, I purchased a ticket for Philadelphia, and
we got on the train again. The child was awake by
this time, and on much of the journey to Harrisburg I
fondled, danced, kissed, and, I must declare, came to
love that dear parcel of sweet babyhood. I will not
open my soul enough to tell all the twinges of remorse<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span>
that seized upon me as I pressed the smooth, rosy
cheeks to my lips, time and time and again, while the
mother, God bless her, looked proudly, innocently
on, happy that even a stranger could be won by her
babe. I bade these companions farewell at Harrisburg
and never saw them more. While serving me
as a shield to ward off the minions of the law, I shall
ever regret that circumstances were so ordered that
I was compelled to tell base lies to so goodly a
woman as she seemed to be, and I have no doubt
was. Though many years have passed since then,
that babe’s innocent face and merry prattle still live
in my memory.</p>

<p>I got to the Quaker City at four o’clock in the
afternoon without any happening worth mentioning,
and, purchasing a complete change of clothing,
including underwear, went to the Girard House,
where I bathed my body, supped like a prince, and
laid myself wearily in a soft bed, it being the first
one in ten never-to-be-forgotten days, and slept,
dreamlessly, until very late the next morning. That
afternoon I was back in New York.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_VII" class="vspace">CHAPTER VII<br />

<span class="subhead">POLICE SHIELD NOT WORN FOR HEALTH</span></h2>
</div>

<p>“I was wondering whether you were one of the
bunch captured,” remarked Billy Matthews, whom I
went to see at 681 Broadway, the same day I arrived
back in New York. I related, in all its details, the
story of the gang’s exploits, from the moment we left
Steubenville, not forgetting our abortive attempt on
the West Virginia bank, how we had been surprised
by the deputies, nor neglecting to tell how I used,
on the train, in self-defence, the little woman and
her sweet babe.</p>

<p>“The newspapers printed a pretty full account of
the robbery,” Billy went on, “and I guessed, from
the description of the prisoners, that you had
managed to keep out of the pinch, and I knew that
Eddie Hughes had. That fellow’s a hard one to
catch when he keeps away from dope, and he hadn’t
been using it for some time when he left here with
you. If ever he comes to grief, it will be the poison
that’ll do it.”</p>

<p>How prophetic these words were I shall relate
in another volume. We talked considerably about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span>
Hughes, conjecturing as to whether he would come
back to New York, Billy finally expressing the opinion
that he was too wise, owing to the feeling of
the police toward him. Hughes had not “squared
up” the last “trick,” and now he possessed too much
money.</p>

<p>The remainder of the week I occupied in preparing
myself for another journey to Steubenville, but
under vastly different circumstances. When, early
in the following week, I found myself there, stopping
at another hotel, the observer would have seen what
appeared to be a highly respectable business man,
attired in the newest cut of cloth, and wearing a
shining beaver. It may have been unwise to thus
clothe myself, some of my critics will possibly aver,
having in mind the gentleman burglar of to-day
and the mission that took me there the second time;
but in those days that slick, smooth knight of the
jimmy we hear so much about now was unknown
except in sensational novels in yellow covers. The
authorities who were after me would not be looking
for any one but the hard-up, trampish-looking individual
I was when the Cadiz bank was looted.</p>

<p>I told the clerk that I was going out for a walk,
and to have my room ready with all the necessaries
for an extended stay at the hotel, when, late in the
afternoon of the day I arrived at Steubenville, I went
in quest of my treasure hidden in the railroad stone
wall. I walked much faster and easier than when I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span>
came up the track a few days before, a hunted man.
As I expected, I found the cash and bonds where
I had left them, but I must admit being a little
irritated on discovering that rats had taken a liking
to some of the greenbacks and had eaten holes in
them. It happened that the bills were of small
denominations, consequently the loss was not so
great as it would have been had the pesky things
attacked the other side of the package. I went back
to the hotel with a snug little fortune in my inside
pocket, and without any fear of detection. I passed
the barber shop where I encountered that sympathetic
artist of the comb and brush, but not needing
a shampoo, and for obvious reasons not wishing to
renew our acquaintance, carefully avoided a too close
scrutiny from that direction. By midnight I had
my satchel repacked, the treasure hidden at the
bottom, and, leaving a call at the desk for the first
train in the morning, with the regret that I had
been suddenly summoned away, turned in for a
sound sleep. In a trifle more than twenty-four
hours I found myself in the metropolis once more,
bestirring myself on behalf of my associates in
limbo. I knew of no crook to help me but Billy
Matthews, my associations with the class taking in
but eight men, so I appealed to him for a letter to
another friend of Mark Shinburn’s, who proved to be
Johnny Ryan of Buffalo. Before starting west on
my mission, I gave Matthews six one-thousand-dollar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span>
five-twenty government bonds to market for
me.</p>

<p>I found Ryan an affable fellow and quite willing
to use his good offices on behalf of my jailed associates,
for he had been in many a bank job with
them. He sought out an all-round crook, whom he
introduced to me as Asa King, and together we began
to form a plan. Many ways were suggested,
but the simplest one was adopted. It was that
King immediately proceed to Cadiz, with plenty of
money, and play the part of a drunkard to the extent
of getting locked in the jail with my comrades.
With them, it would then be no insurmountable task
to devise a plan to break out of jail. Ryan, King,
and I went to Pittsburg, King going on to Cadiz.
Having known him only a few hours, I was in no
position to guess how well he would play the part
of a sot. I hoped that he would not make too much
of an effort, whereby the game might be spoiled.
When I was in Pittsburg, prior to our bank-looting
expedition, I, being short of money, had taken a
most disgraceful departure from the Scott House.
I had left an overcoat there; it had a bad rip in the
skirt, to which my attention had been called by
Jack Utley. The more I examined into the character
of the man, the more I became convinced that
he would betray his comrades upon being assured of
any leniency by the authorities. It occurred to me
that he would be likely to remember my coat and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span>
make it a telling instrument in his description of
me, and thus believing, I very much wanted to put
any such advantage out of the way. So I asked
Ryan to pay the board bill and get the coat. He
did so, and I felt better satisfied. Having agreed
to meet King at Wheeling, we proceeded there, and
two days later he came to us with a long face and
a much longer tale of failure. I learned from him
something about swift-winged justice as it was practised
in Ohio. The day King got to Cadiz, Tall
Jim, Big Bill, and Utley were on their way to the
state prison at Columbus. Jack Utley, the serpent,
had obtained a shorter sentence by pleading guilty
after having betrayed us, while Jim and Big Bill,
hopelessly in the toils of the law, also pleaded guilty
and received a fourteen-year sentence each. George
Wilson, poor fellow, was still in the hospital, and
awaited the same fate. Nothing could be done for
him, King said, and we returned east. At Buffalo
I paid Ryan and King for their assistance and went
to New York, only to meet a train of stirring events.</p>

<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div>

<p>“What’s up, Billy?” I inquired cheerily, upon
meeting Matthews the next morning after my return;
“have you been playing hookey from school
and got caught at it?” His face was as long as
a search-warrant and twice as grim. Somehow I
expected a piece of unwelcome news, but my recent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span>
escape from a very hot trail had made me a little
philosophical.</p>

<p>“That would be easy,” he said, smiling sickly,
and passed a joke about his schooldays when the
paternal hand had more than once sought unerringly
a certain region near the equator, in what
many households have often designated a “warming-the-jacket”
bee. Then he added: “The devil’s
to pay. I’ve had bad luck trying to sell your
bonds.”</p>

<p>“Been playing Dexter at long odds, and had
the wrong end of the game, eh?” I asked, taking
the matter as calmly as I could, at the same time
throwing a little horse-racing chaff at him. He disregarded
the pleasantry.</p>

<p>“I hate like the devil to tell you, George, but the
bonds—they’re gone, and I can’t produce you the
money in place of ’em.”</p>

<p>“Well?” I interrogated as cheerfully as I could
under the circumstances.</p>

<p>“The coppers have ’em!”</p>

<p>“The devil you say!” I was vulgar without
thinking. “You were pinched?”</p>

<p>“That’s just it,” admitted Matthews, and I pitied
him, for there was that about the little fellow that
made me feel, almost know, he was dealing squarely
with me, gambler though he was. However, I did
not let him in my secret on that score yet, and said,
a trifle coldly: “I thought you were a shrewd man.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span>
Many of the boys have trusted bonds in your hands
for the market.”</p>

<p>He actually was suffering after I made this slighting
remark, and I was forced to relent.</p>

<p>“Don’t take me too seriously, old fellow,” said I,
“and tell me all about it. If there’s a muddle, we
must get out of it some way. It’s a mighty scarce
hole that’ll let a man in that won’t let him out if he
tries hard to get out.”</p>

<p>“There’s no use chopping matters, George,” he
said; “I trusted a man too much, and I’m in deep,
that’s all.”</p>

<p>Then Billy told me how he had taken a man with
him to dispose of the bonds, a Bill Brockway, whom
I didn’t know, and that they went to a broker’s
office in Wall Street. Brockway, whom he thought to
be “right,” proved to be all wrong by betraying him
to a pair of Central Office detectives. Recollecting
Tim Golden, of the Detective Bureau at 300 Mulberry
Street, I expressed a curiosity to know the
identity of the detectives in this case.</p>

<p>“Jack McCord and George Radford,” explained
Billy. I had never heard of them, which was not at
all strange because of my short life in New York.</p>

<p>“Brockway and I were arrested,” continued Billy,
“and the detectives took the bonds.”</p>

<p>“But you got out of jail, I see,” was my comment.</p>

<p>“We weren’t taken to Police Headquarters. They
kept the bonds and turned us loose on a promise.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span>
McCord and Radford have a habit of doing business
that way with us fellers.”</p>

<p>“On a promise?” I inquired.</p>

<p>“Yes, the cops said we could go if I’d produce the
man who gave me the bonds to sell. Of course
Brockway, curse the traitor, was in the game with
them.”</p>

<p>“And you agreed to produce me?” I asked.</p>

<p>“Yes, of course. What else could I do.”</p>

<p>I myself did not know, but I asked Billy if he told
the detectives that I gave him the bonds. The little
fellow cast a look at me that was full of contempt,
and at the same time I could see that he was hurt
by the mere suggestion that he would play the part
of a “squealer.” For fully two minutes neither of
us spoke a word, but I was giving the subject a
serious consideration.</p>

<p>“We’ll charge the bonds to profit and loss,” said
I, in conclusion.</p>

<p>“No use doing that,” he declared; “you’ve got to
see the cops and divide with them.”</p>

<p>I could calmly say I would charge the bonds to
the loss column, but to divide money, that had been
obtained through the looting of a bank vault, with
officers of the law, sworn to protect the lives and
property of the people, seemed to me to be too base a
proposition for consideration. I had been driven to
crime through injustice of the basest sort, had connived
in the robbery of a bank through sheer desperation,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span>
the result of persecution, but I had not yet,
it seemed to me, sunk so low as to divide ill-gotten
money with an officer in the employment of the
people,—the act, as it seemed to me, placing me
with him in the same category of the traitor. Up to
that time I had had no acquaintance with the New
York detectives. I explained my thoughts to Billy.
It caused him to smile.</p>

<p>“But why should I do this?” I asked; “they don’t
know me from a Chinese idol.”</p>

<p>“But they will know you, George. You seem to
forget that Tim Golden’s in this town, and a thousand-dollar
reward is hanging over your head.
And there’s Jim Kelso too—both of them are fly
cops and know you.”</p>

<p>I confessed that this recollection was not refreshing.
My fortunate escape from Ohio had made me
think lightly of any chance of being found in this
big city and carted back to New Hampshire.</p>

<p>“And,” continued Matthews, “Detective McCord
pulls a long stroke with Jim Kelso, who’s bound to
be superintendent of police one of these days. If
you stay in New York, they’re sure to get you
sooner or later.”</p>

<p>“Still, I don’t see why I should go to the front if
I let the bonds slip; the cops have ’em, and that
ought to be enough.”</p>

<p>“Now don’t presume for a minute that they’ll let
you walk the streets of New York without staking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span>
them,” Billy exclaimed, his impatience thoroughly
aroused by my obstinacy. “But of course you don’t
know, for you’re a greenhorn; but I know it, and
d—d well too.”</p>

<p>“Then you honestly mean that I must pay these
traitorous policemen to live unmolested in this
town? I can’t remain in hiding here and take my
chance of keeping out of their hands?” I asked.</p>

<p>“That’s it, and nothing else, White. If you stay
here, the small-fry thieves who play the stool-pigeon
for the police will put the information up to headquarters
before you realize it, and into Mulberry
Street you’ll go unless you settle.”</p>

<p>“Ah, that’s the game, is it?” I said angrily.</p>

<p>“Yes, and you’ll learn to your better knowledge
that the cops don’t wear the shield for their health;
besides, their appetites are too hardy after dollars
to let you run loose. They can pick you up to-day
and within two weeks divide that one-thousand-dollar
reward.”</p>

<p>“Well, Billy, we seem to be in a fix, and I’ll go
and see these detectives, but not on my own account.
For myself I wouldn’t do it. It grinds me to soil
my hands in a deal with such rascals. But for you
I will yield; you shall not be arrested on my account.
I haven’t forgotten that it was you who
aided me when I didn’t know what to do. Arrange
a meeting with these detectives, and I’ll see them.”</p>

<p>“Good,” replied Matthews, with a relief that was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span>
very noticeable; “I was hard pressed by McCord
and Radford. They’ve been after me for four days.
I was told that if I didn’t produce you to-day,
they’d take me to Police Headquarters, and they
meant it.”</p>

<p>A meeting was arranged for five o’clock that
afternoon, and Detective Kelso was to be there with
McCord and Radford. It occurred to me that I
might, through the little acquaintance with Kelso,
who was associated with Tim Golden in the Walpole
Bank investigation, adjust the present muddle more
to my satisfaction. I was fast getting an interesting
knowledge of the inside affairs of the New York
Detective Bureau. So I earnestly hoped he would
be one of the party.</p>

<p>I was at Fifth Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street,
close to the entrance of Central Park, the meeting-place
agreed upon, with great promptness, but I
found the three detectives already in waiting. Jim
Kelso had not forgotten our New England acquaintance,
and greatly surprised me by the enthusiasm
he displayed. I understood later that it was a characteristic
of his to meet those friendly to him in this
fashion, even on a shorter acquaintance, when there
was a financial deal in prospect.</p>

<p>“Well, George,” said he, shaking my hand vigorously,
“I’m glad to know you succeeded in giving
those New Hampshire people the go-by.”</p>

<p>Then he introduced me to Jack McCord and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span>
George Radford, claiming them to be his very intimate
friends, with whom I would be sure to have
the most pleasant relations.</p>

<p>“They’re all right,” he said effusively, “and
you’ll find them so.” He paused a moment, and
then added, with a smile, “I understand we’ve
got some bonds to sell you.”</p>

<p>“To sell me?” I echoed his words in the form
of a question. “To sell me bonds?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” smiled Kelso. I understood him then,
but I confess that I didn’t like his peculiar grin
that time, and in subsequent years this impression
never changed. There wasn’t much, if any, warmth
in it. It always seemed to me that it was a smile
like actors study for use on the stage. I laughed
when I understood him to mean that he had some
bonds to sell to me. I thought it was my play to
exhibit a little nerve in dealing with these traitors,
which was a most unpleasant experience the first
time, so I asked Kelso why McCord and Radford
hadn’t hung on to Billy Matthews when they had
him under arrest. He showed his teeth in a most
disagreeable way, and seemed to be on the point
of saying something ugly. Presently he <span class="locked">spoke:—</span></p>

<p>“There’s no good beating about the bush, George,”
he explained, “for we know where the bonds came
from, and we also know that you are one of the six
men in the Ohio job. Now let’s come to the point,
and it is this, pure and simple—we want our rake-off.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span>
As a matter of fact, we’re glad the Ohio fellers
didn’t get you. Do you understand?”</p>

<p>I saw there was little profit to me in palavering
with these crooks, who were sworn to serve law
and justice, so I told them that we’d better get to
business and that the open street was no sort of a
place to transact it. They admitted that officers
of the precinct in which we were might at any
moment interrupt us. I called a carriage, and at
their suggestion we drove to Stetson’s Hotel in
Central Park, the proprieter being a brother-in-law
of Radford. Comfortably seated in a private room,
with whiskey served on the table before us, I <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“Gentlemen, let’s come down to business. What
do you want for the six bonds?”</p>

<p>“Not a cent less than six thousand!” was what
came from Detective McCord, sharp and quick, now
that the negotiation was really on.</p>

<p>“And you’ll not get that much from me!” was my
answer, just as quickly and just as firmly. “The
bonds will have to be disposed of at a ‘fence’ price,
and considering that my share will not, all together,
be more than forty thousand dollars, I’ll pay
you four thousand for the bonds and no more.”</p>

<p>Detective McCord did a lot of sparring, Radford
jumping in occasionally with a sharp, mean thrust.
Kelso kept out of the argument until he seemed to
think it was time to smooth over matters. To me
Radford’s manner was most irritating. I was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span>
lacking in pluck, and once, had it been diplomacy, I
would have lent him my fist. At length the sparring
was interrupted by him. Said <span class="locked">he:—</span></p>

<p>“I guess, Jack, we may as well keep the bonds
and give this man twenty-four hours to sneak out of
town. If we find him then, why, he can’t complain.
We’ve wasted too much time on him already.”
Kelso knew Radford had gone too far, and said so.</p>

<p>I was firm, and none of his insinuations could
move me. I believed that these traitorous policemen
who would plot with crooks—actually be willing
to take money from the enemy of the commonwealth—must
not have everything their own way.
They saw I was determined, and, avarice winning
over all else, Jack McCord <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“Well, George says his share is only forty thousand
dollars, and it may be less than that, so I think
we’d better accept his offer.”</p>

<p>And it was settled at this figure, whereupon we
set the following night as the time of the next
meeting, and the place at the Fifth Avenue entrance
to the Washington parade ground, down-town. I
was ready to leave them at this, promising to be
there at eight o’clock sharp. Now that we had come
to an agreement, I wondered if our meeting in the
park to make the exchange of money and bonds
would go through, or whether these blackmailers
and crime protectionists, after further consideration,
would not, in their grasping after ill-gotten gain,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span>
make a still further demand upon me. Despite the
bold front I had put on, I realized how hopelessly I
was in their power, should they choose to see duty
before selfish, criminal desire.</p>

<p>“By the way,” said I, at the moment of parting,
addressing my remarks to Jim Kelso, “as the bond
matter seems to be about settled, the next important
thing I’m interested in is my status in this city.
You know, as well as I, Kelso, that the New Hampshire
authorities never had a case against me, and
the truth being told, I am absolutely innocent of
the charge. Isn’t it so?”</p>

<p>“It’s true, George, and I must acknowledge that
you had a rough deal down-east for an innocent
man.” I watched McCord and Radford for the
effect this admission would have on them, but they
gave no indication that I could see.</p>

<p>“That being the case,” I went on to Kelso, “I
ask you and these men, believing as you must that
I didn’t get a fair deal, not to molest me, and if any
one comes to this city after the reward, to keep me
informed. Is it a bargain?”</p>

<p>“Don’t bother yourself about a country sheriff,”
said Kelso, assuming the responsibility of the whole
party, “for it’ll be a very cold day if them down-easters
catch you in this town when you have us at
your back; but of course we can’t do this—”</p>

<p>“Say no more, gentlemen,” said I, interrupting
him, and speaking to them all; “it’s not necessary.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span>
I shall rely on this assurance, and I’m not asking you
to work for charity’s sake.”</p>

<p>With that I handed each one of them two hundred
dollars, and, bidding them good night, went
down town, feeling that I had invested six hundred
dollars not unwisely from my viewpoint. The next
evening I met Jack McCord and Radford at the
parade ground and paid the former four thousand
dollars in large bills and received in exchange my
bonds, and was really glad to get them back at the
price. As I was leaving them, McCord asked me if
I objected to telling him the name of the man in the
Cadiz Bank job who escaped with me.</p>

<p>“Most assuredly I do,” was my prompt reply, and
I took no pains to repress the indignation I felt at
the mere suggestion of betraying Hughes. “Do
you think I’m a squealer too?”</p>

<p>“We don’t want to send him to prison!” hastily
explained Radford. “All we want is our usual
percentage.”</p>

<p>“Well,” said I, the hot blood stinging my cheeks,
“I’ll let you fellows know that I’m no Bill Brockway;
and if you find the man you’re after, it will be on the
level so far as I’m concerned.”</p>

<p>I said this in a manner that left no doubt in their
minds as to my sincerity. I also let them know
that Brockway’s squealing propensities were well
known to me. I had begun to learn a great deal of
the crook’s life in a very short time, it seemed to me.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span>
“That was a fine hand you played against Billy
Matthews,” I went on. “If you’re going to deal
with crooks, I’d advise you to be on the square, and
you’ll succeed better.” At this George Radford
looked at me peculiarly, as though he thought that
I knew more than I was telling. Jack McCord, in
an attempt to put himself in as level an attitude as
possible, but failing, <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“We fellers have to get at things the best way we
can, and, as you must know, we’re not in the police
business for our health.”</p>

<p>Swallowing my disgust, and feeling that I, even I,
a bank burglar, was contaminating myself in the
same atmosphere with these treacherous rascals, I
said good night and hurried away, glad to get rid
of them. But I saw them again, and sooner than
I had hoped, for I never wanted to look on their
faces after that night. But this feeling wore off
in time.</p>

<p>Billy Matthews sought me out a week later, and
said, with considerable earnestness, that I must meet
Jack McCord, who had news for me of the utmost
importance; that I must meet him at the Metropolitan
Hotel, and if he wasn’t there, to wait until
he came. Not daring to disregard this word, which
amounted to a command, I went to the hotel, where
McCord appeared a few minutes later. Calling
me aside, he whispered, “You’re a very lucky man,
White, and you’ll realize before we get through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span>
that it is a Godsend you came to know us
fellers.”</p>

<p>“Why?” I asked; “what’s in the wind? Some
one from New Hampshire here?”</p>

<p>“No; but a crook in that Ohio Bank job has
squealed on you, and there’s a Cadiz sheriff in town
with a complete description of you and Eddie
Hughes, who escaped with you.”</p>

<p>This was startling though not unexpected news,
as I knew that Utley had no love for me. No
doubt he had tried to get further clemency in prison
by squealing on Hughes and me. I asked McCord
if there was anything further he could tell.</p>

<p>“Yes; Utley told the sheriff that the man with
Hughes was called George, but the last name he
did not know. He described an overcoat ‘George’
wore that was left in the Scott House in Pittsburg.”</p>

<p>At this I smiled, and McCord wondering why, I
told him.</p>

<p>“Again you were in luck,” he went on, “for the
next day after the coat was called for by your
friend, a Cadiz sheriff was at the hotel inquiring
for an overcoat with a peculiar-shaped tear in the
skirt.”</p>

<p>“It certainly looks as if the trail were getting hot,”
said I, not a little worried. “Where is this sheriff?”</p>

<p>“I don’t know, but Radford has an appointment
with him this afternoon.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span>
“Has he asked you to find me?”</p>

<p>“Not in so many words, but he said we ought to
know if there was a crook in town answering the
description given by Utley.”</p>

<p>“And what did you tell him?”</p>

<p>“That there wasn’t a man in this city answering
such a description, but that I recognized in Utley’s
man a well-known Western crook.”</p>

<p>McCord said he would go with Radford to see the
Cadiz sheriff about four o’clock in the afternoon, and
that the trio were to hunt up Utley’s trunk. When
that was accomplished the sheriff would be gotten
out of town not later than the same evening. I
was to meet McCord at the Metropolitan the following
morning to learn the result. I was there,
and to say that I wasn’t worried would be far
from the truth.</p>

<p>“Well, it worked like a windmill,” laughed
McCord. “Where we blew he went. By the last
gust of wind we gave him he was wafted to the
depot in Jersey, and must be pretty near to Ohio
by this time.”</p>

<p>I didn’t doubt McCord’s word, though I had no
further proof, consequently I felt much weight lifted
from my mind. When he, having in mind the protection
money that I’d paid him, said, “You now
can see what our services to you people are,” I
agreed with him and that an emergency of this
kind fully attested to the accuracy of his statement.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span>
“And now,” said McCord, “when Eddie Hughes
comes to town, you’d better advise him to see us.”</p>

<p>“Very well,” I promised, “since you have learned
he was my companion, why, I’ll send him to you if
he shows up.”</p>

<p>But Eddie didn’t return to New York for two
years. In the meantime I heard how he escaped
the day we were surprised on the hillside. He had
in a most fortunate way run across a small hollow
in a thicket where the dried leaves had piled up
as though they had been waiting there for the
purpose they served. Getting into this refuge,
surrounded by the underbrush, Hughes covered
himself with leaves and lay there for hours. The
searching party actually tramped over him while
beating through the thicket, but passed him by.
Under the cover of darkness he stole away with
his treasure. When he finally appeared in New
York the Cadiz Bank robbery and his connection
with it had become swallowed up in the swirl of
more stirring events, the affairs of the grafting
police and civilians having reached a most prosperous
period.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_VIII" class="vspace">CHAPTER VIII<br />

<span class="subhead">SHERIFF SMITH’S BRIBE—THE LITTLE JOKER</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Mark Shinburn, under remarkable circumstances,
escaped from Concord prison, after his sudden leave-taking
of the jail at Keene the day he was convicted,
and his recapture and final incarceration. The
prison bars at Concord held him only a few months,
when his old partner in crime, John Ryan of Buffalo,
and Laurie Palmer, another crook, began work on a
plan to break him out of durance vile.</p>

<p>The manner of Shinburn’s escape is soon told.
He was a man who did not make many friends, but
those that he had were friends indeed. One of
these was Matthews. Billy used to give his mother
all his winnings from the gambling house, so, eventually,
he had quite a tidy sum.</p>

<p>One day in November, 1866, he took five thousand
dollars of this sum and started for New Hampshire.
There he met one of the high officials of Concord
prison, and had a long talk with him. Some days
later, as Shinburn’s company was marching past the
gate which gave ingress and egress for teams to and
from the prison yard, Shinburn dropped from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span>
line, pulled off a part of the gate that had previously
been sawed nearly in two, and jumped into a
rig that was standing conveniently outside of the
gate.</p>

<p>The driver of the rig whipped up his team and
was away at a fast gait before the prison officials
realized what had happened. When soon the guards
discovered what was occurring, they fired several
shots, but the team kept right on moving and was
soon out of sight in the gathering gloom. The
drive was continued, with various stops for refreshments
and sleep, to Providence, Rhode Island, where
Shinburn took a train and landed safely in New
York.</p>

<p>Matthews also returned to Gotham, but had five
thousand dollars less than when he went away.</p>

<p>Once in New York, Shinburn, being under the protecting
wing of my ring of police officials, and given
money by me, was safe from capture. Pursuit of
offenders and escaped prisoners was not so persistent
or so well conducted in those days as it is now,
when the telegraph, the telephone, the camera, and
the Bertillon system of measurements make it all but
impossible for one to avoid detection and capture.</p>

<p>If I were warden of a prison now, and an inmate
thereof escaped, I should not give myself the least
worriment. I would know that, if he again resorted
to crime, I would be as sure to get him as the night
is to follow the day. If he lived an honest life<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span>
after his escape, he might avoid capture; and it
would be far better for society that he should. An
honest man does not belong in prison, no matter
what may have been his past life.</p>

<p>At the time of Shinburn’s escape, the only means
for recapture were a search of the surrounding
country and the sending of a description of the
escaped man to the police of various cities—a description
that would fit many people and often did
not at all fit the one for whom it was intended.
Instead of a Bertillon system of measurements, by
which it is practically impossible to be mistaken,
there was then only the old plan of visual identification.
This always gave a fine opportunity for the
Great Identifier, who constantly looked for a chance
to get in his deadly work.</p>

<p>“I’m scheming to make a strike through Western
New York and Ontario, Canada,” Shinburn said to
me a few weeks later, “but I’m short of the ‘ready’
just now, having been in retirement for some time,
as you know; so, if you’ll back the game, I can’t
see how we can lose.”</p>

<p>“I’m with you, Mark, provided there is a chance
of making good. You’ve been in the business long
enough to know best what to do, so here’s along
with you.”</p>

<p>John Ryan and Laurie Palmer were counted in
the venture, and the prospect of a rich haul seemed
exceedingly bright. The banks that were secured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span>
entirely by key locks Shinburn was to tackle, and
those being guarded in part, or wholly, by combination
locks were to be attacked by Ryan, who
had a fine kit of tools for that sort of work. We
went to Buffalo, where Shinburn and Palmer called
on a gambler friend. Ryan put up with a man
acquaintance, while I went to a hotel. Making the
Bison City our headquarters, we struck out in different
directions in search of “lootable” banks, our
main object being to find those using key locks. It
was like convicting an egotist of his own conceit to
find this class of bank, so we gave it up. About this
time a friend of Shinburn’s, whom he introduced as
Mr. Ellis, a counterfeiter, suggested that a bank
at Brockport, seventeen miles west of Rochester,
would be a comparatively easy piece of loot, owing
to the habits of the police guard of the village, which
consisted of a lone night watchman. Ellis said this
watchman invariably went off duty at eleven o’clock
at night. As to the vault of the bank, he declared
it could be robbed, despite the combination lock
used on it and its heavy steel work in general, by
tunnelling from the top. Shinburn and Ryan decided
to attempt the job, agreeing to pay Ellis ten
per cent of the treasure obtained.</p>

<p>A postponement was necessary the first night
we went at the job, because there happened to be
a dance in the village, which in some manner or
other induced the night watchman to remain on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span>
duty longer,—in fact, until three o’clock in the
morning. Several evenings later we journeyed
there again, and it was a night to be remembered,
because of the great snow-storm and high winds
that came with it. It was a hummer—of the
blizzard class. In many respects, though, it was
just our sort of weather, the kind that keeps people
indoors. Scarcely a dog was in the streets after
eleven o’clock.</p>

<p>A few minutes after midnight, leaving Palmer
on the outside as a guard, Shinburn, Ryan, and I
broke in the bank through the front door and were
soon examining the vault. We had decided to try
wedges on the vault door, so Ryan went to work.
He had finely drawn untempered steel ones, which
were driven in the seam between the front edge
of the door and the jamb. For two hours we
labored with these wedges, but the best we could
possibly do was to force an opening about half an
inch wide, which was insufficient to admit of throwing
back the lock bolt. When a space wide enough
to do this was about made, the wedges would rebound.
Unable to release the bolt, we abandoned
the job, being hopeless of accomplishing it in that
manner, and leaving behind us plenty of evidence
of our failure. The vault front was sadly defaced,
but defiantly impregnable, so far as we were concerned
that night, with the means at hand.</p>

<p>We went out in the storm, very much disappointed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span>
Locating a hand-car, we started by rail
for Rochester, but the snow being too heavy on
the track, we ditched the car, and walking to the
first village, hired a team and drove there. The
remainder of the journey to Buffalo was accomplished
by train.</p>

<p>My experience at Brockport and similar knowledge
I had previously obtained through the work
of a Jack Hartley and his mob of would-be safe-breakers
at Carbondale, Pennsylvania, convinced
me that success in our line could only be attained
by forcing open vaults by means vastly different
than any of those employed by either Ryan or
Hartley or burglars of their class.</p>

<p>“Putting up cash to break banks with tools Ryan
has,” I said to Shinburn, “is simply dumping it
in the sea. As for me, I’m out of it.”</p>

<p>This broke the combination, so far as Ryan and
Palmer were concerned, the former remaining in
Buffalo and the latter returning to New York.</p>

<p>Shinburn and I determined to make for the
metropolis also, but he recalled a tip from a friend
at home, that there was a bank at Corning, New
York, which might be relieved of its cash. Shinburn’s
friend was of the opinion that the vault
was secured by a key lock. So we concluded to
stop off there and investigate, but, doing so, Mark
discovered that the work entailed was not worth the
risk. At two o’clock in the morning we were in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span>
the Erie Railroad depot waiting for a New York
train, when a most unexpected thing happened. A
mob of men and boys, led by a pair of constables,
ran in the depot, one of them a big-looking fellow,
yelling at the top of his voice, “Here they are!”
The other constable rushed at Shinburn, crying,
“We want you men; surrender!”</p>

<p>The big lout who made the first outcry sprang
at me, but slunk back in a corner when I covered
him with my pistol. Taking advantage of his
cowardice, I ran for the door, and had nearly
succeeded in getting out, when Shinburn, his pistol
failing to work, was overcome. The mob, turning
their attention to me, were just in time to block my
way, and instantly I was mixed in with them.
The cowardly wretch who had slunk back when I
was unhampered, now took advantage of my predicament,
and jumping on me, began pounding my
face as though it were an anvil and his fists were
sledges. I did the best I could against so many,
but fell back, and as I did so the brute tried to
bite my nose. Throwing my head away from him,
his teeth met on my lower lip. I made a cry of
surrender, but, despite this, he continued to bite at
me like a cur, until I was so wounded that I would
carry a scar to the grave. I presume I would have
been mangled more had not the others dragged
him from me. In the midst of a howling mob,
we were haled to a lockup and thrown behind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span>
bars. Of course we believed we’d been discovered
as the Brockport attempted looters and were in for
it from that source. We were considerably relieved,
for a short time, upon learning the true cause of
our arrest. It appeared that a produce merchant
in Addison, an adjoining town, had been robbed
the preceding night of twenty-eight hundred dollars.
Two men had entered his store about nine
o’clock, and, felling him unconscious on the floor,
appropriated the cash and some valuable papers.
Incidentally the burglars carried away a railroad
ticket good on some Western road. Of course we
knew we weren’t guilty of the job and felt easy
on that score. What did trouble us was the possibility
that we might be recognized as fugitives
from New Hampshire. The Corning authorities
notified the Addison constable of our detention and
asked that the merchant be brought over to identify
us as the burglars who assaulted him. He was too
ill, was the word that came back, and in consequence
of it we were taken to him.</p>

<p>We cut desperate figures in the eyes of the countrymen
as we, loaded down with irons, were carted
through the farming districts. The merchant, upon
looking at us through bandages which about covered
all but his eyes, said Shinburn didn’t look like either
of the men who attacked him, but I greatly resembled
one of them. As I looked at the man I wondered
that he didn’t say I looked like both of them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span>
This identification played the mischief, however, for
we were held for the grand jury and transferred to
the county jail at Bath in the charge of Sheriff
Smith.</p>

<p>The small affair we had had in the depot at Corning
with the constables was so magnified in the county
papers that it soon became talked of as a shooting
affray that would rival a Texan bandit fight. It
was the sort of a sensation we feared would bring
trouble down on us, and it did; for a day or two
after our arrest Detective Bob Watts of Buffalo
appeared in Bath and told Sheriff Smith he wanted
to look us over. He recognized Shinburn, having
seen him a few years prior in Buffalo, but didn’t
mention the fact nor intimate that he had an eye on
the reward for his capture. Hurrying to Buffalo, he
swore out a fake warrant for burglary, and, rushing
back to Bath, flashed the document on the sheriff,
claiming us as his prisoners, alleging also that his
claim took precedence over the Addison affair. We
knew too well what this meant for us, without being
told,—that we were in for it unless we could outwit
him. New Hampshire would be our next destination
if Watts had his way. That it was getting to
be mighty serious there was no doubt. It was in our
minds to break out of jail, but there didn’t appear
to be any one we could reach with the slightest inclination
to take a bribe. Finally I resolved I would
not be deprived of my liberty again on a charge of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span>
which I was not guilty. Once was enough! Having
carefully gone over every detail of the situation,
it seemed to me that I saw a glimmer of hope in the
bogus warrant of Detective Watts. If he could get
a fake warrant in Buffalo, why couldn’t I get one
in New York? I determined to try, and acted with
great promptness by sending a messenger to the big
city for such a document and for the sinews of war.
Getting the latter in a few days, I retained Lawyer
Rumsey of Bath, who afterwards was elevated to the
Supreme Court bench. I told him what I had done,
and that he mustn’t hesitate at any expense in our
defence; and incidentally I expressed myself forcibly
to the effect that the Addison robbery ought to be
thoroughly sifted; that from what I had been able
to gather the merchant complainant owed about
everybody in his town, and it occurred to me that
he might have plotted to escape his creditors. Further,
that he had received, just prior to the robbery,
twenty-eight hundred dollars for produce which he
had shipped away, and for which he hadn’t yet paid
the shipping bills. I said it all looked exceedingly
suspicious, and I urged Mr. Rumsey to investigate
the case on this line vigorously. The grand jury had
been sitting several days when the bit of pasteboard
which the merchant described as a railroad ticket,
and alleged to have been taken by the burglars,
began to play a surprising part. My counsel had
advised the railroad company to be on the lookout<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span>
for it, as there was grave reason to doubt that a
robbery had been committed. Presently there came
gratifying results, but too late to help us.</p>

<p>In the meantime affairs had been looking bluer
and bluer. At the rising of the jury our fate would
be known. The last day of the sitting came, and
with it came Frank Houghtaling, chief clerk of City
Judge Russell of New York, with a warrant for our
arrest charging about everything on the calendar but
murder. He served the paper on Sheriff Smith, alleging
that it must take precedence over the Addison
robbery or any claim put in by Detective Watts of
Buffalo.</p>

<p>“I’ll take the prisoners back with me or know the
reason why,” he said to the sheriff. “We know
these men, and they are as desperate a pair of rascals
as ever belonged behind prison bars. New York
wants them and must have them. We can put them
away to a certainty, while you fellows may not have
a case against them here or in Buffalo. If they go
at large, why, the blame will be on your heads. So
you see the strength of my claim.”</p>

<p>It was the duty of the sheriff to determine which
warrant would take precedence. I was in doubt as
to the outcome, but Mr. Rumsey said Sheriff Smith
would, as a favor to him, recognize the New York
warrant.</p>

<p>We were waiting for the grand jury, along about
one o’clock, when the sheriff called me aside and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span>
said, “I have no further claim on you, but there
are two warrants for you boys, one from Buffalo and
the other from New York.”</p>

<p>I asked him which one he would recognize.</p>

<p>“As Detective Watts’s was first placed in my
hands, I suppose I must give him the preference.
He is in town now and has asked me to turn you
fellers over to him so he can get away on this
evening’s train.”</p>

<p>“Why this, sheriff?” I asked, trembling over the
turn of affairs. “Lawyer Rumsey assured me you
would, as a favor to him, give the New York warrant
the preference.”</p>

<p>He put up a bluff at this and said, “Let me say
that I’m running the sheriff’s office of this county,
and not Lawyer Rumsey.”</p>

<p>It was perfectly plain to me that he was fishing
for money and that Detective Watts had made
some kind of a cash offer, otherwise he would not
have intimated to me that he’d ignore Mr. Rumsey’s
request; he would have stated straight from the
shoulder what he would do. I realized that prompt
action must be had, or in the last deal of the cards
Shinburn and I would be swamped with trumps.</p>

<p>“Sheriff,” I said, taking the bull by the horns,
“I want you to come to some agreement with us.
To Mr. Rumsey you said you’d turn us over to the
New York officer, who really has a right to us.
We believe, too, that we can get justice in that quarter,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span>
while from Buffalo we’ll get none. You see we
are innocent of the Addison affair; were arrested and
thrown in your jail without good reason, and it’s up
to you to help us out. I’ll make it an object to you,
sheriff, to turn us over to the New York officer.”</p>

<p>I watched him for any indication of wounded
dignity, but, on the contrary, I had my first impression
confirmed. He would take money, I felt certain,
if given enough. I drove the nail still farther
home, and, as a clincher, produced a corpulent roll of
greenbacks and fondled it. His greedy little eyes
gazed on it as though they would pierce the very
inside of the bills, to know how much I held.</p>

<p>“That’s the kind, sheriff,” I went on; “let’s get
down to hard-pan. What’s the price? What’s it
worth? Watts isn’t a flea-bite to me.”</p>

<p>The sheriff fidgeted about considerably, but soon,
to my satisfaction, was putting up a strong argument
as to what his services were worth. Indeed, he seemed
to be as accomplished in this line as were some of
my New York detective friends. Finally he flat-footedly
came out and said he’d accept a thousand
dollars. I sent for Lawyer Rumsey and told him
of the deal. He called me apart and said I needn’t
pay the money, for things would come out all right
without it. In fact, he expressed the conviction that
it would be a needless expenditure of money. So
thought Shinburn. Whether or not they were correct
I do not know, but I have always entertained a doubt<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span>
of it. I wasn’t going to take the chance of making
an enforced trip to New Hampshire. I declared I’d
pay the bribe. It was to be given the sheriff when
we were ready to start for the depot, and while Mr.
Rumsey had gone to attend to the details of our release.
I began to feel, as also did Shinburn, that it
was looking very much like New York. About eight
o’clock in the evening Sheriff Smith summoned us to
his office, in charge of a turnkey. My lawyer was
there, and from the atmosphere of the place I got
the impression that something unusual, and perhaps
not to our liking, was about to occur. I hoped that
the sheriff hadn’t reconsidered the agreement, after
a talk with Watts. My mind was soon settled as to
what was in the air.</p>

<p>“Detective Watts is on a rampage,” began the
sheriff, quietly, “and says he’s bound to get you
fellers, if he has to use force. He evidently means
what he says, for he’s got two more officers with
him. By hook or crook, he swears that he’ll take
you back to Buffalo with him to-night.”</p>

<p>“Well, sheriff,” I inquired nervously, not being
able to draw anything satisfactory from his words or
manner up to this point, “what else have you to say?”
I verily believe he enjoyed the uncertainty I felt.</p>

<p>“If I turn you over to the New York officer here,
Watts may attempt to take you away. At the
depot he may put up the plea that his warrant
antedates the one from New York.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span>
“Well, go on, sheriff,” I urged, getting more unnerved;
“out with it—what will you do?”</p>

<p>“This,” he replied, closing his lips firmly. “I
suggest that I heavily iron you men, hand and foot,
and take you as far as Corning, where I’ll turn you
over to your New York man, unless you think that
it would be better for me to continue farther.”</p>

<p>I felt a thrill of relief flash through me. I had
been completely mystified, and I guess Shinburn was
in no different frame of mind. Seeing that we were
not to be trumped out of sight in the last shuffle
of the cards, I was in a joyous mood instantly.</p>

<p>“You couldn’t have thought of anything better,
sheriff,” I grinned, not forgetting to pat him approvingly
on the back. Then we got down to the
business that was much more pleasing to him than
voluble praise—the payment of the money we’d
agreed upon. It was by far the strongest argument
I could have put up to him. It was more potent
than a plea for justice, and much more so than
friendship, in obtaining our escape from the clutches
of the Buffalo police.</p>

<p>I handed Lawyer Rumsey a well-swelled fee, and
slyly put in the sheriff’s palm one thousand dollars in
bills, which he crammed out of sight, and gave orders
for our irons to be brought in and put on. For once
we were glad to wear the things. In a few minutes,
looking very much like a pair of Western bandits,
we were marched through the village to the depot,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span>
followed by a crowd of curious men and boys.
Sheriff Smith, so far as the outsiders were concerned,
thought us to be about as desperate a couple
as ever came under his control, for he had two stalwart
deputies with him, both of whom clung to us
like unpaid gas bills.</p>

<p>Detective Watts and his reënforcements and a big
crowd were at the depot ahead of us. Watts was
angry clear through; verily, he looked as if he would
bite a tenpenny nail in pieces. Shinburn and I
gave him a glad smile, which he repaid with an
angry glare. We got aboard the train, the sheriff
and one deputy at our heels. Watts and his men
came in the same car, and we were soon at Corning,
where we had to wait for a connecting train. In
the meantime Sheriff Smith invited us to a substantial
meal with plenty of wine. When the latter was
served, Smith toasted us, remarking upon the pleasure
it gave him to set before us a sample of good country
wine.</p>

<p>Of course I said something pleasant to the cunning
fellow, but I must confess that there came regretful
meditation over the thousand I’d paid him, a part
of which was being spent in the wine I was sampling.
I consoled myself with the thought that
liberty has its price, whether purchased on the
battle-field or close by the prison bars.</p>

<p>While we were dining, a Buffalo train pulled in
and out again, taking with it Bob Watts, the disconsolate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span>
one, and his followers. He realized at last that
the game was played; that he’d held the right bower,
forgetful of the fact that sometimes there is a joker
in the pack. Our train came along presently, and
Sheriff Smith handed Frank Houghtaling the New
York warrant, and we were off. The handcuffs were
on our wrists and the shackles on our ankles as we
clanked along to seats selected for us by Houghtaling.
Naturally we attracted much attention and
comment and drew not a few questions from the
passengers. An extremely inquisitive man wasn’t
satisfied until he had asked Frank to tell him what
crime was charged against us.</p>

<p>“A very serious offence,” solemnly proclaimed our
captor. “Indeed, sir, they are accused of a very
grave crime.”</p>

<p>“My sakes! What?” he questioned, in a voice
that sounded hollow. “You don’t mean murder?”</p>

<p>Houghtaling nodded his head in the affirmative,
and looked extremely wise.</p>

<p>While we, in a measure, enjoyed the situation,
having the knowledge that we were out of a predicament
which held great danger for us, still the irons
were not to our liking, even under the conditions;
so we asked Frank if it wasn’t about time to liberate
us.</p>

<p>“Wait until we’ve passed the next station,” he
advised.</p>

<p>Half an hour later the irons were removed and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span>
stowed away in Houghtaling’s satchel. The handcuffs
he brought with him, but the shackles belonged
to Sheriff Smith. We were to send them
to him by express. A little later Shinburn and I
were strolling about the car, and once we visited
the smoker. Of course this brought a lot of questions
from the passengers, the most curious ones
wanting to know what it all meant. To see a pair
of desperate murderers thus roaming at will, seemed,
to a few timid ones, like flying in the face of Providence.
At last Houghtaling set these meddlesome
people at rest by saying: “I received a telegram at
the last station, informing me that I’d arrested the
wrong men, and that I must at once release them.
While I believe them to be guilty, I must obey my
superiors. However, I am going to keep an eye on
them.”</p>

<p>We reached New York in fine spirits, and Houghtaling
immediately arraigned us before Judge Russell
in the latter’s private office. Peter Mitchell,
subsequently a civil justice, represented us, and
upon his statement to the judge that the warrant
upon which we had been apprehended, though
charging many grave offences, really had no basis
for issue except that growing out of an ordinary
family quarrel, we were released on a nominal bail.
The worst that could befall us under this action
was a civil trial. But we knew that the case was
as good as ended.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span>
Detective Bob Watts, with his fake warrant, had
been defeated. He might now whistle for his reward
from New Hampshire.</p>

<p>But our trip was not without its disappointment
in another direction, for Shinburn and I had a disagreement.
He still insisted that it was unnecessary
to have paid Sheriff Smith the thousand-dollar bribe,
averring, testily, that it was money thrown away,
and exhibited a disinclination to shoulder his share
of it. The end of it was a decision to part
company. I believed then, and I do to this day,
that we would have been turned over to Detective
Watts had I trusted to Lawyer Rumsey. I feel
morally certain, too, that he overestimated his
power with the cunning sheriff.</p>

<p>In the meantime Mark and I made precious little
money. I was convinced that the crude methods
used by the burglar craft, to master bank vaults,
were too antiquated to compete with the great improvement
which had been made in the construction
of vaults and combination locks. In my brief experience
I had become thoroughly disgusted with the
lack of success in robbing banks, for fully ninety-nine
per cent of failures had been recorded in my
mental bookkeeping. This I had good reason to
know, for hadn’t I supplied much of the funds
which were behind these ventures? I determined
that no longer would I have anything to do with
the sort of bank robbery that necessitated lugging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span>
about three hundred pounds of burglars’ tools. I
believed there was some other and more effective
method of getting at the millions in vaults whose
locks must be mastered. No doubt, if the newspapers
of that period had woven the romance about
the burglar that we read of to-day when one of the
profession exhibits exceptional genius, I would have
been dubbed the “Ethical Burglar,” for I began a
diligent, systematic study into the theoretical and
practical aspects of the subject of bank looting. To
do this, I purchased combination locks from all the
leading manufacturers and plunged into the intricacies
of their mechanism, and at the end of many
months of almost constant investigation I felt satisfied
that I had not thus applied myself in vain. I
could pick every lock, work out every known train
of numbers, and had mastered the finest system in the
use of high explosives; and, what was of far greater
importance than all, I had evolved a tiny instrument
scarcely more formidable than a finely tempered
piece of very small steel wire. But the
possibilities of this invention were greater than I
knew, for it worked wonders before the end of its
usefulness came. It did away with cumbersome
burglars’ tools and made the necessity for the use
of explosives of rare occurrence. In fact, it made
safe robbing an easier proposition than it ever had
been and ever will be again.</p>

<p>When once an entrance to a banking office was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span>
obtained, I reduced the art of getting combination
numbers to a matter of little concern, by the use
of this precious device. All I had to do was to
take off the dial knob of a lock, adjust the wire
on the inside surface of the dial, and replace the
knob; returning later to the bank. The lock in the
meantime having been used by the bank people to
open the vault or safe, I had only to remove the
knob and examine the marks made by the wire, and
I had the combination numbers. All that remained
between me and the right combination was to figure
out the order in which the numbers were used, and
that was not difficult.</p>

<p>Another advantage that came to me through this
schooling, was the rare accomplishment of being
able to watch the unlocking of a vault door, though
ten feet away from it, and, with scarcely a failure,
obtain the combination numbers. Rarely, indeed,
would I require more than one sitting. Thus
I mastered the combination locks. Having this control
over them, and with the use of the little steel
wire, which I christened the “Little Joker,” I went
into the safe-robbing business with unlimited energy.
The result of my long toil and the expenditure of
several hundreds of dollars, proved to be a veritable
bonanza.</p>

<p>I was much amazed, when next I heard from Mark
Shinburn, to learn that he had been as thoroughly
disgusted as I with the old-fashioned mode of breaking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span>
bank vaults and had set about to devise better
means. His efforts, like mine, had opened up
greater opportunities. Presently I tapped on the
rock as with a magic wand, and out came a golden
stream.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_IX" class="vspace">CHAPTER IX<br />

<span class="subhead">BREVOORT STABLES</span></h2>
</div>

<p>In the fall of 1866 my old Boston friend Charles
Meriam sold out his business at that place, and,
with the proceeds, some fifty-four hundred dollars,
set out for the West to grow up with the country.
On his way he stopped over a few days with me.
I tried to discourage him, and, not being successful,
finally said, in a <span class="locked">joke:—</span></p>

<p>“Well, Charlie, when you go broke, come back
to me, and I will start you in business again.”</p>

<p>Charlie set out for the West with visions of
future wealth before him. One afternoon in the
next August I returned to my apartments and
found him there, waiting for me. I was delighted
to see him, but could not help noticing that he did
not present a very prosperous appearance. He had
very little to say of his Western experience, but
asked many questions about business prospects in
New York City.</p>

<p>I soon saw that in following Horace Greeley’s
advice he had met with the same fate that so often
befell others who acted upon the suggestion that this
worthy gentleman was always so free with.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span>
After we had dined, and while we were alone
together, Meriam pulled out a five-cent piece,
<span class="locked">saying:—</span></p>

<p>“That’s all that’s left of my fifty-four hundred
dollars.”</p>

<p>He then went on and told me a hard luck story
about buying a half-interest in a business and subsequently
finding the stock mortgaged, so that his
capital was swept away. In order to get back to
New York he had had to pawn his trunk.</p>

<p>As I have before stated, Meriam was my friend;
consequently it was up to me to help him to a new
start. I know Russell Sage would not look at
it in this way—but that’s wherein I differ from
Uncle Russell. I told Meriam not to worry, that
fortunately I was pretty well heeled, and that we
would join forces in a livery business somewhere in
the city, I to furnish the capital and he to run the
concern. This verbal agreement continued between
us for sixteen years without a single disagreement.
It would doubtless have continued longer but that
it was broken by Meriam’s death in 1884.</p>

<p>At the time Meriam and I made our verbal agreement
to go into business together, a Mr. Westcott,
founder of the Westcott Express Company, was transferring
baggage for the New York Central Railroad,
but had no passenger service. We obtained from
him the right to conduct a passenger transfer under
his name, and at once started with eight horses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span>
and two Concord coaches, each of the latter bearing
the inscription, “Westcott’s Transfer Coach.”</p>

<p>This venture proved so lucrative that, within a
few months, Mr. Westcott decided to run it himself,
and made us an offer for our stock, etc. As
our agreement was verbal only, and for no specific
term, we had perforce to sell to him.</p>

<p>In February, 1869, we bought from A. R.
Matthews the stock and business of the Brevoort
Stables, 114 Clinton Place, for a cash consideration
of twenty thousand dollars, I furnishing the money;
and the title was taken in my wife’s name. In
fact, I gave it to her, though Meriam received
one-half the profits, and it was always conducted
under the name of “Meriam’s Brevoort Stables.”</p>

<p>Until the advent of the London cheap cabs this
business netted over twelve thousand dollars per
year. During my business career in New York I
was known as George Miles, the latter being my
middle name; but in the world of crooks I was
known as Bliss and by other names. While in the
livery business, I must add here, I had a sort of
blind brokerage office in Broad Street, which was of
service to me in more than one way.</p>

<p>The stable, as well as the hotel, was on land
leased from the Sailors’ Snug Harbor Association,
to which it belonged, and at the time we hired it
Messrs. Clark and Wait, then proprietors of the
Brevoort House, owned the lease of the stable also.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span>
We hired from them under a verbal agreement, and,
during the fifteen years or more that we were their
tenants we never had a single dispute, and our original
agreement stood during the whole of that time.</p>

<p>When, on the death of his father, Charlie Wait
came into control of the hotel, he got the aldermanic
bee in his bonnet. In furtherance of his
ambition, he made a political deal which embraced
the letting of our stable to a certain politician.
Consequently we were obliged to vacate and also
to sell our stock at a great sacrifice. At this time
Meriam was dead and I was finishing a twelve-year
term of imprisonment in Vermont, where I
had been since 1876, for the robbery of the Barre
Bank. Consequently my wife was conducting the
business with the aid of a manager, and she could
not cope with Wait’s political aides.</p>

<p>When I had been sent to prison, I had been
robbed of nearly every dollar I had by the New
York police and was stone broke. Therefore this
livery business was my wife’s sole dependence for
her livelihood; and when deprived of it she was left
in a bad way. On my release, in 1888, we were
practically without a dollar—thanks to Charlie
Wait. But he was no better off, having lost his
whole fortune, including a one-third interest in the
Windsor Hotel in Fifth Avenue.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, during our separation, Shinburn had
not fared much better than I. He pulled off one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span>
good trick, got arrested for it, and escaped. This
trick was the robbery of the Lehigh and Susquehanna
Navigation Company at Whitehaven, Pennsylvania.
A few days after our arrival in New York
from the Steuben County jail, Shinburn went to
Scranton. Here two sporting men of that city put
him on to the safe in question, which on one night
in each month contained a large sum of money with
which to pay the employees of the company. Shinburn
obtained wax impressions of the keys to the
safe and had duplicates made.</p>

<p>On the night when the pay money was supposed
to be in the office Shinburn entered the building and
unlocked the safe. For some reason the expected
amount of money was not there, the safe containing
at the time only six thousand dollars. Shinburn
decided not to take it, but to wait until the full
amount was on hand. Therefore, replacing the six
thousand dollars, he relocked the safe and left. The
next month, on the day that the large sum of money
was again supposed to be on hand, he returned,
opened the safe, and found thirty thousand dollars.
This he took, thus getting twenty-four thousand
dollars as a reward for his patience.</p>

<p>He and one of the sporting men had driven over
from Scranton in a rig that had been hired from a
livery in that city. After looting the safe, they
returned to Scranton by the same means, and would
doubtless have escaped detection but for one of those<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span>
mysterious happenings which seem to lie in the wake
of the evil-doer to bring about his downfall.</p>

<p>The night of the loot was rainy, and the roads
were muddy. When the robbery was discovered,
fresh wagon and horse tracks were found leading
to and from the village. The tracks showed a
broken shoe on one of the horse’s feet. These
tracks were traced to Scranton, where a search of
the livery stables discovered the horse with the
broken shoe.</p>

<p>This led to the arrest of the two sporting men,
one of whom had hired the rig. One of these gentlemen
squealed, implicating Shinburn, who, some weeks
later, was arrested and taken to Wilkesbarre. Here,
pending a hearing of the case, he was kept at a hotel
in charge of a special deputy sheriff, who, on retiring
to bed at night, handcuffed himself and Shinburn
together.</p>

<p>Shinburn saw that he was caught dead to rights,
and that, unless he could escape, he had a term of
imprisonment before him. He therefore broached
the subject of escape to his jailer, and finally induced
him to consent to permit his prisoner to pick the
handcuff lock and get away.</p>

<p>For this Shinburn agreed to give his jailer two
thousand dollars. He did not have this amount
with him, but, by convincing the deputy that he
had nothing to lose, the latter was induced to take
Shinburn’s promise of payment. Therefore, about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span>
midnight, while the deputy was snoring like a
trooper, Shinburn picked the lock of the cuff on his
own wrist with a common pen which had been bent
to serve the purpose.</p>

<p>There was another guard in an adjoining room,
with an open door between. Therefore Shinburn
quietly gathered up his own clothes, taking also his
jailer’s overcoat and gun, and slipped out into the
hall and there dressed himself. He then dropped
to the ground from a window, walked to Pittston,
boarded a gravity railroad coal car, and rode to
Waymart. From here he was driven to Great
Bend on the Erie Railroad, where he boarded a
train and landed safely in New York.</p>

<p>And now comes the sequel, which proves that
crooks of a certain grade are as careful of their
promises as are the most honored business men.
Shinburn did not find it convenient to pay the
promised two thousand dollars until July, 1869.
Then he sought to reach his whilom jailer, but
learned that he had left Wilkesbarre. All inquiries
as to where he had gone failed to locate him.
Thereupon Shinburn inserted a personal in the <cite>New
York Herald</cite>, so worded that the person for whom
it was intended, and he alone, would understand
it. After weeks of advertising, the man was heard
from. He came on to New York at Shinburn’s expense,
where he was paid the promised two thousand
dollars.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span>
I was present when he received this money, and I
can tell you he was a happy man. He <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“It’s lucky that I did not get this money when
you escaped. If I had, it would all be gone with the
rest of my money. I lost everything I had in a
deal I went into, and have been dead broke ever
since. This money will start me to going again.”</p>

<p>I wish I could say that with that money he built
up an enormous fortune; but as a matter of fact I
never heard of him after he left us, so do not know
what finally became of him.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_X" class="vspace">CHAPTER X<br />

<span class="subhead">I CORRUPT A BANK CLERK</span></h2>
</div>

<p>“Who’s that pale-looking chap at the first table
to the left?” asked Chelsea George, one of Jack
Hartley’s coterie of misfit burglars. His remark was
addressed to a faro dealer at his side.</p>

<p>“The feller that’s just cashin’ in his last case?”
whispered the dealer.</p>

<p>“Yes—he’s got the look of a farmer not long used
to city ways and clothes,” said Chelsea George.</p>

<p>“You’re half right, sir; he’s a bank clerk. He
came from Montreal way not long ’go,” volunteered
the faro dealer. “But he’s a good thing here, though
he was a greeny for sure when he first come in.
He’s buckin’ in the game fast, sir, these days. Got
the gamblin’ fever very much alive in ’im.”</p>

<p>“Can’t have much cash if he’s only a bank clerk,”
remarked Chelsea George with a sniff.</p>

<p>“Not much to back his game, but he’s a sticker
for keeps.”</p>

<p>“Is it possible?” ejaculated Chelsea, as though
surprised. “Tell us more about him.”</p>

<p>“Yes, do; he seems a queer chap, doncher know,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span>
put in a companion of Chelsea. Up to this juncture
he had been a quiet listener.</p>

<p>“I’m not sure but he might prove an interesting
acquaintance,” said Chelsea George, turning to the
speaker with a peculiar light in his eyes. The third
of the group was English George, a pal of Chelsea
and a crook of no higher class. They dressed loudly
and posed as fast young gentlemen from Britain, with
plenty of cash to spend. The faro dealer believed
them to be of this class, though had he known them
to be what they were, it would have made no difference
to him. Occasionally they bucked the tiger.</p>

<p>It was in John Morrissey’s gilded gambling den
in West Twenty-fourth Street, New York City, that
the above conversation took place. Morrissey was
at the zenith of his career, and, though a gambler,
he was known to be a friend of the deserving poor.
This is not said, however, with a view of putting
my stamp of approval on gambling, for my advice to
young men is to keep away from the Gilded Palace
of the Green Cloth. My warning isn’t backed by
personal experience, either. Of a truth I can say
that I ever steered clear of the gaming-table.</p>

<p>It was late in the fall of 1867 that Morrissey’s
place was first visited by the two Georges, who hung
about the tables for the most part of the time in
search of information which they could turn to an
account in their profession. Not infrequently words
were dropped by the wealthy habitués of the den<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span>
that led to the robbery of a bank or other well-stocked
safe.</p>

<p>John Taylor, the young bank clerk being discussed
by the Englishmen and the faro dealer, was fast approaching
the real danger point in his gambling
experience. His fascination for the pool-room and
race-track had opened a straight road to Morrissey’s,
and at the moment of our introduction to him he
had played in the last cent of his salary drawn from
the Ocean National Bank that very day. His face
was pale but for a patch of deep crimson in the
centre of each cheek. He was about to move from
the table when the faro dealer and the two Georges
approached him.</p>

<p>“Hard luck, Mr. Taylor?” asked the dealer.</p>

<p>“The worst I could possibly have,” said the young
man, gnawing at his feverish lips. A few words of
the commonplace sort ensued, and then the dealer,
having adroitly brought it about, introduced the
Englishmen. Presently Taylor and the two Georges
were alone at a table, drinking, the former not having
the slightest knowledge that the motive for seeking
the introduction was an ulterior one. As innocent
was the faro dealer.</p>

<p>“We were watching your play,” explained Chelsea
after a little, “and although we don’t know much
about the game, we concluded that your system was
a good one if pushed to the limit. It’s new, isn’t it,
Mr. Taylor?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span>
As a matter of fact, Taylor had played no so-called
system, and at the moment was thinking of nothing
but that he had lost upon plunging his all. Until
then he had been winning. Like thousands of other
fools who gamble, he believed his luck had come to
stay until he could regain all he’d lost in other days.
He placed his pile of winnings and his week’s salary
on one card. In an instant he saw it all vanish.</p>

<p>“I haven’t any system,” he answered Chelsea,
nervously pulling at his slim black mustache, “but
one thing I know well—I’m cleaned out!”</p>

<p>“Pardon me, old chap!” Chelsea George said,
placing his hand on Taylor’s shoulder in an affectionate
manner, “but I was once in a fix like yours,
and not so long ago either. I wasn’t sorry when a
friend like Mr. Wales here came along.”</p>

<p>English George smiled benignly at this, and Chelsea
continued: “He loaned me a few hundred, and
they came just in season. Now if I could be of any
service to you, I’d consider it in the light of a favor
to me.”</p>

<p>If Chelsea expected Taylor would resent the offer
of a loan, he had overestimated the man, at least in
the case in hand; for all men in the mad rush eventually
reach the rash limit of their financial means, and
Taylor had run the gamut! He had to meet an obligation
that night, and it was this fact that made him
play for a high stake. Exposure, indeed, was close on
his heels. If his creditors did as they threatened to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span>
do, he would soon be looking for another position.
He saw in Chelsea’s loan a straw to which he might
cling, consequently when two new one hundred dollar
bills were thrust into his hand, it closed on them,
though tremblingly. The fine sense of honor drilled
into him at home by his stately Canadian father had
given him a stab, for the moment. He knew he had
accepted the money with scarcely a hope of returning
it! But family pride went down before the crush
of circumstances.</p>

<p>“I shan’t forget you!” he said to Chelsea George,
swallowing hard; “I’ll be here next Saturday night
at nine, and, well—”</p>

<p>“My dear old chap, don’t mention it! Mr. Wales
and I dine at the Sinclair House to-morrow evening
at eight. We’d like to have you join us. We’re
just looking about town and taking in the sights, you
know. In the meantime don’t worry about this
trifling, blasted loan.”</p>

<p>English George, too, warmly pressed Taylor to
accept their hospitality. He promised, and so the
Georges and the young bank clerk parted.</p>

<p>“The young feller’s up against it, and is good for
a stunt,” said English, resuming his natural self.</p>

<p>“He’ll be useful!” was Chelsea’s short answer.</p>

<p>The young bank clerk had come to New York
bright, innocent, and ambitious. His gilt-edged references
procured him a responsible position in a leading
down-town wholesale mercantile house, and from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span>
there he soon went to a clerkship in the Ocean Bank.
There appeared to be the material in him out of
which the successful banker is made, so his promotion
was rapid and his salary grew proportionately.
It is not my purpose to be misleading; therefore,
when I say his salary was increased, I do not mean
that it was what it should have been. There is no
doubt, to my way of thinking, that his compensation
was too small when compared with his ability. Indeed,
I believe that a more generous recognition of
his talents would have been better for him and his
employers.</p>

<p>Taylor was on hand promptly to dine with the two
Georges, who were lavish in their supply of wines.
It was a mellow trio, indeed, that were about to separate
at midnight, John Taylor feeling particularly
flushed with his frequent libations.</p>

<p>“I’ve got a scheme, Taylor, old fellow, and you
can make a good commission in it!” Chelsea was
saying, as he puffed a ring of cigar smoke over
his head, and blew another ring quickly after, and
through it.</p>

<p>“Heap sight better ’n faro at Morrissey’s,” put in
English, with a laugh; “in fact, my boy, it’s a dead
sure thing!”</p>

<p>John Taylor drained a glass of champagne and
said his companions talked as though they were Jay
Goulds and Jim Fisks.</p>

<p>“What is the deal, anyway?” he added. “If<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span>
there’s money around, the devil knows I need it!
Unless things take a lightning change soon, I’ll have
to,” and he lurched unsteadily to his feet.</p>

<p>Chelsea gently pushed the young man back in his
chair, and filled the wine-glasses once more. Then
he <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“I’ve got five thousand dollars’ worth of United
States five-twenty bonds I want to sell, Mr. Taylor,
and I think you can do it for me! I’d do it myself,
only I got ’em in a queer way, old chap, and I want
to get rid of ’em on the cautious. They’ll sell easy,
and there’s twenty-five per cent in the deal for you.”</p>

<p>“And you know the Wall Street game a long sight
better ’n my friend,” put in English.</p>

<p>“I know something about the game in the Street,”
said Taylor, with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders.
“I might negotiate the bonds if I could see
my way clear!”</p>

<p>“Here, fill ’em up again, Mr. Wales!” said Chelsea
George, and once more the trio drained their glasses.
But the game had been played. Chelsea had brought
the bonds with him, and Taylor carried them home.
The next day he sold them, and that night he met
the two Georges. When he left them, twelve hundred
dollars were in his pocket. It occurred to him
that there must have been something illegal about
the transaction, but to him, then, it made no difference.
He must have money. Now that he had it,
he was seized with a spirit of exultation. Two-thirds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span>
of the snug sum in his pocket would pay off
the old scores. These done away with, he would
start anew. And, too, the ease with which he had
made the money fascinated him. He began to
wonder whether or not he would have another opportunity.
If the bonds had come into the possession
of the Englishmen by fraud, he didn’t know
it, so why should he care; he was not supposed to
inquire where they came from. He had offered
them to a broker of a fine business reputation, and
no questions had been asked. Of course the bonds
were all right!</p>

<p>As a matter of fact, they had been stolen, and were
what is known in the crook parlance as “crooked.”
English George met Taylor a few days later, and
told him what the bonds were, but did not tell him
where they came from. The young clerk, in a measure,
was now in the power of the men, whose true
character he began to realize; but his craving for
money, and their reasoning that he would not fall
into the hands of the police, led him to further venture
into “crooked bond” selling. Several more
deals, of more or less size, were put through without
a hitch, and “easy money,” as he termed it, came in
his way. But, as is usually the case, it went out as
fast, Morrissey’s getting the most of it. There came
a time when he was again out of funds, and the
Englishmen had no bonds to be negotiated. In this
emergency, the evil in Taylor, once aroused, asserted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span>
itself with a power not easily resisted. Mad for the
want of that which would supply his craving for
gambling, the young bank clerk was at the point
where he would not stop at anything, short of a
great peril that could be seen.</p>

<p>About one year later, Taylor, in a talk with Chelsea
George, said, with a laugh that left his listener in no
doubt as to his meaning, “What if a box of securities
were left in a position in our bank to be carried off
without detection?”</p>

<p>Chelsea eyed Taylor in astonishment. He thought
there had been a mighty rapid transition from selling
“crooked bonds” to putting up a job to rob a bank.</p>

<p>“I don’t think I understand you,” said Chelsea.</p>

<p>“I could tell you of such a box and from where it
may be taken,” said Taylor. “That seems pretty
plain language to me.”</p>

<p>“Well, yes, I should say so; and I could see such
a box if there was enough of the useful in it to
make it worth the while,” answered the Englishman.
“How much would there be in it for me?”</p>

<p>“It won’t have less than a hundred thousand dollars’
worth of United States government bonds,” said
Taylor.</p>

<p>Chelsea asked where they were kept so handily.</p>

<p>“In the paying teller’s window, during business
hours.”</p>

<p>“They might as well be in the vault,” declared
Chelsea.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span>
“On the contrary,” quickly explained Taylor, “the
box is left by itself in a most careless manner. It
would be very easy for you and English to carry it
off, when business is at its height, say at three in
the afternoon.”</p>

<p>“We might play the business man gag,” mused
Chelsea.</p>

<p>“What’s that?” inquired the bank clerk, seemingly
catching at the Englishman’s meaning.</p>

<p>“We might call at the bank some afternoon, and
English might take the box while I talked to the
president.”</p>

<p>“That’s it—just the thing!” cried Taylor; “I
didn’t know just how it could be done, but was sure
you could find some way.”</p>

<p>“How many clerks are there in the banking
office?” asked Chelsea.</p>

<p>“Never mind them,” replied Taylor, confidently;
“I’ll see they’re kept busy.”</p>

<p>After the young clerk had made thus clear the
possibility of success, Chelsea agreed with him that
they might make a good “touch.” So English
George was consulted, and the plans laid for an
immediate attempt. As suggested by Taylor, the
closing hour of business was selected in which to
make the “lift.” The president’s room was just off
the office and not many steps from the paying teller’s
desk. The box of securities nearly always lay at the
teller’s elbow.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span>
The day following the completion of the arrangements,
a well-dressed Englishman was admitted to
the office of President Martin. Almost immediately
behind him came another man, apparently the companion
of the first. The first caller introduced himself
to the president, saying he was anxious to obtain
information about money exchange, and that he’d
been recommended to Mr. Martin by the agent of
the steamship line by which he’d just landed in New
York. The president was delighted to meet the
strange Englishman, and heartily welcomed him to
America, adding, “I shall be pleased to be of service
to you.”</p>

<p>They conversed in this manner for fifteen minutes.
Apparently the Englishman had not noticed the
second caller, who, upon entering the office, had
remained at a distance. President Martin had wondered,
while they were talking, why his visitor hadn’t
introduced his fellow-traveller. Perhaps, though, the
other was only a servant. At any rate President
Martin was soon so engrossed with the pleasing
Englishman’s humorous story of a ship passenger’s
experience that the presence of the other slipped
his mind.</p>

<p>Presently the second caller walked out in the
banking office and stood idly there for several minutes.
John Taylor saw him, knew him, and at once
took the cue. The stranger saw that Taylor called
the clerks over to his desk and was amusing them in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span>
some manner. The paying teller was attending to a
long line of bank customers before his window. At
his elbow, as Taylor had said, there lay a tin box.
The stranger edged along in that direction and
reached over, with a quick movement, to possess it.
As he did so his elbow struck hard against a high
stool. He tried spasmodically to catch it, but failed.
Crash it went to the floor, and every eye was directed
toward him, and every eye saw a flying figure dash
into President Martin’s office, and, climbing to the
window-sill, disappear, before the two occupants of
the room, apparently, realized what had happened.
Chelsea George, at Mr. Martin’s side, gritted his
teeth and suppressed an oath when he saw English
George go through the window empty-handed.</p>

<p>The banking office was in an uproar in an instant.
President Martin demanded what was the trouble.
Clerk Taylor explained that he’d seen a gentleman
standing in the office a moment before the crash, but
supposed he was a friend of the president’s.</p>

<p>“I thought the man was with you,” exclaimed
President Martin to Chelsea George.</p>

<p>“My dear fellow, no!” expostulated Chelsea; “a
man came in behind me, but I thought he was your
friend. It must have been a thief. Did he steal
anything?” President Martin in the excitement
hadn’t thought of that. He was assured that everything
was intact.</p>

<p>“How fortunate, my dear fellow,” said Chelsea;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span>
“that you’ve lost nothing. Those rascally blacklegs
are so bold! Oh, we have them in London, even
worse than you have them here, don’t you know.”</p>

<p>With this comforting blather for President Martin,
and “Many thanks, my dear fellow, for your kindness,”
Chelsea George bowed himself out of the
banking office and was soon in Fulton Street, cursing
English George, and his stupidity, in all the varied
forms of blasphemy he could command.</p>

<p>In the meantime, English George might be a bungler
and deserve all the cursing that Chelsea could
deliver, but as to his fleetness, there could not be a
question. When he disappeared from the window,
it was to land ten feet below on the sidewalk in Fulton
Street, making good his escape by way of the old
horse-car tunnel through the block to Vesey Street at
College Place.</p>

<p>It was not until after Chelsea had left the bank,
and the police reported, half an hour later, that the
thief had escaped, that the guilty bank clerk began
to feel safe. When the crash of the bookkeeper’s
stool came, Taylor thought there would be certain
exposure for him. That night he saw the two
Georges and said something far from complimentary
to English.</p>

<p>I have related the details of this attempt to “lift”
the box of securities, to demonstrate in what state of
mind I found John Taylor, for it was in listening to
Chelsea George berating English that I, like a flash,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span>
conceived the plot to loot the Ocean Bank. Naturally
my trained mind told me that a bank clerk
who was so anxious and willing to participate in the
stealing of one hundred thousand dollars would be
quite likely to fall a victim to a bribe which would
make possible a game worth striving for.</p>

<p>“You can get next to him in a bond-selling deal,”
advised Chelsea; “but I don’t know whether he’d
turn to a bank job again after the bungle of English.”</p>

<p>“It won’t do me any harm to know him,” said I.
“I’m sure that a man who’ll stand for a deal such
as you’ve described won’t stop at anything. So, if
you’ll put me up to him, I’ll make a try.”</p>

<p>“No try, no game, George, true enough!”</p>

<p>“Yes,” added I; “and when you meet this Taylor,
tell him you know of a man who’s got a few thousands
of paper fit for the market. I’ll bait him with
’crooked bonds’ as a stepping-stone to a bigger
thing.”</p>

<p>Well, briefly, I went to the Sinclair House a few
evenings later and met John Taylor, the appointment
having been arranged by English George. I
measured the young man’s caliber immediately, and
felt satisfied that he’d be a good investment; in
other words, would be the sort of stuff out of which
I could make a “right” bank clerk. In order that
I might become better acquainted with him at once, I
placed three thousand dollars’ worth of bonds in his
care for the market. He made a good sale, and I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span>
paid him fifteen per cent for his pains. Finding
that he was a safe one to deal with, in fact, a man
who wouldn’t get a “swelled head” over success,
I gave him other opportunities to sell bonds, and
finally I came down to the more important subject.</p>

<p>I must confess that I was considerably astonished
over the readiness with which he met my proposition.
It was more than halfway; indeed, he was
overanxious to barter his honor and integrity in
any reasonable scheme in which there was an ordinary
element of safety and a money return commensurate
with the risk that would be taken. I will quote
his own words as correctly as I can: “I am anxious
to make a stake large enough to admit of resigning
my position in the Ocean Bank and go West, where
I can start in business for myself.”</p>

<p>Having reached such a plain understanding, it was
not long before Taylor proposed a second attempt
to steal the little tin box of securities which the
Englishmen failed to get.</p>

<p>“As a matter of fact,” Taylor told me, “the securities
are daily left in the same lax manner they were
before that lunkhead of an Englishman fell over the
chair.”</p>

<p>“One would think the Ocean Bank folks would
be more cautious after so close a call,” I suggested.</p>

<p>“True; but they’re not. I think the box could be
carried away easily if the right sort of a man went
after it,” said Taylor, with great conviction. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span>
I had my mind set on bigger results, and so I reminded
him of our talk about tackling larger game,
though at the time I had not hinted, in any way,
what I expected him to do. I hadn’t told him I had
my eye on the Ocean Bank.</p>

<p>“Why not get in the vault of your bank?” said I,
and intently watched his face for the effect. I staggered
him! His face, usually pale, fairly blanched
at the mention of the proposition. Presently he
gasped, “It’s a physical impossibility!”</p>

<p>“By no means,” declared I, smiling at my flat
contradiction. Still Taylor was sceptical.</p>

<p>“I don’t believe it! You can’t open it! It’s a
bang-up burglar-proof vault, and so much so, by the
eternal, that many of our wisest customers leave
their strong boxes in it,” he cried.</p>

<p>“Nevertheless,” I persisted, benignly disregarding
his earnestness, “the combination lock can be picked,
and I can do it! Once inside the vault, the rest is
only a question of time and perseverance!”</p>

<p>When I had talked to him much in this vein, he
began to lose some of his confidence in the burglar-proof
qualities of the vault and became more susceptible
to suggestions. With this change of front, and
at my request, he gave me a detailed description of
the vault, its doors, and of the safes inside. Then
he enlightened me as to the business methods of the
bank, and, in fact, placed me in full possession, as
he then knew them, of such data as would make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span>
clear to me what plans would have to be devised to
get inside the vault. He wasn’t able, at the moment,
to tell me all I wanted to know of the bank’s combination
locks, but this he furnished me later, to my
entire satisfaction. As a further incentive for Taylor
to continue his investigation, I was unstinted in
my praise of the work he had thus far done.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XI" class="vspace">CHAPTER XI<br />

<span class="subhead">A COLOSSAL BANK BURGLING ENTERPRISE</span></h2>
</div>

<p>The Ocean National Bank occupied the first floor
of the building on the southeast corner of Fulton
and Greenwich streets. Fulton Street at this point
has quite a downward slope running westerly, and,
therefore, the first floor of the building in question
was much higher from the ground at the corner than
at its easterly end. The entrance to the bank, which
was at the corner, was reached by a flight of stone
steps, while the entrance to the offices above, being
at the other Fulton Street end of the building, was
nearly on the street level. It will be well to bear
these facts in mind, the better to understand the
meetings of the policeman and the janitor as hereinafter
related.</p>

<p>Underneath the bank was a basement much below
the surface at the back end, but nearly upon the
street level at the Greenwich Street front. This
basement was divided into offices reached by flights
of steps leading down from both streets.</p>

<p>It might be said, in passing, that this is the same
building which in later years was occupied by
Charles J. Hartmann and his industrial insurance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span>
company. This company, in the late ’80’s, was
closed up by the Superintendent of Insurance, who
found twelve dollars cash on hand and over forty-three
thousand dollars of liabilities. Mr. Hartmann,
from his connection with this company, received
considerable undesirable notoriety, resulting, among
other things, in a suit for libel against a newspaper.
The jury in that case awarded Hartmann a verdict
of five thousand dollars, which was finally paid;
though not until the case had been carried to the
Court of Appeals and the newspaper beaten at every
turn and being administered scathing denunciations
from the bench.</p>

<p>As before stated, the bank occupied the first floor
of this building. The counters of the tellers and the
desks of the bookkeepers were in the front, or Greenwich
Street, end; the private office of the president
was at the rear end, with windows fronting on
Fulton Street. The corner of the building at the
intersection of the two streets was rounded, as was
also the flight of steps leading up to the bank. This
made an entrance conspicuous, as it could be seen
from a long distance away both on Fulton and
Greenwich streets. Therefore it would seem that
it would be a most desperate, if not a hopeless,
undertaking to attempt to gain entrance to the
bank vault, or, if successful, to get away with its
contents, without being discovered.</p>

<p>But to the bank burglar the greater the risk, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span>
greater the desire to “beat” it. For he who continues
in the ranks of professional burglars does so
as much for the excitement of the game as for the
desire for pelf. Though, of course, the larger the
loot, the larger the satisfaction. It is the same feeling
as that which animates the hunter of the lion,
tiger, and elephant. The only difference is in the
direction of the energy.</p>

<p>The Ocean Bank at this time was one of the large
institutions, financially, in New York City, and that,
of course, means in the United States. It was situated
close to the Washington markets, then the centre
for all produce that came to or was dealt in in the
city. And the district for the wholesale dealers and
jobbers of all kinds of merchandise was then in the
near neighborhood. Furthermore the bank was a
depository for United States Government funds.
Thus it is but natural that one should suppose that
the strong vault of this bank always contained a
large sum in cash and convertible securities—a sum
much greater than the proverbial king’s ransom.</p>

<p>The lock on the vault was a three-tumbler combination
made by Briggs and Huntington of Rochester,
New York, and was at that time one of the most
secure of its kind, and was practically, if not absolutely,
non-pickable except by one in possession
of the combination.</p>

<p>There was, however, the same fatal weakness as
in Lillie’s. If, between its locking and unlocking,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span>
one could obtain access to it long enough to insert
the “Little Joker,” heretofore explained, a register
of the numbers of the combination could be obtained.
I learned from Taylor that there was an inside door
to the vault, the keys to which, when not in use,
were kept in a secret place in the bank; and that,
also, within the vault the paying and receiving tellers
had each a separate safe, the key to which each teller
carried on his person.</p>

<p>In proportion as the obstacles increased, so did my
zeal to overcome them; and I told Taylor that I
was determined to make the attempt unless I became
convinced of its utter futility. Many questions
that I would ask about the vault and the bank
management Taylor could not answer offhand, but
would require time to observe and report upon
them later. Thus it was that I obtained the name
of the maker of the lock and its style, the manner
of the disposition of the keys, and the conduct of
the officials. For, from lack of experience, Taylor
had not, until prompted by me, observed many
things which it is essential for one in my line of
business to know—things which it is necessary
to be informed about before undertaking a job,
and which assistance from the inside saves from
long, weary weeks of spying and prying to learn.
Taylor also ascertained the secret receptacle of the
keys to the vault, and tried, by watching, to catch
the combination of the inner vault door’s lock as it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span>
was being manipulated. In this, however, he made
no progress.</p>

<p>Finally I decided that the only way to accomplish
our purpose was to go about it systematically, and
spend money, time, and other means sufficient to
insure complete success. And then began months
of planning and scheming which I hoped would
bring ultimately a rich reward.</p>

<p>Having determined that strenuous measures were
necessary to gain our end, I at once set about their
employment. I had seen from the first that it would
be next to impossible to force the outer vault doors
by means of explosives without bringing detection
upon us before we could accomplish more; and that,
therefore, our only hope for success lay in obtaining
the combination to the lock.</p>

<p>I learned of Taylor that, from his desk in the
bank, he could see the combination when it was
being operated; but that he could not get near
enough to see the marks on the dial without creating
suspicion. I was pretty nearly at my wits’ end,
when, as a last resort, I finally determined to try the
power of initiation. The scheme that came to my
mind was mighty visionary, but the thought of
millions nerved me to try every expedient. And, as
Taylor was particularly bright, I thought that my
plan had more than a fighting chance.</p>

<p>Thus it was that one day I boarded a train at the
New York Central depot and on the following morning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span>
found myself in the city of Rochester. I registered
at the Brackett House, and, after cleaning off
the dust of travel and supplying the wants of the
inner man, I made my way to the office of Messrs.
Briggs and Huntington. I introduced myself to Mr.
Briggs as W. D. Harrington, of the banking house
of J. C. Harrington and Co., Scranton, Pennsylvania.
I happened to know that there was no such concern
in Scranton, and I trusted to luck that Mr. Briggs
did not possess a like knowledge. He did not, and
I was, therefore, free to enlarge upon a mythical
vault to my heart’s content.</p>

<p>I told Mr. Briggs that the combination lock to
our vault doors worked badly, was constantly giving
trouble, and that we had decided to replace it with a
new one, and to get the best in the market; that we
had heard their locks highly spoken of, and, as I was
on my way to Buffalo on business, I had stopped off
to see what his firm could do for us.</p>

<p>Mr. Briggs, doubtless with an eye to business,
began to ask questions about our vault. My general
knowledge of such affairs enabled me to answer
him satisfactorily. I told him that it was built of
brick, lined with stone, and that it had Lillie doors.
He said that while vaults of that kind were possibly
fireproof, they were far from being safe from burglars.
He claimed that Lillie’s work was a back
number, and showed me a Lillie safe that had been
robbed by drilling. “Let us put you in a steel-lined<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span>
vault, and some of our latest make of chilled
steel doors,” suggested Mr. Briggs; “then you will
have a vault that you can feel is really burglar-proof.”</p>

<p>I thought of our unsuccessful attempt on the
Brockport Bank and felt that Mr. Briggs had some
justification for his confidence. And I could not but
speculate as to whether his confidence would remain
unshaken after the ultimate ending of the scheme in
behalf of which I was now visiting him. I venture
to say that it did not.</p>

<p>Parrying as best I could Mr. Briggs’s proposition,—for
I did not know just the dimensions of that
Scranton vault, and really did not wish it lined just
then,—and it not being a vault, but a lock, that I was
after, I asked to be shown their different styles of
locks. There was none just exactly like that on the
Ocean Bank vault; but there was one which varied
only slightly. I asked Mr. Briggs if he could not
make certain changes in it. He said he could, but
that the lock would not then be so good, as the
things I wished altered were improvements on their
old style of lock. I insisted, however, upon the
changes; and he said that it would take about two
days to make them. I told him to go ahead and
make the changes, and I would take the lock. He
offered to send it by express to Scranton, but I replied
that my business in Buffalo would be finished
by the time the lock was ready, and that I would
stop for it on my way home.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span>
I have often wondered since that Briggs did not
become suspicious at my display of knowledge of
locks, and my desire for a special pattern, especially
as that pattern was palpably not as good as the one
he was asked to alter. Doubtless he did wonder, but
he probably put it down to the contrariness of a man
who, having set his mind on one thing, cannot be
turned therefrom by the most convincing arguments.
For how could he surmise the purpose to which that
lock was intended to be put?</p>

<p>The beating of combinations had not then become
the success that it afterward attained, when safe-makers
had continually to exercise their ingenuity to
keep ahead of the safe-breakers. Then the safe-makers
took extreme precautions to prevent the
obtaining of knowledge of the mechanism of their
locks. And many good stories could be told about
how crooks circumvented these precautions, and how,
by reason thereof, Troy, New York, and Akron,
Ohio, became centres for bank burglars.</p>

<p>However, Mr. Briggs exhibited no suspicion, and
promised to have the lock ready on the afternoon of
the following day. To minimize all risks, I went to
Buffalo and stayed over night at the Mansion House,
returning to Rochester the next afternoon. Going
at once to the office of Mr. Briggs, I found the lock
ready for me. A careful examination showed it to
be what I had come for. Therefore it was boxed, I
paid the bill of two hundred dollars, and that night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span>
I was on my way back to New York City with my
purchase, which was safe in my apartments the next
morning.</p>

<p>The following night, in response to my request,
Taylor came to my room, and I took the lock apart
and explained its mechanism to him. I went over
the details until he fully understood their workings.
Then, putting the lock together, I went to one side of
the room while Taylor went to the other, and I began
working the dial knob; Taylor was watching my
hands to discover through their movements, if he
could, the points at which I stopped and the number
of revolutions the dial made. It was tedious
work, but we kept at it night after night, while, in
the daytime, Taylor, having made it a point to be
always on hand before the vault was opened, would
watch the process of unlocking its doors. He had a
quick eye and was very apt, and, after some weeks of
practice and watching, he felt sure that he had the
combination that would open the doors of the vault.</p>

<p>We tried upon our lock until I was convinced that
he was right, and then I began to feel that our project
was in a fair way to succeed. And a few days
later, to make sure of his convictions, Taylor stayed
after hours at the bank on an excuse that he was
behind on his books. There being no one around
but the janitor, Taylor put his belief to the test and
found—failure.</p>

<p>When I met Taylor that night, he told me the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span>
result of his attempt, and that he felt sure he had
the first two numbers right and that the last number,
which he had decided to be one hundred and twenty-three,
must be the one he had wrong. Of course we
felt a little blue, but we agreed that if he had the
first two numbers right, the last would not be long
in coming. It was finally arranged that Taylor
should stay after hours the next day, and that he
should send the janitor on an errand that would keep
him away fifteen or twenty minutes; that I should
be where I could watch the bank, and when the
janitor left I should enter and see what I could do.</p>

<p>This plan was carried out. As soon as the janitor
had gone, I entered the bank; the door was locked
against intrusion, and I went to work at the combination,
when, lo! the handle turned, the bolts shot
back, and the doors opened. Taylor had the combination
pat except the last stop, which was on no
number, but just a little to one side of one hundred
and twenty-three. No wonder he did not get it
exactly, but it was great work to get it as near as
he did.</p>

<p>When our success was apparent we did not fall
into one another’s arms and weep tears of joy. No.
I closed the doors and made my exit; and Taylor, a
few moments later, closed his books and did likewise.
We met at the Astor House, and I think we
may be pardoned if we indulged in a cold bottle, or
even two.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span>
Up to this time there had been no discussion of
terms between Taylor and myself. He had ever
been somewhat sceptical as to our success, and I
had borne all the expense of the venture. Now,
however, he became imbued with some of my faith
in the scheme, and an agreement was made between
us as to the percentage he should receive of whatever
should be obtained in the loot, though this was
a good deal like counting chickens before they were
hatched.</p>

<p>Until we had secured the combination to the vault
of the Ocean Bank, Taylor and I had worked in
secret, no one else having the least idea of what we
were doing, or that we had aught in contemplation.
Now, however, it became necessary for me to find
assistants in the work of getting into the bank. In
this, Taylor, of course, could not help me. Burglary
was not in his line, and except that he would keep
me posted on the doings inside of the bank, all the
work in future must be done by other hands than
his.</p>

<p>The difficulties to be overcome and the immensity
of the haul we should make, if successful, rendered
it imperative that the very best men in the profession
should be engaged. At this time alleged burglars
were numerous, but most of them were more
fit for breaking into a jail than a safe, and very few
could be depended on for a job requiring nice work.
No loud-mouthed, Jack Hartley crowd of grafters,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span>
with their wagon loads of English pattern-made
tools, would fill the bill.</p>

<p>Since my separation from Shinburn after our
adventure at Bath, I had not been able to find a
single person whom I considered capable of helping
me in any deal. Now, however, I must have some
one, as I could not do this alone. I could think
of no one else whom I would be willing to call
in, so I determined to try to patch up matters with
him. Through a mutual friend I sent word to him
that I had a big undertaking under way that promised
large returns, and that it would please me
greatly if he would join me in the venture.</p>

<p>Shinburn met my advances in the spirit of friendliness
and we soon came together. I shall never
forget his remark when we met. “George,” said
he, “I guess we were both a little too much set in
our ways. I am only too glad to get into a job with
you, and if we pull together we ought to be able to
beat the safe-makers.”</p>

<p>This renewal of our former partnership, in the last
days of 1868, continued until the winter of 1870,
during which time many profitable tricks were
brought off, some of which are related in this work.
Taking Shinburn to my rooms, I explained my
scheme, told him what had been accomplished, and
he became fully as enthusiastic over the prospect as
I was; and we at once set to work to complete the
job.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XII<br />

<span class="subhead">JUGGLING WITH DEATH</span></h2>
</div>

<p>“Curses on it, George; my key won’t lock it!”
groaned Mark Shinburn, as he turned, twisted, and
in every way tried to move the bolt of the key lock
in the door of the big steel vault.</p>

<p>“Don’t give it up, Mark,” I whispered encouragingly,
and he manipulated the key again, until, cold
night as it was, the perspiration stood like tiny
bubbles on his face. I could see it with the aid of
the candle which threw a dim light in the banking
office.</p>

<p>“No use, George,” he burst out again, presently,
throwing himself flat on the floor; “it won’t work,
and the trick can’t be done to-night; we’ll have to
try it another time!”</p>

<p>“But we’ve got one of the money safes,” said I,
by way of encouragement, as I swung open the
steel door of a safe in the vault, disclosing many
packages of money, mostly in large bills and not a
small quantity of gold and silver. “Your key
worked on this one to a nicety.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span>
“Yes, curse it!” Shinburn mumbled; “it seems I
got one to fit, but this one will not,” and he contemptuously
tossed a key on the floor at my feet. “We
might get along well enough under these conditions
if I could relock the vault door, but I can’t. The
duplicate key will unlock it, but will not, try as I
may, lock it again. As it is, the vault door can’t be
left as we found it, and we’re in a pretty mess.”</p>

<p>“It unlocked it easily enough,” I commented, as I
took the key from his hand, and, thrusting it home
in the vault door lock, attempted to turn the bolt at
lock again. In vain—I could not.</p>

<p>“I’m losing my cunning,” went on Shinburn as I
was working; “here I’ve made three keys, and only
one will do the trick for which I shaped it.”</p>

<p>I looked at my watch, for a new thought had come
to me. I said, “Lock the money safe, Mark, and
let’s get out of this, for the night clerk who sleeps in
the bank will be here in ten minutes.”</p>

<p>“I’ll do it, but what about the d—d vault door?
We can’t lock that, and to leave it open means the
certain discovery that some one’s been tampering
with the vault. We’ve come a long way from New
York to make a failure.”</p>

<p>“We can’t leave it any way but unlocked,” I said;
“and, as a matter of fact, knowing the habits of
cashiers as I do, I’ll wager that nothing will be
thought of the door being found unlocked. The
cashier will think he has been careless, and you can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span>
be certain that he won’t squeal on himself. In the
meantime, we’ll make the keys fit. Don’t forget the
safe key you threw on the floor.”</p>

<p>Shinburn continued to sit on the floor like a child
in a pout.</p>

<p>“Come, Mark, come!” I spoke harshly and almost
aloud, impatient over his tardiness and seeming
indifference to our danger. “We’re taking a long
chance remaining here like this.”</p>

<p>“Blast the luck!” he growled again, “to think
we’ve got to miss this fine opportunity of getting
away with that swag.” Never in all my experience
with Shinburn, this master crook, had I seen him so
confoundedly obstinate and so much disturbed. He
was an icicle, as a rule—nothing stirred him. Tonight
he was disgusted clean through.</p>

<p>“There, that safe is locked,” he said at length, as,
springing from the floor, he threw the money safe
door to, and turned the key home. Two or three
small fortunes were shut from our view. “And that
one,” he added, “will be open the next time we
come, if we do, or I’ve lost all my cunning.”</p>

<p>“Hold your tongue, Mark,” I said, “and come
with me.” How often I had been obliged to urge
discretion upon him, for he was ever running risks.
As we came out of the vault I closed the great steel
door, and once more tried to throw home the bolt.
It was useless to try. Shinburn seemed to look at
me sarcastically, as though he would tell me there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span>
was no hope of locking the door if he couldn’t do it.
Leaving everything as we found it, we left the bank
by the rear door. Scarcely had we done so when
the night clerk let himself in by the front door.</p>

<p>It was the first work done on the inside of a St.
Catharines bank in Ontario, Canada, the vault of
which, we had been informed, held a treasure worth
the miles we had come to possess it.</p>

<p>The prize seemed to be within our reach, when the
failure of the duplicate keys to work brought irritating
delay. The cash in one of the safes might
have been carried off that night, but it would have
been flatly unwise, from our viewpoint, to leave behind
thousands which might easily be gotten. To
rob one safe would mean discovery of the fact the
next morning, and there would end all possibility of
getting the contents of the other safe. Both, with
properly made keys, could be looted with one visit to
the vault.</p>

<p>One of those apparently insignificant oversights
on the part of bank officials was the foundation upon
which I constructed the plan to rob this bank, and I
would direct the attention of the banking world to
the incident with all the force I possess. While the
method of bank protection of the present period is
vastly different from then, it may be that there will
be a lesson, after all, found in this history.</p>

<p>It was Jim Griffin, a crook with a reputation, who
suggested the robbery. He lived in St. Catharines.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span>
A young man who kept company with an Irish serving-girl
dropped a remark in Jim’s hearing. The
girl was in the employ of the cashier of the bank.
Naturally she talked of his affairs, and among other
things mentioned the bank keys, which “nearly
every night lay on the mantel-piece in the dining
room.” As I have said, Jim Griffin heard this girl’s
sweetheart speak of the incident, and within two
days Jim was in New York, looking for some one to
loot the bank. Through a mutual friend I was
introduced to him.</p>

<p>“That seems like a fine chance to get a few wax
impressions,” was my comment.</p>

<p>“Yes,” rejoined Griffin, with a satisfied smile, “I
thought the opportunity too inviting to give it the
go-by.”</p>

<p>“Right; if bank cashiers will let servant-girls
have opportunities to talk about bank keys lying
about the house, I don’t know why we shouldn’t profit
by it,” I said. “Shall I interest Mark Shinburn in
this?” Griffin assented.</p>

<p>Two days later I was in St. Catharines, and when I
had returned to New York had succeeded in making
the acquaintance of the sweetheart of the cashier’s
serving-girl and had with me the wax impressions of
the vault door key and the keys of the two money
safes inside. From these impressions I had Shinburn
make duplicates.</p>

<p>Several days after this my associates and I were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span>
ready to begin the job, and in fact I have already
told with what difficulties we had to contend. Our
inability to relock the vault door, owing to the misfitting
of the key, should have put an end to our
hopes of robbing the vault, but, as I anticipated, the
cashier, finding the vault door unlocked, believed
he had been very careless, and no harm having been
done, as he thought, no report of the fact was made
to his superiors. Thus was our way paved with
opportunity for the next attempt.</p>

<p>Early in the evening, about two weeks later, found
us again in the bank and at our work. Two of the
keys answered to the turn, but the inside safe key,
which had bothered us before, still was out of fit. I
decided to delay no more, and that explosives must
be used on that safe, though it would require much
longer than we’d planned, and there was the added
danger that we would not be able to get through in
time to catch the through train we expected to use
as a safe “get-away.” Missing the train, we would
be in the position of not having provided a team.
All that could be done was to hope for the best. A
fleet pair of horses and a light sleigh, with a dash,
we hoped, would land us safely at Niagara Falls,
seventeen miles away. The serious end of this proposition
would be the little time we’d have to procure
a team.</p>

<p>But we got at the work. The holes were drilled
in the safe and the “energy” applied; and a most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span>
satisfactory “blow” was the result. I had never
seen a better job. We unlocked the other money
safe, and soon had the cash and bonds crammed into
a large travelling bag provided for the purpose, all
being accomplished as expeditiously as we could.
Even then it was fast nearing the time for the night
clerk to put in an appearance. We did not dare to
remain long enough to put the banking office in
shape. Indeed, the vault had to be left open, lest
we be caught red-handed. The rear door of the
bank had scarcely closed behind us ere the clerk
went in the front entrance. To be accurate, we
hadn’t gone two blocks when he was hot-footing
it to the nearest police station. Instead of a leisurely
“get-away,” we found ourselves forced up
against the race for liberty, in a fierce snow-storm
of the blizzard class. One thing in our favor was
the fact that we knew of a hotel where we might
get a team, and there we went. Luckily, what we
wanted was found, and soon we were off for American
soil and safety. It was a situation that required
plenty of pluck. The snow was deep, and travelling
was no joke to either man or beast. A ride in a
temperature such as that night had, and in a gale of
wind clouded with flour-dust snow, had nothing
to recommend itself to any one; but that was what
we had to face or something worse. The poor
dumb brutes were much of the time in a perspiration,
from the lashing we gave them, but it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span>
either that for them or capture for us, so we were
relentless. I verily believe they never fully recovered
from the strain of that night. After the
drive, the like of which I do not wish to experience
again, we arrived at Niagara Falls about three
o’clock in the morning. Putting up the team and
paying to have it sent back to St. Catharines, we
started for the old suspension bridge. That was
the only way across the river, the new one not being
open for travel, so we had ascertained on our way
to St. Catharines.</p>

<p>A careful reconnoitre of the bridge entrance
showed us that an alarm had been sent abroad, for
a guard of police was waiting in the neighborhood
to arrest suspicious characters. Had my original
plan succeeded, we would have had none of this,—we
would have been in the United States before the
robbery was discovered. But that fact cut no figure
in the present dilemma. To the American side we
must get, and mighty soon, or we would find ourselves
in a Canadian trap. The old suspension
bridge, beyond doubt, was not a safe passage for us.
It occurred to me that it might be worth while to
examine the new bridge; perhaps we could pick our
way across it. No one had made the attempt save
a few workmen accustomed to that sort of climbing,
as monkeys are used to gambolling in tree-tops.
Verily workers on suspension bridges and the like,
it seemed to me, were never quite at home unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span>
they were dangling at the end of a wire many feet
above water or <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">terra firma</i>.</p>

<p>We approached the entrance cautiously, and, fortunately,
were soon convinced that there wasn’t a
police guard in that neighborhood. Undoubtedly
they believed that no sane man would attempt to
travel the new bridge under the most favorable
weather conditions, and certainly not on such a
night as we confronted it. But escape we must,
and somehow I determined we would. With this
feeling we began an investigation. The wind was
howling, and at intervals filled almost to suffocation
with clouds of powdery snow that fairly beat its way
through our clothing. It had rained the day before,
a freezing temperature following, and every inch of
the bridge work was covered with a veneering of ice,
much of it as smooth as glass, rendering foothold
extremely uncertain. The night, or rather the
morning, for it was going on four o’clock, was dark,
there being no moon above the storm. What little
light there was to pierce the darkness came from the
snow. As for the bridge, the wind swept it
clean, as well it might, for at times we kept our
feet with great difficulty when a powerful gust
came upon us unawares.</p>

<p>It seemed that we were to have less trouble than
anticipated, for we’d traversed something like three
hundred feet toward the centre, with a well-laid flooring
for our feet, and were pressing on farther, cheerfully,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span>
before we suddenly had these hopes toppled.
I, being in the lead, came mighty near stepping
through an opening down into the Niagara
River. As I contemplate the experience at this late
day, a chill runs through me. I had come to the
end of the planking, where the workmen had ceased
their labors, possibly on account of the storm in the
afternoon. Beyond this, as far as I could discern,
was a narrow path of planks laid end to end over
the iron girders. The first plank was not more than
a dozen inches in width. Further on, it was purely
a matter of guessing as to what we would encounter.
I got on my knees and felt of the plank. It proved
to be what I expected—covered with ice. The only
way we could get over it, with any degree of safety,
would be to crawl on our hands and knees. The
next thing in my mind was, whether or not we
could, in the face of the gale, hold to the planking.
More nerve-racking still was the uncertainty of
what lay farther on in the darkness. I wondered if,
and hoped that, the workmen on the American end
of the bridge had laid more flooring, perhaps a great
deal more, than we had found on this side. If that
were the case, the skeleton which lay between us and
the flooring on the other side might not be such a
menace to our safety as it seemed. All this was
mere conjecture, I said to Mark, and the only way
to know what was before us was to proceed. It were
better, I said, to make an attempt with the possibility<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span>
of getting across than to remain on this side and
fall into the hands of the police. While it has
required considerable time to tell all this, it really
happened in a very few minutes. Perhaps five
minutes after we were face to face with the danger
we had determined what to do.</p>

<p>“It’s like juggling with death,” said Shinburn,
coolly, when I asked him if we would better make
the attempt to cross on the planking.</p>

<p>“Yes,” I admitted, “it’s a lottery—one chance in
many if we get over in safety; but in that bag you
have there is a quarter of a million dollars, for
which we came to Canada. If we remain on this
side of the river much longer, we’re bound to get
mixed up with the law, and the cash will go whence
it came, perhaps, and we’ll have plenty of time to
think it all over in the queen’s prison. Ahead we
may meet death, but that I don’t believe, for I haven’t
got that feeling—that premonition that sometimes
tells a fellow what evil is coming to him. We’ve
got to crawl on the planks, that’s the only way I
can see to safety. If you can stand it, why, I
can.”</p>

<p>I had in mind an experience in the Alps several
years before, while touring Europe, and it occurred
to me that it might be of some use to follow some
of the tactics adopted by my Alpine guide. He
carried a long rope, and when my party came to a
particularly perilous pathway, alongside a gorge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span>
thousands of feet deep, he tied the rope to each
of us, so that we appeared like so many knots in
it, one a dozen feet, perhaps, from the other. It was
hardly possible that one would fall and drag all
down with him. If one of the party lost his footing,
the worst that could happen to him would be
a bad fright from dangling between the sky and the
almost bottomless gorge, it all ending in being
dragged to safety again.</p>

<p>“I believe that we can find some rope, and in some
such way help ourselves out of this predicament,”
I said, in making a further explanation of my plan.
“There must be rope about the stables in the village.
Now, what say you to the idea?”</p>

<p>“Anything to get out of this beastly cold,” Mark
answered. “To get out of this I’d go to ——”</p>

<p>“Never mind where, Mark,” I laughed, despite
the gravity of our situation.</p>

<p>“Well, I’m an iceberg and no mistake, George;
and I want to go anywhere to find a place that will
thaw things.”</p>

<p>We hustled among several stables in the neighborhood,
and soon had two clothes-lines and three pairs
of horse reins. Then back to the bridge we went,
where in a few minutes we’d rigged up a cable that
seemed strong enough to withstand the strain to
which we would put it. I said I’d make the first
attempt to cross, so tied one end of the cable to a
bridge stay and the other around my body close<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span>
under the arms. The cable was about seventy feet
in length, long enough, I reckoned, to let me get to
the other side of the skeleton work. If the cable
was exhausted before I got over, then I would have
to return. That was the alternative. When ready
to start, I fastened the treasure satchel to Mark’s
back, and told him to remain at the cable stay, and
do the best he could for me, in case I slipped from
the planks and fell through the skeleton work. If
he could pull me to the bridge again, why, all right;
if not, well—I shivered at the prospect of dangling
in the air hundreds of feet above the dark
river.</p>

<p>“If I should fall through, Mark,” I said to him,
“and you can’t get me back, just cut the rope. I
guess that will end me. Anyway, it will be better
than being suspended in the air and freezing to
death.”</p>

<p>“Don’t talk like a fool!” he said, in a sort of
shivering voice, I thought; “if you think it so serious
as that, you shouldn’t start.”</p>

<p>“Well, in case anything should happen, Mark, old
boy, I’ll say good-by.”</p>

<p>With that I stepped on the plank and, bending to
my knees, began my journey over the slippery planking,
with the storm raging about me. Far below
was the roaring river I could hear but not see. Suddenly
it occurred to me that I had not agreed with
Mark on a code of signals. I dared not turn round,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span>
so cried out to him, that if I got over all right, I
would pull the cable three times. In that case he
was to fasten the cable about him and return to me
a similar indication of his readiness for the journey.
Then I would fasten the cable to a stay at my end
of the bridge, and notify him by the same signal to
come over. I called back another good-by, which
he answered. The wind swept through the thousands
of strings of the great skeleton bridge, rendering
wild, weird music, it seemed to me; and at times,
as I struggled along the treacherous planks, I imagined
that the wires were of a prodigious harp, designed
to give forth melancholy and discouragement,
and that ten thousand demons were at the strings in
a mad struggle to achieve my undoing. Again, so
mournful was the sweep of the wind, that I could,
in my terrible position, fancy my ears laden with the
weight of my funeral song. I wished with all my
heart that it would cease, that I might better work
out my exemption from death, but it persisted in
beating on, occasionally threatening to dislodge me
by a sudden and more terrifying evidence of its
unlimited energy.</p>

<p>I had been creeping along inch by inch, and it
seemed to me that I must have been on the way an
hour, before I had covered a score of feet, when
I paused to catch my breath, which had been almost
driven from my body by a fierce shock of wind.
And, too, I was compelled to clutch at the planking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span>
with all the strength left me, that I might not be
hurled below as far as my cable would permit.
When the wind relented, I called out to Mark, but
no response came, the sound of my voice, in all
probability, having been drowned ere it got ten feet
away. I resumed the struggle and had traversed
a dozen feet more, when a gust struck me and one
hand slipped from the plank. Down I went with a
crash that nearly cracked my head on the ice, and
I must have gone below, had not my right hand
come in contact with a girder, fortunately close by,
when I met with the mishap. With this aid I was
able to balance myself and regain my place on the
plank. I was trembling with fright, and I knew
that my forehead, notwithstanding the cold, was wet
with perspiration. It was fortunate I was near a
girder when this piece of ill-luck came. The girders,
as near as I could guess, were five feet apart.
Had I been midway of two, I dare not think of
what would have been my fate. Without these
supports, from time to time, I am certain that I
would have been unable to keep to the path.</p>

<p>Perhaps I’d crawled fifty feet when I came to the
end of a plank, and, feeling further ahead and to the
right and to the left, I could put my hand on no support
save an iron girder at my right side. It was
about eight inches wide, and no doubt extended to
the edge of the bridge. To the right I thought I
saw another plank, but to reach it I must crawl<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span>
along the narrow, ice-covered beam. I had barely
saved myself from disaster on the planking; how I’d
fare on the iron, still narrower, I did not know.
Ahead, as I became more accustomed to the darkness,
I made out the next girder, but it was too far
away. I must creep to the plank at my right or
go back to Shinburn. Try as I might, I could find
no other solution. My predicament can easily be
understood, if any one doubts this history, by an
attempt on hands and knees, in broad daylight,
to crawl fifty feet along a board twelve inches wide,
at an elevation of several hundreds of feet, and coming
to the end of that narrow path, turn squarely,
and, still on the hands and knees, creep along an
eight-inch wide ice-covered iron beam. If this
journey will not put the nerves to the test, then I’m
no judge of human nature and endurance. But the
full force of my danger can only be realized, when
the course I have outlined has been gone over in
such a night as I have described, with its howling
winds and blinding snow clouds. A person who
can accomplish the task without the trouble I felt
must be a practised athlete or a monkey with a
ringed tail.</p>

<p>I came mighty near slipping from the girder the
moment I put my knee to it. The wind seemed to
come with a sort of broadside force. What saved
me I don’t know. At the end of the girder I found
a plank, and the solution of my troubles, in part.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span>
This plank was not so heavy as the others and had
not been so thoroughly frozen to the iron that a
strong gust of wind could not sweep it toward the
right side of the bridge, one end more than the
other. In this manner had my straight passage
along the planking been interrupted. I crawled on
the plank, finding it very unsteady, owing to the
way it rested on the girders. I crept along, and
thus I bore to the left, where, after going sixteen
feet, I came to the resumption of the straight and
narrow path, which I hoped would lead me to the
end of my perilous route; that is, I thought so,
but to my disappointment I was confronted with
another stretch of ice-covered iron to be struggled
over. However, it proved to be only eight feet from
plank to plank, and I succeeded in spanning it without
a mishap. But my hands and feet were aching
with the cold. If I had dared, I would have sat
astride the plank and slapped my hands together, but
time was so precious and the moments must seem so
endless to Mark, that I would not. So, pressing on,
I gained ten more feet, and felt encouraged. Then
I found myself on a terribly slippery and much narrower
piece of planking, which evidently had been
used as a filler in the pathway. In my anxiety to
get along, I did not discover it until I’d taken an
insecure hold. Suddenly my hand slipped off, and,
sheering to one side, I toppled over. Catching at
the planking with both hands, I found myself hanging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span>
under the planking instead of shooting down to
the cable’s end. Vainly for a minute I tried to
fetch my feet up around the plank. Struggling
with all my might, it seemed impossible under the
conditions, as I was almost stiff from the cold and
weakened by the terrible strain upon me. As my
feet swung back and forth in an effort to get a
momentum that would assist me, they struck against
the girder I’d crossed just before I fell. Here was
a simple solution of my nerve-taxing plight. I wondered
if another man, Mark Shinburn, for instance,
would have been so bewildered as not to think sooner
of using the girder as a means of getting back to the
planking. I always believed, without wishing to
appear egotistical, that I possessed at least the ordinary
common sense allotted to man. In this case I
seem to have been very short-sighted. Perhaps—ay,
I must believe that the awful test to which my
mind and body had been subjected, and the fearful
roar of the wind and the swirling of the snow, confused
me.</p>

<p>I inched my hands along the plank till I got to
the girder, and then I pulled myself to the path
again. I will not dwell upon the great effort I had
to put forth, nor go into detail as to my exhausted
state when at last I was comparatively safe again.
When I had crawled twelve feet more on the planking,
I came to the solid bridge flooring, and with a
glad feeling scrambled from my knees. Had I dared,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span>
I would have prayed. Pounding the palms of my
hands together for a minute, a warm sensation of a
freer circulation gave me renewed life, and then I signalled
back to Mark that he might know I was safe,
and that he’d better get ready to follow me. Unloosing
the cable, I soon had the arrangements for his
safety completed, had received his sign of readiness,
and had notified him to proceed. I knew pretty
well that he would have to surmount about every
difficulty I had, and perhaps more, and I hoped he
would succeed as well. One thing I was certain of,
and that was, he would be handicapped more than I.
I could have brought the treasure bag with me, but
why should I? I might lose my life and he might
be saved. If I took the bag with me and my life
were lost, he would be deprived of his share of the
money, for it would have gone down with me into
the river finally. Now that I had accomplished the
perilous task, it was more than probable that he
would fare no worse.</p>

<p>I kept my hands on the cable constantly, that I
might be ready for any emergency. Now and then
I detected a trembling that told me of his coming.
After perhaps three minutes had passed, I began
drawing in the cable, and from the slack I coiled on
the flooring it was easy to tell that Shinburn was
making progress. I wondered whether he’d be as
successful as I, upon arriving at the break in his
narrow way. Suddenly the cable became taut, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span>
my heart went a-thumping until I felt a choking
sensation. Almost immediately the tension was
relaxed, and I knew Mark was still safe, though no
doubt he had met with something unpleasant. I
drew in more slack, presently, but with the utmost
caution, fearful that I might, in some manner, impede
his progress. I believed I could tell by the
cable when he crawled over the icy iron sill, as I had
done, and then obliquely, back to the straight way
again. I measured the cable as a woman measures
cloth, from elbow to nose, and found, as near as I
could tell in that manner, that about two-thirds of
the entire length was at my feet. That my comrade
was getting near to the end of his tortuous journey
there was no doubt. True enough, for, with the
wind bearing the sounds my way, I could hear the
crackling of ice on the planks.</p>

<p>“Mark, Mark, lad!” cried I, and waited intently
for a response. It came in a sort of gasp,
as though the speaker were almost exhausted,—“‘Right,
George, ‘right!”</p>

<p>That the poor fellow was about done for I felt
certain.</p>

<p>“Courage, Mark; it’s almost over, lad,” I
shouted, hoping that my words would reach him,
despite the wrong direction of the wind. The
many anxious moments were torture to me, but they
were soon to end. Five minutes later I saw him
emerge from the darkness and the storm, and, forgetful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span>
of my own danger, I reached far out, and, catching
hold of him, was his guide to safety. He could
not have lasted many minutes more. He trembled
as though stricken with ague. I beat his body
with my hands and dragged him about until he must
have thought I was inhuman, but I felt that I must
make his blood flow faster. Presently he grew
stronger and was able to speak in a <span class="locked">whisper:—</span></p>

<p>“Jail for mine, George, if the other chance is the
sort of wire-walking I’ve just done.”</p>

<p>“To the winds with what we’ve passed through,
Mark,” I cried joyously; “for what’s it all to us
now that we’re safe? Come, lad, it will be of the
easiest sort to get over the remainder of the bridge
now;” and, unstrapping the treasure satchel, I relieved
him of this burden, and pushing my arm
through his, supported him toward the American
side. Soon we came to the gate, on the
other side of which was a watchman’s shanty.
Climbing the gate, I bade him wait while I investigated
the premises to see whether any one was inside.
The watchman was there, but fast asleep, and
snoring so that I could hear him above the rushing
of the wind. There was no danger from him—that
was certain.</p>

<p>While Mark lingered near the bridge with the
treasure, I went after a livery team, with which to
drive to the home of a Mr. Webster, according
to the story I would tell the driver. Our dear<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span>
Mr. Webster would live somewhere in the country,
perhaps ten miles from Niagara Falls. I found the
team without difficulty, and, driving after Mark, we
were soon on our journey. As I have intimated,
we told the driver that it was too rough weather for
us to make the long trip to our friend’s place; and
as it was best to make as direct a course as possible,
in order to facilitate the business that had taken us
to that part of the country, he’d better put about in
the direction of Tonawanda. Afterward I learned
that this ruse saved us from arrest, and we were
glad of the forethought.</p>

<p>On the suburbs of Tonawanda I discharged the
team, and we walked to the Buffalo side of the
village, where we engaged another team. As before,
we started for some fictitious friend’s house in the
country, but after getting a mile or so out of the
village, headed for Buffalo. Arriving there, we
discharged that team and went to the house of a
friend, where we fairly revelled in a hot breakfast;
which by the way we very much needed.</p>

<p>About eleven o’clock in the morning we induced
our host to make a little investigation of the police
situation for us. He returned after an hour with
the none too encouraging news that two men who
were believed to be the St. Catharines looters had
been traced to Buffalo. Much against my judgment,
about two o’clock in the afternoon, with a small bag
of cash, the other having been left, with most of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span>
loot, with our friend, Shinburn and I set out for the
Erie Railway depot to get a New York train. We
had been on the street only a few minutes when I
began to reason with him, and to point out the
danger of exposing ourselves in so public a place as
the Buffalo depot.</p>

<p>“Mark,” I said, “when the superintendent of a
railway issues orders as to the running time of trains,
he never fails to say to his employees, ‘When you’re
in doubt as to the right of way, be sure to take the
course you know is safe.’ Now, it’s dollars to doughnuts
that the depot is being well watched. I suggest
that we about face and drive to another town, much
smaller than this, and get a train there.”</p>

<p>Well, we did so, and shortly after dark were in
Angola. Putting our team in the stable, we went
to the hotel, which was near the depot, put our cash
bag carelessly under the counter, and went in to supper.
On coming out a few minutes later, I saw that
our baggage had been disturbed, as though some
one had been examining it. Not far away stood
two men in a deep conversation. They frequently,
though slyly, cast their eyes in our direction. We
calmly smoked our cigars and waited developments.
In the meantime I felt for my pistol, to have it
handy, not knowing what sort of a fight there might
be any minute. Of a truth, we weren’t going to surrender
at the first cry of wolf. One of the men
presently walked up to me and said, in a most affable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span>
manner, “That’s a fine team you have in the
stable.”</p>

<p>“Yes,” I answered, in a hard, cold tone, and as
repelling as I could make it. My iceberg reply
seemed to shut off any further conversation from
that quarter, my inquisitor retiring in much confusion
and no doubt mystified. He certainly had met
with little success on his first fishing excursion.</p>

<p>I had arranged for a friend to come over by rail
from Buffalo that night to take the team back, and
a few minutes before the train was due I stepped
to the clerk’s desk and told him of it. In doing so
I saw one of the men whom I believed to be detectives
walk toward me. His partner, a moment
before, had left the room. Shinburn was sitting a
few feet away, keeping an eye on the treasure bag.
The detective hadn’t reached the desk when I’d told
the clerk what I wanted to. However, it was a ripe
moment in which I might add confusion to the trail,
so, waiting until he got close enough to me, I said, at
the same time handing the clerk the business card of
a well-known Chicago house, “Give us commercial
rates, if you please.” Getting the bill, I paid it and
turned away. The detective’s partner came in the
room just then, and, drawing him aside, took a telegram
from his pocket. Both examined it critically.
I would have given a good-sized greenback to know
what they were reading. I hadn’t a bit of doubt
that Mark and I were the interesting subjects of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span>
Presently it was time for the train, and with Mark
carrying the bag we went to the depot, the detectives
following close on our heels. They began to worry
me not a little. When I bought two tickets for
Cleveland, the sleuth who had shadowed me to the
desk was again at my side and heard what I called
for and saw what was given me. If I had any doubt
as to the identity of the men, it was all removed by
this time. A moment later the detectives had wired
to some point,—Chicago, I believed, and possibly
Cleveland. Probably the former had been asked to
wire as to whether the big business house I had
mentioned employed drummers answering our descriptions,
and police of the latter had, undoubtedly,
been asked to watch for our arrival there. Beyond
a doubt the country was well aroused over the St.
Catharines burglary.</p>

<p>Now, for a fact, the game was getting to be exceedingly
fast, and really I didn’t know what to do, and
Shinburn had left it all to me. It seemed that the
best thing was to put on a bold front and trust to
Fate. I hoped I had made no blunder.</p>

<p>True to his agreement, our Buffalo friend came in
on the train, but we paid no attention to him, keeping
our eyes better engaged in watching the doings
of the detectives. They selected a seat in the car
where we were, but at the opposite end. It was
evident that they had determined to become better
acquainted with us. On the train I was in a calmer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span>
mood and better able to think, with the result that
I’d settled upon a plan to prevent the enemy ever
setting eyes on us again after the arrival in Cleveland.
Alighting from the car with all the dignity
at our command, we walked up to a hackman, and
waited until it was certain that the detectives were
near enough to hear what would be said.</p>

<p>“Here, driver, put us at the Metropolitan Hotel,
as soon as you can get there,” I commanded loudly,
and followed this up by springing in the hack, Shinburn
following. In an instant we were gone from
the view of the sleuths, who of course made haste to
follow us in another carriage. Thank the stars, we
were too quick for them. Safe from immediate
danger, we bought another bag, and, transferring the
cash to it, left nothing in the old one except a few
pieces of soiled linen. Then Shinburn was driven
to the house of a friend in Euclid Avenue, where I
left him with the treasure. We agreed to meet in
about half an hour near the Cleveland, Pittsburg,
and Rochester Railway depot. I went to the Metropolitan
Hotel with the old bag, expecting I’d have to
dodge the detectives. It seemed to me that I must
go there in order to throw the hack driver off our
game. However, it turned out as I hoped. The
detectives had been there, but, failing to find us, at
once realized we had played a game on them. Off
they had gone to search other hotels. I engaged a
room, and after taking my bag there and waiting a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span>
few minutes, I came down and told the clerk that I’d
be back directly if any one called for me. It was
about six <span class="smcap smaller">A.M.</span></p>

<p>“I’m going to a drug store not far away,” I said;
“so be sure and tell my friend, if he calls, that I’ll
return soon.”</p>

<p>In a few minutes I was with Mark, and we were
walking the C. P. and R. railroad ties until the
second station was reached, where we awaited a train
for Pittsburg. From there we had an uninterrupted
journey to New York City.</p>

<p>Of course my Police Headquarters friends soon
got wind of our presence in town, and the usual
“squaring” had to be made. I ascertained through
them that the brace of sleuths who worried us at
Angola and Cleveland were from Chicago, and that
we would have been arrested had it not been for
my commercial traveller dodge at the hotel. As I
thought, they had wired to Chicago and Cleveland.
Word came from the former place that no such
drummers as described were in the employ of that
house. This information was wired to the detectives
at Cleveland, but too late to do us any harm. They
found the hackman after a while and an interview
with him told them a plain story. I understood that
they felt about as ruffled as detectives must feel
when big game has easily slipped through their
fingers. They waited a long time for me to return
from the drug store. Precious little but a collar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span>
was found in the satchel in my room. I laughed as
I heard this story, and remarked that the boys were
entitled to it and our discarded linen.</p>

<p>“Mark,” I said, a few days later, having recalled
the experiences we had had that night on the suspension
bridge, “what made the cable get taut suddenly
when you were about halfway on your plank-crawl?”</p>

<p>“Oh, not much of anything,” he carelessly replied;
“I just slipped a bit off the plank, but
managed to hold on with my hands.”</p>

<p>“Was the plank narrower than the others and
rounded up with ice?” I questioned, curious to
know if he had encountered the treacherous place
I had, with the same result.</p>

<p>“You’ve described it to a dot,” replied Mark;
“but it happened that I could reach a girder with
my feet, and that, with a little bracing, got me to the
top again. I thought I was going to give you a job
of hauling in the cable with a bait attached that had
blamed little life in it.”</p>

<p>“Fancy you dangling at the end of that cable of
leather and rope with a few hundreds of thousands
strapped to your back,” I said, with a sorry attempt
at a joke. Shinburn smiled, but he was thinking of
his experience, I doubt not. Subsequently I made
a daylight trip to the suspension bridge. How we
succeeded in getting over the skeleton section that
eventful night has ever been a mystery to me. I
marvel that I survived to tell of it.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XIII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XIII<br />

<span class="subhead">CAPTAIN JOHN YOUNG’S GRAB</span></h2>
</div>

<p>The “Little Joker” won for Mark Shinburn, me,
and our associates the contents of the vault of the
New Windsor Bank of Westminster, Carroll County,
Maryland, while the Ocean Bank enterprise was
hatching. All of the combinations were mastered
in five nightly sittings. I had arranged the details,
such as purchasing a team for a safe “get-away,” and
mapping a route for Shinburn, who was to do the
work on the vault. While he was at it I went to
Buffalo for the treasure of the St. Catharines robbery,
made ten days previously. As will be recalled,
Shinburn and I, in making our escape, left it with a
friend in the Bison City.</p>

<p>Mark picked the lock on the front door of the
New Windsor Bank, and our little steel invention
soon told the tale of the combination numbers of
the vault and inside safes, so that the bank people
one morning discovered nearly three hundred thousand
dollars gone from their funds, which was about
all they had boasted of. Considerable of the loot
was in government bonds, as good as gold almost,
and better handling for us in a sharp “get-away.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span>
I will not occupy too much space in relating how
Shinburn, with his aids Eddie Hughes and Gus
Fisher, got off without a hitch, the only clew left
of them being the team, abandoned on the outskirts
of Baltimore.</p>

<p>When seating themselves in the train, Shinburn
placed the gripsack, with its two hundred and eighty-one
thousand dollar contents, to be exact, in the rack
above his seat and gave the valuable bag no more attention.
This carelessness came mighty near knocking
the profits out of their previous day’s work.
Eddie Hughes had chosen a seat nearer the front of
the car than that occupied by Shinburn, and when
the train stopped at Gray’s Ferry, which was the
changing place for Philadelphia, he, Eddie, saw a
young man pass him with a satchel that looked the
counterpart of Shinburn’s. Hastily looking round,
he saw that the satchel was missing from the rack
over Shinburn’s head. Making a rush, he caught
the young man on the platform. Grasping the
satchel, he exclaimed, “What are you doing with
my bag?”</p>

<p>The young man released his hold on the bag and
with one bound landed on the station platform and
set off on a sprint that would do credit even to
Barney Wefers. Needless to say that Eddie did
not run after him, nor even yell “Stop thief!” But
he did take that bag and hold it in his lap for the
rest of the trip.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span>
Suffice it to say, that I had been back in New
York about twenty-four hours when Shinburn put
in an appearance, with his satchel crammed full of
cash and securities. We kept the loot in the background
for six weeks, when we concluded it was
about time to begin negotiating the bonds. Upon
making an inventory, I found we had got hold of one
hundred and sixty-five thousand dollars’ worth of
first-class securities and fifty-three thousand dollars
in Union Pacific Railway bonds. In attempting to
sell the securities, something happened which I,
with regret, must relate.</p>

<p>Shinburn and a friend with much Wall Street
business experience undertook to make the sale.
They finally struck a deal with the reputed lobbyist,
in Washington, District of Columbia, and Albany,
New York, General Francis P. Spinola. Being
told squarely the character of the securities, he insisted
it was all right, as long as there was a good
“rake-off” in the deal for him. Without much delay
Spinola placed the securities in the hands of
a certain broker, who was at the time a very familiar
figure in Wall Street. The general represented
to him that they were the assets of a large
estate being closed up by an administrator, and it
seemed as though we were about to realize the cash
when a halt was called by the broker making a
deeper inquiry as to how the securities came into
General Spinola’s possession. When no proof of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span>
satisfactory character was furnished, he declared the
deal off. He was one of the honest men then in
Wall Street, which can boast of none too many
in these days, and couldn’t at the period of which
I write. Of course this was a set-back, but General
Spinola said he would persevere, and did, with what
result we shall see. He was like all lobbyists, who,
upon realizing that there is likely to be no money
in one end of a deal, are mighty sure to jump to the
other. Once let a lobbyist get a scent of money,
and his nose is to the trail, never to be lifted. He
cannot be dragged away. Realizing that suspicion
had fallen upon him, and that there was the possibility
that he might be connected with the sale of
“crooked” bonds, Spinola flipflopped and covered
his tracks by giving information to Superintendent
of Police John A. Kennedy. Hurrying to Police
Headquarters, he got an interview with the superintendent.</p>

<p>“Kennedy,” said he, “I’m on the track of securities
and bonds stolen from the New Windsor Bank
in Maryland.”</p>

<p>“Indeed!” ejaculated the superintendent, and he
called in his chief of detectives, John Young.</p>

<p>“General Spinola has something to say to you,
captain,” said Kennedy, “and there must be a quick
action in the case!”</p>

<p>“Very well, sir,” Captain Young answered, and
at once entered into a long conference with Spinola,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span>
who told him all he had gained from us in confidence.
The result was the baiting of a trap to catch
the Maryland looters. They at once opened a fake
brokerage office at 71 Broadway, and Spinola made
sure that this information reached us in furtherance
of their purpose. It proved to be alluring enough,
for one day Shinburn and our sales agent walked
into the office like flies into a spider’s web. I well
recall the day. It was eleven o’clock in the morning,
and spot cash had been promised. General
Spinola was there and greeted Shinburn warmly,
not forgetting to keep a greedy eye on the money
bag the latter carried.</p>

<p>“Ah, you have them—the securities?” he questioned,
with a laugh. Mark slowly removed his hat
and placed it on the counter, but drew the satchel
quickly from the reach of Spinola’s eager grasp.</p>

<p>“One moment, general! Not quite yet! You’ll
pardon me, but how are we to know you have the
money to satisfy us?”</p>

<p>“As though a living man or the spirits of the
dead could doubt me!” exclaimed Spinola, drawing
his stature up to its height and throwing his chest
out and his head back, in emphasis of his “square”
dealing.</p>

<p>“You’ll pardon me, my dear general,” spoke Shinburn,
in a voice that would be envied by a parson;
“but here are the securities, and I’ll feel obliged if
you’ll do me the honor,” and he laid the package of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span>
securities on the counter, but not an inch away from
his fingers.</p>

<p>“There’s no question as to my part of the deal
being fulfilled,” said Spinola, as he threw open the
door of a safe and disclosed to view what he said
was a million dollars in bills.</p>

<p>“Good,” declared Shinburn; “the sooner we close
up the sale, the better!”</p>

<p>“And that’s what I think, too,” cried Spinola, as
he hurled the door shut with a bang loud enough to
be heard in the hallway. And it was heard, for in
the main door appeared Detective James Irving.
Shinburn gave one glance at Spinola, who stood
motionless, and then crammed the securities in the
satchel. He knew that a trap had been set; the
question was—how to get out of it. He would care
for himself and the sales agent must do likewise.
Darting toward a window that opened into the
hall, he threw up the sash. Another man appeared
in the window—Detective George Edsel. He was
trapped to a certainty, and, knowing it, surrendered,
as the sales agent had already done. The detectives
closed in on him, the securities were taken, and in
a moment the prisoners were handcuffed and face to
face with Chief Young. The latter had come in from
the hallway after the arrests were made. With
one hundred sixty-five thousand dollars’ worth
of securities thus captured, Captain Young drove
his prisoners to Police Headquarters, smuggled them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span>
in by the basement door on the Mott Street side,
and gave strict orders that no information was to
be given the reporters.</p>

<p>The New York Detective Bureau at that time was
under the command of a captain whose power
was as great as his conscience would permit him
to use it, in any direction. He was to all intents
and purposes a power within himself, and seldom
received orders from his superiors; unless it were
in exceptional cases, where politics played an important
part. In that event everything had to bow
to the inevitable.</p>

<p>Now, I do not hesitate in saying that Chief of
Detectives John Young was as “crooked as a ram’s
horn,” which fact was well known, in and out of the
department. He took his “rake-off” greedily, from
pickpocket mobs and other small-fry thieves, with
the same assurance that an honest man receives his
wages from an honest employer. Though this was
common information among his official associates,
many of whom were as firmly established in the
saddle for graft as he, John Young was not of the
sort they would trust. He was quite likely to fail
them in an important settlement. So far as the profession
was concerned, we had retained some of the
headquarters associates of Chief Young, in our effort
to obtain something for nothing, and when he couldn’t
be trusted, they told us it was because he had not
been “seen.” That the word “seen” may not be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span>
misunderstood, I will explain that crooks had to
divide with him. However, Johnny had two confidants
in Detectives Irving and Edsel, both of whom
trusted him, as much as any man dared to, and stood
by him pretty well, though the former had more
than once rebelled. Another official with whom he
associated to a certain degree was Colonel Hiram
C. Whiteley, the powerful head of the United States
Secret Service. When Young needed bogus money
to stuff Spinola’s safe in the blind brokerage office,
he went to Whiteley, who supplied counterfeit money.
It was a pile of this kind of bills that Shinburn
was shown by Spinola and which lured the victim,
blindly, into the trap. As I think of John Young
now, it is with a feeling of wonderment that he
would have soiled his hands with spurious money,
so eager was he to get his clutches on the real
kind. No doubt he withstood the ordeal in the
belief that it would lead to the bona-fide currency
of Uncle Sam. I recall that Johnny’s eyes ever had
a covetous glint in them when there was a “rake-off”
in sight. Another streak in the color of John
Young was his anxiety to keep out of harm’s way.
When the trap was laid to catch Mark and our
sales agent, he was mighty careful not to make a
mark of himself, but sent his men in the brokerage
office to face any danger there might be, and waited
on the outside, behind the door, until he was sure it
was safe to enter. I have ever held this act against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span>
him. I cannot say that either Irving or Edsel
was possessed of a yellow streak.</p>

<p>Locked in a cell in the basement of headquarters,
the prisoners felt somewhat disconsolate—not over
the fact that they would find a cell up the Hudson
River at Sing Sing, for that was not probable. Cash
would be forthcoming, from me or some one else, and
their freedom would be bought, they felt assured.
It was the fact that the bonds were in the hands of
Young that worried them. That was tantamount
to our never seeing them again. Mark knew also
that he would be secreted from his friends, as
long as Young could do it, pending negotiations
with the New Windsor Bank officials. If Young
could make a deal with them, Mark knew that all
other considerations would be side-tracked. The
promises to the profession and friendships for his
associates would count as nothing, weighed against
Johnny’s desire to line his pocket with gold. Mark
could only hope that some of our friends would hear
of his arrest and take the word to me.</p>

<p>In the meantime Chief Young had again cautioned
his confidants as to maintaining great secrecy, assuring
them that he had a plan maturing which
would fetch them in a few dollars.</p>

<p>“No one is to see the prisoners,” he commanded;
“and, understand, I mean their counsel shall not
get to them.”</p>

<p>Now, had Chief Young been actuated by an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span>
earnest desire to do honest work for the people,
or assist the bank officials, instead of fishing for
gold to fill his pocket and that of General Spinola,
he would have notified, as the next move in the
case, the Westminster police of the arrests and of
the fact that a large part of the stolen property had
been recovered. I say that would have been the
natural course for an honest official to pursue, but
did he do that? Not John Young—he couldn’t
see his duty in that light. Instead, he suddenly
disappeared from headquarters. No one seemed to
know where he had gone. In Mulberry Street it was
guessed he’d hurried to the state capitol at Albany,
to obtain extradition papers. This, however, was
a mere conjecture. Two days later the mystery
was cleared to a certain extent. Honest people
were astonished, but those on the inside thought
it quite the usual thing in John Young.</p>

<p>Upon leaving Police Headquarters, Young had
travelled by the fastest trains to Maryland, and at
the earliest moment was in Westminster, advising
the New Windsor Bank officials that he’d captured,
by his prowess, two of their bank’s looters, recovered
a large part of the securities, and would soon
have the railroad bonds. Naturally the bank
officials were much relieved at the news; in fact
were thrown into an ecstatic state, some of these
directors, in their exuberance, being almost on the
point of weeping out their tense feelings on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span>
broad breast of the honest John Young. And their
joy was not relegated to gloom when he assured
them that he would have recovered the cash had
not the robbers spent it. The bank, he said, must
stand up nobly under this loss, and could afford to
under the circumstances. They were fortunate, indeed,
that the burglars selected New York City for
a refuge, and that the astute chief of detectives was
there to exercise his ingenuity. The bank officials
wrung his hands and patted him on the shoulders.
Such an officer of the law had never been known;
his reward should be commensurate with the service
he had rendered. They looked upon him as a veritable
prophet, even their Moses, come to lead them,
providentially, out of a vast wilderness of banking
troubles; which in other words meant that they
had been saved from going down deep into their
personal pockets to reimburse their customers and
stockholders.</p>

<p>Not many hours after Chief John’s advent in the
New Windsor Bank, the halo began to fade from
him. He looked a trifle less like the Moses he
had appeared to be, the change being the result of
Johnny’s broad hint at what he termed a “requisite
reward” for his services. The bankers saw that he
was no “cheap John” Young, and that his idea of
a recompense was vastly in excess of what they had
in mind to pay their deliverer from the wilderness
of lost securities, railroad bonds, and ready cash.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span>
However unexpected this was to the honest Marylanders,
it would not have caused any rustling
among the consciences of his confidants at home.
They knew John’s game, for some of them had
hopelessly been in it. The board of directors,
still regarding him as worthy of a good reward, and
buoyed up by his atmospheric promises that he
would recover the Union Pacific bonds beyond
doubt, voted him twenty thousand dollars. Thus
the object of Young’s visit to Westminster having
been accomplished, he made more glowing promises
to serve the Marylanders, hoped that the reward
would be forthcoming soon, and hastened back to
New York.</p>

<p>“Fetch the prisoners to my office,” was his instant
command upon arriving at the Mulberry Street office,
and forthwith Mark Shinburn and our sales agent
were brought upstairs by Irving and Edsel.</p>

<p>There was in vogue in those days what was styled
the “third degree,” but it didn’t mean more than a
threat to really enforce the law. Subsequently, I am
credibly informed, confessions were obtained from
prisoners by the application of physical torture.
When that system prevailed at 300 Mulberry Street
the police were not so linked by crooked dealing with
the criminal classes, therefore it is not my intention
to discuss these immaterial things. What Captain
Young wanted was the information Shinburn could
give him of the Union Pacific bonds, and he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span>
bound to obtain it if bulldozing would accomplish
his end. However, he went about it in a cunning
manner, and when Shinburn and his companion were
arraigned, the atmosphere of the detective office
seemed to be pregnant with peace and harmony. In
his softest tones, Young intimated to Mark that it
would best serve all concerned if the bonds were
quietly turned over to him; that self-preservation
was the vital fact to be first considered by all men;
that it would be much better for Mark if he produced
the bonds, even though it involved faithlessness to a
confederate. To all this and more Shinburn maintained
a calm demeanor.</p>

<p>“You’ll have to see my counsel, captain,” was his
reply, pleasantly but firmly said. Finding his suave
manner had no effect, Young shifted his attack, and
became what he could be in an emergency,—a miserable
oppressor of those under his power.</p>

<p>“Shinburn,” he said coldly, “you owe ten years
to the state of New Hampshire for that Walpole
Bank robbery, and I can send you there at the tap
of this bell,” and he placed one of his forefingers
on the silver button. Mark smiled at what was no
news to him, though he felt anything but happy
under the circumstances.</p>

<p>“Quite true, captain, but what are you going to
do about it?” he asked.</p>

<p>“I could better tell if I knew where the Union
Pacific bonds were,” Young answered. He was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span>
stern and insinuating at the same time. Shinburn
hesitated a moment before proceeding, not because
he didn’t know what he would eventually say and
do, but liberty was a sweet thing, after all, and
Young had hinted at releasing him if the bonds
were forthcoming.</p>

<p>“See our counsel, cap,” he said. It irritated
Young greatly.</p>

<p>“Produce the bonds, Shinburn,” said Young, in a
low, angry tone he tried hard to command, “and
I’ll let you men leave here to go where you will.
I think you know that stranger things than this
have happened.”</p>

<p>“Have a talk with our counsel,” was Shinburn’s
stereotyped reply, and, repeated, it seemed to fire
the captain to a pitch of rashness.</p>

<p>“I tell you,” he cried, “if you’ll put that fifty-three
thousand dollar batch of Union Pacifics in my
hands before the Maryland police reach here, I
promise you and your whole gang freedom.” Young
waited for Shinburn’s answer. If his proposition
was declined, the captain saw his twenty thousand
dollar reward dwindling.</p>

<p>“No use talking about it,” said Shinburn; “you’ll
have to see our attorneys.”</p>

<p>Captain Johnny was white with anger and disappointment.
He roared out an order that the
prisoners be taken down to their cells, and they
were, and none too gently.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XIV" class="vspace">CHAPTER XIV<br />

<span class="subhead">PLOTTING AGAINST YOUNG</span></h2>
</div>

<p>When Captain Young left Police Headquarters for
Maryland, it was whispered that he’d gone to Albany.
This rumor was confused with another, to the effect
that he’d been called South. The conflicting stories
served to make anxious my good friends in the
Detective Bureau, who were bound to give me the
best possible information. Detective Phil. Farley
was among the first to hear of the arrest of Shinburn
and our agent, and he hurried to me with the
facts, including the different stories of Young’s
sudden disappearance from headquarters. I was at
my Brevoort Stables at 114 Clinton Place, now
on the city map as West Eighth Street, when Farley
came. To say that I was excited over the news
would be only half the truth. I knew what sort of
a man Captain John Young was, and that he’d ride
roughshod over police associate or crook, in furthering
his selfish pursuit after gain. In my mind there
was no question that he had gone to Albany after
requisition papers and would attempt to play a game
of great account to himself. In accordance with this
I sent a messenger to look up ex-Judge Stuart, one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span>
of my retained counsel. Word came back that he
was out of town and would not return until late in
the evening. This was disheartening, but as the
judge was a shrewd student of the law and had a
good understanding of the rights of the prisoners in
our case, there wasn’t anything else to do but await
his arrival.</p>

<p>It was late in the night when he put in an appearance,
but his coming was the signal for a grand
hustling. The judge, upon being acquainted with
the facts as they came to me, said that Young was
undoubtedly in a great hurry to get the prisoners
out of town and into the hands of the Maryland
officers, and that, if he succeeded, we would have a
hard time in fighting the game.</p>

<p>“So,” said the judge, “we must get a writ to stay
him, and to do that we must tumble some obliging
judge out of bed, no matter what the hour may be.”
I suggested Judge McCunn, my next-door neighbor,
ever an accommodating legal gentleman when a writ
was desired on short notice.</p>

<p>“Just the man,” agreed ex-Judge Stuart, “and
we’d better get to him without delay.” I thought
so, too.</p>

<p>Judge McCunn was soon found, comfortably reposing
in his bed, but was turned out and enlightened
as to what we wanted. With much good-natured
talk about the audacity of some people hammering
at a decent, law-abiding man’s house long after midnight,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span>
he issued a writ of habeas corpus as strong as
the law would allow, and we were soon ready for the
next move. In the meantime a letter to Governor
Hoffman at Albany had been given us by Thurlow
Weed, another most accommodating gentleman to
those in distress. This letter was in the form of a
command, so to speak, that the governor hear our
side of the case, in the event that the New York
police should ask for requisition papers for Shinburn
and our sales agent. Now that we had the material
with which to go to the capital, the next thing was
how to get there, for it was learned that the first
train in the morning left too late for us.</p>

<p>“What can be done?” I asked of the judge.</p>

<p>“One thing—get a special train,” was his answer.
And a special train we chartered. Not long after
two o’clock in the morning, T. P. Somerville, a law
partner of the judge, was aboard the special, and, in
extraordinarily quick time for those days, was knocking
at Governor Hoffman’s door. He, much to his
relief, was informed that no requisition papers had
been applied for, and that, as a matter of fact, no
one from the New York police force had been at the
executive mansion or communicated with the governor
in any way. However, Thurlow Weed’s letter
was what we wanted to fix things with the governor,
who effusively promised that requisition papers would
not be issued unless ex-Judge Stuart was afforded an
opportunity to present our side of the case. And we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span>
had a right to be heard, legally, for Mr. Somerville
had proof to show the executive that one of the
prisoners was in New York when the New Windsor
Bank was robbed. So far we had been successful.</p>

<p>There was another trick that Captain John Young
was capable of playing, and against which we must
play winning cards. Prisoners had been known
to be shanghaied out of the state,—practically
kidnapped from the protection of the law,—by him.
The formalities of requisition proceedings had been
disregarded as so much useless red tape made to
adorn law books. Young wasn’t the offender in the
instance I will cite. It was Captain John Jourdan.</p>

<p>Eddie McGuire, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">alias</i> Fairy, Rory Simms, and
Dave Bartlett “turned off” the Bowdoinham Bank,
of Maine, in June, 1866, and got something like
eighty thousand dollars in cash and United States
five-twenty bonds. Bartlett hired the team used in
the “get-away.” They buried the loot in a wood,
and in the wagon drove forty miles to Portland,
where, scattering, the looters went by rail to New
York.</p>

<p>Prior to this the gang had robbed Cooper’s silverware
manufacturing establishment in Waverly Place
in New York City, and sold the silver to a “fence”
kept by one Morrison. For some reason, the latter
tipped off Captain Jourdan, who arrested McGuire
and the others at the corner of Hudson and King
streets. Fairy pleaded poverty to the captain, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span>
having turned over to him what silver they had
taken, all hands were released. But there was a
string on them. Jourdan forced a promise that
there would be a division made the very first
“trick” the gang “turned off.” Later they did
the Maine “trick.” Having given the job a chance
to cool down, Fairy McGuire went to Maine and
dug up the treasure, and he and Bartlett asked me
to sell the bonds. I bought them outright, and, as
was my custom, paid the police the usual percentage,
which amounted to forty-two hundred dollars.
At the same time I told them that there was more
“rake-off” due them, declining, however, to mention
any names.</p>

<p>“When they get ready, no doubt you’ll hear from
them,” I said reassuringly. Perhaps a week or more
had gone by, during which time I presumed the lads
had paid the police the remainder of the “rake-off,”
but it turned out not to be so. Detective Radford
came to me with a tip.</p>

<p>“Fairy McGuire and his pals will be pinched to-morrow
by Captain Jourdan,” said he, “and you’d
better tell them so. The old man was promised a
‘rake-off’ on the next job after the silver racket,
and nothing has been doing. You see he knows
who did the Bowdoinham ‘trick,’ for a sheriff was
down here with the description of the man that
hired the team for the ‘get-away,’ and it fits Dave
Bartlett. Jourdan wouldn’t have known it, only in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span>
riding in a Fifth Avenue stage the other day he saw
McGuire, Simms, and Bartlett in the same stage.
They were loaded down with diamonds and heavy
gold watch-chains. Worse than all, they never looked
at the old man. He got thinking of what had been
done in the crooked line to buy all this stuff, and the
Bowdoinham job flashes across him. Then came
the description of Bartlett from the Maine sheriff.
That settled it. So the gang will be pinched to-morrow
evening.”</p>

<p>I recollected what McGuire had told me about the
meeting with Captain Jourdan in the stage, and at
the time I had protested loudly against the boys’
wearing the diamonds and watches.</p>

<p>“It’s only asking for trouble,” I said, “and what’s
the use?”</p>

<p>“Oh, to hell with the cops,” was the separate reply
from the trio. I said no more, but hoped they would
be wise. I might have left them to a big surprise,
but after Radford had gone I hastened to McGuire’s
place in Bleecker Street and told him what I had
heard, adding that they would better get out of
town on the instant. They laughed at my warning.
The following evening at eight o’clock Captain
Jourdan arrested them, and the next morning soon
after daylight he personally took them to the outskirts
of the city and, boarding a train, lodged them
in a Maine jail. Thus were “Fairy” McGuire,
Rory Simms, and Dave Bartlett shanghaied out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span>
New York State by Captain Jourdan, in utter defiance
of the requisition laws.</p>

<p>Knowing what the police had done, I determined
that Captain Young would not have the opportunity
to thus take Mark Shinburn and our sales agent to
Maryland, and ex-Judge Stuart said he would assist
me. He procured a writ that would forestall any
illegal procedure of the sort that might be attempted,
and had it served on the Police Commissioners at
headquarters. Meanwhile we kept a diligent watch
on the gamesters in Mulberry Street. About the
time Mr. Somerville got back from Albany with good
news from that quarter, Captain Young turned up
and with him the news of where he had been. Close
on the heels of these developments, the officials of
the New Windsor Bank and their attorneys, accompanied
by Detective Pierson, of Smith, Pierson, and
West’s Agency, of Baltimore, arrived in town.
Pierson was a very clever sleuth and a trusted
friend of our advisers at Police Headquarters. He
promptly received a tip from our friends, and therewith
ignored Captain Young. In an exceedingly
short time he was in an earnest conversation with
the attorneys of the bank officials, advising them as
to the most efficacious means of recovering the
Union Pacific bonds. Pierson had no difficulty in
demonstrating the fiction of John Young’s wonderful
tale of his capture of the bank looters, and immediately
there was some figuring with a view of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span>
scaling down his promised reward. Also it was
presently shown to them how the bonds could be
returned without the fabricator’s assistance. They
were thoroughly disgusted with the mode of procedure,
and admitted that they had been well duped
by Young’s representations.</p>

<p>The result of Pierson’s mediation was an interview
between the bank’s attorneys and ex-Judge
Stuart. Two days later we decided to return the
fifty-three thousand dollars’ worth of Union Pacifics
in return for the recipients’ promise not to prosecute
Shinburn and our sales agent. Captain Young had
his reward scaled down to seventeen thousand five
hundred dollars, but felt that he must turn the prisoners
over to the Maryland authorities. He had his
reward in hand, and if General Spinola received
any part of it, the information never reached me.
Knowing John Young as I did, I believe the general
whistled long and loud ere he got a finger on the
“rake-off.”</p>

<p>These matters being “squared” and the Marylanders
ready to start for home, Captain Young
turned the prisoners over to Detective Pierson, it
being lawful in this instance to do so, provided both
parties were agreed. Meanwhile I was apprised of
the leaving time of the Pennsylvania Railroad train
that was to take the party to Maryland, and accordingly
the ferry-boat that left the New York slip for
the five o’clock <span class="smcap smaller">P.M.</span> train, bearing the party, also<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span>
had me aboard with a closed carriage and ready for
a part I would play. At the landing of the boat I
drove my team to a convenient place close to the
ferry-house and waited. Detective Pierson, with
the prisoners handcuffed, and accompanied by the
bankers and lawyers, went to the train in waiting
and boarded it. The time was then ripe for
action.</p>

<p>“I’m going to call a halt here, gentlemen,” said
Shinburn, “and there’s mighty little time to waste
before this train goes.”</p>

<p>Detective Pierson tried to look solemn, as did the
bankers and their attorneys, and then asked the reason
for the protest.</p>

<p>“Simply this—we’re not going with you,” declared
Mark.</p>

<p>“Oh, yes, you will; there’s no use crying about
it. Sit down!” commanded Pierson. This made a
fine by-play for the passengers.</p>

<p>“I’ll make an outcry,” exclaimed Shinburn, “unless
you can show me your authority.”</p>

<p>Detective Pierson exhibited his shield. Shinburn
laughed derisively. “Where’s your warrant?
That’s what I want to see.”</p>

<p>Pierson fished a warrant out of his pocket and
held it to Shinburn’s nose. He thrust it away contemptuously.</p>

<p>“The devil!” he cried; “that’s nothing but a
Maryland warrant, and it doesn’t go in the state of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span>
New Jersey. Come, the game is up; take off these
irons, quick!”</p>

<p>“It’s a fact, gentlemen,” said Pierson, turning to
the bankers and attorneys, “that we haven’t anything
more than the Maryland warrant. These men
refuse to go with us without requisition papers
from the state of New Jersey. In fact, the prisoners
as such in New York are here no longer
prisoners.”</p>

<p>“Call an officer of the Jersey City force,” put in
one of the bank’s attorneys.</p>

<p>“Good day, gentlemen,” said Shinburn, walking
swiftly from the car, followed by the sales agent;
“you’ve made a mistake this time.”</p>

<p>No one offered to follow them and of course no
one wanted to. Outside I was waiting with the
carriage. In hopped the pair, and at a gallop we
were driven on the ferry-boat. It was the one that
brought us over. Upon it we landed again on the New
York shore. In the meantime I unlocked the irons
from the wrists of my companions with a key I had
provided. Within an hour from the time the lads
got out of John Young’s hands, they were back in
New York streets, free to go where they pleased.
To them the New Windsor Bank robbery was to
pass into the realm of “has been.” But the outcome
of the projected trip of Shinburn and the sales
agent, with the superficial booking for their confinement
in a Maryland prison, was to create a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span>
laugh. They were free, and the bankers had gone
home with the one hundred and sixty-five thousand
dollars’ worth of securities that Captain Young had
turned over to them in return for his reward, besides
the Union Pacific bonds. With the possibility of
getting nothing out of the two hundred and eighty-one
thousand dollar loot, and returning to Westminster
with two hundred and eighteen thousand dollars,
the bankers could well count themselves lucky. We
had to be satisfied with sixty-three thousand dollars,
less the “rake-off” that must be paid to our Police
Headquarters friends.</p>

<p>It was a week after the matter had been settled
that we decided to “square” with Mulberry Street,
and I advised that Mark had better make arrangements
to meet either Detective McCord or Detective
Radford. Mark hadn’t done this sort of work, leaving
it for me to do.</p>

<p>“Try your hand, Mark,” I said, and he did. It
was, however, the first and last time while we
worked together. Mark made an appointment to
meet Radford at Chris Connor’s place in Fourteenth
Street, near Broadway, at eight o’clock in the evening,
and went there in a cab. He turned over to Radford
sixty-three hundred dollars, the ten per cent we
agreed to give the police. It was in bills, wrapped
in brown paper. Radford put it in his pocket.
There was wine bought to celebrate the settlement,
with the result that, nine o’clock coming, Radford<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span>
had added not a little to a comfortable “jag” he
had acquired before the meeting. Mark found the
detective troublesome and once or twice the latter
was on the point of a quarrel. And, too, he accused
Mark of putting up a job to get him off the force.
Of course this was a fancy of his drink-crazed brain,
and, more to protect him than anything else, Mark
suggested that they drive to the Metropolitan Hotel
to see Jack McCord. This seemed to suit Radford.
They got in the cab and were soon whirling down
Broadway. At Ninth Street, Radford turned to
Mark and, saying something incoherent, tore the
package of money from his pocket and threw it out
of the window. The cab was stopped and Mark ran
back more than a block in search of the money. He
heard Radford shout back in a thick way, “You
can’t put up a job on me.” Fortunately Mark’s
activity resulted in recovering the money, though a
moment later he would have been too late. A telegraph
messenger boy running across Broadway had
struck the package with his foot and was about to
run off with the prize when Mark snatched it.
Hurrying back, no one was there but cabby, Radford
having disappeared through Ninth Street. Mark
drove to his rooms in West Twenty-sixth Street,
where he dismissed the cab. The next day Jack
McCord sent for me and with great concern said,
“Do you think Mark would put up a job on me and
Radford?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span>
“What!” I cried, “do you think we’re crazy?
Why?”</p>

<p>“Radford came to me last night, declaring Mark
had given him money, but he didn’t know what
became of it.”</p>

<p>“I haven’t seen Mark,” said I, “but I’ll guarantee
he’s all right.”</p>

<p>“So I’ve believed,” said McCord, “but it’s queer
somehow. Perhaps,” he added, “it’s the result of
one of Radford’s drunks. He’s gone, and I’ll wait
until he turns up. In the meantime will you see
Shinburn?”</p>

<p>I promised I would, and, accordingly, a few minutes
later, Mark had heard from me Jack McCord’s
story. At that he hauled the money from his pocket
and tossed it at me. I looked the surprise I felt.</p>

<p>“I thought you’d settled with Radford?” I said.</p>

<p>“So I did, but the fool threw the dust out of the
cab window, and while I went back after it, he vanished.”
Then Mark told me, in detail, all that happened.
It was all made very clear to me. I left
him saying I would make an appointment for him
with McCord at the Washington Parade Ground at
the lower end of Fifth Avenue, that evening. Mark
was there and paid McCord the money, who in no
gentle language scored Radford for his drunken
escapade.</p>

<p>“You can give me the credit of saving the dust
for the duffer,” said Mark to me subsequently, “for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span>
I had to run back nearly two blocks, and then got it
by only a hair.”</p>

<p>But I must return to Captain Young. He had
pocketed the seventeen thousand five hundred dollars,
the outcome of his secret trip to Westminster,
and was in a way congratulating himself. Had he
not given his two prisoners, so cleverly captured,
over to the Maryland authorities? Had he not
done a great piece of detective work? None better,
the public would think, upon hearing of it, done up
with the right sort of glamour. There was one
way to put that touch on, so he called in the
Police Headquarters reporters, who had offices across
Mulberry Street. To them he related the story of
his astuteness in getting a “line” on the looters,
adding everything that he could conjure up to
make a glowing yarn, in which he was the central
figure. The newspapers told at great length of
the desperate encounter he and his sleuths had had
with the prisoners, who had to be taken at the pistol
point.</p>

<p>“I turned the prisoners over to the Baltimore
authorities,” the newspapers quoted him as saying,
“heavily ironed, and they started south with a
clear case against them. They couldn’t escape
from long terms in prison, with the evidence against
them.”</p>

<p>It was not until several months later that the
dear public awoke to the cold fact that Chief<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span>
of Detectives Young’s great capture and brace of
prisoners, which started for Maryland, only reached
the Pennsylvania Railroad depot in Jersey City.</p>

<p>If Young had hugged the belief that he should
get away with the reward, without making a division
with Detectives Jim Irving and George Edsel, he
soon came to a truer realization of the situation.
Now, they had made the arrests, for, as I have truly
told, Captain Young boldly stood in the hallway
outside of Spinola’s fake brokerage office, safe
from harm, while his tools did the work. Naturally
they wanted a fair part of the reward, though Captain
John entertained very different views on the
subject. When Irving and Edsel made their demands,
he firmly defined his position. After many
long and heated arguments over the spoils, not
unlike those occurring among crooks, Young consented
to a generous division of his reward. How
would the boys like five hundred each? That certainly
was munificent on his part. There was more
argument, in which the language used was not of
the choicest, and finally George Edsel, realizing, like
Bobby Bright, that it was now or never, accepted
five hundred and held his peace. Not so with
Jim Irving—made of sterner stuff. Besides, he
was financially hungry. Not a cent would he take,
and away he went, vowing he would get even with so
fine a specimen of the swine as John Young.</p>

<p>The police at headquarters whom we regarded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span>
as our friends were known to us as the Bank Ring.
This coterie of unfaithful policemen in the Detective
Bureau had long hated Young because of his uncertainty
in handling spoils, because he could not be
depended upon to make a “divvy.” If the opportunity
came along in which he could put all in his
pocket, he never failed to do it. The Ring had
long wanted to get rid of him. When Irving told
me, with much anger, how he had been treated, steps
were immediately taken to cut off Young’s police
career. And when the change was made, we determined
to get a “right” commander at the head of
the Detective Bureau. Accordingly political and
other kinds of wires soon began to hum. And
Irving was instructed what his part was to be.</p>

<p>“Hold out for an even third of the Maryland
reward,” I told him, “and don’t, for anything that
is offered you, come down from that position.”</p>

<p>Irving couldn’t see the wisdom of this advice,
but was told to go it blind and wait for the outcome.
And he did. It was not for long either;
within forty-eight hours Captain Young was commanded
by the Police Commissioners to divide the
reward equally between his associates and himself.
At last the grasping one found himself confronting
a strong game,—a game that was more difficult to
play at successfully than had been the one he had
tackled in Maryland. It was put up to him firmly
by the Police Commissioners, that he must divide<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span>
the seventeen thousand five hundred dollars, or hand
in his shield and resign from the force.</p>

<p>What he did do was just like John Young—he
refused to part with a cent. It was more than he
would get in a year’s “rake-off” from his different
mob of grafters, so he clung to the whole reward,
relinquished his shield, packed his grip, and turned
his back forever on 300 Mulberry Street, in the
year 1869, and became plain John Young.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XV" class="vspace">CHAPTER XV<br />

<span class="subhead">MY PATENT SAFETY SWITCH AND JIM IRVING</span></h2>
</div>

<p>I would not have the impression go abroad that
I believed the New York Police Department, as a
whole, or even its detective force, at the period of
which I have written, were in league with professional
criminals. Quite the reverse. Though the
force had a great many patrolmen, plenty of commanding
officers, and the Detective Bureau had its
Bank Ring, which had for its backing high ranking
officers in the department and tremendous political
influences on the outside, all of whom conspired
with the great and small fry thieves, nevertheless
I aver that there were many, many patrolmen, commanding
officers, and detectives, who ever put their
honor away above dishonesty, often to their official
undoing. I might mention a number of instances
in which the honest policeman discovered the path
of rectitude a mighty tortuous one to travel, while
on the contrary the dishonest one seemed to be
travelling a broad road to wealth and flowery ease.
In the former case, the copper would have to patrol in
the outlying districts in midwinter, with a diligent
roundsman constantly on hand to see that the task<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span>
was not shirked, as a penance for being honest, while
the grafting copper would be detailed to some easy
berth, where his time would be spent in the waiting
room of a hotel or in the banking district, in which
opportunities for stock speculation or connivance
with thieves were thicker than London fog. One
class of duty was designated “Goatville,” the other
“Snap.”</p>

<p>It is my purpose to devote a few pages of this
chronicle to the exploitation of what I am pleased to
term department politics. At the period in question—when
William M. Tweed bossed New York—this
sort of politics was rampant in every branch of
the city government, and in none was it so conspicuous
as in the Police Department. From time to
time it has been told how the craft of the Under
World used the police to advantage in the mad rush
of getting something for nothing. Whatever I have
said, or whatever I shall say, may be taken as
truth. Coming as it does to me after many years
of divers experiences, I may depart from some of
the minute truths because of a lapse of memory,
but I assure my friends that the main facts are too
plainly and too indelibly impressed upon me to be
forgotten while I breathe. In the corrupt bargaining
between the police and the crooks, whatever
assistance my associates and I obtained was well
paid for. If the craft did not “settle” with those
who permitted them to rob and go free, it may as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">305</span>
well be flatly stated that one of two courses was
pursued. There was the choice: the penitentiary
or Sing Sing prison without “squaring things,” or
“settle” and walk about New York with the freedom
of the honest, law-abiding citizen. But freedom
was well paid for—many palms had to be “greased.”</p>

<p>When I came to New York, the partnership of the
police with professional criminals was of the go as
you please sort. The fat, thin, great, small, long,
and short hand of the copper was held out from all
sides,—in Mulberry Street, in the police court, on
post. Everywhere protection was being paid for
indiscriminately. If one copper got more from one
crook than from another, it was quite likely to create
jealousy, and be certain that the crook got the worst
end of the argument. In this way police protection,
always dearly bought, was ineffective. As a matter
of fact, this state of affairs became exceedingly distasteful
to the members of the Under World, and
strong pulls, after several years of hardship, were
sought to bring about a change. Great politicians
were appealed to, and by the right kind of persuasion
were forced to take a favorable view of the
argument of the craft.</p>

<p>The long waited for change was brought about
by the greed of Captain John Young, chief of the
Detective Bureau, of whose double dealing I have
written in another part of this history. Mark Shinburn
and I had looted the New Windsor Bank in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">306</span>
Maryland, and when the covetous coppers all about
Young didn’t get their “rake-off” there was trouble.
The police grafters falling out, thieves began to get
their dues—in other words, the protection for which
they paid. With Captain Young out of the Detective
Bureau and out of the force, the time had come
for the Under World to strike. The iron made hot
to whiteness must be beaten into shape, into a
switch, into a patent safety switch—something that
would guide us from the crooked road of uncertainty
to the broad thoroughfare of perfect exemption from
lawful punishment for all kinds of crime. So I
began looking about for the safety switch. It was
suggested that James Irving, the detective who declined
to accept Captain Young’s paltry offer of five
hundred as his share in the New Windsor Bank
reward, would make a first-class man to succeed to
the chieftancy of the Detective Bureau, so I put out
a few feelers. My experience with Irving had been
most satisfactory, and so far as I was able to gather,
he’d dealt squarely with all of the high-class members
of my craft. Besides being fearless, he was a
handsome chap, with a splendid front to show on
Broadway or in Wall Street, and in a question of
suspicious dealing with crooks wouldn’t be easily
suspected of the offence. It occurred to me that the
Detective Bureau plum would be just the thing for
Jim, and at the earliest chance I met him at the
Parker House in Broadway at Thirty-third Street.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span>
I told him he would make a fine figure on the Broadway
corners of the Tenderloin, that he could associate
with gamblers without it being suspected that
he was doing other than obtaining information about
them for official purposes, and that he could make
Wall Street his frequent resort, where he could deal
in bucket shops, which he ought to prosecute; and
in fact, he could be a whole lot as the head of the
Bureau.</p>

<p>Irving was anxious to get the place, but didn’t
see how it could be done, as there were many others
with far better chances. I told him to be patient
and lie low.</p>

<p>The question that was uppermost in police circles
after John Young’s hasty exit was, who would be
his successor. Many loud-mouthed politicians, hungry
for preferment and crammed full of arguments
for their respective candidates, besieged Police Headquarters
and made the life of the several Police Commissioners
a veritable hive of misery. The latter,
who were ruled by politicians most of the time,—the
ward-heeler species,—usually disciplined, transferred,
assigned, and promoted members of the force,
at the behest of these threatening, browbeating fellows.
Several days passed and the commissioners
hadn’t selected a head for the Bureau, and, so far
as the importuning ones could fathom, were not anywhere
near doing so. But that was no secret to
me. I had gone to Boss Tweed, and told him what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span>
I wanted, and that affairs had gotten to a state
where a scandal would be raised if there wasn’t an
attempt to concentrate the graft from crooks in a
coterie of policemen, from which protection could
be gotten without a string to it. I told him that
some of the Under World were being goaded to
desperation by the insistent demand of the police
for protection money, and who, after getting it, play
the traitor.</p>

<p>“Mr. Tweed,” I said firmly, “some of these fellows
will squeal to one of the societies at Sam
Tilden’s heels, and there is likely to be a storm
about your ears that’ll not be relished. It may
mean worse than that.”</p>

<p>“Well, Miles,” said he, “what can I do? You
know I don’t interfere with the affairs of the Police
Commissioners unless it’s vitally necessary.”</p>

<p>“It seems to me that you ought to for once, Mr.
Tweed,” I said. “Put Detective Jim Irving at the
head of the Detective Bureau, and you’ll switch the
whole business to safety. If not, I can’t say what
will happen.”</p>

<p>“That means making him a captain?” said Tweed.</p>

<p>“That’s it,” I answered; “and he’ll fill the bill in
every way.”</p>

<p>“Well, good day, Miles,” said the Boss; “I’ll see
what can be done.”</p>

<p>I knew what that meant.</p>

<p>With the captaincy hanging in the tree ready to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span>
be plucked, I went to my friends at Police Headquarters
and told them practically what I’d said
to Tweed, and they agreed with me. Having
gotten both ends of the game working, I rested for
the outcome, and it wasn’t long before I had the
pleasure of congratulating Captain James Irving.
And in this manner was formed the first real Bank
Ring and satisfactory combine between members of
the police force at headquarters and certain precincts,
with the Under World, in which money was
to be paid for protection—the thieves to rob right
and left and be allowed to sell bonds and securities
unmolested, upon the payment of a ten per cent
“rake-off.” All the friction which had hitherto
annoyed, not only the members of my profession,
but the policemen who were inclined to be on the
“square” with us, disappeared. In this connection
I am referring to high-class men, such as bank
burglars, bank sneaks, and big forgers and the like.
The small-fry thief was, naturally, for some time
after that, paying his “bit” to the coppers on post;
but these fellows soon got to squealing on us, and
we had them sent up the beautiful Hudson River,
thirty miles, where Sing Sing was their home for
such a time as they could be taught better ways.</p>

<p>The Bank Ring, or the patent safety switch, as
you please, soon getting into excellent working condition,
its members began to realize what they’d lost
in the great Lord bond robbery, the Star Insurance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span>
Company and the Royal Insurance Company “tricks,”
all of which would have paid them a fine “rake-off,”
but of which they had been deprived by the methods
of Captain Young. Besides these big “tricks,” there
were many others, not quite so important, but a
mighty good investment of government service, in
vice-protecting stocks. But the bitterest medicine
of all was the recent New Windsor Bank loot. It
pinched the Bank Ring, even to recall the profits lost
to them in that “trick.”</p>

<p>Of those who were the bone and sinew of the
combine, and known to me personally, and who were
for the most part on the “level” with me, I must
mention Captain John Jourdan of the Sixth Precinct,
afterward Superintendent of Police, who was frequently
spoken of as “The Little Man”; Detective
John McCord, Detective James J. Kelso, subsequently
Superintendent of Police, Detective George
Radford, Detective Thomas Davidson, Detective
Joseph Seymour, and Patrolman Michael Conners.
I had many personal dealings with these men and,
as I have said, they usually acted the part they took
in good faith. Captain Jourdan was an officer with
an excellent record in the line of duty, though he
did stand high in the friendship of Boss Tweed
and held an important place in the counsels of the
Bank Ring. He and Jack McCord were, practically,
the ruling power of the Ring. When Langdon
W. Moore <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">alias</i> Charlie Adams was captured on a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span>
Jersey farm along the Delaware River, it was Captain
Jourdan who did it. Moore had robbed the Concord,
Massachusetts, National and Savings Banks, and had
hidden three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of
securities under the flooring of one of his stables. In
a midnight search of the farm it was Jourdan who
discovered the securities and returned them to the
bank. Again, when the notorious Fairy McGuire
and his gang of crooks were apprehended for the
Bowdoinham Bank robbery in Maine, was it not
Captain Jourdan who furnished the evidence that
sent all hands to prison? Not only had he obtained
power in this sort of police work, but, being the
protégé of Bill Tweed, he could command almost
anything he wanted. This influence he acquired
through the masterful work he had done for Tweed
in the famous Sixth Precinct,—the station house
of which was on Franklin Street,—in the way of
manipulating votes on election day. All together
Captain Jourdan was a mighty handy man to know.</p>

<p>As to Jack McCord, who “pulled” a wonderful
stroke with the captain, he was an astute copper
without question—astute in the art of diverting gold
from its legitimate channels into the private conduit
leading to the fat pocket of the Bank Ring. I have
been told that he made more arrests during his long
career as a policeman than any other member of the
force at that period. It was with much boastfulness
that I once heard him declare in this fashion:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span>
“I never sent but one man to prison, and then it was
the fool’s own fault and not mine. I told him to
stand trial, but he pleaded guilty.”</p>

<p>It is safe to estimate that McCord’s arrests were
made purely and simply for a “shake-down”; indeed,
I was told that at least ninety-nine per cent of them
were. He was, let me say, an adept in discovering
grafters of the Under World; in fact showed
advanced qualities in this pursuit. Naturally, new
crooks put in an appearance frequently, and it wasn’t
long before Jack learned of it, and then it was his job
to see whether or not something was doing. I have
a vivid recollection of his mode of procedure, and
will attempt to demonstrate it as well as I am able.
His headquarters were at the Metropolitan Hotel in
Broadway, just below Houston Street, near Niblo’s
Garden, a theatre famous in its day. A grafter
would be told he’d better call on McCord at the
hotel, and then came the meeting. The grafter had
to examine a business card, as a starter.</p>

<p>“Have a card,” Jack would say; “I’m McCord,
the Central Office detective.” I recall his bluff style,
for it amused me.</p>

<p>“Glad to know you,” the crook would answer,
whether he was or not, and they would shake hands—just
for business, you know.</p>

<p>“And my office hours on week days are from
seven <span class="smcap smaller">P.M.</span> to ten <span class="smcap smaller">P.M.</span>, at this hotel. Don’t forget
the address,” continued the detective.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">313</span>
“I hope I won’t,” the crook would reply, with a
smile, not lost on McCord.</p>

<p>“Of course you won’t forget my address,” repeated
Jack, “I wouldn’t, if I were you. I may be of much
service, you know!”</p>

<p>In this manner he made himself acquainted with
the new grafters, and they believed in him, and many
of them never regretted the understanding. If a
crook failed to keep his promise, why, McCord was
merciless; no less so was Captain Jourdan. Both
were counted as good friends and bad enemies. In
another chapter I’ve referred to these police officials
in a manner to bear out what I say. To me Jim
Irving was as “square” as any crooked copper could
be, though I will have shown, before I complete this
history, wherein he displayed a trait of which I
deemed him happily lacking.</p>

<p>With the patent safety switch working splendidly,
the crooked fraternity knew just what to expect from
300 Mulberry Street; knew that it was, “walk up
to the captain’s office and square it—get out of
town and stay out for a while, or run the risk of
being railroaded to Sing Sing prison.” It was a
marvel. It gave the inventors and the promoters
the master-key of the situation. Its intricate details
earned golden gain for the Ring and prosperity for
the Under World fraternity. The safety switch was
unlimited in its power, it seemed. With it a subservient
Police Board assisted in keeping the per cent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">314</span>
of “rake-off” regulated, and policemen favorable
to our pocket-lining were promoted at its bidding.
It did heroic service for many years, and brought
in Standard Oil profits, was proof against honest
investigators who tried hard to break through and
put its inventors and promoters in jeopardy, and
was practically the only Ring to pull out of the
breakers so disastrously contrived by Samuel J.
Tilden, New York State’s famous governor and
corrupt-ring smasher, and his fellow-reformers. The
Bank Ring was indeed fortunate in escaping the
dire consequences of Mr. Tilden’s efforts to clean
out the cesspool of corruption then underlying the
government of New York City.</p>

<p>Those were palmy days, those days of the safety
switch, when men without visible means of support
flourished about town like green bay trees, and
certain police officials of 300 Mulberry Street with
“pulls” kept fast horses and elaborate carriages,
and dined and wined themselves and friends at
Delmonico’s, and sported diamonds in their shirt-fronts
the size of English walnuts. How well I
remember them! It was all possible while the
Under World fraternity was feeding on the public
and the police grafters were taking percentages from
them—the larceny thief and the bank burglar. The
legitimate income of these officials was a mere drop
in the ocean in comparison with their private, illegitimate
income,—that ever-flowing golden stream,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span>
let in at the back door of 300 Mulberry Street; that
golden stream flowing from the army of crooks operating
in this country from New York Bay to the
Golden Gate, from Hudson Bay to the Gulf of
Mexico, not considering a fat goose occasionally
plucked from a foreign shore.</p>

<p>To show to what extent Captain Irving would carry
out his part of the contract with the Under World
men I will mention a personal recollection of the
apprehension of Roberts and Gleason for the colossal
Wall Street bond forgeries in the summer of 1873.
Nearly a million dollars was involved in this job.
The story not only came to me from Irving, but I also
had it from the lips of Henry C. Allen, the assistant
district attorney who had charge of the case. Captain
Irving had been asked to arrest the forgers,
who were said to be in New York. And what
was the result? For three weeks he fed taffy to the
district attorney’s office,—one day saying the fugitives
had been seen in New Orleans, a few days later
that they had been traced to Portland on the Pacific
coast; and ere two weeks had passed, clews had
been picked up in about every large city on the
map of the United States. While this sop was
being given the district attorney, Roberts and Gleason
were in the city, comfortably living at their
homes, or visiting their usual haunts under the very
noses of Captain Irving and his sleuths, who, of
course, didn’t want to find them. One of the men,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">316</span>
to my knowledge, was in a house not more than a
stone’s throw from Twenty-first Street and Seventh
Avenue. But that is going more into detail than is
necessary. Of course, Assistant District Attorney
Allen became, not only weary, but disgusted, over
this delay, and, half suspecting the reason for Irving’s
inactivity, employed a few Pinkerton detectives.
In the meantime Irving was unconscious of Mr.
Allen’s activity. For once the doings of the agency
detectives failed to reach him, and he continued to
make an occasional report to the district attorney’s
office. One day he came in and said: “I’ve located
Roberts and Gleason. I think they’re on the way
to Europe. Guess I’ll be able to stop ’em on the
arrival of the ship on the other side.”</p>

<p>“Don’t distress yourself, captain,” said the assistant
district attorney, quietly. There was something
in Mr. Allen’s manner that caused the chief
of detectives to cast a searching look at him.</p>

<p>“And why?” asked Irving.</p>

<p>“Because it will be useless,” continued Mr.
Allen, with an attempt to suppress a smile;
“Roberts and Gleason have been under arrest in
this city for twelve hours.”</p>

<p>“Oh,” blurted Irving, while his face flushed a
deep red and then paled. I had it from Mr. Allen
that the detective chief fairly ran from the office,
and didn’t put in an appearance there for many
days. Hitherto he had been a frequent visitor.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">317</span>
I have given a bird’s-eye view, so to speak, of the
Bank Ring or my patent safety switch, along with
which I introduced Captain Irving. To relate all
my personal experiences with the Ring would be too
exhausting, not only to my patient reader, but to
myself. It flourished until Thomas Byrnes became
the head of the Detective Bureau, with the rank of
Inspector of Police, when a complete transformation
of affairs took place. Byrnes grasped the headquarters
situation with a mighty grip and administered
a crushing blow to the patent safety switch. A
member of the Bank Ring said to me one day, while
discussing old times, “Inspector Byrnes keeps close
tabs on us men these days. A few months ago I
took a hundred dollar bill from Walter Brown, a
pickpocket, and within forty-eight hours Byrnes
called me in his office and said, ‘Two days ago you
took a hundred from Brown, didn’t you?’ There
was no use denying it, and I owned the corn—I
just had to, you know. I knew I was up against it.
Well, he looked at me, and said, without roaring at
me as he does sometimes, ‘Turn that money in the
Pension Fund, and if anything like this happens
again, I’ll ask for your shield.’”</p>

<p>It was with this kind of force that Byrnes began
his reorganization of the Detective Bureau. Whether
in later years he stood true to those principles, I do
not know. Never in my days, when he was in charge
of the Detective Bureau, did I have knowledge that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">318</span>
he was other than honest. I heard rumors of Wall
Street deals, but whether they were true or not, I
can’t say. He had some very influential friends in
the financial district, and I have no doubt they gave
him many a hint as to the lay of the market.</p>

<p>In thus briefly touching upon a period in my life
when I depended upon the police to abet my vigilance
in the game of obtaining something for nothing,
I trust I haven’t caused any one a pang of pain
or regret. And so I pause for a while. In a subsequent
volume I will, perhaps, go deeper into my
experiences with crooks and their relations with the
police.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">319</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XVI" class="vspace">CHAPTER XVI<br />

<span class="subhead">HARD WORK UNDER GREAT DIFFICULTIES</span></h2>
</div>

<p>The day following our reconciliation, Shinburn
and I went down to look over the Ocean Bank and
its surroundings. It was most essential that we
should know the habits of the policemen on the
beats around and near the bank, and the comings
and goings of the janitor and other occupants of the
neighborhood, as well as of the general public, day
and night. Therefore it was decided to obtain quarters
from which all this could be watched, and a front
room on the second floor of the building on Fulton
Street, opposite the bank, was hired. From this
room two men kept constant watch from January
until the time for the trick to be pulled off.
Through these men we learned the habits and
manners of all who frequented that locality.</p>

<p>Here is one of the results of our watch-tower:
About three months after we had been at work we
became alarmed at the suspicious actions of a man
who constantly hovered around the bank corner.
Thinking that he might be a “plain clothes man,”—that
is, a detective not in uniform,—I reported the
circumstance to Detective Jack McCord, who had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">320</span>
the matter investigated, and ascertained that the
man was a “look-out” for a near-by gambling game.</p>

<p>Shinburn and I agreed, on the first inspection of
the bank building, that, because of the exposed entrance
to the bank, and the constant stream of
passers-by, which, owing to the near-by ferries and
markets, never ceased day or night, it would not do
to try to get into the bank by way of the door, and
that ingress must be made from above or below.
We discussed the advisability of having a room directly
over the vault, but decided that, by reason of the
massive masonry which we would have to cut through,
it would be much more practicable to go through the
floor, provided that, in the basement under the president’s
room, a room could be secured.</p>

<p>This was finally accomplished, though it took
three months of planning, to bring it about.</p>

<p>At the time of our first visit to the bank the whole
basement was occupied by one concern. Through
Taylor we learned that the lease would shortly expire,
and that the tenants, who hired from the bank,
had given notice that they would not renew it. In
this, Fortune seemed to favor us; but, as the space
was very large, we deemed it advisable not to apply
for a lease of the whole place, for we could make no
show of a legitimate business that would warrant the
occupancy of so extensive quarters, and that an attempt
to do so would probably lead the bank people
to suspect our real purpose. Therefore, even at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">321</span>
risk of losing the chance altogether, we determined
not to apply for the place just then, trusting to the
hope that some one might apply for the part fronting
Greenwich Street, leaving the coveted room under
the president’s office, with the entrance on Fulton
Street, to us; and relying on Taylor’s ability to
keep us posted regarding offers to lease that the
bank might receive.</p>

<p>Thus matters remained at a standstill, so far as
entering the vault was concerned, for some three
months, or until about the middle of March. Then
an applicant appeared in the person of one William
O’Kell. Taylor at once informed us of the application.
On investigation we learned that O’Kell
was a money broker on upper Broadway, where
he had an office less than one-half as large as the
basement under the bank. We, therefore, deemed
it safe to let him acquire the lease, trusting to be
able to hire from him the part we desired. Scarcely
had Mr. O’Kell moved into his new quarters than he
was approached by a man calling himself Kohler,
who represented himself as being an insurance broker,
and stated that he wished to hire the rear part of the
basement. Mr. O’Kell was only too willing to sub-let.
As Kohler was Shinburn’s brother-in-law, we
were soon in possession of the long-desired field of
action. At this time we notified the Bank Ring—the
police—of our enterprise, and arranged for the
necessary protection.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">322</span>
And so we drew nearer and nearer to the coveted
goal. But let it not be thought that all was plain
sailing from then on. Far from it! for, though we
were now directly under the president’s office, yet we
were also right beside the steps that led to the offices
and the janitor’s living apartments. Two police beats
met at the bank corner, and here the policemen on
those beats would meet and idly swing their clubs
while they gossiped by the half-hour. Then the
Fulton Street officer would wander to the janitor’s
entrance, where nearly every evening the janitor and
his wife would sit until after ten o’clock. Here
another conversation would take place.</p>

<p>Of course at such times it would be impossible to
do any pounding; and at no time would it do to
allow the least amount of light to shine through the
windows. To obviate this latter difficulty, we hung
thick blankets over the windows, which so covered
them that not the least particle of light could get
through. At the same time these blankets served
to deaden the noise.</p>

<p>Owing to the other burglaries which had been undertaken
while waiting to hire the basement office,—and
chiefly to the Westminster affair,—we did not
get down to the Ocean Bank business until well
along in May. From observations we had made we
decided that it would be best to complete the job on
a Saturday night, as this would, if necessary, give us
two nights and one day, and May 23 was fixed upon.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">323</span>
We had had a special set of tools made by an expert,
and on May 22 these, together with my explosives
and a hydraulic jack, were stored in Kohler’s
office. All the locks to this office had been changed
by its new tenant, and everything was in readiness to
begin the attack on the ceiling the next night.</p>

<p>Saturday I gave orders to have a coach ready, with
the team in harness, at my stable, and to be kept so
all night in case of any emergency call. And we
warned our lieutenants in the room opposite the
bank to be continually on the alert. At five o’clock
in the afternoon Shinburn and I were in the office
with the doors locked, shutters closed, and blankets
up, waiting for the janitor to finish his work in the
bank and retire to his quarters.</p>

<p>But the janitor did not retire until after ten
o’clock; and, in the meantime, we sat in the office,
not daring to make any noise lest we be detected by
those sitting on the steps without. It was very
tedious watching, and it tried our patience to the
utmost; but at last we heard the welcome sound of
the closing and locking of the door which led to
the upper floors, and we immediately prepared for
action.</p>

<p>It had been decided to cut up through the bank
floor at a place between the dead wall at the Fulton
Street end of the building and the front of the president’s
desk. This plan was adopted because, in case
we should get through the floor and yet not be able<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">324</span>
to complete the job the same night, the carpet could
be replaced over the hole at that point with the least
likelihood of its detection.</p>

<p>This spot was very near the Fulton Street side,
and, therefore, great care had to be exercised lest
the noise of our operations should be heard outside.
Consequently, while one did the cutting the other
kept his ear glued to a joint in the window shutter,
with a string in hand, one end of which was tied to
the other’s wrist.</p>

<p>When the plastering of the ceiling was removed,
we expected to find an open space between
the girders of the floor above. But, instead, we
found the space filled with rubble set in cement—a
solid mass fourteen inches thick. Here was a
dilemma. We had come prepared with tools to cut
wood and steel only, and had no implements with
which to dig through this obstruction. There was
nothing else to do but put off further operations for
a week, and, in the meantime, get the necessary
tools.</p>

<p>Then a new difficulty presented itself. There was
the hole in the plastering, which, with a bank overhead,
would appear a very suspicious circumstance to
even the most casual observer. It must be hidden.
We used up all the mucilage in the office in plastering
paper over it, but still it was only too apparent.
We could do no more that night, so we watched our
opportunity and got away unobserved.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">325</span>
Early Monday morning we scoured the furniture
stores to find some article that would be tall enough
to cover the break. At last we found, in a second-hand
shop in Canal Street, a solid mahogany wardrobe
which would serve our purpose. With very
little dickering with the Jew owner we bought it
and had it hauled to Kohler’s office, where we placed
it under the break.</p>

<p>With the aid of books and boxes the wardrobe
served its purpose admirably,—and also formed a
first-class receptacle for our tools.</p>

<p>On the Friday following our enforced stoppage, as
previously related, we had obtained the necessary
tools for digging through the cement, and they were
safely deposited in Kohler’s office. We had also
arranged for heavily padding the floor beneath the
hole so as to catch any debris that might fall, and
we were ready to continue the work on the following
night. But at this point Taylor informed us that
arrangements had been made to have the bank’s
quarters painted and decorated, the work to be done
on Sundays and after banking hours on week days,
and that the start was to be made the next day.
This, of course, knocked our plans on the head for
the time being, and naturally was a sore disappointment
to us, as well as a source of great danger.</p>

<p>Our work had now reached that stage where the
utmost caution was necessary—the least slip might
bring suspicion upon us. If some one were to spy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">326</span>
the break in the ceiling or doubt the legitimacy of
Kohler’s insurance business, all would be up with
us. Then, too, we had before us the continual fear
that the combination of the bank’s vault lock would
be changed, necessitating more long, weary weeks
of waiting until Taylor should be able to secure the
new numbers.</p>

<p>However, these were the risks of the business, and
we were perforce obliged to lie low until the coast
was clear. At last, on Friday, June 5, Taylor informed
us that the painters would not work the following
night or Sunday. This was welcome news,
and we decided to use the time of their idleness in
putting in our work. Our preparations were already
made, and, except to order the coach to be in readiness,
and notifying the lookouts across the street to
keep a sharp watch, there was nothing to do but
await the appointed hour.</p>

<p>At five o’clock Saturday evening Shinburn and
myself were again locked in Kohler’s office with
everything in readiness to get to work just as soon
as the coast was clear. But, as on other occasions,
the janitor and his wife sat on the steps and the
patrolman loitered around till nearly eleven o’clock.</p>

<p>At last, the coast being clear, we began work.
We had removed quite a portion of the obstructing
masonry, when clang! bang! whiz! a section of
the fire department was upon us. A fire had
broken out in the near neighborhood. One of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">327</span>
hydrants was near the bank corner. An engine was
attached to it, and pumped away until three o’clock
in the morning, while a crowd of people stood about,
many leaning against the railing right in front of us.</p>

<p>This, of course, precluded our doing any work
until too late to be able to complete the job that
night. Therefore, when quiet again reigned outside,
we slipped out and sought our beds. We did not
deem it wise to try to get back into the office that
Sunday evening, so we decided to wait until the
next favorable Saturday.</p>

<p>Three weeks passed, and the painters held the
premises; but on June 27 they again took a vacation.
Taylor having duly apprised us of this beforehand,
we once more prepared for work. So
much of the tunnelling had already been done that,
given half a chance, we had every hope of finishing
the trick this time.</p>

<p>Experience had taught me that, notwithstanding
our strong police protection, it was always best to
have an anchor to windward in case of capture, in
the shape of a good round sum to use as a basis
for negotiations for liberty. This anchor, of course,
had to be in the form of part of the loot, otherwise
no dicker could be made. One cannot dicker with
a bank for immunity from prosecution when that
bank has lost nothing. Therefore, we devised a
scheme to make sure of the anchor in case we were
caught.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">328</span>
Kohler had a key to the old lock on the door between
his office and that of O’Kell. Thus, while
after the change of locks O’Kell could not come
into our quarters, we could still go into his. From
the south side of O’Kell’s office was a toilet room
that had a small window fronting on Greenwich
Street. Our keys gave us access to this. We
arranged that one of our lookouts should make
periodical trips past this window, and, should he
see a certain sign, he should continue a block or
two, and then, returning, come close to the window
and stoop as if picking up something. By this
time we would have entered the vault and secured
a box containing a sealed package, of which Taylor
had informed us, supposed to contain one hundred
thousand dollars in government bonds. This
package I was to hand to the lookout as he stooped,
and he was then to take it at once to my rooms
and then follow the other instructions which I had
given him.</p>

<p>It had been further arranged that, on his way to
my rooms with the precious package, the lookout
man was to stop at my stable and notify my coachman,
who had orders to drive at once to Cortlandt
Street ferry and there await further instructions.</p>

<p>The night was excessively warm, and the janitor,
with a crowd of neighbors, sat on the steps until
after eleven o’clock, while Shinburn and I, stripped
to our underclothes, sweltered in the close air of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">329</span>
office. At last, the chatter above having ceased,
the chatterers having sought their apartments, and
the patrolman being away, we pulled out the wardrobe
and went to work with a will.</p>

<p>Nothing happened to deter us except the momentary
passage of some pedestrian, and by two o’clock
we had cleared away all the masonry, leaving the
wood floor bare. Through this we cut, taking care
not to injure the carpet above. A hole being cut
in the floor, we pushed up the carpet and in a twinkling
we were in the president’s office. The iron
shutters on the bank windows hid us from view
from the outside and we had a clear road to the
vault.</p>

<p>But what if the combination had been changed!
I rushed to the door, twirled the dial plate, and—the
door was open. To get the keys of the inner
doors from their secret resting-place was but the
work of a moment, and then we were inside of the
vault. There, exposed to our view, were various
boxes containing the securities of the bank and of
many of its customers who used this as a place of
deposit for their valuables.</p>

<p>Taylor had told me where in the vault to find
the box containing the sealed package. This box
I at once broke open, took the package, and went
to the toilet room off O’Kell’s office. In order to
save time, the signal that I had arranged for the
lookout man was made to work by a cord. One end<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">330</span>
of this cord was attached to the signal, the other end
I carried with me as we went to the vault.</p>

<p>As soon as the vault was opened, I pulled the
cord. As luck would have it, the signal was displaced
just before the lookout passed, so that when
I reached the window I had but a few moments to
wait before he was back, and that part of the scheme
was completed. Meanwhile, Shinburn had so fixed
the lock of the front doors to the bank that it could
not be opened without a locksmith, and we were
free from fear of intrusion from that direction; at
least until we should have time to relock the vault
and get below.</p>

<p>From the toilet room I returned to Kohler’s office
and proceeded to pass the tools up through the hole
to Shinburn. This was no small undertaking, for
the shutters of the bank had holes near the top
which precluded our having a light in the president’s
room. I had had to work the combination
by the light of a cigar, and some of the tools were
pretty heavy, the hydraulic jack alone weighing
one hundred and twenty-five pounds.</p>

<p>All of the tools were wrapped in cloth to prevent
clashing; yet it was ticklish business, lest
they should strike against something and so make
noise enough to be heard outside. At last they
were all up without mishap, and I followed. Our
next act after getting the tools into the vault was
to close the doors and strike a light.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">331</span>
We then went to the various boxes and sorted
their contents, taking such securities as were negotiable
and putting them in a satchel. We found much
jewelry, but did not take any. That was not our
graft, and, besides, we felt that we would have a
full load with the money and bonds. As we inspected
them, we placed the boxes at the far end
of the vault and when through with the last one we
turned our attention to the tellers’ safes.</p>

<p>We commenced with the receiving teller’s safe,
cutting a small opening directly over the lock bolts
to enable their being pushed back. But the cutting,
or drilling, of steel by hand is very slow and hard
work, and it was not until eleven o’clock in the
morning that the bolts were sprung and the doors
of the safe opened. The contents of this safe were
gone over and all that were negotiable were put in
the satchel containing the other valuables, and the
satchel let down into Kohler’s office, so that we
might be sure of that much were we disturbed in
our further work.</p>

<p>We then began upon the paying teller’s safe, which
was much stronger and more difficult than the other.
We tried our wedges, endeavoring to force them
in with the jack, for we had worked so long and
so hard without any nourishment that we were
too fagged out for hard drilling. But the quarters
were too close to work the jack, and we were forced
to resume drilling.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">332</span>
When about halfway through the door, we were
obliged to desist through sheer exhaustion. We
therefore closed and locked the vault’s outer doors,
repaired the front door lock, and crawled down into
our office. In going down I pulled the president’s
chair over the hole, put down the carpet as best I
could, and replaced the section of the floor we had
cut out; this we braced from below so that it could
not give way if trodden upon.</p>

<p>We then took the satchel, the contents of which,
now, were worth about a million and a half, and,
watching our opportunity, slipped out into the
street and made our way with our precious burden
to Cortlandt Street ferry, where we found my carriage.
Getting in, we started up-town, trusting to
our outlook in the room opposite the bank to notify
us if anything happened.</p>

<p>On arriving at my rooms, Shinburn and I washed
off the grime, donned clean clothing throughout,
and, leaving the satchel in a safe place, went out
to recruit our wasted strength with a square meal.
After satisfying the inner man, we paid a visit to
Detective Jack McCord at his house in Amity
Street, and told him what we had accomplished.</p>

<p>About seven o’clock in the evening we were
driven back to the Astor House; from there we
walked to the room where the lookout was. He
reported that no one had entered the bank since
our departure, but we could see the janitor and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">333</span>
his wife sitting on the steps opposite. Feeling that
they would remain there several hours, Shinburn
and I returned to the Astor House, secured two
rooms, and, giving orders to be called promptly at
one o’clock, proceeded to get a much-needed rest.</p>

<p>The clerk forgot to call us until nearly two
o’clock, when we hastened into our clothes and
made for the bank. Here we were again delayed,
and it was not until nearly three o’clock that we
were able to get an opportunity to slip into our
office unobserved. Lighting a cigar, I crawled up
through the tunnel, followed by Shinburn. By
cigar light I worked the combination, while Shinburn
again put the front door lock out of kilter, and we
were soon in the vault.</p>

<p>An inspection of the work that had yet to be
done on the paying teller’s safe convinced us that
we could not succeed by drilling in the short time
left at our disposal, and that we must employ other
means. Consequently we decided to call the fire
department to our assistance. So I slipped across
the street to the lookout, and told him to go, in
about twenty minutes, to the window in the toilet
room, watch for the signal, and as soon as he saw
it to turn in a fire alarm. Then I went back to
the bank, fortunately not having to wait my
chance. Shinburn and I at once set to work with
wedges and copper hammers to make a seam between
the jamb and the door of the safe so that we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">334</span>
could insert explosive. Finally everything was
ready, the charge was connected with a battery
which Shinburn held outside the vault, and the
vault doors closed. I pulled the signal string and
then we waited. By and by we heard the rumble
and gongs of the fire carts; and just as an engine
swept by the bank, Shinburn turned the switch,
the charge went off, and as we returned to the
vault, we found the safe door lying on the floor.
We made short work of gathering the contents of
the safe, which we crammed into the teller’s trunk
kept there.</p>

<p>As we left the vault, I dropped a package containing
two hundred thousand dollars in gold notes
among the debris, where it was found later by the
bank officials. This seeming carelessness on my
part, and of which the daily press made much,
picturing the chagrin the looters would feel when
they learned of what they had left, was the fulfilment
of a promise I had made to Taylor. He did
not wish the bank to be forced into insolvency, and
had insisted that this amount should be left in order
to enable the bank to meet its clearing house obligations
on the morning succeeding the robbery.</p>

<p>So, while it went against the grain to leave so
much good money, as well as to have the reputation
for such carelessness, yet I kept my word, and the
bank met all its obligations that day.</p>

<p>We lowered the trunk through the tunnel and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">335</span>
went down ourselves, having relocked the vault and
taken the other steps to obliterate all signs of our
mode of ingress. Shinburn remained in Kohler’s
office, on guard over the trunk, while I went to
the ferry where my carriage was to be.</p>

<p>When I reached the ferry-house, no carriage was
to be seen. Minutes passed and still I waited in
the greatest apprehension. It was nearly time for
the bank janitor to come down, and my fears were
wrought up to the highest pitch. I had about concluded
to go back and chance taking the loot away
by hand when the team came up. It had been
delayed by the jam caused by the alarm of fire
we had sent in.</p>

<p>With a great load lifted from my mind I jumped
into the carriage and away we started. We drove
to opposite the office door. I then went in and
found Shinburn about as much wrought up as I
had been. He told me that the janitor had already
come down, and was, even then, in O’Kells office.
This shows the nerve of the man. He could sit
quietly in that office, awaiting my return, while the
janitor might at any moment detect the robbery
and give the alarm. Shinburn was certainly a very
nervy man.</p>

<p>The presence of the janitor in the next office
necessitated careful management on our part if we
would get away undetected. We could hear him
moving round in cleaning up the room. We got<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">336</span>
everything in readiness, and, when from the sound
we judged that the janitor was where he could not
see us as we left, slipped out quickly. The driver
started the team and away we went, undetected,
with the cashier’s trunk full of plunder.</p>

<p>We went directly to my apartments, sending the
team back to the stable. Once in my rooms, we
opened the trunk and counted its contents. The
total amount of the two hauls was two million
seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, made up
as <span class="locked">follows:—</span></p>

<table class="hauls" summary="theft value">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Cash</td>
    <td class="tdr">$125,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Cash left as per agreement</td>
    <td class="tdr">200,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">U. S. government bonds</td>
    <td class="tdr">1,475,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Miscellaneous bonds, salable</td>
    <td class="tdr">100,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Miscellaneous bonds, unsalable</td>
    <td class="tdr">850,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl in2">Total</td>
    <td class="tdr"><span class="bt">$2,750,000</span></td></tr>
</table>

<p>Thus was accomplished the greatest bank robbery
on record, so far as the amount stolen was concerned.
To preserve its existence, the bank, contrary to the
usual method in such cases, gave out its loss as
much <em>less</em> than the actual amount. I believe it
stated the amount stolen to be about two million
dollars. This would be about right—taking out
the miscellaneous bonds not salable.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">337</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XVII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XVII<br />

<span class="subhead">MARK MAKES PI OF LOCK TUMBLERS</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Too many irons in the fire spoiled an opportunity
to add a few thousand dollars to our cash capital.
This occurred in that busy year, 1869. Mark Shinburn
and I got word of a bank at Lambertville, New
Jersey, that seemed to hold out golden inducements,
so he went to make the strike, while I remained in
New York to keep an eye on more important matters,
but ready to answer his summons for the final attack.</p>

<p>The failure was, I believe, unique in every sense
of the word. Neither before nor after did anything
like it fall to our lot.</p>

<p>Shinburn said that if I would have a double team
for a “get-away” he’d do the inside work. I did
my part forthwith. The plan was to get the
combination numbers of the first vault door one
evening, and the next enter the bank as soon as
business was over and the doors locked. Getting
the “dust,” it appeared, would be thus accomplished
without much effort, and relocking the vault door,
leaving nothing in sight to indicate our visit, we
would be four or five hours on our way to New
York before the discovery of the robbery.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">338</span>
Our planning would have been carried out to a
dot had not a piece of gross carelessness on the part
of the bank’s cashier occurred. In closing the vault
he left the second door to it unlocked. When
Shinburn got through the first door, he found the one
leading right up to the very safes unfastened. This
seemed to be an unexpected piece of good luck. As
a matter of fact, Shinburn was able to place our
“Little Joker” on the dial of the inside safe, and
thereby accomplished in one sitting what might have
required two or more. He got the combination to
the second door of the vault, obtaining it by means
of a steel wire, which he inserted in the rim of the
tumbler, thus pushing back the spring that held the
combination numbers in position, but in getting them
Shinburn “pied” the tumblers, as the printer would
term it, which necessitated resetting them. Having
the original numbers and being pressed for time, he
did it hurriedly and left the bank. Everything
seemed to be working toward the certain looting
of the bank the following evening. Mark had been
on the way a few minutes when it occurred to him
that he had possibly made an error in computing the
numbers of the pied combination. In some manner
he believed he’d set the last tumbler at thirty-five
instead of thirty-six. It was too late, if that were
the case, to remedy it, so there was nothing to do
but to wait and hope for the best. If the mistake
had been made, there would be plenty evidence of it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">339</span>
when the cashier attempted to unlock the vault in
the morning.</p>

<p>Well, Shinburn did hear from it. The inner door
could not be opened, try as the cashier would. A
great mystery seemed to confront the bank people.
What had happened to the combination? It had
worked well hitherto. It did not occur to them that
some one had been tampering with the lock. Unable
to open the vault, the Lillie Lock Company was telegraphed
to forthwith send on an expert to make
an examination. In the meantime, the bank’s cash
being locked up, not much business was done. The
expert came, and, after working several hours, solved
the mystery.</p>

<p>“Burglars,” he said, with a snap, as he held up to
the bank people’s astonished gaze our “Little Joker.”
“I found it on the dial of the money safe. Your
bank would have been ‘touched’ within a few hours.
Some one bungled the lock on the second vault door
and that gave the snap away.”</p>

<p>The amazement of the bankers was taken for
doubt by the expert, so he went on to a further
explanation.</p>

<p>“We’ve long suspected something of this kind,
but could never get our hands on it. Through this
discovery we’ve done a great service to the banking
people of the country. Any number of banks have
been robbed by the mere opening of the vaults and
safes with combination numbers, all of which were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">340</span>
supposed to be kept secret; only known to one or
two officials or employees of a bank. This is a great
discovery.”</p>

<p>And the expert was right. If it so happen that
these pages meet the eyes of any one using these
locks with the same dials to-day, he will at once
realize how utterly worthless they are as a safeguard
against the real professional burglar. I know
positively that the “Little Joker” was the cause
of many alterations in the Lillie locks, and its loss
to me greatly interfered with my hitherto easy access
to bank vaults and kept not a little funds away
from me.</p>

<p>Having been defeated by no one but himself,
Mark reported to me, and feeling much chagrined
over the failure of our “on-the-side” job, he returned
to New York and we continued our scheming for the
millions in the Ocean Bank.</p>

<p>Mark had played a lone hand and lost. I was
sorry, and of course he felt badly enough over his
bungling, so nothing was said. None of us is
infallible.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">341</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XVIII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XVIII<br />

<span class="subhead">DISPOSITION OF OCEAN BANK LOOT</span></h2>
</div>

<p>I have no doubt that my readers will readily
believe that shortly after the opening of the Ocean
Bank vault on the morning after our departure
there was a considerable stir in the financial world,
especially that part of it located at the corner of
Fulton and Greenwich streets.</p>

<p>The two hundred thousand dollars that we left
on the vault floor enabled the bank to meet its
engagements at the clearing house that day; the
police closed the bank’s doors early in the day,
thus preventing a run; and the bank did not
fail. That is, it did not fail then.</p>

<p>On that Sunday afternoon, after we had removed
a million and a half from the vault, and paid a visit
to Jack McCord’s house as related in the last chapter,
he went out of his house on that day, breaking
his custom in this respect. He hunted up the
other members of the Ring, and notified them all,
including Captain Irving, to be at headquarters
by nine o’clock the next morning without fail.</p>

<p>At that hour one of my coaches with my finest
team stood in Crosby Street near Houston. My<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">342</span>
best driver held the ribbons over them. In due
time came the notice to headquarters of the robbery
of the bank. Captain Irving and Detectives
McCord and Kelso thereupon hastened to
the corner of Crosby and Houston streets and
boarded my coach. The horses were started at
their best gait, and the detectives were soon at
the scene of the loot.</p>

<p>By this time the robbery had become generally
known in the vicinity of the bank. The bank’s
offices were filled with a mob of shouting depositors
and owners of boxes, who were clamoring for
their money and valuables. Irving turned them
all out and locked the doors and then began to
question the bank officials. You will readily imagine
that the information which he derived from this
questioning was of great benefit to him—it told
him so much that he did not know.</p>

<p>The detectives listened to the officials’ stories,
looked wise, consulted, and then determined that
the job was the work of a Western gang of burglars,
which it had long been rumored was coming East.
Irving said that guards would at once be placed at
all ferries and railroad stations, and assured the bank
people that it would be but a day before the robbers
would be bagged and the loot returned.</p>

<p>The confident manner of the detectives reassured
the bank officials, who began to feel that things were
not so bad as they had at first appeared. Irving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">343</span>
then attended to the returning of the safe deposit
boxes to their owners in the crowd out in the street.
The reception of one of these boxes was generally
followed by wails of sorrow, long and deep. Then,
after cautioning the bank officials to give nothing to
the press, but to refer all reporters to headquarters,
the detectives left, to place the cordon about the city.</p>

<p>And, to blind the press and the police officials
not in the know, this cordon was placed, and many
a policeman watched a ferry-house or a railroad station
for mythical Western crooks. Yes, the members
of the Bank Ring put in their share of this
kind of watching, too, though they knew at all times
where to find the looters. Indeed, I had a long talk
with Jim Kelso while he was stationed at the Harlem
depot to catch the robbers.</p>

<p>On the afternoon of the same day that they had
visited the looted bank, Irving, Kelso, and McCord
met Shinburn and myself at Stetson’s in Central
Park. Here we had a wine dinner, and Irving then
narrated to us the happenings at the bank that
morning. Of course, Shinburn and I expressed the
wish that the police might capture that bad Western
gang. But the detectives were more particularly
interested in the amount they were to get out of
the robbery.</p>

<p>Shinburn and I had gone through the stuff we
had taken, and found that the precious sealed package,
of which Taylor had told us, contained non-negotiable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">344</span>
paper, upon which a customer of the bank
had borrowed capital. No doubt the customer would
have been pleased had the package never been heard
of again. We had made a tabulated statement and,
taking it with us, showed it to our table companions.
It ran as <span class="locked">follows:—</span></p>

<table class="hauls" summary="tabulated statement">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Cash taken away</td>
    <td class="tdr">$125,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Cash left in bank vault</td>
    <td class="tdr">200,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">U. S. government bonds—then above par</td>
    <td class="tdr">1,475,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Miscellaneous bonds, marketable</td>
    <td class="tdr">100,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Western R. R. bonds, unsalable</td>
    <td class="tdr">850,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl in2">Total</td>
    <td class="tdr"><span class="bt">$2,750,000</span></td></tr>
</table>

<p>In running over the list, McCord exclaimed:
“Cash left in bank vault, two hundred thousand
dollars! What in hell do you mean by that?”</p>

<p>“We left that amount there,” I replied.</p>

<p>The detectives looked at me in wide-eyed astonishment.
“Were you crazy?” asked Kelso.</p>

<p>“No; just keeping a promise,” I replied. “It is
nothing that interests you people. But it’s funny
that the bank folks didn’t tell you about it.”</p>

<p>“Well, they didn’t,” said Irving.</p>

<p>This worried me, for I feared that the package
had not been found and that we had left it to no
purpose. How this could have happened I could
not understand, as I had seen Taylor that morning,
and told him just where I had left it, and did not
believe Taylor would hold it out. However, it was
found and used for the purpose intended. I learned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">345</span>
this from the papers next morning as well as from
Taylor, later. How the press got the news, I don’t
know; but they got it.</p>

<p>Two or three days after the robbery we were told
that there was a possibility that the bank might call
in the services of the Pinkertons, who a few years
before had established their New York branch.
The Bank Ring also had some fear of this; and
Irving was insistent in his demand that such a
thing should not be done, as it would interfere
with the plans laid by the police. And so it
would have done, but not in the manner that the
bank officials were led to suppose. If the Pinkertons
were to get into the case, Shinburn and I felt
that it would be better to have none of the proceeds
of the robbery where they could be traced to us.
Therefore we discussed what would be the best disposition
to make of it—it was still in my rooms,
all except the cash, which had been banked.
Finally, we agreed to go to Peekskill and bury
the stuff in a safe place.</p>

<p>In pursuance of this plan we got large fruit-jars
and filled them with bonds, etc., crowding them
down as tightly as we could. We placed the jars
in tin cans and sealed them up. With a part of
these jars we went to Peekskill by train, hired a
livery rig, and drove out about two miles northeast
of the town. Here, in a wood, near an old mill, we
buried the cans we had brought. The next day<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">346</span>
we took the rest of the cans to Staten Island and
buried them in the woods then standing back of
what is now known as St. George.</p>

<p>The weeks went by, and the Bank Ring succeeded
in preventing the employment of the Pinkertons.
One day I went down to Staten Island and drove
up to where our plant was. Right over the spot
where our cans lay buried was a tramp, stretched
out, fast asleep. I left at once, but in great trepidation.
The next day I returned and dug down to
the treasure. It was all there, safe and sound. As
everything seemed to be safe so far as the Pinkertons
were concerned, I took up the cans, placed
them in my wagon, and carried them back to town,
where I put them in our box in the Safe Deposit
Company’s vaults.</p>

<p>A few days after this a terrific storm swept over
the lower Hudson valley, uprooting trees, throwing
down buildings, and washing away hillsides. Shinburn
and I feared that the rain might have washed
bare our plant at Peekskill. Therefore we visited
the plant and found it undisturbed; but we dug the
cans up and took them back to New York, and put
their contents in the deposit vault along with the
rest. This burying of the treasure proved to have
been an unnecessary precaution; but if the Pinkertons
had been put to work on the job, this burial
would no doubt have saved us from being caught
with the goods on us.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">347</span>
However, we were never molested, nor was suspicion
ever directed to Shinburn or myself on account
of this robbery, great as it was. For weeks the press
of the country teemed with items about it. Many
and wild were the speculations as to who were the
robbers, whence they had come and whither they
had gone. But the truth has never been known
until revealed in these pages—except to the robbers
themselves and to the members of the police Bank
Ring.</p>

<p>Furthermore, we sold all the government bonds
without attracting the least attention to ourselves,
though Detective George Elder was at one time
pretty hot on the scent. However, his brother
officers steered him off. Yes, he was even sent on
several wild-goose chases after “suspected men” to
keep him from interfering with us and our plans.
The disposing of these bonds will make a good story.
I may tell it later.</p>

<p>All of the non-negotiable paper that we took,
amounting to eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars,
turned up mysteriously one night on the steps of
Captain Jourdan’s station-house, in Franklin Street,
enclosed in the paying teller’s trunk, and was by the
captain returned to the bank. Therefore the par
value of the property that we actually realized on
amounted to one million seven hundred thousand
dollars. The government bonds, though, were
worth at that time about one hundred and sixteen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">348</span>
if I remember rightly, which would make the real
value of the entire property one million nine hundred
and thirty-six thousand dollars. We did not realize
this sum, however, as we had to sell the bonds at
some discount.</p>

<p>The proceeds of the robbery were distributed as
<span class="locked">follows:—</span></p>

<table class="hauls" summary="distribution of robbery">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Paid Insurance Agent Kohler</td>
    <td class="tdr">$50,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Paid our assistants, etc.</td>
    <td class="tdr">25,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Paid Bank Clerk Taylor</td>
    <td class="tdr">275,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">Divided equally between Shinburn and myself</td>
    <td class="tdr">1,225,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl in2">Total</td>
    <td class="tdr"><span class="bt">$1,575,000</span></td></tr>
</table>

<p>The amount paid to the police was divided as
<span class="locked">follows:—</span></p>

<table class="hauls" summary="paid to police">
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To James Irving, head of Detective Bureau</td>
    <td class="tdr">$17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To John McCord, detective</td>
    <td class="tdr">17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To George Radford, detective</td>
    <td class="tdr">17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To James Kelso, detective</td>
    <td class="tdr">17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To Philip Farley, detective</td>
    <td class="tdr">17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To John Jourdan, Captain Sixth Precinct (afterward Superintendent)</td>
    <td class="tdr">17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To John McCord for Detective George Elder</td>
    <td class="tdr">17,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To one other police detective</td>
    <td class="tdr">1,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To Inspector Johnson</td>
    <td class="tdr">1,800</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To John Browne</td>
    <td class="tdr">500</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl">To Frank Houghtaling, Clerk Jefferson Market Police Court</td>
    <td class="tdr">10,000</td></tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdl in2">Total</td>
    <td class="tdr"><span class="bt">$132,300</span></td></tr>
</table>

<p>In addition to the above amounts paid police and
court officers, James Kelso, and Frank Houghtaling
were each given a James Nardenne, Swiss movement,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">349</span>
hunting-case watch and long chain, bought at
Benedict Brothers’ for five hundred dollars apiece.</p>

<p>All moneys paid police and court officers, except
John Jourdan’s share, I paid direct to John McCord
as early as November 1. Jourdan’s rake-off was
paid to him personally by me at his home in Prince
Street on a Sunday evening three days before Shinburn
sailed for Hamburg. At this meeting McCord
was present, and it was arranged that McCord and
Radford should be at the Hoboken pier to protect
Shinburn from the Pinkertons.</p>

<p>As to the money paid to McCord for George
Elder, the latter claimed he never received it. The
five hundred dollars to Browne was paid after he had
been bounced from the police force, and while he was
runner for Mayor Oakey Hall. This money was not
paid to Browne for services, but for the following
reason: He came to me some time after the robbery,
and, pleading poverty, said that he should have
been “seen” in the Ocean Bank affair. I told him
that I did not know what I had to do with that.
He tried a bluff, but it didn’t work. Finally he
came down, said he was in trouble over a girl, and
that she would have him arrested if he did not give
her five hundred dollars. Purely out of compassion—more
for the woman than for him—I paid her
the five hundred dollars and she released him.
Later, Browne tried to hold me up again—this time
for one thousand dollars. We had some rather hard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">350</span>
words and he got nothing, and we have not been
friendly since.</p>

<p>Many and varied were the episodes that grew out
of this great robbery, owing to the great notoriety it
gained throughout the country. Messrs. Linenthal
and Co., wholesale tobacconists, had two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars in government bonds on deposit
with the bank as security in a lawsuit they had
pending with the government. Linenthal and Co.
sued the bank for the value of the bonds, claiming
that the robbery was put up by some of the bank
officials. To prove this claim they obtained a pardon
for a convict in Sing Sing who claimed to be one of
the burglars. He knew absolutely nothing about
the robbery, and what, if any, testimony he gave I
do not know. But he got his pardon.</p>

<p>At another time a crook named John Irving,
being stranded in San Francisco and desirous of
coming East, “confessed” that he was one of the
burglars. The New York police were notified, and
the Commissioners, not being in the “know,” ordered
Captain Irving to go West after his namesake.
Consequently he started, accompanied by Detective
Dusenbury. About a month later I was at Suspension
Bridge, on my way to attempt the robbery of a
bank at Goodrich, Canada. A train from the West
had just arrived, when I heard my name called. On
looking up, I saw Captain Irving on the platform of
a car of the east-bound train.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">351</span>
“Come over here, George,” he said. I walked
across to the car and shook hands with him.</p>

<p>“Come inside,” said he. “I have something to
show you.”</p>

<p>Together we went into the car, where we found a
man handcuffed to Detective Dusenbury.</p>

<p>“This,” said Irving, pointing to the prisoner, “is,
it is claimed, one of the Ocean Bank burglars.”</p>

<p>“You don’t mean it!” I replied. “How did you
catch him?”</p>

<p>“Oh, he confessed, out in San Francisco, and the
Commissioners sent us out after him. But by the
time we got out there he had changed his mind and
put up a fight. We have him, however; though, to
tell you the truth,” said Irving, winking, “I don’t
believe he did it. His story don’t sound right.”</p>

<p>And it didn’t sound right to the bank’s counsel,
either; therefore the prisoner got his free ride to
New York and was not tried for the Ocean Bank
robbery. But, unfortunately for him, there was an
old indictment against him, and on that he got five
years in Sing Sing.</p>

<p>There were lots of just such fake stories based on
the robbery.</p>

<p>Then the pretended selling of the stolen bonds was
another scheme. Billy Matthews, my former gambler
friend, in conjunction with one Jack Sudlow,
worked this game for some time. Sudlow was an
East-side boy who had gone to West Virginia and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">352</span>
by some means become president of a bank there. He
finally wrecked the bank, taking everything but the
safe and a five-cent postage stamp. He overlooked
the stamp and didn’t think of it till he had reached
Baltimore—then it was too late to go back after it.
The safe had been too heavy for him to carry.</p>

<p>This Jack Sudlow could lie like a bulletin
board and make one believe that black was white.
Well, he and Billy juggled many a good dollar out
of the people’s pockets and gave in return a package
supposed to contain stolen bonds, but which,
in reality, held naught but an old newspaper or
two. And it was not only “come-ons” that they
beat, either. They took fifteen hundred dollars out
of Elias, the original “sawdust man,” who was called
the “king of swindlers.” And they “beat” Banker
Sam A. Way, of Boston, out of twenty-one thousand
dollars. The mode of beating Way was as follows:
Way was president, and practically the owner,
of the Bank of Metropolis, 36 State Street, Boston.
He was widely known as a purchaser of stolen bonds
if the price was right and no risk, and he was considered
a very slick man. Sudlow went to him, and,
showing a genuine one-thousand-dollar bond, said
that he had twenty-five more that he would like to
sell, at the same time stating that they were part
of the Ocean Bank loot. Way bit, and finally purchased
the twenty-six at thirty per cent discount on
the market price, which was then one hundred and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">353</span>
sixteen. Therefore the purchase price was twenty-one
thousand one hundred and twelve dollars. The
price having been agreed upon, Sudlow <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“Very well, I will leave this bond with you”—laying
the genuine bond on Way’s desk—“and will
bring the other twenty-five to-morrow. Please have
the money all ready in large bills.”</p>

<p>The next afternoon, just before time for the bank
to close, and when business there was the liveliest,
Sudlow rushed in and <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“Here are the bonds, Mr. Way. Have you the
money ready?” at the same time laying down
a package marked “25—$1000—$25,000—U. S.
Coupon Bonds 5/20 of 1863,” and fastened with
wax seals bearing the imprint of the Park Bank of
New York.</p>

<p>The successful pulling off of a swindle of this kind
lies in the manner of the swindler. Sudlow had the
right manner, and Way paid over the money without
opening the package. Later he found that he
had one good bond and a collection of newspapers.</p>

<p>When the Ocean Bank robbery had become an
event of the past, it can be readily understood that
I realized a comfortable sense of relief and security,
as far as wealth could bring about that satisfactory
state. I felt as though I was in that class of men
known to the present period as Captains of Industry.
In accumulating wealth I had the same object
in view as have Russell Sage, John D. Rockefeller,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">354</span>
J. Pierpont Morgan, Charles M. Schwab, John W.
Gates, the United States Ship Building Company,
and similar financiers and corporations, whose scheming
to-day is to obtain something for nothing. I
piled for myself earthly treasure outside of the
Golden Rule, and they are accumulating colossal
fortunes for themselves with the same persistent and
bold disregard for that biblical admonition before
them. However, I proceeded on somewhat different
lines to gather in the shekels, though our incentives
sprang from the same parent—desire for riches.
Instead of employing expensive attorneys to keep me
from getting into jail, I solicited the valuable assistance
of the inner Bank Ring of the Police Department,
whose services were expensive, I frankly admit,
as was demonstrated in the percentage I paid the
members of the Ring from the Ocean Bank haul.
Nevertheless the Ring’s protection enabled me to
remain in New York without being compelled to
hide behind the cellar door, which is considerably
more than some of my co-speculators of that period
could say for themselves.</p>

<p>No doubt there are memories able to recall how
Jay Gould and Russell Sage drove the Missouri
Branch of the Union Pacific Railroad into insolvency
by playing Wall Street tag with its stocks, and then
through shrewd legal counsel secured for themselves
the receivership of that valuable property. The
same memories will also recall how Messrs. Gould<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">355</span>
and Sage so juggled the finances of that railway that
the original stockholders were practically frozen out
of their holdings, and how those stockholders rose in
their righteous wrath and appealed through the criminal
courts for justice and the recovery of their own.
In that great crisis Jay Gould, the master wrecker of
railroads, suddenly found himself in ill health, and,
hastily provisioning his palatial steamer the <i>Atlanta</i>,
sailed away on an extended ocean voyage, thus making
himself safe against the pursuit of the officers of
the law armed with warrants for his apprehension.</p>

<p>In closing this chapter I will add that the Ocean
Bank is no more, though the building in which it was
still remains intact. The various floors are now used
as offices and small stores for tradesmen. The bank
itself went to pieces in 1876, several years after my
handiwork depleted its rich vault; but another class
of crooks was the author of its ruin. The Tweed
gang of politicians got in their greedy work, and
when they were done, little remained to be divided
among the honest people who patronized the bank.
It was long a trite saying in Wall Street that the
bank suffered much from the encroachment of the
burglars, but that was but a mere trifle compared
with the blow given it by the politicians.</p>

<p>The legend in great brownstone letters, “Ocean
Bank,” may yet be seen over the main entrance to
the building, a vivid reminder of the burglar craft
and corrupt politicians of nearly twoscore years ago.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">356</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XIX" class="vspace">CHAPTER XIX<br />

<span class="subhead">A CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Shortly after the Cadiz burglary, having been
able to insure myself from arrest at the hands of the
New York police by lining their palms with gold,
and the life of a criminal having been accepted as a
means of regaining my standing, if possible, in New
Hampshire, I turned my face east in the belief
that all-powerful gold would purchase there what
justice, as dealt out at Keene, had withheld from me.</p>

<p>With this object in view I sent for A. V. Lynde,
one of my attorneys in the New Hampshire case,
and we conferred at great length, with the result
that he assured me I would not be convicted should
a retrial of the case be had. However, I wanted to
get a clean bill of health, and felt disposed to leave
no door closed through which I could obtain it. I
believed that money would prove the strongest argument.
So, after the ground had been thoroughly
gone over, it was determined to offer Herbert Bellows,
the power behind the burglary charge, two
propositions from which to choose. One was that
I would surrender for a retrial, provided reasonable
bail would be vouchsafed me, with the further promise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">357</span>
that if I were acquitted my confiscated property
would be returned to me. The second proposition
was that if he would consent to the quashing of the
indictment a sum not to exceed ten thousand dollars
would be paid him.</p>

<p>With these propositions, Mr. Lynde returned to
Keene and submitted them to Bellows, through the
latter’s attorney. The first was instantly declined.
The second would be accepted, provided the bribe
was increased to twenty thousand dollars. That
price I would not consider for a moment, and the
subject was dropped until a year after, when Bellows,
through his counsel, sent word that he’d accept
ten thousand to wipe out the indictment. There
was a meeting, but I declared I’d not pay that sum.</p>

<p>“Well, what will you give us?” asked Bellows’s
lawyer.</p>

<p>“Perhaps five thousand,” said Mr. Lynde, carelessly,
speaking for me. He added, “We’re somewhat
like Judge Doe and his bail proposition—only
we subtract, while, as you’ll remember, he worked
in addition.”</p>

<p>No agreement was arrived at, and so another
twelvemonth passed. Then Bellows’s counsel came
to the front again and made Mr. Lynde an offer to
accept my last figure. I smile as I recall the sympathetic
tone my counsel adopted in replying to
Bellows’s man: “Oh, really, I’m so sorry, but you
know that five thousand dollar proposition of ours<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">358</span>
is outlawed—quite outlawed—in fact, a back
number.”</p>

<p>The prolonged negotiations had brought the case
to a point where Bellows was no longer nibbling at
the golden bait,—he was attempting to swallow
it whole, now that there appeared to be danger of it
vanishing forever.</p>

<p>“We’re open to a proposition,” said his attorney,
feebly. “It’s time the matter was closed up.”</p>

<p>Mr. Lynde and I had grown weary of the subject
months before, and decided that we would administer
the other side a sample of its own medicine.
Mr. Lynde said, unenthusiastically, “So far as I’m
concerned, I can’t say that my client, at this late
day, will pay a single cent. At one time he decided
to offer you ten thousand, but that was thrown in
his teeth. Then he offered to pay five thousand,
but that proposition Mr. Bellows declined. How he
feels now I have no idea, and will not know unless
I write to him.”</p>

<p>“Suppose you let him know of our offer at once,”
said the attorney.</p>

<p>“I’ll see what I can do,” answered Mr. Lynde, in
a hopeless way; “but I tell you I don’t believe he’ll
pay Bellows five thousand now.”</p>

<p>The proposition was laid before me, but it was not
until another year had nearly gone by that I indicated
any desire to act. The backing and filling
had disgusted me in the extreme. I’d made up my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">359</span>
mind not to discuss the subject again until there
was a plain indication from Bellows that he was
ready to come to the point.</p>

<p>But I had no reason to complain at the next negotiation,
for he was willing enough to take my money.
His attorney called on Mr. Lynde, and a meeting
was arranged in New York, between an attorney
named Pritchard, a New York friend of Bellows,
and my representative Frank Houghtaling, a clerk
in Jefferson Market Police Court, who had served
Shinburn and me so well up in Steuben County,
where we had our little adventure with Sheriff
Smith. As the result of the first meeting there was
a second, which took place at Delmonico’s. Bellows
was present and so was I. Amid a plentiful flow of
wine, Houghtaling handed Bellows three thousand
dollars, and the indictment was handed me. That
document was destroyed. Thus, after three years,
was I given a clean bill of health in New Hampshire.</p>

<p>That winter I paid a hasty visit to my folks, and
was astonished to hear that there was a break-jail
indictment out against me, and that I was likely to
be arrested at any moment. The indictment had been
asked for by District Attorney Lane, so I was told,
soon after I’d made the deal with Herbert Bellows.
It was said that Lane had expected something from
Bellows at the quashing of the burglary charge, but
had been turned down. Unable to proceed against
Bellows, Lane, out of revenge, asked for the break-jail<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">360</span>
indictment more than three years after the
offence was committed, believing, in that manner,
he could make void what Bellows had guaranteed
me. However despicable this was on the part of
the district attorney, it did seem to me that Bellows,
who depended upon Lane to quash the burglary
indictment, should have been willing to pay his tool
a little of the blackmail money I had paid him. But,
as usual, I was the greatest sufferer, the centre upon
which the storm created by others beat hardest, and
I turned about to face the fresh trouble. Instinctively
my hand went down in my pocket.</p>

<p>Summoning my brother, I told him I had only a
few hours to visit with the folks, for I must be back
in New York, as soon as possible, on account of important
business matters. Carefully placing two
one-hundred dollar bills in an envelope, I sealed it
in his presence, handed it to him and <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“Go to District Attorney F. F. Lane, and say
this to him: ‘My brother George bade me hand
you this envelope, and if you retain it, he expects
you will put that break-jail indictment in the after
pocket in your frock coat, and then sit on a red-hot
stove.’”</p>

<p>My brother performed his errand faithfully, and
I never heard from that source again, except for
an extremely unpleasant, though after all amusing,
incident.</p>

<p>In the following June I had completed a four-day<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">361</span>
visit with my people, and was on my way home. I
boarded the train at Bellows Falls, and we stopped
at Charlestown, not many miles away, when my
attention was attracted by an unusually long wait
at the station. I was on the point of asking for the
reason, when old Sheriff Stebbins, the chap I met in
the sleighride party the night young Woods and I
escaped from Keene jail, came into the coach almost
out of breath, and cried <span class="locked">loudly:—</span></p>

<p>“I want ye, durn it! Ye’re my pris’ner, George
White.”</p>

<p>I was thunderstruck for the instant, to be thus
exposed to the other passengers, of which there were
quite a number.</p>

<p>“All right, sheriff,” I replied, as coolly as I was
able, upon recovering myself, “but isn’t there some
mistake? It’s pretty rough to accuse a fellow like
this, and to interrupt his journey, too. I’ve been
home to see the old folks. What have I done?”</p>

<p>“Never mind—come outen this—I’ll sheow ye
what ye’ve done,” he cried excitedly. “There’s some
folks as will be sheoutin’ when they git hold on ye
thar in Keene.”</p>

<p>So I alighted with him, but in passing, I met
“Spress” Babbitt, whom I well knew. He averted
his face—purposely, I could see; and I wondered at
it. He was the express messenger on the train.
I realized that Stebbins had been notified by telegraph
that I was a passenger on the way to Charlestown,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">362</span>
and that some one who knew me pretty well
must have been the informer.</p>

<p>“How did you know I was on the train?” I asked
Stebbins.</p>

<p>“‘Spress’ Babbitt seen ye on the platform outen
th’ car winder at Bellows Falls.’”</p>

<p>“And telegraphed on to you?”</p>

<p>“Thet’s the size on’t,” grinned Stebbins. I felt
like pulling his whiskers, he seemed to enjoy the
situation so much. I wasn’t alarmed over the outcome,
but I didn’t relish being held up to view in
that community after I had gone through so much
trouble to fix things.</p>

<p>“And,” I went on sneeringly, “they held the train
here until you came?”</p>

<p>“Thet’s wot ‘Spress’ sed he’d dew, an’ he done
et, b’ gosh!”</p>

<p>I could have choked Babbitt had I had his little
chicken neck in my hands at the moment.</p>

<p>“I hed tew drive five mile, en like sixty, tew,”
Stebbins said, as he walked me to a steaming team
at the side of the depot. At my request he drove
to Eagle Hotel, where I got him in excellent
humor through frequent libations in the bar-room.</p>

<p>“Wal, b’ gummany Christmus!” he finally said,
with a silly grin, “I give ye more credit ’an ye hev.
Thought ye’d hev better sense ’an t’ run kerslam
inter my paws. I’ve ben waitin’ t’ git my hooks
onter ye ever sense ye bruck outen jail.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">363</span>
The rascal! I saw at once that he had his mind
on getting a reward for my capture, evidently not
having heard that both indictments had been done
away with.</p>

<p>“Ah, Stebbins, my good fellow, I see you’re after
the thousand,” I said, after he had finished taking
his measure of my shrewdness.</p>

<p>“Ye kin betcher bottom cent on’t—sartin! Why
not?”</p>

<p>“That’s so, sheriff! Yes; why not?” I returned,
laughingly. “But what are you going to
do with me first?”</p>

<p>“I ruther guess it’s on’y a bit o’ a trot fer my
team back t’ jail ye bruck from—sorter like twenty
odd mile!” he said, grinning and slapping his hands
together in great delight.</p>

<p>“I hope you won’t be in too much of a hurry,
Mr. Stebbins. Now, I’m going to ask you as a favor
to find out from District Attorney Lane whether or
not he wants me. It may be he doesn’t. Do you
know?”</p>

<p>“Want ye? Glory and snakes! Sartin, he wants
ye!”</p>

<p>“If you don’t mind, sheriff,” I suggested, “I’ll
telegraph him. Do you object?”</p>

<p>“Sartin no—no objecshuns!” He seemed to
relish his liquor.</p>

<p>“I like your ways, Mr. Stebbins,” I said with a
smile, and added, “When we get through telegraphing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">364</span>
District Attorney Lane, we’ll have something
to eat, and more to drink, too, if you feel like
it.”</p>

<p>Then I wrote the following to F. F. Lane:
“Sheriff Stebbins claims to have me under arrest
here—do you want me?—wire at my expense.”</p>

<p>While Stebbins looked on I signed my name to
these words, and soon they were being clicked to
their destination. Stebbins’s little eyes were wide
open with astonishment and confusion. Presently
he asked: “Is this here biznuss a durned bluff,
George?”</p>

<p>“We’ll let the district attorney be the judge of
that, sheriff,” was my bland reply. “Come—let’s
go to the dining-room.”</p>

<p>In the meantime I had sent a messenger boy
round town to look up Judge Cushion, my senior
counsel in the New Hampshire trial. I wanted him
near in case of an emergency. He arrived about
the time we finished our meal. He sat with us, and
I told him of the fate of the indictments. It was
news to him, and I received his warm congratulations
with satisfaction. Then I told him of the
arrest and of the message I’d sent to District Attorney
Lane. He smiled significantly. While telling
the judge all this, I took no little delight in
watching the various changes which appeared on
the sheriff’s face. After waiting an hour, I wrote
another message, similar to the first, and sent it to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">365</span>
Lane. Another hour passed and still no reply from
either. In the meanwhile Sheriff Stebbins was getting
more and more nonplussed and uneasy.</p>

<p>I wired to the telegraph operator at Keene to
know if my messages had been delivered to District
Attorney Lane. I showed Stebbins the <span class="locked">answer:—</span></p>

<p>“Both messages were delivered, personally, to
F. F. Lane.”</p>

<p>Stebbins was absolutely worried. He had serious
doubts that he’d made a smart move in arresting me.
Finally, he opened up, with much confusion of speech,
a discussion with Judge Cushion.</p>

<p>“What ’u’d ye advise me tew dew, jedge?” he
asked anxiously. I secretly enjoyed his discomfiture.</p>

<p>“Well,” said Cushion, “you can hold Mr. White
for twenty-four hours, but let me tell you, if District
Attorney Lane doesn’t want him, you’ll be in
a pretty pickle. It will be a clean case of lawsuit,
and you’ll be the defendant without a leg to hobble
on. In view of Mr. White’s statement, I can’t see
any other outcome. It seems that you’ve arrested
him without proper authority.”</p>

<p>“B’ gummany Christmus!” ejaculated the sheriff,
wiping his perspiring face with a much-soiled handkerchief.
“I hev cut a mus’ melon, an’ no mistake!
What’ll I dew, jedge, anyhow? Ef ye wuz in my
place, what ’u’d ye dew?”</p>

<p>“I prefer not to advise you, sheriff, but if, as you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">366</span>
say, I had gotten myself in your predicament, I’d
confess I’d made a big mistake an’ tell the prisoner
to go his way in peace, as quick as he wanted to.”</p>

<p>Sheriff Stebbins jumped at this solution of his
troubles, like a startled rabbit to cover. I was set
free, but I didn’t leave until I had made the sheriff
very contrite and fully understand that he had seriously
interfered with my lawful rights. Bidding
farewell to Judge Cushion, I was about to go, when
Stebbins said I’d not be able to get out of Charlestown
that night, the last train having gone.</p>

<p>“But I’ll drive ye to Bellows Falls,” he volunteered
anxiously, “an’ thet’ll help ye ’long a lot.”</p>

<p>I was truly glad to accept the offer. After a
tedious journey, I was at last on board a train
<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en route</i> to the metropolis.</p>

<p>During these months I had tried in every way
imaginable to get back the property so unlawfully
taken from me, but being handicapped by lapse of
time and by the prejudices of influential people, I
signally failed. It did me no good to make clear to
the authorities that my property had been taken
from me by means palpably unlawful,—to show that
the suit in tort brought in Middlesex County, Massachusetts,
by Herbert Bellows, was never tried; for
when I sued Sheriff White, who attached my property,
he had nothing to satisfy the judgment. All I
accomplished was to make plain the illegality of
Herbert Bellows’s procedure, and show belated,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">367</span>
though ample, proof of the diabolical conspiracy
against me.</p>

<p>Two years after my experience with Sheriff Stebbins
I accidentally met “Spress” Babbitt on board
a New London steamboat on the way to New York.
We met in the saloon cabin. He turned pale and
was visibly agitated as I strode up to him.</p>

<p>“Here, Babbitt,” I said, trying to repress my
anger, “that was a nice show you made of me at
Charlestown.”</p>

<p>He sputtered considerably, mumbled more, and
altogether I couldn’t understand what he was trying
to say. I went on, “I’ve a great mind to throw
you over the rail and make you swim ashore,” and
I lunged forward as though to grasp him. He
shrank back and trembled violently.</p>

<p>“Don’t be alarmed,” I said; “you’re not worth it.”</p>

<p>He found his voice then and whimpered that he
didn’t want to cause my arrest, but that others had
urged him to do it. The mean little imp wasn’t
man enough to admit his blame, but must shift it, if
possible, to other and innocent shoulders.</p>

<p>“Stuff,” I growled; “you see the error you committed—there
was nothing against me. Good
night, Babbitt, and I hope for your sake we don’t
meet again on this boat.”</p>

<p>He disappeared into his state-room and didn’t come
out until after we touched the New York shore the
following morning.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">368</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XX" class="vspace">CHAPTER XX<br />

<span class="subhead">TALL JIM MOVES FROM COLUMBUS PRISON</span></h2>
</div>

<p>A letter came to me in the summer of 1868, two
years after the Cadiz, Ohio, bank robbery. It was
in June, and upon opening it, with no little curiosity,
it proved to be from Mrs. Hammon, a sister
of Tall Jim. As will be remembered, Jim was sent
to the prison at Columbus.</p>

<p>“If possible, come on to Ohio at once,” the letter
said, among other things, “for Jim has reason to
think he has a plan to free himself, George Wilson,
and Big Bill. As for Jack Utley, he’ll be left to his
fate.”</p>

<p>“Well, I think so too,” was my mental comment
as to Utley.</p>

<p>Having full confidence in the genuineness of the
letter, I made a hurried trip to Columbus and conferred
with Mrs. Hammon. The gist of the whole
thing was that Tall Jim had found what we called
a “right” guard; that is, a prison official who is willing
to betray his trust, sell his honor, or do anything
in that line provided there’s money enough in it.
The guard who promised to do the job said it would
cost twelve hundred dollars; that is, he could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">369</span>
arrange matters in the tier where Jim’s cell was so
that escape to the roof of the hospital would be easy.
At that point, outside assistance would be available.
Something was said about getting Jack Utley out
too, provided all hands were agreed, but I flatly
declared that I would not have anything to do with
the plot if Utley was to benefit by it. His mean,
sneaking ways had poisoned my mind against him
for all time. I would not have allowed his treatment
of me in the Ohio expedition to stand in the
way of his freedom, but his later betrayal of the
lads who trusted him was too much for me to overlook.
I was firm in this determination, declaring
that he must be left in prison, to get out the best
way he could—which was no more than a man of his
caliber deserved. I had often heard, when a lad,
the expression, “Be a Man or a Monkey or a Long-tailed
Rat,” and I had placed Utley in the rodent
class, with a bright chance of carrying off all the
honors.</p>

<p>“This ‘right’ guard will fix the cells of Jim and
the boys on any night agreeable to us,” said Mrs.
Hammon, “and we can help them from the hospital
roof. After that it will be plain sailing.”</p>

<p>The plan seemed to be feasible enough, after I had
been thoroughly informed of it, and I told her so.
Also I assured her that I’d go to New York and
with all possible haste put it in execution. I was
determined to do what I could in the way of paying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">370</span>
for and working out any plan that would get Jim
out.</p>

<p>In a few days I was in Columbus again, with
Frank, a trusted lieutenant, plenty of money, and a
lot of paraphernalia, including a stout rope ladder.
Sulphur Springs, a town about thirty miles away,
was made the base of operations, and there I
hired a team for the escape and perfected arrangements.
The following Saturday night was agreed
upon as the earliest hour we could undertake the job.
That night was the most favorable one of the week, for
on Sunday morning prison life was apt to be more
sluggish than at any other time. Friday evening I
met the “right” guard at Mrs. Hammon’s, and we
discussed his part of the plot from every standpoint,
coming to what seemed to be a perfect understanding.
If he kept his agreement, I couldn’t see how
there’d be a failure. Mrs. Hammon thought so too.
Would the man be faithful in the deal? That was
the question. I took Mrs. Hammon aside and questioned
her about the guard. She said there’d be no
mistake in trusting him. At this I handed him
twelve hundred dollars, and he left, promising to
perform every detail of his part in the plan, by the
clock. How I seemed to distrust him! However, I
hadn’t anything near tangible upon which to base
my suspicion, so I said no more about it. I had
been and was associating with many of the best
crooks of the country, and I flattered myself<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">371</span>
that I knew a “square” one the moment I laid
eyes on him. But the best of us are sometimes
mistaken. However, I had paid him the price, and
we must trust to luck. It was a situation that
brought to mind the story of the old farmer whose
horse was running away downhill. His wife, Sally,
was on the seat beside him. “Trust in the good
Lord, Joshua!” she screamed; and the farmer, tugging
away at the reins, cried out: “Yes, Sal, we’ll
trust in Him till the breechin’ breaks, an’ then the
Lord knows we’ll jump!”</p>

<p>The following afternoon Frank and I drove from
Sulphur Springs to Columbus with a spanking double
team for the “get-away.” At nine o’clock that night
I was to meet the guard and get the final word, and
about midnight the job was to be put through. He
was waiting for me, but with much concern and profuse
apologies said that the plan could not work
that night because a guard upon whom he depended
for assistance had been suddenly taken ill and was
not on duty. He said, further, that the best that
could be done, under the circumstances, was to wait
until Wednesday night of the following week.</p>

<p>I left him, very much disgruntled and suspicious,
with a promise to meet him on Monday night, when
the details of the next attempt would be discussed.
I was not at all surprised when he did not put in an
appearance then, and I was not much astonished, the
following day, when I learned he’d drawn his salary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">372</span>
from the state, resigned his position, and flown to
parts unknown. We had been well gold-bricked.
Swallowing the situation with as much grace as I
could, I gathered up my tools, and Frank and I went
back to New York, considerably wiser. Only the
man who wears the prison stripes can fully appreciate
the feelings of the lads when they learned of
the “right” guard’s disappearance with the twelve-hundred-dollar
bribe. I wondered what would
happen to him if Big Bill ever crossed his path.
Mrs. Hammon was given to understand that any
reasonable promise of money made in the future
I would attempt to fulfil, but not a cent would
be paid until the lads were delivered on the outside
of the prison walls.</p>

<p>I heard no more of Tall Jim for twelve months,
then another message came, summoning me to Columbus;
also the information that Charlie, the son of
Contractor Osborn, who did carting for the prison,
had been induced by Jim to assist in a plot to
deliver him into friendly hands on the outside of
the walls.</p>

<p>“Charlie is of standard make,” wrote Jim’s sister,
enthusiastically; “and you can depend upon it he’ll
deliver the goods or there’ll be no coin.”</p>

<p>This, Mrs. Hammon said to me in the most positive
vein, upon my arrival in Columbus. After the
first experience I was somewhat sceptical, but I ventured
the hope that the young man would do all that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">373</span>
was expected of him, and more. From the description
of him, it seemed to me he was worth a trial.
Jim had conceived a plan by which he could be put
on the outside of the walls, provided the right sort
of a deal could be made with any one of the contractors
who carted goods in or out of the prison.
It was a ticklish undertaking, and, so far as reaching
any of the contractors was concerned, a complete
failure. However, through the exercise of some
ingenuity, Jim ascertained that the son of Contractor
Osborn was addicted to wild ways and seldom
had money enough to maintain the pace. Jim
put out a “feeler,” and young Osborn responded—responded
like the needle to the magnet. Presently
he bargained to deliver Jim on the outside of the
prison for two hundred dollars spot cash, and the
balance to be paid according to any agreement
between the interested parties after the success of
the undertaking.</p>

<p>I met Osborn, and we discussed the plan. It included
the manipulation of a “right” driver of one
of his father’s teams, and as a teamster was expected
to resign in a few days, it was my duty to furnish
the new one to fill the vacancy. Making a flying
trip to New York, I perfected arrangements for the
second time, and, returning, brought my faithful
Frank with me. He took lodgings at a working-man’s
hotel, disguised to fit the part, while I went to
the Neil House. The day after the teamster resigned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">374</span>
Frank applied for the place, but was told to return the
following day, which he did, only to find another man
had been hired. Now, young Osborn had no control
over the hiring of men in his father’s employ, and had
he, I doubt that it would have been wise for him to
assume the responsibility for a man who might later
be suspected of complicity in the escape of a convict.
But Osborn was made of the sort of material
we wanted in this emergency; indeed, was very
much riper for the undertaking than I imagined he
would be. We were discussing what would be done
next, when he suddenly declared his determination
to personally carry out his agreement and without
a “right” driver.</p>

<p>Accordingly, two days later, at two o’clock in
the afternoon, my man Frank was waiting with a
fine pair of bays and a smooth-running buggy, in a
field not far from the rear of the prison wall and
close by the bank of the Scioto River. He was
well out of the view of any one on the walls, but
when I came up at the rear of one of the storehouses
of the prison, where many of the supplies were kept,
I could plainly see him, and I waved the signal that
all was progressing favorably. It was the work of
some of the teamsters in the employ of Contractor
Osborn to haul supplies and do other kinds of carting
between the storehouses and the prison. Charlie
Osborn had planned to deliver a certain package
from the prison yard to a platform of one of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">375</span>
storehouses. This done, his part of the bargain
would be finished. I had not been long in my
hiding-place when I saw a team come hurriedly up
to the platform. Young Osborn, who was along, was
seen to roll a barrel from the wagon to the platform,
and then to turn and direct the driver to hasten to
the prison again after another load.</p>

<p>No sooner had the teamster disappeared than
Osborn cut the hoops away from the barrel with a
hatchet at hand for the purpose, and as the staves
fell apart with a clatter, I saw Tall Jim, his face
looking like death and gasping for breath, stagger
into a standing posture, clothed in the convict stripes.</p>

<p>It was as though Osborn had been a magician, and
with one sweep of his wand had smote a barrel and
transformed it into a human being.</p>

<p>This done, Osborn was ready to take two crisp
one-hundred-dollar bills from me and vanish without
a word. Then I turned to Tall Jim. In the quickest
possible time I had him in overalls and a linen
duster which I had brought along, and was half
carrying him to the waiting carriage. He couldn’t
have walked there unassisted, it requiring all my
strength to support him, he was so nearly prostrated
by his journey in the barrel. He had been
in it for nearly an hour, I afterward learned. I
am satisfied that we would have had a dead man in
the barrel had it been delivered one minute later.</p>

<p>In packing him, he had been so wedged in that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">376</span>
breathing was nearly impossible. He was in the
most intense pain during his transit from the prison
yard to the storehouse. I wondered that he lived.
But there was no time for delay—five minutes after
his release we were humming away from the scene
as fast as fleet-footed horses would carry us, and no
stop was made till we had put two miles between us
and the prison. Then we halted long enough to give
Jim a stimulant and clothe him in a suit I had provided
to take the place of the convict garb, which we
threw in a clump of bushes. Off we went again, in
the direction of Delaware, where we intended to
board a train for New York. At times I was
worried more than I cared to confess over Jim’s
condition. It would not have surprised me had
he died on our hands. When we had traversed
eight miles, he began to show signs of improvement,
and when presently he began to evince some interest
in his surroundings, I felt more hopeful; and finally,
when he asked where we were bound, I knew that
he was all right.</p>

<p>“We’re hustling for Delaware,” I explained to
him, “as fast as hoofs will take us there.”</p>

<p>“Now, George, you’re making a bull of it,” he
whimpered, like a petulant sick child; “that’s not
right.”</p>

<p>I insisted that we were doing just what we ought
to do, but he persisted in telling me a plan he’d
mapped out in his cell, which would take us some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">377</span>
forty miles back in the country, and in the very
worst direction we could possibly go. Not unlike
most men in prison, he was tiptop in building air-castles.
He kept arguing until he was about ready
to shed tears of disappointment. But I wouldn’t
give in an inch. At last I could stand his whining
no longer and determined to show my authority. It
required just thirty seconds to squelch him and his
pet scheme. He never again talked about it.</p>

<p>“See here, Jim,” I said, in a voice that he knew
had a business ring in it; “I didn’t come away out
here in Ohio to make a blind ‘get-away,’ so there’s two
things for you to do—lay aside your advice, or—”
and I produced a secret service shield, a United
States warrant for John Doe or Richard Roe, and a
glistening pair of handcuffs. Amazed at the completeness
of my scheme to make certain his escape,
Jim “took a tumble to himself,” as the language of
the crook has it, and subsided.</p>

<p>When we reached Delaware, the good citizens
there who took any notice of us at all, saw, as they
believed, a bona-fide officer of the law, stoutly handcuffed
to a desperate criminal. We left the team
with a liveryman there and money to pay all the bills
for its use. He agreed to return it to Columbus, and
we, boarding a train, in due time arrived in New
York without mishap. Tall Jim was free.</p>

<p>Four days later, to our astonishment, Charlie
Osborn appeared in New York, with the expressed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">378</span>
determination to remain. He was a good sort of a
fellow, faithful and greatly to be depended upon, so
I gave him a bookkeeping job in the Brevoort
Stables, where he remained until his health, which
was not of the best when I first saw him, failed, and
he had to seek another and more favorable climate.
In relating this story of Jim’s escape, I must not fail
to say that I have not given Charlie Osborn’s real
name. I did not think it just to him, and again,
why should I harrow the feelings of his father, who
was a most esteemed citizen of Columbus.</p>

<p>Charlie had great nerve. Not only did he cast
Tall Jim from the prison’s interior, but he actually
awaited Jim’s coming to the storeroom, packed him
in the barrel, put the head in the latter, and personally
ordered the teamster to do the loading. Tall
Jim easily found an excuse for leaving the shop
where he was employed on state contracts.</p>

<p>We saw no possible chance of obtaining the freedom
of George Wilson and Big Bill, so they served
out their sentences. As for Jack Utley, his father
had him pardoned. Two years after Jim escaped, he
was rearrested in one of my enterprises and sent to a
Pennsylvania prison. After serving his time there,
he was taken back to Columbus to finish his unexpired
term, but luckily was soon pardoned by Governor
Foster.</p>

<p>I well remember how Tall Jim looked, though
many years have passed since I set eyes on him.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">379</span>
He was of medium height, being a trifle under six
feet; of sandy complexion, blue eyes, and usually
wore a well-trimmed beard. His pleasing address
and ready flow of language made him wonderfully
useful in our work of canvassing for lootable banks
in Ohio. The only son of wealthy parents in New
York, he had been given a thorough business training;
but he early developed expensive habits and fast
companions, the outcome of which was a twenty-year
sentence in Clinton prison, New York. Five
years later his father secured his pardon from Governor
Fenton, and obtained him a position with
Thompson &amp; Company, at Broadway and Wall
Street, New York, as a solicitor for their <cite>Bank-note
Reporter</cite>, a publication devoted to the suppression of
counterfeit money. This, with a magnifying glass,
which he sold on the representation that it was the
best detector of the counterfeiter’s art ever devised,
was bringing him in plenty of money, and he was on
a fair road to financial success, when he met George
Wilson, whose acquaintance he’d made in Clinton
prison. His good father’s advice went to the winds,
and back he fell into the old ways. Finally, he entered
into a partnership with Wilson, Mark Shinburn,
and Big Bill. They robbed a bank near Rochester,
New York, which netted them three thousand
dollars. Not long after this I met Billy Matthews
and was introduced to Wilson, Tall Jim, and the
other members of the Ohio bank looting enterprise.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">380</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XXI" class="vspace">CHAPTER XXI<br />

<span class="subhead">JIM BURNS AND HIS CONGRESSMAN PAL</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Late in May of 1870, I was driving up Fifth
Avenue in one of my finest carriages, for an afternoon
spin in Central Park. My name was called,
and, glancing toward the sidewalk, I saw Jim Burns,
a pal of Hub Frank and Boston Jack, three of the
most successful sneak thieves of their day. As an
inkling to their right to this credit—from the professional
standpoint—I will say that in the fourteen
years they conspired together, Hub Frank and
Boston Jack were never arrested, and Burns only
once. During that time they stole hundreds of
thousands of dollars, and spent nearly as much.</p>

<p>“George!” called out Jim, and I drew up beside
the curb, as quickly as I could control my mettled
horses.</p>

<p>“Glad to see you, Jim,” I said, shaking his hand.
He was a happy, handsome fellow, with dark hair
and mustache, and on the under side of thirty.</p>

<p>“I wish you’d help me out,” said he. “I’ve got
ten thousand in ten-dollar notes, fresh from the
United States Treasury. Mind you, they haven’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">381</span>
been in circulation—I’d like you to do that.
There’s ten per cent in it for you, without doubt.”</p>

<p>Then, briefly, he told me how he got the money.
I thought well of the offer made me and so informed
him, and making an appointment at the Sinclair
House in Broadway at Eighth Street, we parted.</p>

<p>It seemed that a New England congressman Jim
knew was much addicted to the gaming table.
They met at Willard’s Hotel in Washington, and
later on were gambling together. It was rather of a
queer combination, this United States legislator and
a sneak thief, but they became chummy, and therein
lies the secret. Of cash the congressman had none
too much, without having to settle gambling bills,
and when luck was against him, there were moments
when it would seem to him that the muzzle of a pistol
at his head wasn’t the worst thing in the world.</p>

<p>“A clerk in the United States Treasury counting-room
tells me that packages of new money lie
around loose in there, like so much waste paper,”
the congressman said to Burns one day, when his
funds were low and his conscience hard; “couldn’t
you get away with one?”</p>

<p>“Nothing easier,” was Burns’s assuring response.</p>

<p>In Jim’s room at the Willard it was decided
what to do, and the congressman was to get twenty-five
per cent of the proceeds. His only part would
be the “stalling.” In other words, he would talk to
the clerk while Jim took the package.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">382</span>
They went separately to the Treasury Department,
one morning about eleven o’clock, to do the
job. The congressman, who was well acquainted
with the clerk, did his part splendidly. Not a
dozen feet away on the counter lay two packages
of greenbacks. That could be told by the wrapping
paper, though there was nothing visible to the casual
observer to indicate how much money each package
contained. One was about the size of a square loaf
of baker’s bread, and the other a trifle larger. The
counter was of the old-fashioned open sort, with
none of the wicker windows of to-day.</p>

<p>Our congressman deftly talked the clerk’s face
away from the coveted prize, and at the opportune
moment Jim slipped the larger package in the big
pocket of his top-coat—a pocket that was designed
for the purpose, and had been the resting-place,
temporarily at least, of many a “touch.” Jim
walked from the building and so did the congressman
presently, having bade the clerk a pleasant
adieu.</p>

<p>Jim and his accomplice met in the former’s room
at the hotel soon after, and the package was opened.
There were in it two thousand ten-dollar treasury
notes, twenty thousand dollars in all; but an unbeliever
ought to have been within ear-shot to have
heard the congressman swear! He about made the
room crackle with electricity.</p>

<p>“Why, my share won’t buy my cigars!” he cried,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">383</span>
in angry disappointment. “Sometimes those packages,
the clerk told me, contained a million dollars,
in one-thousand-dollar bills.” Burns considered it
a pretty good day’s work, however, and, having paid
the disgruntled congressman forty-five hundred dollars,
divided with his associates, and left for New
York.</p>

<p>Jim’s selection of the larger package was the most
natural thing to do under the conditions, but, as I
was informed some months afterward, his eagerness
to get the most he could out of the job lost him a
fortune. The smaller package contained a thousand
one-thousand-dollar notes. Just think! A cool
million to be had for the plucking, as easily as was
the twenty-thousand-dollar package! But Jim took
the matter philosophically. The congressman, however,
was quite ready to tear his hair.</p>

<p>I met Burns at the Sinclair House the next morning
as we’d agreed, and that night I paid him nine
thousand dollars for the two thousand ten-dollar
notes. Two days later I gave two thousand dollars
to my stable partner, Charles Meriam, with instructions
to liquidate some personal notes that were
about due. He deposited the money to the stable
account in the Stuyvesant Bank at Broadway and
Astor Place, where I was a large depositor, and with
which I had had many cash transactions. In fact,
the cashier, James Van Orden, was my friend and
debtor. I considered he would do about anything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">384</span>
in reason that I asked. Two days after that I made
a deposit of ten thousand dollars, seventy-five hundred
of which were the new ten-dollar notes. I
passed the money to the teller and went back in
Van Orden’s office and told him what I had done.
I didn’t say anything of the deposit Meriam had
made. The Stuyvesant Bank cleared through the
Mechanics and Traders’, farther down Broadway, so
I requested the cashier not to send the new bills
when he made the day’s clearance. He didn’t know
why I asked this, but no doubt believed there was
something not altogether right. However, as he
was a reckless speculator in Wall Street, and I had
loaned him money at times when he was much in
need of it, and in fact he was indebted to me about
five thousand dollars, he said it would be all right.</p>

<p>“Mr. Miles,” exclaimed my second foreman,
John McGurk, as I walked into the stable a few
days after my talk with Van Orden, “Charley
Meriam has been arrested by Colonel Whiteley,
chief of the Secret Service men.”</p>

<p>I knew what that meant, and that there would
have to be some pretty tall hustling if I didn’t find
myself in the same boat. No doubt Washington had
discovered Jim Burns’s steal, and had telegraphed
on the numbers of the missing bank-notes and a
description of the series. How the clew had led
up to me so soon, or rather Meriam, I could not tell.
Warning McGurk to keep a close tongue, I hurried<span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">385</span>
to my residence, then at 206 West Twenty-first
Street, took from the safe five hundred dollars’ worth
of the ten-dollar notes,—all I had left,—put them
in my pocket, packed my satchel, told the servant-girl
not to admit any one from heaven or hades, and
went to a hotel. From there I made a visit to a
close friend in Thirty-fourth Street, where I found
I could hide, and did for more than two weeks. In
the meantime I was kept well informed as to what
was transpiring outside. Frank Houghtaling, then
a clerk in Jefferson Market Police Court with Justice
Cox, daily visited my stables and residence, always
returning to the court, thence to my hiding-place in
the evening. In this way I furnished bail for
Meriam, and laid my plans for getting out of the
city on an ocean steamer. I had determined to
make a dash for Scotland, where my wife at the time
was visiting her mother. The good Scottish people
had often invited me to come to them, and I had
always promised to. I had to smile when I thought
what a mighty excellent opportunity had come to
help me keep my word. In fact, I was being almost
forced to. Among other things Houghtaling did
for me was to purchase a ticket on the Hamburg-American
Line steamer <i>Alimania</i>, which sailed from
her Hoboken pier on the 5th of July. I was listed
as a first-class cabin passenger, under the name of
Edward Whittle.</p>

<p>In the meantime Colonel Whiteley of the Secret<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">386</span>
Service and a safe expert had broken through the
iron gate at the basement of my home, having been
refused admittance by the servant-girl, and, driving
in the rivets in the hinges of the safe, went through
all my papers. Owing to my care, Whiteley gained
nothing for his pains.</p>

<p>As the time drew near for my sailing I had my
Police Headquarters friends clear the way. Jack
McCord and George Radford agreed to be at the
pier an hour ahead of the steamer’s departure, and
on the arrival of my carriage I was to get a certain
signal if everything was all right. When the day
came, I drove to Hoboken, not, however, without
some misgiving that Whiteley or some of his agents
would be laying for me. But McCord and Radford
were faithful, and when the latter tipped his hat that
all was well, I went aboard and, safely in my stateroom,
was joined by them. They remained until the
steamer sailed, wishing me a safe voyage.</p>

<p>The trip was a fine one, so far as the weather and
passengers could make it. Of course I had no way
of knowing what the Atlantic cable, that great intercepter
of criminals, would do in the way of providing
a warm reception for me on the other side; which
naturally bothered me considerably. The passengers
were for the most part Germans, but there was a
sprinkling of Americans and less of Frenchmen, all
of whom went to make up a very convivial party,
there being scarcely any illness aboard. Next to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">387</span>
my state-room was that of an exceedingly fat German
lady and her pretty daughter. They furnished
me many pleasant hours, the mother being a most
amusing old soul and the daughter a veritable young,
but accomplished, chatterbox. Both could speak
excellent English, so I gathered that they were making
a visit to the “Faderland,” after prosperous years
in America.</p>

<p>Well, we arrived in the English Channel, and I
began to be more on the watch for trouble. Not
far off Plymouth a tug was sighted, and, our vessel
slacking headway, several officers in uniform climbed
aboard and went to the captain’s cabin. I was unable
to tell whether or not they were police officials.
Presently they departed, when I learned that some
of them were customs officers, and others were officials
of the Hamburg-American Line.</p>

<p>They bore news of considerable importance to the
German and French passengers, and no less to the
captain; that since our departure from America, war
had been declared between Germany and France.
Before I left the ship, the German and French men
and women were ready to pitch in and wallop or
scratch the eyes out of each other. To me it was
amusing in the extreme. My good fat German
neighbor, to whom I expressed great concern over
the declaration of war, rose up in her might and
exclaimed loudly: “Ach Gott! Have no alarm, for
we’ll lick ’em! We’ll lick ’em!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">388</span>
I decided to debark at Plymouth and go to Scotland
by rail. I arrived there safely and was
received with open arms. I told the good Scots
that I had decided at the last moment to pay them
a visit, but to my wife I said that I’d got in some
difficulty with the United States custom-house
officials.</p>

<p>When it was safe to do so I communicated with
my police friends in New York and learned that
affairs were pretty hot there and that I was a very
badly wanted man by the Secret Service. But in
September, having made a good visit and being
somewhat of the opinion that I could return to
America and “square” things, my wife and I
sailed. I had, however, sent a timely word to
McCord and Radford that I was coming and indicated
on what steamer I might be expected. I knew
that they would be on hand to see me safely landed.</p>

<p>So when the <i>Europa</i>, of the Anchor Line, on a Sunday
about noon, was pretty near her wharf at the foot
of Liberty Street, I had Albert Wright, the purser
of the <i>Europa</i>, a long-time acquaintance of mine, on
the lookout. I had previously confided to him that
I might get in some trouble with the custom-house
officers. Presently Wright informed me that two
Police Headquarters detectives were aboard, having
put out in a small boat to meet the ship. They
proved to be McCord and Radford. I met them on
deck, where they assured me I could land without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">389</span>
any fear of being arrested by the Secret Service
agents. I thanked the boys for their good offices,
and presently my wife and I were let out at the
Ashland House on Fourth Avenue. Not long after
this she went to our home in Twenty-first Street, but
I remained at the hotel.</p>

<p>It was not much after one <span class="smcap smaller">P.M.</span> that we arrived
at the hotel, and but mighty few minutes were
allowed to pass before I was in ex-Judge Stuart’s
house looking for legal advice and urging him to
assist me out of my troubles. He said he’d see what
could be done. Perhaps he might be able to settle
the case with Colonel Whiteley, the Secret Service
chief. Then I went to Cashier Van Orden’s house
in Harlem. He fluttered like a bird in captivity
when his eyes fell on me. I presume he had a
mental picture of my arrest, and the possibility of
his own implication, vividly before him. I wanted
a settlement of my account in the Stuyvesant Bank.
My visit was fruitless.</p>

<p>“Pretty soon,” he said, and I left him, intending
to call again for further information as to what he
had done or would do.</p>

<p>My next call on ex-Judge Stuart met with some
satisfaction. He had seen Colonel Whiteley, and
there was hope that I might fix the case. I went
to Cashier Van Orden again, and told him that
I must get my financial affairs in the Stuyvesant
Bank settled; that I wanted to and must withdraw<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">390</span>
my account, and that I was anxious to get hold of
the seventy-five hundred, Jim Burns’s money, I’d deposited
there. Again was confronted with procrastination.
Van Orden said he hadn’t been able to get
to my account owing to the press of business in the
bank. He was so sorry, you know.</p>

<p>A week passed in this manner and I was beginning
to grumble not a little, when ex-Judge Stuart
brought me further good news.</p>

<p>“I have arranged a meeting with Colonel Whiteley
for you,” he said, “and you’re to name the place
and time.”</p>

<p>“That sounds like business,” was my reply; “but
are you sure you can trust this Secret Service man?
Mind you, he’s about the hungriest fellow after
reputation in his business that ever came along.
He may be putting up a job to nail me. I’ve escaped
the nab too long in this case to have it come now.”</p>

<p>Stuart was inclined to be irritated if any one questioned
his word or intelligence, so I came in for a
round scoring, which terminated in his demanding
to know whether I thought he was an infernal fool.
I assured him that he was the finest fellow that ever
followed in the footsteps of Daniel Webster, whereat
he regained his good humor. I named a day for the
meeting in the last week of September, and added
that I would send my second foreman, John McGurk,
with a carriage, to the Grand Central Hotel in Broadway,
near Bond Street.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">391</span>
“The carriage will be at the hotel not later than
eight <span class="smcap smaller">P.M.</span>,” I told Stuart, “and McGurk will be looking
for you in the lobby or reading-room. You and
Whiteley get in the carriage, and my man will do
the rest.”</p>

<p>What was the Grand Central Hotel then is now
known as the Broadway Central. It got well advertised
at one time, as the place where Jim Fisk,
the Erie Railway magnate, was murdered by Ed
Stokes, who became the proprietor of the Hoffman
House, after serving a short sentence in the state
prison at Auburn, New York. Like the Metropolitan
Hotel, a few blocks below, the Grand Central
was the resort of prominent professional men and
Wall Street speculators, and the class of cheap
men who trail them. In directing McGurk to drive
ex-Judge Stuart to me, I said nothing as to whom
the other man would be, not deeming it necessary,
for I would have trusted my life in the hands of
my second foreman.</p>

<p>“Be at the hotel at eight,” I said to him, “and
drive Stuart and his companion to me at Eighty-sixth
Street and Eighth Avenue. Turn in Central
Park, and I will be there. But don’t by any means
tell a soul where you are going. Do you understand?”</p>

<p>I knew he did. Then I told him, upon leaving
the hotel, to drive ten blocks north, four blocks east,
five more up-town, seven blocks down-town, and west<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">392</span>
to Eighth Avenue, where, if he was not being followed,
he might come straight to me.</p>

<p>“Trust me, Mr. Miles,” said John McGurk; and I
did, knowing full well that neither ex-Judge Stuart
nor any one else in the world would be able to make
him disobey or prove unfaithful to his promise.</p>

<p>I was at the appointed place ten minutes before
nine, with Gus Fisher, a man of my profession. I
brought him along to drive the buggy back to my
stables, in case I didn’t need it. With the same
caution that I exercised in getting Colonel Whiteley
to the appointed place, I had planned to outwit him,
should he prove to be decoying me into his hands.
I had one of my fleetest horses in front of my buggy,
and with Gus Fisher for an assistant I felt pretty
sure of getting ahead of any game the Secret Service
chief might attempt. Really I had considerable
confidence in Stuart’s judgment, but I couldn’t afford
to proceed blindly.</p>

<p>It was a beautiful night, light with the shimmering
of more stars than I think I had ever seen before.
There weren’t many dwellings in the neighborhood
at that period, and Central Park was more like
nature intended it than now. All together, the night,
with its calmness, was of the kind that should bring
forth man’s deepest gratitude for having been given
being, but I was too much concerned with my planning
for liberty unquestioned, to give way to the
sentiment. I had left my buggy in charge of Fisher<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">393</span>
and walked a few rods to a hill thickly covered with
trees and a small growth of bushes, where I was in
waiting only a minute, or such a matter, when I heard
a great clattering of horses’ hoofs. I needed no better
indication that my visitors were coming. Five minutes
later McGurk swung his team into the park
and dashed up to the spot where in the shadows I
stood. The horses were steaming and their flanks
dripping with foam. McGurk had put them through.</p>

<p>Before he could alight from the box, ex-Judge
Stuart, followed by Colonel Whiteley, sprang from
the carriage. He was delivering himself of some
very strong language, in which there was interspersed
much profanity, and the Secret Service
chief was not leaving all the swearing to the ex-judge.
As I stepped out of the shadows and greeted
them with a “Good evening, gentlemen,” Stuart,
bristling with anger, <span class="locked">exclaimed:—</span></p>

<p>“Do you take us for thieves, Miles? Are we
blacklegs, liars, or what not?”</p>

<p>“Be calm, judge,” said I, soothingly, but scarcely
able to restrain laughter. I was fully aroused to the
cause of the profanity. They had been given a much
longer ride than they anticipated. Besides, the ex-judge
didn’t like my distrust of his influence over
Colonel Whiteley.</p>

<p>“Damn it,” said Stuart, “why didn’t you drive us
to Yonkers and done with it? Do you think that
I’ve got too much time on my hands?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">394</span>
“Never mind, gentlemen,” I replied, in a most
conciliatory manner; “you’re here with your bones
whole, and I’m ready for business. Of course, when
you examine the case from my end of it, you’ll not
blame me for being cautious, I know.”</p>

<p>“When I give my word to a man, it’s better ’n my
bond,” said Colonel Whiteley; “and this man of
yours drove us to hades and back, so it seemed.”</p>

<p>“Yes, and I wasn’t certain but that he’d shake my
poor bones apart, at times, with his infernal square
turns about corners. Anything follow him? Why,
the devil with his cloven hoofs and wings thrown in
couldn’t have kept us in sight,” growled Stuart.</p>

<p>“A drink will smooth you out, judge,” laughed I;
“and we can’t get it here, so let’s go to Stetson’s.”</p>

<p>I directed Gus Fisher to take my buggy to the
stables, and McGurk drove us to the restaurant in
Central Park. There we talked business over a
few dainties and a bottle of wine.</p>

<p>“By the way, Miles,” Colonel Whiteley was saying,
“when did you get to town?”</p>

<p>“About a week ago, on the Anchor Liner <i>Europa</i>.”</p>

<p>“And you were in Scotland all the time?” he
continued.</p>

<p>“Yes, paying a visit long promised my friends,”
I explained.</p>

<p>“And you left town—”</p>

<p>“On the 5th of July by way of the Hamburg-American
Line.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">395</span>
“Sorry I didn’t know it,” said Whiteley, with a
laugh.</p>

<p>“I felt no discomfort at missing your <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bon voyage</i>,”
said I, joining in the laugh. “But seriously, colonel,
I can’t just realize why you were so anxious to get
your hooks on me. I got that money fairly through
my Broad Street office. I sold ten bonds to a
customer, and he gave me ten thousand in new
money for them. I don’t know why I should suffer
all this inconvenience.”</p>

<p>“Miles is right, Whiteley,” put in the ex-judge.</p>

<p>“But why did you get out of the country?”
inquired the colonel.</p>

<p>“For a reason—I wanted to avoid trouble. My
man Meriam was arrested—wrongfully, and I didn’t
want to get in the same box. There’s no telling
what you United States fellows will do to a man,
once you get him in your toils.”</p>

<p>“Well, you gave us a good chase, Miles,” said
Whiteley. “I had two hundred men looking for
you, and it was lucky that you kept out of sight.”</p>

<p>“But you see I came back to you, colonel; that
doesn’t look so bad in me, does it?”</p>

<p>“If you were innocent, of course you had a right
to feel safe in coming back,” was his doubtful remark.
“You were cautious enough in making this
meeting, too.”</p>

<p>“For the same reason that I got out last July.
Now that we’ve met, colonel,” continued I, “you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">396</span>
will no doubt come to some sort of an agreement, in
which I can claim my money in the Stuyvesant
Bank. The judge, I presume, told you that a meeting
between us would, in all probability, straighten
out this very disagreeable tangle.”</p>

<p>“You surely don’t mean the seventy-five hundred
you deposited in the Stuyvesant Bank?”</p>

<p>“I do, colonel—certainly.”</p>

<p>“You needn’t worry about getting that dust
there,” said Whiteley. “It’s at the district attorney’s
office.”</p>

<p>“What,” I cried, “not in the Stuyvesant Bank?”</p>

<p>“No. I asked Van Orden about the two thousand
your man Meriam deposited, and he pulled open a
drawer and showed me the rest of the stuff. I took
it.”</p>

<p>“The devil,” I cried. “So that’s the way Van
Orden deals with his friends. He didn’t tell me, in
all my visits to him after a settlement, that you had
the money.”</p>

<p>“I didn’t know that,” said Whiteley.</p>

<p>I thought that it would have been a pure piece of
scoundrelism on Van Orden’s part to have sent the
money to the clearing-house. It seems he hadn’t, but
had done worse—had actually betrayed me. Not
because he wanted to do me harm, but for fear of endangering
his own neck, the coward. All this I said
to myself. Aloud I declared that Van Orden would
be held to account for his failure to settle with me.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">397</span>
“It seems to me that you played a pretty high-handed
game,” I continued to Whiteley; “about like
the burglary committed on my dwelling and on my
safe.”</p>

<p>“I wanted the ten thousand five hundred still
missing,” replied Whiteley. “I had reason to believe
the money was in your safe.”</p>

<p>“But you were mistaken,” said I, scornfully.
“The thief who stole the government money and
bought my bonds didn’t pay me but ten thousand.
How much was missing?”</p>

<p>“A matter of twenty thousand dollars.”</p>

<p>“I suppose you’d been after me just as hard if
your thief had bought twenty bonds of me and passed
over the whole twenty thousand dollars?” said I,
with an attempt at a little sneer, though not wishing
to play the game I was playing too far.</p>

<p>“Well, it looks as if you were the victim of circumstances,
Miles,” said the colonel; “but it’s too
late now.”</p>

<p>“Not to get my money back,” said I, firmly.</p>

<p>“Yes, too late for that,” was his reply and just as
firmly.</p>

<p>“You mean that I can’t have the ten thousand
dollars that rightfully belongs to me?”</p>

<p>“That’s it, Miles. The money was stolen from
the government. It has been identified by the
proper authorities. You had it in your possession.
That you came honestly by it I shall not dispute.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">398</span>
I’m taking your word for that. If I didn’t, you’d
have to produce the man who bought the bonds,
and perhaps you’d have to go farther and prove
what bonds you had to sell.”</p>

<p>“So I can’t get any part of the money?”</p>

<p>“No! It’ll have to go back to the United States
Treasury,” said Whiteley. I knew that it was hopeless
to argue further. Stuart told me it was.</p>

<p>“It’s mighty hard,” I said, “to shoulder such a
loss, but I suppose I must. As you say, I had stolen
property.”</p>

<p>That end of the game was up. I had played and
lost. But Van Orden’s cowardice angered me.
Here was a man who owed me five thousand dollars.
His fear had made him, without good reason,
betray me.</p>

<p>“I’d like to ask a favor of you, colonel,” I said,
as the interview came to an end. “Meet me at the
Stuyvesant Bank as soon after ten o’clock to-morrow
morning as you can. Will you?”</p>

<p>“I’ll be there.” With that we drove down-town.
My man put the gentlemen at their doors, and I went
home, satisfied that I’d made the Secret Service chief
believe I’d come by the money honestly. But it had
cost me nine thousand dollars, not including other
expenses, and the end might not yet be in sight.</p>

<p>I was at the bank at ten promptly the next day,
and without any warning walked into Van Orden’s
office. I thought he’d drop to the floor. His cheeks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">399</span>
grew white, and he clutched at his beard nervously.
He thought I was in danger of arrest and that he
might be involved. I was glad to make him suffer
for his treatment of me.</p>

<p>“You—you—ought not to come here, Mr. Miles,”
he said in a voice that trembled. “The Secret
Service men are likely to drop in here at any moment.
Please go away. I—”</p>

<p>“Let them, Van Orden,” I answered savagely.
“However, I didn’t come here for trouble. I want a
settlement. I must and will withdraw my account
from this bank.”</p>

<p>“Very well, you shall, Mr. Miles—as soon as I
can balance the books!”</p>

<p>The door of Van Orden’s room faced the main
entrance to the bank. As he spoke the last word,
his face grew still whiter if that were possible, and
his lips had a purplish hue. I glanced over my
shoulder to ascertain the reason. It was obvious.
Colonel Whiteley was just entering the office
door.</p>

<p>“Good morning, colonel,” I exclaimed, with all
the warmth of a long-time friend, for Van Orden’s
benefit, and we shook hands vigorously, the colonel
not being able to resist my energy without appearing
unnecessarily rude.</p>

<p>“Let me introduce you to my friend, Cashier
Van Orden,” I added, with a wide sweep of my
hands.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">400</span>
“We’ve met,” said Whiteley; “haven’t we, Mr.
Van Orden?”</p>

<p>“Well, yes,” responded the cashier. Seeing that
I was not likely to be arrested, but still in doubt
as to the meaning of the meeting, Van Orden
grew calmer and invited Colonel Whiteley to be
seated.</p>

<p>Then I proceeded to make things as uncomfortable
for the cashier as I could. First I adroitly had
Whiteley tell how he learned of my deposit, and how
unnecessarily, through it, Van Orden had lost for me
the seventy-five hundred. After grinding him
with this sort of reminder, not forgetting to upbraid
him for failing to tell me that my account in the
bank had been tampered with, I demanded that he
make a settlement at once.</p>

<p>“I got that money,” said I, “through the sale of
Union Pacific Bonds, and deposited it with this
bank. Now, I shall hold you responsible. Colonel
Whiteley, as a business man, doesn’t think that I’d
take those ten-dollar greenbacks, knowing they had
been stolen. Do you, Colonel?”</p>

<p>“No, I don’t think you would,” agreed Whiteley.</p>

<p>“Colonel Whiteley tells me that, of your own
volition, you told him I was a depositor here and
showed him the money I had placed in your care.
Now you must make good to me.”</p>

<p>I gave the cashier a look that made him fear I
would inform certain superiors of his of a number<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">401</span>
of questionable money transactions, which, if made
known, would ruin him, financially, professionally,
and socially. But that I would not do.</p>

<p>Van Orden was completely floored by the turn of
circumstances. Though I knew his promises would
be worthless, I could do nothing more than accept
them. Colonel Whiteley left the bank presently,
and I soon followed. I had had revenge, but it was
dearly bought.</p>

<p>Colonel Whiteley and I had met for the first
time, though I had been in the line of getting
something for nothing about four years. He went
away believing me to be an honest man. As for
him, I don’t know that he didn’t turn the nine hundred
and fifty ten-dollar notes over to the Treasury
Department. But I was to meet him again before
many years, and under most unusual conditions.
Of this meeting I shall be able to tell in another
volume of my series of Bliss books.</p>

<p>As to my foreman, Meriam, when he came up for
a preliminary trial, ex-Judge Stuart, whom I retained
for him, so confused the young woman who
came on from the Treasury Department to identify
the bills that her testimony was valueless. As
the case depended upon her identification, it fell
through, and Meriam was discharged from custody.</p>

<p>All together it was a costly meeting that I had
had with Jim Burns in Fifth Avenue. I had started
out to make a profit of one thousand dollars, and it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">402</span>
had cost me more than ten thousand, besides bringing
grief to my beloved wife; for until that time
she’d been kept in entire ignorance of the fact that
I was a professional burglar.</p>

<p>The New England congressman got more out of
the job than I. Lucky congressman!</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">403</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XXII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XXII<br />

<span class="subhead">WILLIAM HATCH, ESQUIRE, DAY WATCHMAN</span></h2>
</div>

<p>After the ingenuity of a master cracksman has
been taxed to its utmost in an effort to get the
combination numbers of a presumably impenetrable
vault, and success seems assured, is it not most
provoking, and disheartening too, when the unexpected
pops up and thunders down failure upon
his head? It was thus in my attempt to possess the
millions kept in the vault of the Corn Exchange
National Bank of Philadelphia in the winter of 1872
and the spring of the following year.</p>

<p>In December of 1872 Detective McCord, my friend
of the New York Detective Bureau, asked me to call
on Frank Gleason, the shrewd partner of Andrew
Roberts, the notorious bond forger and “fence”
keeper. Gleason, so Jack McCord told me, had a
large job in the Quaker City, in which I could use
a “right” day watchman. I saw Gleason and was
given a letter of introduction to Peter Burns, a
Philadelphia crook of no small reputation in his
neighborhood. I was informed that he possessed a
snug fortune at one time, though I will not vouch
for it. I do know, however, that he was a protégé<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">404</span>
of Detective Josh Taggart, of the Quaker City
Police Department, one of the slickest Hawkshaws
of the period.</p>

<p>As to my introduction to Peter Burns, it led to an
acquaintance with the day watchman of the Corn
Exchange Bank. His name was William Hatch,
though I never called him other than Billy. He
was a friend of Burns’s, so you will observe that it
was first through McCord, a detective, next Gleason,
a forger, then Burns, a crook, who was a friend of
Taggart, another detective, that I finally reached the
man who was to play a first-class crook part in my
attempt to rob the bank. Perhaps it was Detective
Taggart who tipped off Jack McCord. Who knows?
I won’t say.</p>

<p>Perhaps Billy’s early training made him a most
intelligent crook. For aught I know that was the
case, though I won’t pretend to affirm so, but I
will declare, however, that he was a politician before
he became a bank watchman. He was of middle
age, not over strong physically, but passably good-looking,
and perhaps a little proud of the latter.
Now, watchmen, as a rule, have to be corrupted <em>after</em>
becoming accustomed to a life in a bank—which
nearly always means mingling with those who have
much to do with large sums of money. There
comes a yearning for wealth, and temptation usually
plays havoc with a fellow when it finds him in that
mood. With Billy it was different. He seemed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">405</span>
have been corrupted before he alighted at the bank
watchman’s station. At all events, I found him
ripe for almost any crooked scheme in which he
could use his position in a bank as a means to
financial success. How I employed his pliable talents
and with what willingness he used them, and
with what degree of success, I shall in due time
demonstrate.</p>

<p>The Corn Exchange Bank, one of the most conservative,
yet strongest, financial institutions in the
Quaker City, was situated on Chestnut, at the corner
of Second Street. It had a large patronage
and was never without watchmen inside, two at
night and one in business hours. The watchmen
employed at night were on duty from six in the
evening until seven in the morning, with the exception
of Sundays and holidays, when they were
called on for day duty as well. But to business.</p>

<p>My first move was to learn something about the
vault. It was on the main banking floor, in the
open, and constructed of heavy solid masonry. This,
almost impregnable because of its excellent workmanship
and thickness, was further guarded inside
by a wall of steel T rails, such as are used for railway
tracks. Leading to the vault there was an
especially strong door of fine steel, and still another
of steel lattice work. In the vault were two steel
safes, in each of which was a strong box, or money
chest. In these chests were stored the millions of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">406</span>
cash and paper constituting the entire funds of the
bank.</p>

<p>The outer door to the vault was secured by an
improved Yale combination lock, and the inner door
was guarded by a Yale key lock. The receiving
and paying teller each had charge of the combination
of his respective safe, and each had the key to
the money chest in his safe. What I found early
in the game, of considerable import to me, was the
fact that Billy had, as the day watchman, practically
entire control of the bank for an hour or less every
business morning. As I have said, the night watchmen
finished their work at seven <span class="smcap smaller">A.M.</span>, when they
were relieved by Billy. The clerks reported for
duty an hour later.</p>

<p>I determined to begin my scheme at once by
making a call on Billy at the bank, and it wasn’t
an unexpected one either, for I had conferred with
him. Accordingly I journeyed there and was ready
to be admitted when the night watchmen took their
leave. I was careful that they should not set eyes
on me, as there was a big job ahead and big game
in it, and I knew the greatest amount of caution
was necessary. I waited in sight of the Second
Street door, the main entrance being kept locked
until the arrival of the clerks. Scarcely had the
night watchmen’s footsteps died away, when the
Second Street door was cautiously moved ajar, and
Billy’s head popped out. Making a careful survey<span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">407</span>
of the surroundings, and evidently satisfied that the
moment was favorable, he motioned me to enter.</p>

<p>I grunted with satisfaction. It was a long way
to success, it occurred to me—getting inside of an
institution of this character. The thought was but
of the moment, for I had work to do and precious
little time in which to do it. Directly I had taken
in every detail of the bank room. I made a clear
negative of it, and, so to speak, stowed it away in
my optical gallery, for future observation when
perhaps daylight might not be at hand. The vault,
as Billy had told me, was a tower of strength. In
fact, I can’t recall of ever having seen a stronger
one. Added to this was another obstacle to be
overcome, and that was the situation of the vault.
It was in plain sight, through a window, of any
one passing in Second Street. I carefully examined
its outside mechanism and took pencilled notes and
mental ones also. I did all I could before the time
arrived for the clerks to come on duty. Having made
a general survey, and, in fact, studied the situation
fairly well, I knew that my next move would necessitate
a return to New York. Therefore, bidding
Billy be of good cheer and assuring him that everything
looked hopeful, I journeyed back forthwith.</p>

<p>First, I paid a visit to the Yale Lock Company’s
salesroom, representing myself to be a down-town
business man in search of a first-class combination
lock of American manufacture.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">408</span>
“I want,” said I, to the gentleman who attended
me; “an American lock for one of my correspondents
in Glasgow, Scotland. It is to be used in a
banking office.” The salesman was certain he could
accommodate me and did, by permitting me to examine
many intricate locks at my leisure.</p>

<p>“This one will suit me,” I concluded at length.
It was a duplicate of the Yale lock on the outside
door of the Corn Exchange Bank vault. He offered
to forward it to Scotland, but as that didn’t serve
my purpose, I paid him two hundred dollars and said
I’d take it with me at once.</p>

<p>In a few hours I was back in Philadelphia, and
the next few evenings I made my headquarters at
Peter Burns’s house. For the time being I became
the professor, and Billy, the day watchman, the pupil.
He was very apt, I must confess,—far ahead of John
Taylor in the Ocean Bank job, though the latter was
most satisfactory under instructions. I put Billy
through the same course of study to which Taylor
had been subjected. I told him of the part Taylor
played in the Ocean Bank job and the profit that
came to him through its success. In an exceedingly
short time I had the day watchman well taught and
almost to the bursting point with enthusiasm. Having
him so well in hand, I instructed him to try his
luck on the vault lock. It wouldn’t surprise me, I
told him, if he wasted many hours before attaining
success. It was agreed that I wait near his house in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">409</span>
Spring Garden Street, each evening, in quest of his
report. Accordingly I was on hand. Several times
I met the lad, only to know by his face, before he
could tell me, that he was meeting with disappointment.
It was, perhaps, the tenth evening after I
had given him his first lesson on locks that I was in
the vicinity of his house, anxiously waiting for him.
Presently I saw him coming, a considerable distance
away. The street lamps shed none too much light,
yet I could divine, from his general manner, that
he had good news. When he drew near so that I
could see his face, it was lit up with the fire of success.
I knew it right away. He was excited to the
limit.</p>

<p>“I’ve got it, for sure. I’ve got it,” he exclaimed.
His enthusiasm would not have been inappropriate in
a better cause. I hadn’t time to ask him how it was
accomplished, when he <span class="locked">continued:—</span></p>

<p>“When they unlocked the vault this morning, I
felt certain that I’d got my eye on the right combination
numbers.”</p>

<p>“And you’d like to have tried the door right
away?” I asked, and my eyes twinkled with mischief.</p>

<p>“My Lord!” he exclaimed, “it seemed I couldn’t
wait till they all got out. I wasn’t fit for my regular
work the rest of the day.”</p>

<p>“Well, the clerks went away, and you—”</p>

<p>“When they’d all gone,” interrupted Billy, “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">410</span>
tried my numbers, and they opened the lock the very
first time.”</p>

<p>“How do you know you unlocked the vault door?”
I inquired, half seriously and half teasingly.</p>

<p>“I proved it,” he whispered in my ear; “I proved
it. I threw back the bolts and opened the door.
Isn’t that proof enough?”</p>

<p>I admitted it was. Billy went on: “This getting
combinations to safes is dead easy. If I could only
be inside the vault when the tellers unlock their
safes, without attracting attention, we could soon
put the Corn Exchange Bank out of business.”</p>

<p>Now, surely here was an enthusiastic bank employee
with his enthusiasm misdirected. I saw right away
that I must cool him off if I was to depend upon him
for a level head in an emergency. Brains and coolness,
in my business, were the corner-stones of success.</p>

<p>“See here, Billy,” I said warningly, “you mustn’t
let your shrewdness in getting combination numbers
give you a big head. Keep your skull level and
leave the combinations to the tellers’ safes to me.
I’ll devise some way to get at them.”</p>

<p>Encouraged by the lad’s good fortune, I began
immediately to take advantage of it.</p>

<p>“Get me,” said I, “a wax impression of the little
key to the second door of the vault; that will be your
next job.”</p>

<p>Later in the evening I met Billy at Peter Burns’s,
where I gave him the right kind of wax to make the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">411</span>
impression; and, too, I put my pupil through another
course of my art. I showed him, with extreme care,
how to get the impression of a key. Again was he
apt in acquiring the knowledge that all successful
crooks, in the bank-breaking line, must have. At
the end of two days he brought me an impression of
the desired key, and from it I made a duplicate.</p>

<p>“It fitted at the first trial,” announced Billy the
following evening. “My work was fine and yours
must have been better.”</p>

<p>“It was easy to make a right key from a fine wax
impression,” I replied, in a complimentary way.</p>

<p>The time had come when I must make my second
visit to the bank, and that for the purpose of sizing
up the tellers’ safes; so it was agreed that I should
meet Billy at the Second Street door of the bank, as
before. Unto this day I haven’t forgotten that
visit. Even now I marvel at our escape from
what seemed to be certain exposure. Withal, I
wasn’t sorry for what happened, as it served to
prove the sort of metal out of which my “right”
watchman was made.</p>

<p>The night watchmen leaving the bank at seven
<span class="smcap smaller">A.M.</span> and the clerks’ hour being eight, it behooved
us to keep tabs on the minutes in order that I be
allowed time in which to quit the banking office
unobserved. We had been working on the tellers’
safes for half an hour, so it seemed, when a sharp
rap came on the Second Street door. My hair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">412</span>
rose on end, and as for Billy, he, for an instant,
shook like a leaf. I glanced at my watch—it was
just eight o’clock.</p>

<p>“Damn!” I whispered; “it must be one of the
clerks. What’ll we do?”</p>

<p>I saw a fairly promising job knocked in the head.
For Billy it meant undoubted exposure, and that
was as good as a failure—to me. I’d never get
another watchman of his caliber, I knew.</p>

<p>The main door leading into Chestnut Street was
locked and Billy had no key—which I well knew.
As for going out the Second Street door, the way
I had entered, that seemed to me an improbability.
I confess I was stupefied. Though it has taken several
minutes to jot down these impressions, I assure
my readers that hardly as many seconds were consumed
in the actual happening. It may have been
the fix we were in that brought to the surface the
staying qualities possessed for the emergency by
Billy. The ague which had tackled him for the
instant was quickly shed, and, catching me by the
shoulder, he shoved me out of the vault.</p>

<p>“Close the vault door right!” he whispered,
“and get in the vestibule of the Chestnut Street
entrance and wait there until you hear me in a
fit of coughing. Then out you go by the Second
Street door. I’ll let in the clerk—for it’s one of
them, I know—and take him in the president’s
office.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">413</span>
I was in Billy’s hands and so must trust to him.
Really, I began to feel safe. It took only a moment
to lock the vault and less time to reach the vestibule;
meanwhile Billy leisurely walked to the
door. The knocking had become of the impatient
sort by this time. When he finally opened the door,
it was with the air of one who’d been in a mighty
hurry. I could hear every word said.</p>

<p>“Are you dead, Billy?” was the greeting to the
watchman, as the impatient knocking one stepped
in; “it’s after eight, and I’ve been rapping an
hour.”</p>

<p>“Sorry, sir; but I was in the cellar, fixing up the
fires, when you came. I heard you from the first,
and hustled for all I was worth.” This was a
bushel-basketful of apology, and, being well put, had
the desired effect. The perturbed clerk calmed
down immediately.</p>

<p>“By the way,” said Billy, as he stepped in President
Noblit’s private office, “I saw one of our old
friends that used to be employed here. I met him
last night on the way home—poor fellow!”</p>

<p>It didn’t seem to me that Billy had chosen good
bait with which to catch the clerk, but it did the
work, so what matter. In a moment I heard them
both in the private room, and Billy was saying
something about the former bank clerk being on
his uppers, and that it was a case sad enough to
fetch tears to a marble statue. It may have been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">414</span>
that a shower of tears attacked Billy, for suddenly
he was choking like a man with a terrible case of
tuberculosis.</p>

<p>“Good for Billy!” I thought, as, stepping out
of the vestibule and passing within a few feet of
the office door, I quickly found myself in Second
Street. Out in the free air again and clear from
exposure, I felt glad, as can well be imagined. And
as for Billy, he was a jewel, from my viewpoint,
doubt not. Afterward I learned that not a thing
had been left by us, in our hasty exit, to arouse
suspicion. One resolution I formed immediately,
and that was, to keep a more accurate knowledge
of the passing of time. I don’t know that I had
ever before, or have since, been guilty of such palpable
carelessness. It might have been an expensive
experience.</p>

<p>Not much was accomplished by the visit, either.
I ascertained that the locks on the tellers’ safes were
not of the make to which my “Little Joker” could
be attached and the combination numbers purloined
that way. I confessed disappointment, no doubt,
because everything seemed up to that time to favor
me. However, I adopted a unique method to obtain
the numbers, and it shall be seen with what success.</p>

<p>Perhaps it may be in keeping with my desire to
assist the banking world to say, right here, “Follow
me closely, and benefit thereby, if I show any carelessness
on the part of those who had the keeping of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">415</span>
the combination numbers of the Corn Exchange
Bank.” My varied experience in manipulating combination
locks and with those in charge of them
made me confident that I could find recorded, somewhere,
the numbers of the tellers’ safes. I had
always believed that nine tellers out of ten would
not tax their memories with lock numbers, but
would, instead, record them on a slip of paper, or
in a private memoranda book; so on this supposition
I determined to make an investigation ere I resorted
to the use of explosives on the money safes. What
was more reasonable than that the records were kept
in a private drawer?</p>

<p>Again was Billy to be useful. I started him on a
silent hunt with instructions to “Wait, be patient,
and take advantage of the simplest thing.” For
several days, he kept the keenest sort of watch.
Finally, to our joy, the paying teller left his key,
quite accidentally, in the lock of his private drawer;
and Billy improved the opportunity and most effectually.
He got a wax impression of it, doing it
slyly enough, and I made a duplicate. It required
a few trials and a number of extra rasps of the file
to make the key right, but, persevering, we eventually
were rewarded. One morning Billy opened the
drawer, and, as I hoped, discovered a slip of paper
containing three numbers. He made a copy of
them, and when I tried the series on the paying
teller’s safe, the door came open, and we found ourselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">416</span>
right up to the money chest. As to the latter,
why, a bandbox would be no easier to break! This
much accomplished, my faithful Billy and I turned
our attention to the receiving teller’s safe. Ten
days later we had mastered that by the same
methods. Naturally we felt elated—we were down
to the two strong boxes which contained the cash.
No doubt we could have gotten duplicate keys to
the chests, but, as I have said, they could easily be
forced. Thus concluding, I wouldn’t put myself to
further trouble on that score. Besides, it was dangerous
work—this frequent injecting of my uninvited
presence in the bank’s vault. By some
unforeseen accident I might be discovered in the
midst of our secret work.</p>

<p>But to proceed. It seemed to me that the time
was about near to plan for the removal of the treasure.
The surroundings on the outside of the bank
were such that I could see, from the start, that some
smart engineering must be done. One factor in the
coming loot of which I would not lose sight was my
faithful Billy. If the success of my plotting could
be assured through the blame falling on him, then I
was prepared to forfeit all, though I had gone ever
so far. He had been too “square” in his dealings
with me to be sacrificed. That I was determined
upon, no matter what others might think. Suspicion
should not fall on him. He was willing enough,
though, that the trick be “pulled off” in his time.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">417</span>
“I’ll take my chances of arrest, George,” he said,
“anything to get away with the cash.” I would not
listen to him, though it was advanced that in the
event that he was arrested we might make a dicker
with the bank,—in other words, obtain a sacred
promise of his release, provided we returned to the
bank a good-sized sum of money as a ransom.</p>

<p>The game was a big one, and, being set on making
it a clean sweep, not unlike that of the Ocean
Bank, I held to my own ideas and proceeded accordingly.
Although it was thought by the bank officials
that the two night watchmen remained at the
bank during the daylight hours of Sunday, while
Billy was absent on leave, it was not so entirely.
One of them occasionally would absent himself for
several hours, usually going to his home in Pine
Street. My plan was to profit by this watchman’s
negligence—loot the bank in his absence. We
would then have only one watchman to deal with.
Outside of business hours, as I’ve said, the Second
Street door was the usual entrance to the bank. It
was secured on the inside. The Chestnut Street
door was never open on Sundays or holidays unless
President Noblit chose to use it, for he carried
the key. On an occasion or two, so I learned, he’d
surprised the watchmen by coming in that way. It
happened seldom, however. So, with one of the
watchmen out of the bank for two or three hours on
Sunday morning, it seemed to me that the loot could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">418</span>
be done. We could better get at him, I argued,
if one of my associates got inside before the victim
really knew who his visitor might be. If an entrance
were gained by the main door with a key, he
might, momentarily, be thrown off his guard in the
belief that it was President Noblit coming in. There
was another argument which seemed to favor an
entrance by that door: it was infrequently used
out of business hours, and therefore would get less
attention from the watchman. He would more than
likely linger in the vicinity of the Second Street door,
if he had any inclination at all to perform his duty
faithfully. Thus believing, I planned to overcome
the lone watchman. Accordingly I made a duplicate
key to the Chestnut Street door from a wax impression
supplied me by Billy.</p>

<p>About seven o’clock in the morning of a Sunday
in February, two associates and I were waiting near
the bank. I had with me Tall Jim and Little Dick
Moore, both of whom I could depend upon in almost
any emergency. I had the Chestnut Street door key,
and the surroundings were such that I felt confident
of soon having in my possession the long-contrived-for
cash. But it is the unexpected that is always
popping up to make one glad or disappointed, as the
case may be. I had schemed to overcome one
watchman or possibly more, inside the bank, but I
hadn’t looked for interference from a watchman on
the outside who had no connection whatsoever with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">419</span>
the bank. It so happened that Tom Davis, in the
joint employ of several warehouses not far from the
bank, was on his way home that morning after a
night’s work. Confound his eyes, I would that
they’d been full of sleep, but they weren’t! Upon
seeing three strange-looking men lingering at different
points near the bank, he became curious. The
greater his curiosity, the more dangerous he was to
our game, for soon he grew suspicious. It wasn’t
policy for any of my party to run, for that would
set afloat the rumor, or even worse, the truth, that
an attempt was being made to rob the bank, so we
stood our ground. It didn’t avail my associates—they
couldn’t bluff it through. I did—somehow.
They were charged with being suspicious characters
and locked up. When Tall Jim was searched, a
pair of handcuffs and a set of false whiskers, the
latter very much like those worn by one of the night
watchmen of the bank, were found on him. This,
as I feared, gave rise to the impression that the
prisoners were plotters against the bank. To make
matters worse, a few days later another suspiciously
acting stranger was arrested in the neighborhood of
the bank. He proved to be Big Kid Wheeler, an
escaped convict from the state prison at Auburn,
New York. He was a well-known crook among the
grafting fraternity. The trio went to prison, and
thus was my force depleted.</p>

<p>But I didn’t let the lads go to prison without an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">420</span>
effort to save them. The day after Little Dick and
Tall Jim’s arrest I went to my influential friends,
who introduced me to Colonel Bill Mann, the district
attorney. I had been told he was a very
pleasant gentleman and usually open to a deal. I
had twenty thousand dollars, one half of it for him
and the other to put up as cash bail, but he declared
it was impossible to accommodate me. The bank
officials, he said, were pressing him too hard, and
that to consent to bail for the prisoners would seem
like tampering with justice. With evident regret,
he <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“I need the money, young man, but I can’t
take it.”</p>

<p>I urged him with all the persuasiveness I possessed
to come to my relief, but he, with repeated
regrets, said he must not. So Tall Jim and Little
Dick went to prison for two and a half years, and
the Big Kid was returned to Auburn prison.</p>

<p>Thus came to naught, for the time being, the
energetic work of Billy and my planning for three
months. But I wasn’t discouraged—the game was
too large. I would not go down to defeat so easily.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">421</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XXIII" class="vspace">CHAPTER XXIII<br />

<span class="subhead">THE PLOT THAT FAILED</span></h2>
</div>

<p>Despite the discovery by the bank officials that a
plot was afloat to obtain the riches of their vault,
and regardless of the fact that I had lost three of
my trained men, I determined to push on to success.
It was in vain that I more than half regretted my
decision not to “turn off the trick” on a week-day
morning, while Billy was on duty, inasmuch as
he had offered to take every risk. “But,” I said to
myself, “why wail over what can’t be undone? It’s
up to you, George, to act.”</p>

<p>More than ever I needed success. My men were
in jail, necessitating the engaging of others, and I
wanted to obtain the Corn Exchange’s millions,
knowing that I could, by a judicious handling of it,
get them to freedom once more. I prided myself
upon never leaving those associated with me in the
lurch, when there was any way reasonable to assist
them. I must keep my record good in this respect—my
fellow-conspirators must be taken from jail.
Therefore I continued to scheme, assisted loyally,
as before, by my faithful Billy. One thing I was
fully cognizant of, and that was, I must not be seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">422</span>
in the vicinity of the bank again by any one who
might prove to be a meddler. I might not be so
fortunate as to escape arrest a second time. To lose
my liberty would entirely undo my careful plotting
of months. Thinking how I must proceed next, my
teeth came together with a click as I said: “Tom
Davis, I’ve got to reckon with you. Where’ll my
heaviest guns find you weakest?”</p>

<p>Well, I began to train the guns, and I soon found
the most vulnerable spot in Tom’s armament of
honesty. If I say it was through his pocket, I may
be correct, but of that I’m not certain. He may
have loved money, but I ascertained there was something
he loved more than that, vastly—faro. He
was simply infatuated with the game—not with
the money he might win. The excitement of winning
money was, by far, more pleasure to him than
its possession. It hadn’t taken much shadowing to
inform me that he would feed his craving at the
gaming-table until every dollar he’d earned was
gone, and then rise with a sigh because he hadn’t
more to satisfy it. He would play at no other game.
No other opportunity to place money in the balance
could infatuate him. As the serpent possesses the
power to charm the bird, so had faro the power to
rob Tom Davis of his senses.</p>

<p>Well, I fired a hot shot at him, and it landed.
Every one addicted to gambling can be reached with
money in one way or another. Armed with this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">423</span>
knowledge, I consulted with Detective Josh Taggart
as to the possibility of winning Davis’s friendship
by a monetary consideration. Taggart wouldn’t
advise me at all, confessing he didn’t know how to
handle him. Having ascertained how thoroughly
Davis was wedded to faro, I, however, determined to
fling final success on a turn of the card and take the
long, long chance.</p>

<p>I knew that Peter Burns was friendly with Davis,
so at an opportune time I, accompanied by him,
went to the latter’s house. I say opportune time,
for the reason that a day or two previously he’d
played at his favorite game, and as a result wouldn’t
for many days recover from his loss. To find my
victim in a mood like this, it seemed to me, was
fertile soil in which to sow the seeds of corruption.
We called on Davis on South Broad Street on an
afternoon, and I was introduced to him as Burns’s
personal friend. I marked well how the day watchman’s
eyes opened wide when they rested on me.
If I had thought he wouldn’t recognize in me the
man who escaped on that memorable Sunday morning,
it would have been too late, but as I didn’t care,
I quickly let him know that the recognition was
mutual. Upon recovering from his astonishment, he
said, none too cheerfully, “Seeing that you’ve come
boldly to my house to see me, I’ll try to forget that
we’ve met before.”</p>

<p>I replied that I was sorry we hadn’t met for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">424</span>
first time this day, and it was very generous on his
part to thus consider me, adding, “I committed no
overt act in being near the bank, and as my associates
have both been jailed for presuming to commit that
act, there wouldn’t be at this time any compensation
to you for hauling me up.”</p>

<p>Several visits were made to Davis’s house, and we
grew quite friendly. Once he expressed the dread
that some one would learn the identity of Burns and
myself, which might get him into serious difficulty
with his employers. I assured him that we would
be careful. More than once I broadly hinted that it
was hard luck to be short of money, and sympathized
with him or any one else who might be in that predicament
when they needed it most. At the final
visit we had an extremely warm conversation on the
merits of my case. Finally, having decided that
I could win Davis, I said: “All I ask of you is not
to interfere with strangers you may see hanging
about the Corn Exchange Bank. You’re not in its
employ, and you’re not responsible; keep your eyes
shut tight when you happen to pass through that
neighborhood. In fact, don’t go there! You can
find other streets with good sidewalks.”</p>

<p>“What you ask, I reasonably can do,” Davis replied,
after some thought, “but I may lose a chance
of catching the bird in the tree. The bank officials
wouldn’t forget me then, I’m inclined to think.”</p>

<p>“Well, you haven’t got rich over interfering with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">425</span>
my plans,” I said, “and it’s true you might get a
stake if you caught that bird in the tree, but you
haven’t got it yet. Now,” I went on, taking a big
roll of greenbacks from my pocket, “you must know
something about bird-catching when you play faro,
and how mighty uncertain it is.”</p>

<p>Davis started from his chair. Not unaware was
he of the fact that employers who take the pains to
ascertain what their employees do are very apt to
distrust those who gamble much. I knew, too, that
he was thinking hard, and I could see that his eyes
curiously fastened on the bills, as though he would
fathom how much I had. I could have told him that
I held eight one-hundred-dollar bills in the roll, but
said nothing for fully five minutes. Before Davis
spoke I realized that he would fall. His eyes betrayed
him.</p>

<p>“Since you look at it in that light,” he said,
slowly, and in a half-whisper—for, though we were
alone, his wife, a goodly, honest dame, so far as I
could tell on short acquaintance, was in an adjoining
room hushing a babe to sleep on her breast—“since
you look at it in that light, I won’t see any
one—”</p>

<p>“Since you look at it in that light, Tom,” said I,
copying his words, “there are eight hundred dollars,”
and I forced the bills into his hand. I must say his
fingers trembled, and let me say it truthfully to his
credit, if credit it be, his hand seemed to close on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">426</span>
the money most reluctantly. But I had him, and no
faltering on my part would lose me the victory. To
make the corrupt bargain more binding, I said,
meaning every word, which Davis knew full well:
“If anything comes off, you’ll get ten per cent of it;
better promise I can’t give, for my word is as strong
as my bond.”</p>

<p>Davis sat rigid, grasping the money. His big fist
shook, and there was a dazed look in his eyes.</p>

<p>“No—man,” said he; “don’t offer me anything
like that. I don’t want the bank’s money. I’ll just
keep away—that’s all.”</p>

<p>“Talk no more about that now, Tom. We will
let time deal with the rest. Just keep your hands
off and your tongue dumb; don’t breathe a word
about money out there,” and I pointed to the next
room, where came sounds of a fond mother crooning
to her babe. “Good-by, Tom,” were my parting
words. He was a sorry, pale picture, I trow. Many
times since I’ve been smitten with remorse; but then
it was different then—years change one so. It had
not taken long to corrupt Davis, but he was a hard
proposition, much harder than I’ve been able in my
poor way to make clear.</p>

<p>Having been successful, it was time to resume my
efforts to loot the bank. I had the combination
numbers of the vault and safes, and all that I must
do was to provide a means of getting into the bank
unseen and carry off the “dust.” During the days<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">427</span>
I labored with Davis my faithful Billy had not been
idle. President Noblit had been induced to hire an
outside watchman for the bank, whom we could use
for certain purposes. This advantage had been the
result of the discovery of the plot to rob the bank.
I smiled at Billy’s cleverness when he told me that
he’d got the new watchman job for his brother, who
would be “right” for us.</p>

<p>In proceeding with my plans it was deemed wise
to keep an eye on Tom Davis. I comforted myself
with the belief that he would not interfere, but a
vigilant watch was kept on him by one of Josh Taggart’s
underlings. Besides, Billy was to report to
me if he saw or heard of him in communication
with the bank officials. Once Taggart reported
that Davis was acting very suspiciously at times,
and that there was some reason to doubt his good
faith. Though bothered a little by this turn of
affairs, I kept on with my plans. Occasionally I
saw Davis, but I did not allow him to know I had
any doubt of him. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t
seen anything to break my faith. To be on the safe
side I told him of certain plans, which were diametrically
different from those on which I was proceeding.
In this way I hoped to steer clear of an ambush.
In other words, I didn’t tell Davis that I intended to
“pull off” the trick between half-past eleven o’clock
on Saturday night and two o’clock Sunday morning
of the next week. During these hours I knew<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">428</span>
that he usually stowed himself away to sleep in a
Front Street building, several squares from the Corn
Exchange Bank.</p>

<p>At my first attempt on the bank I had shipped one
of my teams to Philadelphia as a means of “getaway,”
so similar arrangements for a dash toward
New York were completed for the second attempt.
I expected to be well out of town by daylight, and,
having a good start, the rest, under ordinary conditions,
would be easy. That there might not be
any mistakes, I went over the whole plan with Billy.
He was cautioned to see that his brother attended to
his duties strictly, except on the night of the robbery.
In other words he must remain on his post, and not
wander to a near-by saloon for a great deal of
whiskey, and a little heat, the weather being cold.
Billy promised that his brother would not miss the
chance to help make success for us. Among other
things I decided on, was to use Billy’s brother as a
blind capture; that is, take him in the bank bound
and gagged as though he’d been caught unawares on
his post of duty. This would ward suspicion from
him and Billy as well. I had several new associates
who’d come well recommended to me, and I put them
through the lesson,—at least, told them all it was
needful for them to know. Two of them had police
uniforms supplied by Josh Taggart. They were to
enter the bank by means of the duplicate key to the
Chestnut Street door. Being in the uniform of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">429</span>
regular police, the night watchmen would be thrown
off their guard, and to add to the tangle my associates
would pretend to arrest them for a violation of
some one of their duties. When this part was played
correctly, I and the other lads would come in with the
bound outside watchman. At that moment the fake
coppers would throw the night watchman or men to
the floor and do the gagging and binding trick, and
the way would be clear to the vault!</p>

<p>With these plans well in hand, it seemed to me
that all that lay between me and success was the
wait for the important day to come. For the second
time, after months of scheming and counterplotting,
I had apparently surmounted many difficulties, and
it seemed to me that perseverance was about to earn
its oft-boasted title of a reward winner, in my case.
It lacked only eight days of the Saturday night for
which I anxiously waited, when the unexpected again
happened. I swore roundly, not at President Noblit,
but at another. With vigilance that should be
the possession of every high official in the banking
world impressed with the responsibility of handling
the property of others, the president paid an unexpected
visit to the bank early in the morning
hours. Naturally, he wanted to know if his watchmen
were attending to their duties. And simply
enough, he looked for the outside watchman first.
Billy’s brother was nowhere to be seen. President
Noblit went to the nearest saloon, and hadn’t to go<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">430</span>
any farther, for there the watchman was, seated comfortably
next to the stove. He was two blocks off
his post of duty. Thus ended the bank watchman
career of Billy’s brother, and with him went my
second attempt to loot the Corn Exchange Bank. A
new watchman for the outside was engaged, and he
proved to be the right sort of a man—for the best
protection of the bank. I wasn’t the only one who
cursed Billy’s brother, for Billy took a hand, and he
wasn’t at a loss for words.</p>

<p>Side-tracked again as I was, yet Billy remained
stanch, while I was still filled with determination to
make the enterprise a success. After a few weeks’
rest, I began to scheme once more. We saw that the
inside routine of the bank was about the same, the
combinations to the vault and safes remaining unchanged.
The only noticeable move made by the
officials was the purchase of a building adjoining
the bank on the Second Street side. I suspected that
President Noblit had done this to defeat any tunnelling
scheme that might be undertaken. This, with
the diligent new outside watchman, constituted about
the only difference in the outside conditions of the
bank from those existing at the second attempt.</p>

<p>“Three times and out” was an expression I had
often heard when a boy, and it seemed to me in this
bank-breaking enterprise in which I was having so
hard a time, that the saying should have been, “Three
times and win.” At any rate I resolved to make the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">431</span>
third attempt to enter the door at which I had so
long been knocking for millions. Ay, time had become
reckoned into months since I began the plotting.
Much thought, patience, pride, besides trusted associates,
had been expended in my efforts. I had
reached a point where it seemed to be out of the
question for me to surrender, as long as I was free
of arrest. And the game most assuredly was worth
fighting for. A goodly sum of money already had
been put in the enterprise, but I realized that more
must be used in the next attack. Weary of combating
obstacles on the outside, in the form of interfering
night watchmen, besotted tools, and the like, I was
determined to strike from another quarter. I would
work from the roof of the bank. To further this
plan, the leasing of a store or an office was necessary.
Not long after this decision I had hired a second-story
loft in a building at the rear of the bank,
devoted to the wool business. The loft, the roof of
which was on a level with the bank’s, appeared to
possess just the vantage of which I was in quest.
Within a few days a very busy lot of wholesale
dealers in tobacco took possession of the loft, and
it is needless to explain that these active men were
myself and followers. Having established the business,
I proceeded to provide a safe working road from
the tobacco house to the scuttle of the Corn Exchange
Bank. Of course this was done at night, when honest
folk were, or should have been, in bed. The scuttle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">432</span>
on my building was easily manipulated; and after a
night or two of investigation I had succeeded in
getting a clear passage from the bank scuttle down
through the various floors, to the iron door which
separated me from the banking office. This door
was a pretty difficult proposition to solve. It was
ponderous and strongly bolted and barred on the
inside. To cut through it alone would have been a
tough job, but with two watchmen in the bank’s office
it was out of the question. An entrance would have
to be obtained by quieter means. It might be possible
to corrupt one of the inside watchmen, but that
would mean weeks, perhaps months, of valuable time.
No; Billy must come into play once more. I would
demonstrate how faithful to duty the inside watchmen
were. If they were watchful to the extreme,
why, what I had in mind would be useless in forwarding
the enterprise.</p>

<p>Meeting Billy, I said: “Now, lad, I want you to
leave the iron door leading from the office to the
upper floors unlocked when you quit the bank at
six <span class="smcap smaller">P.M.</span> I want to test the night watchmen. If they
fail to discover your neglect, why, well and good for
us.”</p>

<p>The next evening Billy carefully left the door unfastened,
and at the midnight following I made an
inspection. Good—the watchmen had not locked it!
There was hope of getting to the vault by this
means. But I would not depend upon one instance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">433</span>
of oversight on the part of the watchmen; three
opportunities must be given them to prove their
negligence. If they thus condemned themselves, it
would show to me that they trusted to Billy alone
as the caretaker of that door. For the next two
days the experiment was kept up. Upon making
the nightly visits, I found the door as Billy would
leave it. This seemed to be the best kind of proof
that I might depend on getting at the vault through
the iron door.</p>

<p>With this favorable outlook I decided to “turn off
the trick” the next Saturday night, only forty-eight
hours away. Billy was cautioned not to fail me.
His task would be to leave the door unfastened,
without fail. Incidentally, he was to take a look at
the scuttle of the bank. About that, however, I was
not much concerned, for it had been left unlocked
every night since I began the work. Not over
cautious were those inside watchmen. In every
other respect, so far as I could determine, I had the
plot well in hand. For the third time I had my
team at the beck. In order to make the “get-away”
quicker, I provided a relay of horses which would
take the “dust” to New York, where it would never
be in the possession of the Corn Exchange Bank
again. I felt confident that a third disappointment
wasn’t due. Surely perseverance such as had been
shown would finally be rewarded, even though the
recipient was a burglar.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">434</span>
Again a night for action came and found me
ready. My associates were well drilled. Billy the
faithful one—to me—had obeyed, implicitly, his
instructions.</p>

<p>“The very last thing I did,” he assured me, that
evening, “was to examine the scuttle of the bank
and the iron door to the office, and both were left
unfastened. All you’ve got to do is walk in on the
watchmen.”</p>

<p>A more favorable night for the loot couldn’t have
been selected, had I been the creator of the weather.
It was as black as could be. In fact it was as black
as a black cat would look in a dark cellar, and the
moon, thanks to her queenly favor, wasn’t to put in
an early appearance that night. That our working
across the roofs to the bank might not be detected,
I had provided thick woollen blankets, which were
laid, and soon there was a pathway as soft and yielding
to the foot as you please. It would have made
a fine stepping for a dainty bride from church to
carriage.</p>

<p>In the neighborhood of two o’clock Sunday morning,
I sent one of my associates over the roofs to the
scuttle of the bank, with a small kit of tools in case
we should need them. As to the hour for making
the strike, I thought I would wait until half-past
four, instead of earlier. The watchman who was
accustomed to shirk his duty usually left at that
hour of late. And it seemed to me that we might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">435</span>
meet with better success by delaying, for there would
be but one watchman to overcome. My bogus
policemen would be quite capable of dealing with
two watchmen, but there was less chance of failure,
however, in handling one. I hoped to be in the
vault and have its contents over the roof and in
my loft at five o’clock, and soon after that on the
road.</p>

<p>A few minutes before four o’clock I joined my
associates, and we went down in the bank building.
A cold sweat broke over me as I tried the iron door.
It would not budge. The watchman hadn’t gone
yet, but I felt certain that something was wrong.
Was another failure to be scored? Good heavens!
We lay low for half an hour, and then I heard the
departure of one of the watchmen. Then I went at
the door again, cautiously, that I might not alarm
the watchman. I couldn’t move it. It was locked
and barred! Had Billy failed me? No; of that I
felt certain. He was true blue. But fastened the
door was, and hope of getting into the bank through
it was dead, for the present. So angry was I at the
outset, that I was tempted to smash at the door,
regardless of consequences! Of course, that would
have been madness and would have meant discovery
and state prison. Calmness came and good judgment
with it. There was nothing to do but retreat,
and that we did, taking our tools and gathering up
the soft footway we’d made for only a failure. Back<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">436</span>
we went to the loft. Heavens! but the third failure
was disappointing. My heart about failed me.
Three times the iron door had been left unfastened;
and as many times, when I didn’t want to use it, I
had found it seemingly yearning to be used. At the
critical moment it had failed.</p>

<p>After a long consultation with my associates, including
Billy, the enterprise was hung up, but not
entirely abandoned. I knew that the bank’s officers
were contemplating extensive repairs about the
building, soon, and that it would be too dangerous,
under the conditions, to proceed with new plans.
Besides, there was that hidden in the cellar of the
bank that I would not have found there for a considerable
amount of money. Billy had carried in a
kit of burglars’ tools, an article at a time, until a
fair-sized bundle had been gathered there for use
in an emergency. If repairs were to be made, the
cellar would no doubt be cleaned and the tools discovered.
The blame might fall on Billy. It didn’t
suit me, either, to have a lot of high explosive found
in the bank; it would cause too general an investigation
and perhaps a change of the combination on
the vault, and the safes as well. Of a truth, for
several weeks there lay in the cellar several powerful
jimmies, a copper hammer, several steel wedges,
braces, and drills, and a number of smaller instruments
for finer work. Billy removed these articles,
and I felt better satisfied.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">437</span>
As long as I had a level-headed fellow like Billy
with me, I said I’d not give up the plot to rob the
bank, and I meant it. Through three separate
attempts to accomplish the loot he had stood by me,
ready to assume all sorts of risks; and he was just
as anxious as ever to continue. During the time I
knew him, even at the beginning, he did not appear
to be any too strong physically, and along toward
the last he seemed to be rapidly losing health. It was
perhaps a month or six weeks after the last attempt,
that he grew so ill that his retirement from the
bank was necessary. About that time I realized,
with sorrow, that he hadn’t long to live. Discouraged
because of the many reverses I had sustained, I
at length concluded that I should be obliged to place
the Corn Exchange Bank loot enterprise on the
“back number” list.</p>

<p>Of all the “putters up” of jobs with whom I had
come in contact in a long, varied experience, Billy,
without a doubt, stood at the head. For faithfulness
and iron nerve, and a disposition to use both with
the hope of winning wealth by unlawful means,
I believe he had no equal. Many times since
I have wondered how long the bank continued
to use the combinations which Billy purloined under
my teaching. As he was the only one, except myself,
having knowledge of our visits to the vault,
none of the officials ever knew how we, on those occasions,
surveyed the interior of the money safes,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">438</span>
into which we might easily have broken our way and
carried off a few hundreds of thousands. Perhaps
these pages may come to the attention of some one
connected with the bank three decades ago, in
which case this history will no doubt prove interesting.
If I have gone too much into detail in telling
of my efforts to rob the bank, I trust that I shall be
dealt with leniently; my object in doing so being to
clearly demonstrate what difficulties I encountered,
what watchfulness on the part of President Noblit
did, what fairly faithful service of inside watchmen
accomplished toward saving the bank’s millions to its
stockholders and depositors, and how nearly successful
I was in my efforts to possess what did not belong
to me. And I would have come out victorious,
there’s no doubt, had the iron door been found as
Billy Hatch left it. Without question the inside
watchmen discovered it unfastened. I will not say
how they came to do so, for I know not. Perhaps
Tom Davis told them that the bank might be robbed,
and they became more watchful. Whether or not
Davis was faithful to me, I do not know. I am
inclined to think that he was faithful. I believe the
door was accidentally discovered unfastened. Had it
been otherwise, it seems to me the bank scuttle would
have been examined and fastened. It was open all
night. It is with regret to-day that I meditate over
the energy I put into the plan to loot the bank. If
Billy and I had worked together as energetically in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">439</span>
a worthy cause, we should have accomplished, no
doubt, something that might have lifted us to a
higher plane of thought, and fame might have
crowned us; but instead naught came to us, save
remorse and poverty, and at the end oblivion.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">440</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XXIV" class="vspace">CHAPTER XXIV<br />

<span class="subhead">THE PERFIDY OF CAPTAIN JIM IRVING</span></h2>
</div>

<p>“The hounds—interfering, sneaking hounds—I
hate ’em!” roared Captain James Irving, the head
of the New York Detective Bureau in Mulberry
Street.</p>

<p>“The infernal meddlers—that’s what they are,
cap!” said Detective Sergeant Phil Farley, bolstering
up his captain’s fury.</p>

<p>“I wish they were in ——!” continued Irving, as
he paced—almost ran—from one end to the other
of his private office.</p>

<p>“That same, cap—and the devil keep ’em there
till it freezes over.”</p>

<p>“By the eternal, they’ll not beat me out of my
own,” fumed Irving. “What right have these
Pinkerton hounds to mix in my business? If I
feel like doing things my way, suddenly these devils
of private detectives poke in their noses. What
right, I say, have they to interfere with the regular
police?”</p>

<p>“None—the d——d meddlers. But what’s the
last knock from them fellers, cap?” asked Farley.</p>

<p>“What? This: Scotland Yard has cabled me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">441</span>
that George Macdonnell is on board the <i>Thuringia</i>,
which lands here from Havre to-morrow, if on time.
Macdonnell has got a lot of ‘dust,’ no doubt, and
he’s cabled that I’d better get to him ahead of the
Pinkertons. He expects me to help him out.
That’s good enough; but what’s messed me up
is the word I’ve got that that devil, Bob Pinkerton,
who some folks say is honest and the police are
crooks, has hired a tug and gone down the bay to
meet the ship—out at sea, if necessary.”</p>

<p>“What will you do about it?” asked Farley.</p>

<p>“What’ll I do?” cried Irving; “what I should
have been doing, instead of blowing here—order
the patrol boat this minute, ready for a sea trip if
necessary, Farley. I’ll go them one better. Don’t
waste a minute. Get a double crew aboard, extra
engineers and pilots, provisions for three days—anything,
everything, to get away and beat out Bob
Pinkerton’s mix-ins, curse ’em—the dogs.” Farley
started for the door, but Irving called him back.</p>

<p>“Now, Farley, it means dollars, thousands, perhaps,
to us if we get to Macdonnell first, so I can’t tell you
to be too careful. Have the <i>Seneca</i> steamed up as I
have ordered—in less than an hour. I’ll be at the
Battery long before that.”</p>

<p>“I’ll fill the bill, cap; did I ever fail you?”</p>

<p>“I’m warning you—that’s all. Now hustle!”
And Farley was gone in an instant. Immediately
Irving called together several of his trusted followers,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">442</span>
and made hurried preparations for a race down New
York Bay after Pinkerton’s tugboat.</p>

<p>This was midway of the year 1873. Early in that
year, the great Bank of England forgeries by the
Bidwell brothers, Macdonnell, Noyes, and others almost
as notorious, were first committed and carried
along for several months. Finally discovery came,
and the forger band scattered. Macdonnell fled
from London to France and took ship for America,
but, having quarrelled with his mistress, was betrayed
by her. He had always acted “on the
square” with the New York police Bank Ring, and,
believing them faithful, had cabled to Captain Irving
to get first hand on him. Macdonnell had something
like eighty-three thousand dollars in United
States government bonds in his pockets and one
hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in cash
and bonds hidden in soiled linen in the bottom of
his trunk. This was his share of the million and
a half which the forger band had gotten from the
Bank of England. It can be readily surmised why
Captain Irving was extremely anxious to reach him
before the Pinkertons.</p>

<p>Irving was at the pier, ready and fuming, before
the <i>Seneca</i> had been properly steamed up and provisioned.
He raced about, fore and aft, and created
more than a little confusion and consequent delay.
Finally the pilot believed he was ready, and Phil
Farley said he was certain of it.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">443</span>
“Extra pilots and engineers aboard?” asked the
captain.</p>

<p>“Plenty, sir!” replied the master pilot.</p>

<p>“Double crews, Farley?”</p>

<p>“Everything you ordered has been done,” said
Farley, “and we’re waiting for your word to be off.”</p>

<p>“What are you waiting for?” roared Irving to
the pilot.</p>

<p>Within five minutes the <i>Seneca</i>, a fifty-foot
steamer, was ploughing down the bay under a good
head of steam. Sandy Hook was the objective point,
for there all incoming steamers took on port pilots
to guide them through the dangerous channels.
Irving paced the deck of the <i>Seneca</i> like a madman
and growled because more speed wasn’t forced from
the propeller. He could not rest till he got where
the Pinkertons were and to the steamer which bore
Macdonnell.</p>

<p>About the same hour Captain Irving heard from
Scotland Yard, the Bank of England’s attorneys
communicated with their New York legal representatives,
empowering them to engage the Pinkerton
detectives to arrest Macdonnell. Now the
chief of the agency men knew that the Bank Ring
was protecting the fugitive, and also were aware of
the extremely friendly relations between him and
Captain Irving. More than that, the agency believed
that if by any chance the former had any cash
or salable bonds, the captain wouldn’t leave a leaf<span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">444</span>
unturned to get possession of them; that, such
being the case, the Bank of England might search
ever so much for its property, but it would be in
vain. To defeat a move that might entail that
outcome, the chief of the Pinkertons decided to
quietly steam to Sandy Hook and possess Macdonnell
and whatever property he might have.
Accordingly, a few minutes after this determination,
a tug was chartered and equipped for a sea trip.
Upon leaving the Battery it was noticed that the
police steamer <i>Seneca</i> was lying at her berth, with
no unusual activity aboard her. Which was good
information for the Pinkertons, as it indicated that
Captain Irving had not received word from Scotland
Yard—otherwise he’d be up and doing.</p>

<p>It was sincerely hoped by the Pinkertons that
their movements would escape the attention of the
police. But it was not so, for the spies, ever ready
to report instantly anything the agency detectives
did, soon had the news to the Bank Ring.</p>

<p>In those days this private detective agency was yet
in its infancy in New York, but had attracted a great
deal of attention from the public for its honesty.
Strictly speaking, I hated the Pinkertons as
thoroughly as the police did, because of their
interference with my professional movements. Many
a time I had been enraged and beaten out of thousands
by the popping up of one or more of the
agency men. Nevertheless, I had to acknowledge<span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">445</span>
that they were honest, and that it was dangerous
for a crook when a Pinkerton was on his trail.</p>

<p>But the tug hadn’t been an hour on the trip when
Captain Irving heard of it, and dusk had just
about set in when the Pinkertons realized that
either they’d been given away to the police, or the
latter had steamed down the bay without anticipating
a race for Macdonnell. As for Irving, his
eyes lighted up with delight upon recognizing the
Pinkerton boat and learning that the steamer
had not been sighted.</p>

<p>It was to be a game of vigilance and a test of
the boats. Which would make the better speed?
Irving had in view a rich haul for his incentive,
and the chief of the Pinkertons wanted to get
Macdonnell and save to the Bank of England its
property. It was to be a race of corrupt purpose
against common honesty,—the police Bank Ring,
swift after graft, and the Pinkertons, earnest to fight
for justice.</p>

<p>If ever there was a born fighter, Captain Jim
Irving was one. He looked the part and acted it,
was strong-purposed and revengeful. He wanted
Macdonnell for his money and he wanted to
demonstrate his prowess over that of the agency
detectives.</p>

<p>“I hate them,” he confided to me once, “as the
devil hates holy water. I’d wade through the infernal
regions to beat them out at anything. They are too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">446</span>
much on the level, and they interfere with me.
They’d better steer clear of Jim Irving, for I’m
likely to be a peril to them one of these days.”</p>

<p>Not the smallest detail essential to the furtherance
of his plan to get first hands on George
Macdonnell was neglected. He ordered the <i>Seneca’s</i>
boiler steamed up to the top of its capacity, and the
safety-valve was weighted down to an unheard-of
degree. He would have had the engineer take even
further risk, but that the latter wouldn’t do. The
furnace was kept well coaled and the stokers were
under orders not to bank the fires. The extra crew
was ordered below, that they might be in readiness
should the ship be sighted that night. He said he
wanted no weary men on duty at the critical
moment.</p>

<p>“I’m going to give ’em a bitter race,” Irving said
with an oath to Phil Farley. “I swear to the imps
of hades them Pinkertons won’t get Macdonnell.”</p>

<p>One advantage that Irving believed he had was
the <i>Seneca’s</i> speed. There was reason, he said, to
feel satisfied that it was much greater than that of
the Pinkerton tug, and with an even start, when the
ship was sighted, victory would be certain to top his
efforts. A watch, consisting of two of the picked
men of the crews, was ordered on duty until midnight,
when, the ship not being in sight, another
watch would relieve it. Irving offered a reward
of one hundred dollars to the man who’d first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">447</span>
bring to him the news of the sighting of the ship,
and fifty dollars to the second man so reporting.
He believed that this incentive would obviate any
danger of the Pinkertons’ getting a lead on him in
this respect. Regardless of this precaution, Irving
resolved to keep an eye out himself, and he smiled
happily over nature’s favoring, for the night was
just what he would have it. The sky was cloudless
and the stars shone brilliantly, and as the night wore
on to morning the full moon swept up from the
bosom of the ocean and spread a broad expanse
of silver which made it possible to discover anything
within a mile or more in shape of a ship. The
deep-sea roll played roughly with the <i>Seneca</i>, but
the wind, which had blown treacherously in the
early hours of the watch, had settled to a breeze,
and left the sea very favorable to the <i>Seneca</i> in a
race. Irving had hoped that this condition would
prevail, for the big Pinkerton tug was as stanch as
a pilot-boat at breasting rough seas. In fact, it
seemed as though the infernal one, were it possible,
had control of the night for the sole benefit of Jim
Irving’s scheming and was doing everything to
crown him with victory.</p>

<p>And thus the hours—mighty long ones to those on
board the <i>Seneca</i>—went by, but utilized by the captain
to the best advantage. Among other things, he
drilled Detective Farley in the part he was to play
on boarding the ship. In this drama on the sea,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">448</span>
Farley was to follow a close second when Irving
climbed to the ship’s deck, and when Macdonnell
was arrested, it was Farley’s part to cover Irving
when the Macdonnell package was passed. To insure
success, the engineers and pilots were promised
a hundred dollars each if the <i>Seneca</i> was first alongside
the <i>Thuringia</i>. As a matter of fact, talk of
rewards was reeled off by the yard, until every man
on board was fired to a pitch of enthusiasm that
satisfied all the craving the captain had for action.
He was gloating over the prospect when at last a
light, that could only come from a steamship, hove in
sight to the southward. There wasn’t anything to
tell whether or not this light came from the ship
Irving sought, but he wouldn’t take a chance of
losing a minute. He would know what ship it was
that carried the light.</p>

<p>There was prompt action on the <i>Seneca</i>, and the
Pinkertons were also stirring. The anchors of both
craft were quickly weighed and full speed was
ordered. Not three minutes had passed ere the race
was on. The morning—for it was close on four
o’clock—was still flooded with moonlight, and the
sea was, perhaps, a trifle rougher than before midnight.
When the two vessels had gotten well under
way, it was seen that the <i>Seneca</i> had the better of
the Pinkerton tug by about an eighth of a mile in
the start. Again, the infernal one had scored a
point for graft as against honesty. Captain Irving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_449">449</span>
patted Phil Farley on the back and smiled gleefully.
On dashed the police boat, throwing the spray over
half her length, as she plunged through swell after
swell and received each time a shaking from stem
to stern.</p>

<p>“She’s doing well,” shouted the captain down to
the engineer in charge. “Crowd on all steam—remember
the reward—a hundred to every man if
we win over them hounds behind us.”</p>

<p>Meanwhile the Pinkertons were forcing the race,
too. The big tug was ugly to look at, but in her
machinery and tenacity to break through the swells
there lay danger to Irving’s success. Presently—perhaps
fifteen minutes after the start—the tug
showed certain and startling gain on the police boat.
Irving was the first to discover it, and the glee with
which he had taken the previous conditions was
suddenly turned into concern. The ship’s lights
were fully two miles distant yet, and if the race continued
under the existing conditions, the Pinkertons
would win beyond doubt. Irving had erred in estimating
the speeding qualities of the tug. Something
must be done. He began to fume and curse—at
which he was proficient—and wondered if it were
forgotten that rewards had been offered to all hands
if victory came to the <i>Seneca</i>.</p>

<p>“I’ll double them!” he cried down to the engineer.
“Put on every pound of steam you’ve got.
More speed!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_450">450</span>
The engineer gritted his teeth, realized that the
boiler was doing all and more than it should do, and
that the furnace grates were white-hot, despite the
fact that the ash-pan was clean and well wet down.</p>

<p>“More speed down there,” repeated Irving, an oath
puncturing every sentence. “Crowd on steam;
I mean to blow this boat to hell, but I’ll get
there.”</p>

<p>The engineer set the weight on the safety lever at
the extreme end of the rod and ordered the stokers
to shovel in more coal and turn on the blowers. Then
the throttle-valve was thrown open wide. It seemed
as though the propeller would be torn to pieces. It
flew through the water, until every timber in the
<i>Seneca</i> was vibrating like a timbrel. The vessel had
never been forced to such work. The engineer was
pale and trembling, Captain Irving flushed and gleeful.
The <i>Seneca</i> was gaining again. Her nose was
fairly under water half the time, and sheets of spray
were flying everywhere. Those on deck were
drenched to the skin. The pilot had difficulty in
keeping to the course, owing to the rain of water on
the pilot-house windows.</p>

<p>“At it, men—at it—we win,” cried Irving.
“Five minutes more like this, and if we’re not in
hell, we’ll be alongside the ship and before those
cheap dogs.”</p>

<p>“It’s the ship we want, cap,” cried Farley, running
up to Irving. “It’s the <i>Thuringia</i>.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_451">451</span>
“I know it, fool,” shouted Irving; “and we win,
if this boat don’t blow up or go down.”</p>

<p>At the same time the Pinkerton tug was gaining
on the <i>Seneca</i>. She was the better boat in the
smooth sea as well as the rough. Her stack was
emitting clouds of black smoke, and her long, strong
exhausts of steam told what great work she was
doing; but the fates seemed against her. Would
honesty win over corruption? We shall see.</p>

<p>As I have said, the infernal one seemed to have
control of affairs that time. The <i>Seneca</i>, losing
at every revolution of her propeller, had too much
of a lead to be overtaken. With a shout from
Irving, she finally ran alongside the <i>Thuringia</i>. A
deck-hand, under Irving’s instructions, swung a line
to the steamer’s deck, where it was caught by a seaman.
The pilot of the <i>Seneca</i> ran her bow to bow
with the bigger vessel, and quickly they were travelling
at one speed. In the meantime, Captain Irving
hailed an officer who came to the rail in much wonder.</p>

<p>“Throw me a ladder,” he said. “I’m from the
New York detective force. I’ve a warrant for some
one on board. It’s a case of life and death!”</p>

<p>In a moment he stepped on deck, closely followed
by Farley. As he did so the Pinkerton tug warped
up to the <i>Thuringia</i> and there was another clamor
for a ladder. A moment later the chief of the
Pinkertons, followed by a lieutenant, clambered to
the deck, but it was too late!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_452">452</span>
Daylight had begun to show and a number of passengers,
anxious to get a first glimpse of America,
were on deck when Irving came aboard. Several
men were grouped on the saloon deck, among whom
was George Macdonnell. He expected Irving would
make a sagacious move and was not surprised when
he saw the police boat making for the ship. He
was ready to pass over eighty thousand dollars and
more in gilt-edged bonds to the chief of detectives,
having great confidence in the result. The instant
Irving and Farley set eyes on the forger they went
up to him. The latter made the arrest, while
the former, crowding near, received a package
from the forger, which he deftly slipped in his
pocket. Just as the arrest was formally made
known, the chief of the Pinkertons came to the
group. He made but a feeble protest. He realized
that it was his play to await developments. Honest
motives had been defeated by the avarice of those
paid to defend the rights of the people. No one
was more delighted over Irving’s victory than the
forger himself. Nevertheless, he didn’t tell, even
the police, that on board of the ship, was his small
trunk containing nearly one hundred and twenty-five
thousand dollars. He would communicate with
his sister, through his forger friend, George Wilkes,
and have her get the trunk at the custom-house.</p>

<p>To say that Jim Irving was happy scarcely expresses
his state of satisfaction over the defeat of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_453">453</span>
the Pinkertons. Some time after this experience, in
speaking to me of the agency men, he said: “As
long as I’m at the head of the Detective Bureau, it
will be a cold day when the Pinkertons get the drop
on me in making arrests. They may have the whip-hand
in Chicago, but not in the city of New York.”</p>

<p>All hands came to the city with the ship, and before
the close of the day Macdonnell was securely
detained in Ludlow Street Jail; and not many hours
had elapsed before the Bank of England’s legal representatives
here had extradition proceedings on foot.</p>

<p>I know whereof I speak when I say that the fight
to take Macdonnell back to England was one of
the sensations of the day. It had its upper current
of interest which came to the public attention, but
there was an under current of which I had personal
knowledge, and to that I will turn the attention of
my friends.</p>

<p>Macdonnell engaged Somerville and Mott, of 27
Chambers Street, to defend him against extradition.
This law firm was the legal adviser of Colonel Hiram
Whiteley, the Secret Service chief whose acquaintance
I’d made through the attempted sale of the
ten-dollar bank-notes stolen at Washington. Somerville
and Mott decided to use Whiteley in the interest
of Macdonnell because of his great influence
with high United States officials. Mr. Somerville
consulted with Colonel Whiteley, with the result
that there was a studious examination of the extradition<span class="pagenum" id="Page_454">454</span>
clause under which the opposing attorneys
expected to send the prisoner back to England.
It was decided that this clause didn’t quite cover the
case, yet there was considerable doubt as to the outcome.
George Wilkes, who had been with the forger
band in its early operations in London, but who
had scented danger and returned to America in
season to escape the result of the exposure, saw
Macdonnell in Ludlow Street, and it was agreed to
consult with me. He and Wilkes knew that I had
considerable influence with Mr. Somerville, who
was my attorney, and also that I had a fair acquaintance
with Colonel Whiteley. Indeed, in the two
years past my friendship with Whiteley had ripened
wonderfully. Accordingly Wilkes came to see me
and detailed the circumstances. I asked him if
Macdonnell had any secrets which could be given
to the United States government, in which case I
said I believed that Colonel Whiteley would interest
himself to an extent not yet indicated to me.</p>

<p>“Whiteley is a good fellow,” said I, “and will do
anything reasonable to make himself solid with the
administration at Washington, provided he can keep
his skirts clear.”</p>

<p>“I don’t think that Mac would squeal—in fact, I
know he won’t,” said Wilkes, decisively; “so it don’t
look like doing anything on that score.”</p>

<p>“Tush for that,” I replied; “I’ll tell Whiteley that
Macdonnell has important information about a five-hundred-dollar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_455">455</span>
treasury-note plate that is missing,
which I know is giving the government a lot of
trouble. On that ground he’ll make a fight for
Mac’s release on bail as a reward for the information.
Once out on bail, and the rest will not be a
hard job you can rest assured.”</p>

<p>With this understanding I saw Colonel Whiteley
at his office in Bleecker Street, not far from Police
Headquarters, and told him I believed Macdonnell
had information of the missing treasury plate of
which he was in search; that in the event the information
didn’t pan out, there were several thousands
of dollars in the deal for him anyway. With the incentive
that he might add to his influence at Washington
by discovering a plate from which counterfeit
money was being spread abroad, together with the
fact that there would be a fat roll of money in the
bargain, Whiteley agreed to take energetic steps in
the matter. At his first chance he went to Washington
and placed the subject before an attorney highly
versed in international law and who was a personal
friend of George H. Williams, the United States
Attorney-general. The colonel also consulted with
members of the Department of Justice and, in fact,
investigated at great length into the merits of the
case. He returned with the report that the consensus
of opinion of the Washington authorities
was that the case, if properly handled before the
courts, would result in favor of Macdonnell. In<span class="pagenum" id="Page_456">456</span>
fact, the colonel made it plain that Attorney-general
Williams would advise the Department of
Justice that an extradition warrant in the case
could not legally issue. I doubt not that great
lengths would have been traversed in order to obtain
any, almost inconsequential, information of the
missing treasury plate. The mere construing of an
enigmatical treaty clause was as nothing. The
Treasury Department was in a heap of worry over
the plate, not to mention others from which the
counterfeiters were ever sending forth treasury
notes to the loss of the United States. The
recovery of the five-hundred-dollar plate alone
would be worth the price of Macdonnell’s freedom,
a dozen times over. Charles Ballard was serving a
thirty-year sentence in Albany, New York, for
turning work from this plate; but where was the
plate? It had been so industriously used that it
was becoming a menace to the financial market.
Ballard had been offered a pardon if he would disclose
its hiding-place, but he had scornfully thrown
the pardon, so to speak, in the very face of Uncle
Sam.</p>

<p>Colonel Whiteley so wrought up the interest
of the Washington authorities with my story of
Macdonnell’s alleged information that he was empowered
to offer almost any terms; was commanded,
in fact, to exhaust every plausible means to obtain
the coveted secret. Colonel Whiteley told me that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_457">457</span>
he’d be sure to obtain the prisoner’s release on bail,
provided there was any kind of chance of getting a
clew to the plate.</p>

<p>“However, there will be some expense attached to
it,” he explained, “for I had to consult with an
attorney in Washington, and his price is pretty stiff.
I’ll have to give him ten thousand or nearly that, and
there are some other charges.” I knew what he
meant, but I wondered if that wasn’t a pretty stiff
law fee where there’d been nothing more than a
consultation. However, knowing Macdonnell had
made money, I was agreeable, and declared that ten
thousand dollars would be placed in a Wall Street
trust company subject to the colonel’s order.</p>

<p>Immediately I sent for Wilkes, told him of the
situation, and advised him to get from Macdonnell
twelve one thousand-dollar bonds and that I’d
see they got to the right place. Wilkes reported to
Macdonnell, who wrote to Captain Irving, requesting
him to deliver the bearer twelve of the bonds
left in his keeping. A message came back that
staggered Macdonnell: “Let the matter stand as it
is for the present—the Pinkertons may demand the
surrender of the property,” it read.</p>

<p>Macdonnell knew that no one besides himself, Detective
Farley, and Captain Irving had witnessed the
passage of the bonds on board the steamer. In desperation,
another message was sent to Irving, but
there was no reply to it. Macdonnell was dumfounded.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_458">458</span>
He’d always been on the “square” with
the Bank Ring. Finally there had come a “throw-down”—the
Ring had “done” him.</p>

<p>“It’s a freeze-out,” he gasped to Wilkes.</p>

<p>“What about the trunk at the custom-house?”
asked his friend.</p>

<p>“I don’t dare have any one call for it. If it’s
examined, that end of the game will be gone, too.”</p>

<p>“I told Bliss about it,” said Wilkes, meaning me,
“and he told me that if you’d say the word he’d
have the trunk sent to any address you mention
within twenty-four hours.”</p>

<p>“I’m afraid to risk it—Bliss is right, but I’m
afraid to try it; maybe a woman might get it. What
do you think? My sister can try it.”</p>

<p>“Think you’d better trust to Bliss, George,” advised
Wilkes; “he stands high with Chief Whiteley
of the Secret Service. If Whiteley asks for the
trunk on the ground that it will further the interests
of the service, he’ll get it without an inspection
being made.”</p>

<p>“I don’t trust Whiteley,” said Macdonnell; “my
sister’ll get it—Mrs. Hosgrove.”</p>

<p>The next I heard from Macdonnell was that his
sister had gone to the custom-house, and, posing as
“the wife of George Matthews,”—the name tagged
on the trunk,—put in a claim for it. The unsuspecting
inspectors examined the trunk in a perfunctory
way and were about to pass it, when some soiled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_459">459</span>
linen tumbled apart and out rolled cash and bonds.
Of course “Mrs. Matthews” didn’t get the trunk.
The Pinkertons stepped in, claimed the property
for the Bank of England, and it was turned over
to the latter. Poor Macdonnell was disconsolate
enough. He made another fruitless attempt to get
bonds from Irving, and as a last resort wrote to his
old father in Canada. I told Wilkes what I could
have done—that Whiteley would have sent the
trunk, unopened, at my request, to any address that
Macdonnell had given me, and that I was sorry over
what had happened.</p>

<p>“He ought to have trusted me,” I said.</p>

<p>“It wasn’t that, George, be sure; Mac was simply
knocked out, beaten to jelly, by Irving’s treatment.
What a crooked crook that fellow is!” said
Wilkes.</p>

<p>“Now that you speak of it,” I remarked, “Irving
wanted me to sell the bonds for him—his share;
they—he and Phil Farley—divided them—something
more than eighty thousand dollars’ worth.”</p>

<p>“And you wouldn’t help him out?” asked Wilkes.</p>

<p>“The devil, no,” replied I. “When I told him
that it was Macdonnell’s bonds he wanted me to sell,
he denied it. I knew he was lying.”</p>

<p>“The sneak,” said Wilkes, at parting with me.
“Of all crooks, Bliss, the crooked cop is the
crookedest.”</p>

<p>“Right, Wilkes; good-by. Wait one moment,” I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_460">460</span>
called; “if I can help Mac, I will, but I am afraid
he won’t get out unless he can raise the ‘dust.’”</p>

<p>In the meanwhile Mr. Somerville had been doing
his best to aid Macdonnell, but Colonel Whiteley
seemed to lose heart when no money was in sight
for the Washington attorney, and all together the
prisoner’s case took a most hopeless phase. Macdonnell
was able to give a little information about
missing government plates, but it was so immaterial
and meant to be so, that, had Colonel Whiteley been
disposed to ask for his release on bail, he wouldn’t
have dared to do it. When this disheartening state
of affairs had been communicated to the prisoner, it
was quickly followed by a tearful letter from his
father, telling how the old place in Canada had been
mortgaged, and that the amount realized, together
with every dollar that could be scraped up among
relatives and friends, would not make half the sum
asked for. Macdonnell actually wept with disappointment.
Not because he was in sight of an
English prison, for that didn’t frighten him; it was
over the perfidy of Jim Irving, his miserable betrayal
by the man to whom he had so implicitly
trusted the bonds and his liberty. He resolved
once more to appeal to the chief of detectives, and
<span class="locked">wrote:—</span></p>

<p>“Jim, I appeal to your manhood, your past friendship
for me, to give me enough of the bonds to help
myself out of this mess. If you must keep more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_461">461</span>
than your share, do so, but send me the twelve bonds
I asked for. Again I appeal to your manhood.”</p>

<p>It was as though the note had never been written.
It was delivered to Captain Irving by the faithful
Wilkes, but nothing came of it. Wilkes was told
not to bother Police Headquarters too much, for it
might be dangerous.</p>

<p>Hopeless, abandoned, and beaten, when Macdonnell’s
case came before the courts, it was none the
less so; and presently he sailed away in the company
of Scotland Yard officers, and in due time was tried,
convicted, and sentenced to what is called a life term
in England. He served his time, and is now back in
America, in the West, a poor old man, who, some
folks say to-day, is honest and trying to redeem the
past. I hope so, for his sake.</p>

<p>And what became of the bonds stolen by Captain
Jim Irving? Be sure they weren’t turned over to
the Bank of England. Be certain, too, that when
Macdonnell, in a spirit of revenge, at his trial told
the court that the New York chief of detectives had
eighty thousand dollars’ worth of the Bank of England’s
property, Captain Irving, indignantly denying
the accusation, <span class="locked">said:—</span></p>

<p>“What! do the Englishmen believe the word of a
crook? Humph, damnable of them, I say.”</p>

<p>Now the bonds, as I have stated, were divided between
Irving and Farley. The former sold his share
in a Jersey City “fence,” and the latter to Gleason<span class="pagenum" id="Page_462">462</span>
and Roberts, the forgers, who sometimes dealt in
crooked bonds. Irving and Farley received eighty-five
per cent of the face value of the bonds. In view
of the fact that they were gilt-edged, these coppers
didn’t do badly. Indeed, it was a mighty profitable
race at sea for Jim Irving and his faithful detective
sergeant, Phil Farley, but it was an unfortunate
meeting for George Macdonnell. I have talked many
times with Captain Irving since that day, but I never
heard him say a word to make me think that he had
a twinge of conscience over his perfidious act.</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_463">463</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XXV" class="vspace">CHAPTER XXV<br />

<span class="subhead">SOME DETECTIVES I FOUND USEFUL</span></h2>
</div>

<p>After the failure to capture the Corn Exchange
Bank treasure, my Police Headquarters friends were
exceedingly anxious that I try to even up accounts
by obtaining the wealth of the United States sub-treasury
vault in New York City. They contended
that there were plenty of other banks in that city,
at which I might take a hand, if the sub-treasury
was too hard a nut to crack. I knew that it was,
and said so, whereupon they insisted that I give it
a trial.</p>

<p>“No, I will not,” I said; “it’s impossible to break
through that wall of night watchmen employed by
the Treasury Department.”</p>

<p>“Well, make a strike at the Bank of America,”
said they.</p>

<p>This bank was near the corner of Wall and William
streets, and it was a very sturdy job to contemplate
from the start, but I consented to the second
proposition. My first survey of the field disclosed
the fact that there were two watchmen inside the
bank, and that they were there after banking hours.
That meant we should be obliged to overcome them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_464">464</span>
if we captured the game. Besides the brace of pesky
watchmen in the bank, there were half a dozen private
watchmen hovering about the corners of Wall
and William streets. While attending to their respective
duties, any one of them might, at an extremely
critical moment to me, pop on the scene and
shuffle everything. It was apparent that I must
plan against a stiff game—evident that there must be
a base of operations established near by. With no
little trouble I obtained the lease of a basement in a
building in Pine Street, at the rear of the Bank of
America. In this basement there sprang up, one
fine morning, a full-fledged Cuban cigar store. It
was a wholesale business, to be conducted as a blind.
Strangely enough, though, money came in from the
venture in a surprising quantity. It proved to be
the real thing. However, we made it our rendezvous.</p>

<p>Having accomplished this, I turned to the important
work of getting a “right” policeman or two on
the posts near the bank. This was not difficult, for
I passed the word along, and Patrolman Michael
Conners, one of the Bank Ring, was transferred to
the Wall Street post. He was just the man I
wanted, having been faithful to me in a number of
jobs. This fixed to suit me, I turned to the night
watchmen end of the plot. It was like trying to
walk through a stone wall. As has been pointed
out, there were two of them in the bank at night,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_465">465</span>
and through the police I knew these fellows were
faithful—no amount of money could bribe them.
Finally, I determined to “stand” up one of them
and walk him into the bank, where I could get to
the other. I found this in the beginning to be a
feasible plan from the fact that they made separate
trips to an ice box on the Pine Street end of the
bank every night, for something to eat. I believed
that on one of these trips, which occurred about
eleven o’clock, I could capture the watchman. In
the meantime, Patrolman Conners would keep the
outside private watchmen well away from the bank.
With my associates carrying the needful tools and
others of us “walking” the captured watchman into
the bank, it would be easy to overcome the other
one and work our way into the vault.</p>

<p>I started out on this plan, and among other things
kept tabs on the time the watchmen paid the nightly
visits to the ice box. I didn’t like their actions
from the beginning. They were disappointingly
irregular about it. One night one would do the
trick and the next night the other. Once it would
be nine o’clock, and again eleven o’clock. This
wouldn’t do at all. Besides this obstacle, Eddie
Hughes, the bright chap who was one of my first
associates in crime and who formed one of the party
which “turned off” the Cadiz Bank in Ohio, was
terribly along in his habit of eating morphine. In
fact, he was useless to me, and I had to replace him<span class="pagenum" id="Page_466">466</span>
with Mysterious Jimmy, a young crook recommended
to me by Detective Josh Taggart of
Philadelphia. Then, to add to the trouble, the
janitor and his husky wife and big family of boys
were frequently happening around the bank at all
hours of the night. Disgusted in the extreme, I
threw up the enterprise.</p>

<p>Thus far, the scheme of my Police Headquarters
friends and I had met with disheartening results.
However, they were still anxious to make another
attempt, so I took courage and pressed on. What
better encouragement could a fellow want than to
have all the policemen necessary at one’s beck and
call?</p>

<p>It was very evident to me that I must have new
material with which to work, and get it I did.
Detective Sergeants Tom Davidson and Joe Seymour,
a pair of Central Office sleuths who had been
ward-men in the First Precinct and knew the Wall
Street district from beginning to end, were detailed
on what was called “Wall Street duty.” It is
needless to say that they played an important part
in our loot enterprise, and were, in every meaning
of the word, “right,” as I looked at it. I shall
be frank too, and say that, while the first names
given them are correct, the surnames are fictitious.
I feel justified in doing this because of their faithfulness
to me throughout our acquaintance. I will,
though, go a step farther and say that the initial<span class="pagenum" id="Page_467">467</span>
letter to each surname is the correct one. Beyond
that I must not venture.</p>

<p>The next bank selected upon which to make an
attempt was the St. Nicholas, and it was through
Davidson that I decided to try it. He had suggested
that his friend, a depositor there, might be turned to
our account; that through this friend, who would
be innocent of it all, I might get a chance to watch
an unlocking of the vault. Getting the combination
numbers in this manner, we’d surely be able to do
the rest. Davidson was really adept in getting
something for nothing, and wasn’t afraid to use any
means to attain his end. His friend, he told me,
had a large account in the St. Nicholas, and was on
very familiar terms with its officials. As a matter
of fact, he was permitted the freedom of the bank.
I instructed Tom how to proceed, and he with great
alacrity did so,—indeed, persevering to the extent
that I couldn’t expect anything but success. He
looked up his friend and spun him a great yarn.</p>

<p>“Now,” said Davidson,—and he could tell a
story well, as I recall,—“Seymour and me are on
a case of embezzlement by a clerk in a Wall Street
broker’s office, and we’ve got some of the securities
back. The question is, will you help us out?”</p>

<p>“Too glad, if only I can,” was the friend’s answer;
“but the thing is how?”</p>

<p>“Easy, very easy,” replied Davidson; “and in
this manner—” Here he unfolded the scheme.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_468">468</span>
“Pending a hearing in the police court,” he went
on, “Seymour and me must take care of the
securities. For reasons I can’t tell—police reasons,
you know—we can’t keep the stuff at Police Headquarters,
yet we must be able to put our hands on it
any moment. Now, can’t you suggest some one
who will take temporary charge of the stuff for us?”</p>

<p>The depositor hesitated. He couldn’t, for his
life’s sake, seem to think of a soul who’d fill Davidson’s
bill; but the latter could and progressed cautiously.
His watchword was ever, caution. Should
his request for aid ever in any way be connected,
even by suspicion, with aught that might happen
to the St. Nicholas Bank, he wanted to weave the circumstances
so that it would appear as though his
friend had proffered assistance.</p>

<p>“If I knew of a depositor with an account in a
Wall Street bank, it would be just the thing,” said
Davidson, as a lead.</p>

<p>“Blast it!” cried the friend at once; “what a
blamed fool I am—I can help you out. I’ve got
a strong box at the St. Nicholas Bank; how’ll that
do?”</p>

<p>“Do!” exclaimed Davidson, delightedly, “do,
why, it’ll be just the thing. It couldn’t be better,
could it, Joe?”</p>

<p>“Nothing better,” promptly agreed Joe Seymour.</p>

<p>“But won’t it be bothering you too much?”
Davidson asked solicitously.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_469">469</span>
“By no means, no,” enthusiastically returned the
friend, and before the close of banking hours that
day, a box of fake securities was safely stowed
away in the St. Nicholas Bank; and thus another
step in the loot plot was taken by my very efficient
detective assistants, who were being paid by the
New York City government to protect the lives and
property of its citizens.</p>

<p>A few days later Davidson told his friend he’d
want the securities in court for a few hours the
following day. This was done, the object of the
withdrawal and return being to demonstrate the uncertainty
of the demands by the court for the securities.
Presently there would come a very urgent call
at the opening of the bank. That apparently very
important demand came a few days later. Quite late
one night, Davidson, having informed himself that
his depositor-friend would be at home, rang the bell
and was admitted. With much regret Tom said
the securities must be in court the next morning as
soon after ten as possible.</p>

<p>“It’s routing you out pretty early,” apologized
the detective, putting on a fine tone of regret;
“but it’s the last time I’ll have to bother you, for
the confounded case closes for good to-morrow, and
I’m blasted glad of it.”</p>

<p>Of course an apology so deftly put brought out the
usual response and the query as to what the detective
wanted his friend to do.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_470">470</span>
“If you’ll meet me at the Stevens House on lower
Broadway and fix me up again, why—”</p>

<p>“At what hour?” asked his friend.</p>

<p>“Nine-thirty,” said Davidson, “if you can get
down so early.”</p>

<p>“I’ll be there promptly,” said the obliging
depositor.</p>

<p>“Thanks; and then,” explained Davidson, “we’ll
get the securities, and that’ll end it. I’ve asked a
lot of you, my boy, and I’m sorry—hope I’ll be able
to reciprocate sometime.”</p>

<p>He didn’t turn a hair at uttering this last falsehood—the
crowning one of many. The next morning, not
long after nine o’clock, Davidson and I were at the
hotel, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our dupe.
We’d reached the critical stage of our plans. The
combination numbers were to be gotten. I was sure
of it. Laughingly, a few days prior, I’d staked my
reputation as a burglar against the temperance
pledge of “Silly Billy,” a ne’er-do-well known to the
headquarters police. This lad’s pledge was worthless.
He would go before a priest at noonday and
solemnly promise never to tipple again, and within
the hour he’d be tipsy. When called upon to
explain why he’d broken his solemn word, the silly
fellow would put up the novel plea that he’d left his
pledge at home in his other trousers’ pocket. I had
staked my reputation thus that I’d get the St.
Nicholas Bank combination numbers, if I were put<span class="pagenum" id="Page_471">471</span>
within ten feet of the vault at the unlocking. This
morning Davidson, through his friend, was to put me
there. We hadn’t long to wait, for the latter came in
smilingly, and evidently delighted to befriend Davidson
at any cost. It being the first time I’d set eyes
on the fellow, he came in for a close inspection. I
satisfied myself that he was rather soft, as is said of
some men when they appear a trifle womanish.</p>

<p>“Shake hands with Agent McCantry,” said Davidson,
in accord with our plan. Being thus formally
introduced, we shook hands. My new acquaintance
seemed to be wondering what sort of an agent I was,
and Davidson enlightened him.</p>

<p>“He’s a Secret Service detective—a United
States official,” he whispered, first looking around
mysteriously, as though careful that no one should
hear him. Then he added, “Don’t say anything
about it—it mustn’t be known he’s in the city—we
had to call him in our case.”</p>

<p>I cautiously, but opportunely, displayed an elegant
gold Secret Service shield, which had been given to
me by Colonel Whiteley, the chief of the service. It
clinched matters. This shield had done me much
good service on many occasions. After lighting
cigars,—my companions,—all being ready, we went
to the St. Nicholas Bank. We arrived there a trifle
too early. The man in charge of the vault hadn’t
come in, but we were admitted to the rear room,
where the vault was, Davidson and his friend in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_472">472</span>
lead. I got a seat at an angle favorable to my purpose—I
could get an excellent view of the lock. We
didn’t have to wait long, for the employee we were
awaiting came in presently, and our dupe told him
Detective Davidson wanted the box of securities.
The unlocking began right away. With a trained
eye and a ready perception, rendered acute by experience
because there was much depending upon them,
I took in each turn of the hand at the lock dial.
Now it went forward, now backward, and again forward,
while I took careful mental notes by which to
figure out the combination numbers. When the vault
door had been thrown open, I knew I had the number
at which the dial spindle had been placed at the beginning
of the unlocking, and where it had stopped
at each reverse. The remainder of the task could be
accomplished outside the bank.</p>

<p>As I saw the great safes through the open vault
door, I wondered about how many days would pass
ere I could be the master of all I surveyed in the
vault. How different would be the conditions then.
By the time the box was in Davidson’s hands, I
signed him everything was lovely, and, bidding his
friend adieu, we went away. What a dupe the
man had been, but of how much use after all. We
walked up Broadway toward the court-house to
Cedar Street, where we turned to Nassau, and from
there we doubled back to our rendezvous.</p>

<p>While we’d been scheming to obtain the combination<span class="pagenum" id="Page_473">473</span>
numbers, a close watch had been kept on one
of the bank’s night watchmen, William Price, the
one upon whom the success of our enterprise much
depended. It was essential that we know his habits;
and in fact, we soon had him well in hand and knew he
had at least one bad failing,—he frequently absented
himself from duty and spent an hour, and sometimes
two, in a neighboring saloon. It was ascertained,
also, that he was the watchman who guarded the
inside of the bank. That knowledge had been
gained from the vantage of a stairway on the outside
of the Stock Exchange building. One of the
landings afforded us an excellent view, through a
rear window on the New Street side, of the interior
of the banking office. This window, we ascertained,
was seldom locked. It was our opportunity.</p>

<p>The day that Davidson got the fake securities
from the vault marked the beginning of the real
active work of the anticipated loot. That evening,
under instructions, Tom was in Wall Street, not far
from the bank’s main entrance, ready for business.
His part was to hold the attention of Watchman
Price, should the latter return earlier than usual
from his regular visit to the saloon, and Patrolman
Mike Conners was to patrol in front of the bank.
With my professional associates assigned to important
posts for my protection, I was to enter the
bank to prove beyond doubt the correctness of my
morning’s work in getting the combination numbers;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_474">474</span>
in other words, I was to try the numbers I’d figured
out from my notes taken in the bank at the unlocking.
Detective Seymour was to take a stand at the
corner of Wall and New streets, with the understanding
that he was to tap on the bank’s rear
window, in the event that an over-zealous watchman
appeared on the scene.</p>

<p>Thus guarded, I went into the bank and was soon
at the coveted combination lock. It will be sufficient
to tell that my watching of the unlocking had not
been in vain; my deductions were correct. I had
the combination perfectly. In less than half an
hour I had opened the vault door, was through,
and back in the free air again.</p>

<p>The period in the game had been reached where I
must arrange its last points, and with this knowledge
we repaired to the rendezvous to discuss the next
vital move—when to “pull off” the trick. The first
stormy night was agreed upon, provided, however,
Patrolman Conners would be on post. Should it
be, unhappily for us, his night off, then we’d have
to await a stormy night when he would be on duty.
I wouldn’t proceed without his good nerve to protect
me. Having settled this, I decided to make up the
list of experts who would go into the bank with me.
Tom Mead and Johnny McCann had been in the
Bank of America plot, and, as I’ve said, Eddie
Hughes. I wanted the latter badly for the job, but
couldn’t have him, it seemed, so Mysterious Jimmy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_475">475</span>
Lough, Josh Taggart’s friend, must be taken on.
Taggart thought a lot of Jimmy, but I knew
absolutely nothing of him. I took him on speculation,
mostly with a desire to please Taggart.
The latter said Jimmy was an extremely intelligent
and active young fellow.</p>

<p>The kind of night we wanted came in a few days.
It was in March of 1875. How well I remember it.
The time set for the “trick” was immediately after
the midnight shift of the First Precinct police.
Every man had his set task. Johnny McCann and
Mysterious Jimmy were to capture the night watchman,
Price, Detective Davidson was to be at the
head of Wall Street, and Joe Seymour in New
Street to sound the alarm of approaching trouble
from that side. I believed I’d planned a master
“trick,” and cannot to this day, despite my best
effort, keep down a feeling of pride. I wish now
most earnestly I could altogether rid myself of such
feelings.</p>

<p>The last thing I did, before the start, was to warn
Patrolman Conners to perform his part well, though
I felt that he’d not fail me, if man could succeed. I
saw McCann and Mysterious Jimmy go through the
New Street window, and waited for the result.
Time enough having been consumed to capture the
watchman, I also entered by the bank window. The
lads hadn’t yet overcome the watchman, but were
about ready to. They’d found him asleep in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_476">476</span>
bunk. I heard sweet music as I drew near them.
I said music, and I mean it from my point of view;
for if snoring by a night watchman in a bank isn’t
the sweetest sort of music to a burglar, then I don’t
know what is. I threw a bull’s-eye flash full upon
the owner of this nasal avalanche of sound, long
enough to show the lads just how the ground lay.
There was no doubt that this faithful night watchman
was asleep. Verily the walls seemed to jingle
with the loud sleeping of the bank’s night guard.
How kindly, indeed, was fate flinging wide-open
avenues through great difficulties. Not a word,
thus far, had been spoken—of a truth, none was to
be spoken under my strict orders. It was a time
for action, not talking. McCann grinned as he
drew near the unconscious man. He would have
throttled him to death, only he knew I wouldn’t
countenance such doings. Mysterious Jimmy looked
cute, and when his face was lit up for an instant,
I could read what he would have said, “It’s a pity
to wake him.” But Watchman Price must not be
harmed, and he must be awakened, and, according
to the plan, McCann was to be the chief performer
in this act. So with a quick movement he caught
the sleeper by the shoulders and dragged him from
the bunk to the floor, while Mysterious Jimmy
clicked a handcuff on the nearest wrist. Then I
shut off the light. In the meantime McCann held
the watchman by the throat to allow the placing of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_477">477</span>
the other handcuff. I stood by, ready for an emergency.
All this had been accomplished ere Price
realized what had befallen him. When he did, a
fight was on, though he was no match for my lads.
A man taken unawares and in the dark hasn’t much
of a chance with two strong men. However, he
succeeded in getting his mouth open for an instant,
and asked, as though he were in a dream, what
was the trouble. It occurred to me that he thought
he was in some bar-room squabble. Then occurred
the very worst thing that could have happened at
that moment. Mysterious Jimmy blathered to the
prisoner in direct violation of my express commands.</p>

<p>“Keep still!” he whispered hoarsely, “and we
won’t hurt you. We’ve got to git the dust in this
here bank, and if ye holler, it’s all day wit’ ye.”</p>

<p>Now, this gave the watchman the first real knowledge
of the situation. Perhaps, too, he was strengthened
by thoughts of duty! Wriggling his head away
from McCann and before Mysterious Jimmy could
stifle him, a yell rang through the bank that must
have been heard for two blocks. It was a lion’s
roar! Jimmy stuffed his fist in the man’s throat,
but it was too late—the mischief had been done.
The cry had been heard. Detective Davidson heard
it at the top of Wall Street. More, a regular sergeant
of police, out on patrol, rushed up to Davidson
and demanded a reason for the outcry.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_478">478</span>
“What’s up?” he called; “where did that noise
come from?”</p>

<p>“I heard it, too,” answered the detective, innocently
enough, “but I guess it came from the west side of
Broadway.” This was exactly the opposite direction
from which it did come.</p>

<p>“I’ll be d——d if it did,” blew the sergeant, as he
ran down Wall Street toward the bank. Davidson
followed him—was obliged to for appearance’ sake.</p>

<p>In the meantime Detective Seymour knew that
trouble had broken out, and a moment later was
tapping out a warning on the New Street window for
us. Then he ran to Wall and saw, in the light of
the street lamps, the sergeant, Davidson, and Patrolman
Conners coming toward New Street. In a
moment there would be a pursuit.</p>

<p>Realizing that blather-mouthed Jimmy had spoiled
the game, we, in the bank, left the handcuffed watchman
and climbed or tumbled out of the window
through which we’d come, and scattering as best we
could, made toward the East River. At the moment
of leaving the bank we were almost in the hands of
the police. We did some tall dodging, but it would
have availed us nothing had there been any one in
the police party anxious to catch us but the sergeant.
Davidson, Seymour, and Mike Conners had to appear
like honest coppers under the conditions, but favored
us as much as they dared. There were five minutes
of lively racing, at the end of which we had reached<span class="pagenum" id="Page_479">479</span>
cover. Anyway, there wasn’t much chance for our
capture when, out of five policemen, only one was
honestly trying to do police duty.</p>

<p>Ten minutes after the yell of Watchman Price, the
neighborhood was swarming with policemen. When
the sergeant and the pursuing party returned to the
bank, the hapless watchman was discovered by his
calls for assistance, and marched out of the bank handcuffed,
volubly trying to explain how he came to be
in the predicament. Not one of the officers had a key
that would unlock the cuffs, and it was necessary to
march him thus to the New Street station-house. I
cannot but smile, as I recall that spectacle in Wall
Street, the centre of finance,—a night watchman
being escorted to the police station, handcuffed by the
very burglars who made their escape. I trow Detectives
Davidson and Seymour and Patrolman Mike
Conners must have had an odd set of thoughts that
early morning in March.</p>

<p>It was too bad that I used Mysterious Jimmy
Lough without knowing more of him. My willingness
to oblige Detective Taggart, I have no doubt,
ruined the St. Nicholas Bank job. Yet one can’t
have everything coming one’s way all the time. But
Jimmy Lough was a mar-plot!</p>

<hr />

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_480">480</span></p>

<div class="chapter">
<h2 id="CHAPTER2_XXVI" class="vspace">CHAPTER XXVI<br />

<span class="subhead">THE MICROBE “CALLOUSITIS”</span></h2>
</div>

<p>It has been, and is yet, claimed by companies
which make it a business to supply banking institutions
with burglar-alarm systems, that while bank
clerks and night watchmen may be corrupted, the
alarm, if kept in excellent repair, can always be depended
upon. While it is true that the incorruptible
cannot be corrupted, nor can the ever inanimate
be imbued with life-blood, yet I shall endeavor to
show beyond question how, in my experience, the
burglar-alarm system, with all its boasted infallibility,
was utterly useless. Indeed, one of the thought-to-be
points of wisdom in the device, that which had
been conceived as the most inviting trap for the unwary,
was betrayed by the very over-cunningness of
the thing, if I may so express myself.</p>

<p>In the village of Port Jervis, in 1869, Shinburn
and I “turned off” the bank, despite the fact that
Holmes’s burglar-alarm threaded the whole building.
Moreover, there was a wire from the bank to the
residence of the cashier, not more than three hundred
feet away. And, believe me, the alarm was in
prime working order that night. The whole trouble<span class="pagenum" id="Page_481">481</span>
was that the banking people placed too much confidence
in the efficacy of the system,—in that instance,
at least. This I will make clear; for, by my faith,
the directors rubbed the sleep out of their eyes one
morning, only to look upon a great financial loss.
That is, they awoke to find the big doors of their
steel vault and money safe lying on the floor, and
every dollar of the bank’s capital gone.</p>

<p>We forced an entrance through an iron-shuttered
window, and the first thing within the range of my
bull’s-eye was an ordinary-appearing chair. It was
close to the window, and seemed a most inviting
stepping from the sill to the floor. In fact, it seemed
as though it might have been placed there for the
sole purpose. Be sure I did not avail myself of
this comfort, and my good associate Shinburn was
cautioned to have similar wisdom. Being a young
fellow and agile, I sprang to the floor, my sneak shoes
standing between me and any unnecessary noise.
Immediately I was astonished by what I saw at
every window and door, and even in front of the
vault. I discovered, with one round sweep of my
bull’s-eye, that an apparently thoughtful hand had
supplied these comforts for the use of those who
might, without warrant, visit the bank by night or
day. There was seating accommodation, indeed, for
us and half a dozen guests, had I, perchance, invited
them to the performance. However, as this gathering
had in view great retirement and unostentation, my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_482">482</span>
good Shinburn and I, not having an over-stock of
time, refrained from occupying these much present
and hospitable furnishings.</p>

<p>When I saw an upholstered rocker or an ordinary
chair left with such insistent convenience, that alone
was a sufficient indication to me from my point of
view that all was not right. And again, when I
saw a chair left, as by neglect, in front of the vault
door, there was sufficient reason in that for entertaining
suspicion. Know that we didn’t disturb their
quietude.</p>

<p>All doubt of the wisdom of my caution would
have been swept away, had I had any, when, upon
making a careful examination of these chairs, I discovered
that they were all cunningly attached to the
burglar-alarm system. Be sure that we met the
mute, though pathetic, appeal from these appliances
to make ourselves comfortable with a stolid disregard.
I will not assert that this was not a cunning device,
though it might not thus appear to an inexperienced
one after something for nothing. To me, the experienced
bank burglar I prided myself on being, it
was a danger worth counting.</p>

<p>At the moment we were loading ourselves with the
bank’s funds, this question came to me: “Do the
burglar-alarm people really believe that a ‘professional,’
once past a window or door alive with their
system, would be stupid enough not to comprehend
the meaning of a chair left in front of a vault door?”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_483">483</span>
I felt as certain as that I was in the bank, that if I,
or my associate, sat in any one of those chairs, even
before I made a close investigation, there would have
been a jangling of bells and the pouncing of police
down on our heads. It was a cunning device, but I
must contend that it was very much overdone, and
because of it failed of its original cunning.</p>

<p>In August of 1874, the New York sub-treasury
had a burglar-alarm connected with the First Precinct
station-house, now in Old Slip near the East River,
but then in New Street, in the heart of the Wall
Street financial district. Regardless of the fact, I
went ahead with a plan to loot the very rich vault of
that institution. It was, on the surface, I must admit,
a scheme sufficiently bold to make the ordinary
cracksman apprehensive of success from the outset.
But being a young fellow, as I have said, and wildly
infatuated with the idea, I couldn’t get it out of my
head. The burglar-alarm system in the sub-treasury
was the least of my concern, and for that reason I
have taken the pains to mention this subject at all.
I knew that I could cope, handily, with it, for I had
only to pass the word along to the First Precinct
police station that I was ready to “pull off” the
trick, and my friends there would put the wire out of
commission. So much for the efficacy of the burglar-alarm
in that case.</p>

<p>A greater problem to be solved was the force of
inside night watchmen, of which there was an extremely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_484">484</span>
complicated system. Each time I made an
investigation, there seemed to have been conjured
up another watchman. Finally, I found I’d have to
overcome six—too many by far for me to surmount.
Therefore, with the police at my beck and the burglar-alarm
under control, I found myself confronted
by an obstacle beyond my surmounting. It sadly
injured my pride to acknowledge that I must discard
the idea of looting the sub-treasury.</p>

<p>Electricity can and will eat its way through the
hardest chilled steel, high explosive will open the
strongest door of a vault ever manufactured after
the most ingenious plan of the master mechanic,
bank clerks and night and day watchmen of easy
morals can be corrupted, burglar-alarms may be
put out of service by detectives like Tom Davidson
and Joe Seymour of the New York City Detective
Bureau, but there is one safeguard which cannot be
broken down by the burglar craft, and that is
Eternal Vigilance!</p>

<p>Eternal vigilance! That safeguard, which should
ever be employed by the high officials of financial
institutions, is potent to combat the greatest genius
possessed by a safe-burglar. Eternal vigilance should
be the keynote of safety, struck in every banking
house in the world, if its funds would be kept from
the hands of the craft which seek ever to gain something
for nothing. It was this kind of watchfulness
that President Noblit of the Corn Exchange Bank of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_485">485</span>
Philadelphia employed, and it saved more than three
millions of dollars from my clutches and created
within me a profound respect for him. I declare,
with all the earnestness in me, that no shrewder
plan was ever devised to loot a bank. I would
have ruined it had it not been for President Noblit’s
vigilance. He, and not high-class steel bolts and
bars and faithful watchmen, stood between me and
those millions.</p>

<p>A long experience in studying how best to “beat”
steel vaults and safes has demonstrated to me that
real security for personal valuables doesn’t depend
so much on high-grade safes, superior combination
locks, heavily bonded employees, and the most efficient
burglar-alarm system extant, as it does upon
a common-sense use of the simple precautionary
methods of protection with which any well-conducted
banking institution should be equipped. Among the
safeguards in mind is a systematic espionage upon
the employees of a bank. Their habits should be
known to the president under whom they serve.
The fact that cashiers and tellers are members of a
corporation in control of the bank ought not to exclude
them from espionage. In proof of this, I will
call the attention of the doubting one to the columns
of the daily newspapers. Scarcely forty-eight hours
pass without its being recorded that a bank cashier
or teller in some part of the country has absconded
with the bank’s funds. A thorough knowledge of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_486">486</span>
the social and business relations of every man holding
a responsible position in a bank should be had.
His habits and general character ought to be an
open book for the daily perusal of his chief. The
habits of the associates of cashiers and tellers should
be known. The old saying, that birds of a feather
flock together, ought to be considered in its fullest
sense, and therefore a bank president should know
what sort of a flock his cashier or teller seeks after
business hours. That a cashier has been a faithful
steward in a bank for many years is not a valid reason
why he should not be kept under surveillance.
Almost every bank employee who falls into corrupt
ways was a “trusted” employee.</p>

<p>A careful espionage upon any one of these fallen
cashiers or tellers would have preserved the bank’s
funds, and more than likely would have prevented a
fast and furious downward career, which terminated
behind the bars of a prison cell. Many and many
bitter tears of stricken and shamed wives and disgraced
children might have been unshed, and many
happy homes might have been preserved and not
have been forever blighted, had timely warning and
strong hands been laid upon the erring husbands and
fathers of these firesides.</p>

<p>In my mind there is no question that scores of
former cashiers, tellers, and other employees of
banks are alive to-day, terrible examples of the wild
pursuit after costly pleasures. I do not hesitate to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_487">487</span>
say that if most of these men had been kept under
proper surveillance, they would not have departed
from the narrow path of rectitude. It is true that
this is paying anything but a tribute to their manhood,
but I assert that commendation or condemnation
will not blind the argument, in view of the
fact that most men are liable to fall under great
temptation. No man may know what he will do
until the fatal pitfall is reached. If he escape—well,
thank Providence. Were these fallen ones
called now to witness to the fact, they would unhesitatingly
declare that espionage upon them would
have been providential. Much woe would not now
be upon them and their loved ones.</p>

<p>I know whereof I speak, when I say that a bank’s
executive should know whether or not his bright
young men are habitués of the pool-room, the horse-race
track, or are in the habit of taking a “flyer” in
Wall Street stock gambling. Expensive living in a
bank clerk is a sufficient reason for suspecting that
he is not a desirable employee. It is his province to
prove his fitness under the circumstances. The mere
statement of a bank cashier or a teller, that the money
he spends so lavishly for luxuries far out of the reach
of his salary comes from his wife’s private fortune,
ought not to be accepted as an all-sufficient reason
for his extravagance. The bank’s executive should
know whether it is true or false; it should be known
beyond any possible doubt just what money he is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_488">488</span>
spending. If a cashier or a teller objects to so severe
a scrutiny of his affairs, the wisest thing in that case
is to declare a vacancy, and fill it with a man whose
life is not weighted by secrets. Having cognizance
of the solemnity of the obligations resting upon a bank
president, an honest, trustworthy cashier, teller, or
bank clerk will not object to the closest scrutiny.
Neither will he consider that his honor has been
trampled on, when a careful inquiry is made as to
his habits and as to those of his associates. On the
contrary, an honest, upright employee will be pleased
to have his trustworthiness put to the test and found
not wanting. Beware of the bank employee whose
honor is so tender that it can’t be handled without
gloves. There’s sure to be a screw loose in almost
every case. It’s an honor with a subcellar, and
dark things are hidden there.</p>

<p>I have already said that lax business methods, as
practised at the Ocean Bank in New York City, and
the expensive habits of John Taylor, one of the bank’s
trusted clerks, were the prime factors in making my
plan to loot the vault an assured success. There is
no doubt of this, therefore I would call especial attention
to that chapter. That I may more deeply
impress the fact upon the minds of those I would
advise, permit me to mention yet another marked
laxness in providing protection for bank funds, and
that is the selection of the numbers used on combination
locks.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_489">489</span>
Experience taught me to observe the custom of
banks, as to the manner in which the combination
numbers were used, and I soon found it to be the
prevailing rule among cashiers to use figures easily
divisible. For example, a train of numbers selected
would be four, sixteen, and thirty-two, or twelve,
twenty-four, and thirty-six. Such trains should be
avoided if first-class protection against robbery is
desired. I will give a sufficient reason for thus advising
my friends. In a certain bank robbery, the
identity of which I purpose not to disclose at present,
I was reasonably sure that I possessed the first number
of the train used on the vault-door lock. The
number was twelve. I tried it at the first opportunity
with twenty-four and thirty-six, and in five minutes
was inside the vault. Finding that the numbers
easily divisible seemed to be the custom of the bank,
I tried four, sixteen, and thirty-two on the inside
money chest. The result was not at all astonishing
to me, but the officials were undoubtedly panic-stricken,
the next day, when they learned that a
large amount of ready cash had been carried away.
No holes were drilled, and no explosive was used.
Therefore I would advise more care in the selection
of combination numbers. Do not think it a task to
change the combination often.</p>

<p>The old Louis Lillie combination locks, where the
spindle dial could be unscrewed, and a few other
makes of the present day, most of them antiquated,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_490">490</span>
could be successfully manipulated. In fact, these
locks were what I termed a “dead walk-over.”
I must assert, however, that if it is necessary to work
out a properly arranged, first-class, three or four
tumbler combination lock, it can be safely said that
it is, in nearly every case, a physical impossibility
to master such a lock in forty-eight or even
seventy-two hours.</p>

<p>In using combination locks, it is best to change
the numbers frequently, especially when a clerk is
about to leave the bank’s employ. Of course what
I am speaking of now, more particularly, has to do
with small banks in the villages and small cities,
where clerks are loaded with greater responsibility
than are those in the institutions of large cities. As
an illustration of what might happen to a safe, I’ll
mention the case of a New York business house.
There had been a pestiferous leakage of money from
the safe. Small amounts ranging from five dollars
to four times that sum disappeared, leaving no trace
of the thief. About all the employees were suspected.
Every one was wondering if every one else
wasn’t the thief. Finally the firm hired a private
detective, and, behold, one night a man was detected
red-handed opening the street door with a duplicate
key, and the safe with a secret combination. The
person proved to be a discharged clerk. Had the
combination numbers been changed at his leave-taking,
he couldn’t have opened the safe, and perhaps,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_491">491</span>
having failed the first time, he wouldn’t have
been tempted again. It doesn’t pay to be lax in
business methods.</p>

<p>I was introduced to a “right” watchman in Boston
once upon a time, and having in view the looting of
the bank in his charge, wanted the vault examined.
The outer door of the vault was of wood and was
next to the steel one. The watchman reported to
me the next day what I wanted and more. The
president had asked him if he’d opened the wooden
door. He promptly denied it. But the president
knew the door had been unlocked and opened and,
not suspecting the watchman, believed that burglars,
in some manner, had been tampering with the vault.
How he knew it was this: Every evening before
leaving the bank, the president closed the wooden door
and put a certain kind of paste on one of the hinges.
The morning after the watchman opened the door,
the paste was found scraped back by the turning of
the hinge. It was a faithful witness to the fact.
Had the watchman admitted that he’d heard suspicious
sounds which led him to open the door, the
president would have thought no more about it
undoubtedly. As it was, the watchfulness of that
bank official spoiled my plans. It was a simple
obstacle in my way, but it was effective in preserving
the bank’s funds.</p>

<p>Jimmy Hope, a notorious bank burglar, got into
a certain bank in Bleecker Street in New York City,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_492">492</span>
and, taking off the dial of the vault lock, drilled a
hole through the door to strike the steel dog in
the lock. The object was to get at the dog and break
it. Bad aim resulted, and the dog was missed.
Too much time had been consumed to drill another
hole, and putty was used to fill up the useless one.
For months the tampering was undiscovered, not to
mention the marks on the dial plate caused by the
unscrewing of the dial. Not to have discovered these
plain evidences of tampering seemed to me the
rankest sort of neglect. The bank was afterward
robbed.</p>

<p>I will mention the American Hotel in Hartford,
Connecticut, as the scene of another robbery which
emphasizes what I’ve already said as to carelessness.
The hotel changed hands some thirty years ago, and
one of the retiring partners retained a key to the
office safe. Not having the “nerve” of the “honest”
crook to do the work himself, he confided in a
“putter up” of crooked jobs, a native of Wayne
County, Pennsylvania. Now this “putter up”—though
the telling may perhaps call forth a doubt
as to the veracity of this tale—was a justice of the
peace. His brother was a well-to-do, respectable
physician. The justice of the peace was given the
key by the ex-hotel man, and it was passed along to
a man with whom I had been acquainted many
years.</p>

<p>The next move to win was when a pair of expert<span class="pagenum" id="Page_493">493</span>
safe burglars appeared at the American Hotel in the
guise of two extremely busy business men from
New York. They quite captured the good will of
that Yankee hostelry. When they left instructions
at the desk to be awakened in time for a two o’clock
train the following morning, the porter, the only
employee on duty at that hour, knew he’d lose his
situation if the travellers were allowed to oversleep.
He wasn’t dilatory, and the “guests” were up betimes.
While one of them kept the porter busy
searching for a mythical piece of baggage, the other,
with the key, cleaned out the safe and locked it
again. Presently the guests were bound toward
New York. Meanwhile the obliging porter hugged
a generous tip for his faithfulness, and when he
slid off into a dream that seemed to occupy the rest
of his watch, he thought himself a millionaire. His
awakening, however, was sad. The haul was more
than the crooks had anticipated, and they were well
paid for the journey. It was long a mystery to the
hotel people how the money vanished from the safe.
The moral is: “Keep tabs on the safe keys when
partnerships are dissolved.”</p>

<p>The laxity of bankers in conducting their business
affairs was ever a mystery to me. I have given the
subject much thought since renouncing a criminal
career, and have arrived at this conclusion: That a
criminal has a much better opportunity to judge
whether or not the success of his unlawful projects<span class="pagenum" id="Page_494">494</span>
came through the carelessness of others, than has
the man who leads a life within the pale of the law.
I must say that a great deal of the success which
came to me was the outcome of gross carelessness on
the part of bank cashiers, tellers, clerks, and watchmen.
Therefore I would urge upon those in charge
of public funds to look well after the little things,
in the way of providing protection.</p>

<p>Kindly do not think it my purpose to coin words or
phrases for the use or misuse of posterity, but I would,
in all sincerity, warn the bankers of the land against
a microbe which I will call “callousitis.” Keep it
out of your business. See to it that bank employees
be not infected with it. It is germinated in the rush
of financial affairs—is given life through the constant
handling of immense sums of money. Afflicted
by the “callousitis,” the bank employee, who once
realized a keen responsibility in handling one dollar
of another’s money intrusted to his care, feels no
added responsibility when he, through promotion
perhaps, is called upon to manipulate a million dollars.
In other words, he becomes callous to the fact
that large sums of money are passing through his
hands. As the laborer’s palms become callous
through constant contact with rough surfaces, so
the brain of a bank employee arrives at a stage of
indifference through his daily mental contact with
millions of dollars. The wood-chopper’s hands, once
blistered with the friction of the axe helve, at last<span class="pagenum" id="Page_495">495</span>
became hardened to the work and there was no more
tenderness. Thereafter he wielded the axe industriously,
without pain to his hands. The bank employee’s
brain was awed at the first handling of a
million dollars, but that sensation gave place to indifference,
when in time he came to handle ten times a
million dollars. And so he became, eventually, a
victim of “callousitis.” Thus afflicted, the victim
may or may not be aware of it, but in the majority
of cases he is, and such a victim is very prone to be
lax in business affairs, and such laxity eventually
leads to disaster when thieves abound.</p>

<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote">
<h2 id="Transcribers_Notes" class="nobreak p1">Transcriber’s Notes</h2>

<p>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.</p>

<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.</p>

<p>Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences
of inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed.</p>

<p>Text contains many occurrences of dialect and
non-standard contractions.</p>
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<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57760 ***</div>

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