' iftifVfi ill. Lifef«F 52 Z3 35 " RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW YORK CHIEF OF POLICE, BY GEORGE W. GLING. AN OFFICIAL RECORD OF THIRTY-BiOHT YEARS AS PATROLMAN, DETECTIVE, CAPTAIN, INSPECTOR AND ' ' \ IV E, CAPTAIN, |N CHIEF OF THE NEW YORK POLICE. ILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS AND PHOTOGRAPHS. N R Vw YOR K : CAXTON BOOK CONCERN, Limited. 1888. L ^COPYRIGHT BY CAXTON BOOK CONCERN, Limited Jr 1887. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. * j Sc? / a**" rfD • u vcl INTRODUCTION, In penning this volume of police history, together with that of criminals and prominent men, I have much to say that will please, instruct, and, I trust, better its readers. In many instances the facts given will be told for the first time. No lurid pen was needed, for no fiction could be so rich in sen sational incident as the true record of the lives of great criminals. The tale of the professional law-breaker in the glory of his suc- cess, the homage paid him by the lesser lights of the profession, contrasted with his downfall, and the misery that, sooner or later, surely visits him, forms a more startling and deeper warning than comes from any pulpit. My work is not confined to either sex, but treats of male and fe- male unfortunates alike. If, now and then, these facts seem^ ingly trench upon personalities, in the business, social, political and criminal life of the city of New Yofk, during the period over which my connection with, arid control of the police force ex- tends, mine is not the blame nor responsibility. Full well do I know the power of that mighty combination — Politics and Police. I attempted to make a stand against it, but the result was most disastrous to myself, and will be found recorded in the conclud- ing chapters. So long as this combination is allowed to exist, just so long will delay and corruption have a grasp upon that which should uphold the honor, integrity and well-being of our citizens. The incidents narrated in this volume are those which came c. under my personal observation, and although they may differ some- what from reports published at the time of the occurrences, or generally accepted traditions, yet the official records will bear me out, and be a complete vindication of my truthfulness. 3 4 INTRODUCTION. In writing this book, no private ends nor aims are sought to be served. My endeavor, throughout, has been to l4y before the public a plain, unvarnished statement of indisputable facts which have not before been accessible to the public. GEO. W. WALLING. CONTENTS, CHAPTER I. EARLY YEARS. — REMOVAL TO KEYPORT, N. J. — THE “ CHINGARORA.” “THE LONG, LOW, BLACK SCHOONER.” A REGULAR SCARE. — ON THE “ SPENCER.” — THE MURDER OF HELEN JEWETT. — THE COLT TRAGEDY. — DID THE MURDERER COMMIT SUICIDE ? — THE PRETTY CIGAR GIRL. EDGAR A. POE AS AN AMATEUR DE- TECTIVE. — THE STADT HUYS. — BELL-AND-RATTLE WATCH. — THE WHIPPING-POST. — CREMATION WITH A VENGEANCE. — “ LEATHER- HEADS.” — WASHINGTON IRVING’S PRACTICAL JOKE PP. 23-32. CHAPTER II. I BECOME A POLICEMAN. — “BUTTER-CAKE DICK.” “YOU MUST NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.” — THE “ BUTTON ” CASE. — A SHARP PIECE OF DETECTIVE WORK. — HOW I SAVED TOM HYER FROM YANKEE SULLIVAN’S GANG. — “THE FORTY-NINERS.”.. ..PP. 33-42. CHAPTER III. ASTOR-PLACE RIOTS. — FORREST AND MACREADY. — “ SI ” SHAY AND “ BUTT ” ALLEN. RIOTERS STORM THE OPERA HOUSE. FEAR- FUL LOSS OF LIFE. — AUTHORSHIP OF INFLAMMATORY HAND- BILLS. — THE “ HONEYMOON ” GANG.— ENGLISH ROW AND IRISH ROW. — ATTACK ON N. P. WILLIS. — “ STAND BACK, GENTLE- MEN.” — JENNY LIND. — BILL POOL AND LEW BAKER. — DELIB- ERATE MURDER. GRAND FUNERAL. AN OCEAN CHASE. CAP- TURE OF THE ASSASSIN. — “ I DIE A TRUE AMERICAN.” THE SWORD-CANE.— BOND STREET TRAGEDY. — THE BOGUS BABY. pp - 43 - 53 - 5 6 CONTENTS, CHAPTER IV. CHANGES IN POLICE DISCIPLINE. — POLITICAL INFLUENCE. — FER- NANDO WOOD’S BATTLE. WARRANT FOR THE ARREST OF THE MAYOR. HE DEFIES MY AUTHORITY. ANOTHER ATTEMPT. THE SEVENTH REGIMENT APPEARS ON THE SCENE. — RELUC- TANT SURRENDER. $50,000 WORTH OF DIAMONDS. — HICKS, THE PIRATE. A FLOATING SLAUGHTER-HOUSE. A COSTLY BAN- QUET. FLOORS WASHED WITH WINE. VISIT OF 1HE PRINCE OF WALES. EXECUTION OF CAPTAIN GORDON. MARRIED TO HER FATHER’S COACHMAN. MURDER IN THE “ LIBRARY.” A JUSTIFIABLE DEED. — THE PANIC. — RUN ON THE BANKS. pp. 54-67. CHAPTER V. THE POLICE AND SECESSIONISTS. — AN ANTE-BELLUM EPISODE. — PLOT TO ASSASSINATE PRESIDENT LINCOLN. DOWN IN DIXIE. THE SOUTHERN VOLUNTEERS. A PERILOUS POSITION AND A MYSTERIOUS GUIDE. ON THE TRAIN. A JUMP FOR LIFE. BRAVE TIM WEBSTER AND HIS SAD FATE THE MAN WITH THE FUR CAP PP. 68-77. CHAPTER VI. IN WAR TIME. THE DRAFT RIOTS. HEROISM OF THE POLICE. THE BATTLE OF THE BARRICADES. — THE SHARP-SHOOTER ON THE ROOF. — WITH A BULLET IN HIS BRAIN PP. 78-86. CHAPTER VII. CAPTURING HACKENSACK. MYSTERIOUS VISITS TO NEW YORK. AT THE SHOP WINDOW. THE FATEFUL RING. RECEIVING THE RUS- SIANS. — TRYING TO BURN THE CITY. — THE BLACK BAGS. THE “ BOGUS ” PROCLAMATION. — BURNING OF BARNUM’s MUSEUM. — AN UNHAPPY “HAPPY FAMILY.” STRUGGLE OF THE EAGLE AND CONTENTS. 7 SERPENT. — EMBEZZLING $250,000 TO SATISFY BLACKMAILERS. — A POLICEMAN MURDERED PP. 87-IOO. CHAPTER VIII. ALBERT D. RICHARDSON’S MURDER. THE DYING MAN’S RECOGNI- TION. TRIALS OF A YOUNG WIFE. THE LOVER’S PROMISE. THE MURDERER FREE. VAN EETEN FORGERIES. A STERN CHASE BUT A SUCCESSFUL ONE. RE-ARRESTED WHEN LIBERTY WAS SECURED. — BEFORE THE LAST JUDGE OF ALL. .PP. IOI-II2. CHAPTER IX. THE NATHAN MURDER. A TERRIBLE NIGHT. THE TWO BROTHERS. A GHASTLY SCENE. TWELVE BLOWS WHICH TOOK A LIFE. BLOODY FINGER-MARKS ON THE WALL. FINDING OF THE IRON “DOG.” — MERCILESS SUSPICIONS. — THE HOUSEKEEPER’S SON. — “HIS CLOTHES DON’T FIT HIM.” — CLEANSING THE ROOM. — AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY PP. II3-125. CHAPTER X. THE “ SAWDUST ” SWINDLE. — A BROKER DUPED. THE BOGUS DE- TECTIVE. MOCK AUCTIONS. FLANNEL AND HOT WATER. WITH A BIBLE IN HIS HAND. — A HORSEY GO-BETWEEN .. PP. 126-137. CHAPTER XI. THE THIEVES OF THE RIVER. MURDER ON THE “WATSON.” KILLED FOR TWELVE CENTS. THE HARBOR POLICE. — SCENE IN A BROOK- LYN HORSE-CAR. “ SOCCO, THE BRACER’S ” END. — THE HOOK GANG. GONE TO BROOKLYN AND JERSEY CITY PP. 138-152. CHAPTER XII. ON DUTY ON STATEN ISLAND.-^APPOINTED INSPECTOR. — THE “ CAR HOOK ” MURDER. — THE ORANGE RIOTS. — A GOOD STORY ABOUT 8 CONTENTS. JIM FISKE. HIS DEATH. STEVE GORDON AND THE $IOOO BILL. — “ BOSS ” TWEED AND HIS RING. — HOW WINANS WAS BRIBED. PP. 153-163. CHAPTER XIII. SURPRISED BY NIGHT. HOW THEY WERE TO “ DO IT.” BROCK- WAY, THE COUNTERFEITER. — THE PEDLER. WOMAN’S LOVE OF FINERY. A MILLION-DOLLAR SWINDLE. ABOARD THE “ THUR- INGIA.” — TWO IMPERFECT BILLS. — SENTENCED FOR LIFE. — A SWINDLER’S CAREER. — AN UNSUSPECTING CATTLE DROVER. — AFTER TIFFANY’S DIAMONDS PP. 164-177. CHAPTER XIV. DISPUTE WITH THE POLICE COMMISSIONERS. — CRANKS WHO WRITE LETTERS. — EXPECTING COUNTERFEIT NOTES AND GETTING SAW- DUST. A LITTLE BY-PLAY ON BROADWAY. “THE THIRD DE- GREE.” — THE MAN WHO PULLED OUT HTS WHISKERS. — FACTS ABOUT THE FINEST FORCE PP. 178-197. CHAPTER XV. KIDNAPPING OF CHARLEY ROSS. — MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. — ON THE TRACK OF THE CRIMINALS. — SEARCHING LAND AND WATER. — A TREACHEROUS AIDE. THE BURGLARY AT VAN BRUNT’S HOUSE. — DEATH OF THE ABDUCTORS PP. 198-208. CHAPTER XVI. BURGLARS. HOW THEY WORK. PRETTY SERVANT GIRLS. A LITTLE PIECE OF SCARLET RIBBON. — THIEVES ON THE ROOF. A LEAP IN THE DARK. “ STUTTERING JOHN ” ASHORE IN JERSEY. HOW PICKPOCKETS OPERATE. A MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. ARRESTED AT SIGHT. HOW I WAS FINED. — -THIEVES WHO TALKED FROM THEIR CELL DOORS PP. 209-223. CONTENTS. II DAY-SCHOOL TEACHER WHO FORGED CHECKS FOR $250,000. — THREE MEN WHO CAME FROM A HOUSE IN ALLEN STREET ON . A DARK WINTER’S NIGHT. HOW JAMES A. GARFIELD WAS NEARLY DEFEATED. THE FORGER WITH BLACK EYES AND RAVEN HAIR. —LORD ASHBURTON AND HIS ROMANTIC CAREER. ROCKY MOUNTAIN BLACKMAILERS. THE UNION BANK OF LONDON FORGERIES PP. 335-349. CHAPTER XXV. SWINDLERS AND BLACKMAILERS. “ HE CAN’T BEAT ME PLAYIN’ POKER.” A SWINDLER SWINDLED. — DIVORCES PROCURED BY WHOLESALE. SWINDLING A GREAT DRY GOODS HOUSE. A BANK BILL. HOW TO PUNISH A BLACKMAILER. “ I CAME IN HERE TO KILL YOU.” PP. 350-361. CHAPTER XXVI. A PLOT OF NIHILISTS. THREATENING LETTERS. LITTLE ROSA STRASBURGER. A CAUTIOUS RABBI. — DETECTIVE CAMPBELL’S WATCH. “.I’LL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT.” A BLACKMAILER’S DEATH. LETTERS TO JAY GOULD. INTERESTED IN “SALVA- TION.” WATCHING THE MAILING-BOXES. THE MYSTERY SOLVED PP. 362-372. CHAPTER XXVII. PRIZE-FIGHTING AND FIGHTERS. THE LAW ON THE SUBJECT. EARLY HEROES IN THE “ RING.” AN ADVENTURE WITH “ BILL ” HARRINGTON. JOHN MORRISSEY. HIS ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. JOHN L. SULLIVAN. HIS LIFE. FARO. “ EDE ” NORRIS AND HIS VISITORS. LEGAL ASPECT OF GAMBLING. WHY IT IS NOT SUPPRESSED. A REMEDY. PLAYING ON A SYSTEM. A SUC- CESSFUL GAMBLER. — POLICY, KENO AND POKER. MATTHIAS DANSER’S MONEY. CUTTING COUPONS BY CANDLE LIGHT. $8000 UNDER SEWING-MACHINE PLATES. — A GAMBLER’S FOR- TUNE GIVEN TO THE CHURCH PP. 373-386. 12 CONTENTS, CHAPTER XXVIII. A GLIMPSE OF PRISONS. — A NIGHT IN A STATION-HOUSE CELL. — SOBBING BOYS AND CURSING WOMEN. — SHRIEKS OF TERROR THROUGH THE CORRIDORS. LUXURIOUS LIVING IN LUDLOW STREET JAIL. WARD’S DINNER-PARTIES. — BECKY JONES’ GOAT- RACE WITH JAMES D. FISH. LIFE IN THE TOMBS. PP. 387-398. CHAPTER XXIX. MURDERS AND MURDERERS. THE BLOODY AFFRAY IN “ SHANG ” DRAPER’S SALOON. — RUNNING INTO THE ARMS OF A DETEC- TIVE. PROSTRATE ON THE FLOOR IN A POOL OF BLOOD. THE SNOW ON TWELFTH STREET DEFILED WITH GORE. THE SKELETON IN THE CELLAR. — KNOCKED DOWN AND KILLED AT EARLY DAWN. THE MURDERER OF MRS. HULL CAUGHT BY A REPORTER PP. 399-417. CHAPTER XXX. THE CHINESE QUARTER. — HAUNTS OF CHINESE VICE. A SUNDAY’S VISIT. IN AN OPIUM JOINT. — THE GAME OF POLICY. — AT THE FONG TONG TABLE. THE SOCIAL EVIL. DEGRADATION OF WHITE WOMEN. THE EVIL OF THE LAUNDRIES. — CHINESE AND AMERICAN MARRIAGES. BEFORE THE GREAT JOSS. PP. 418-433. CHAPTER XXXI. ABORTIONISTS. — MADAM RESTELL’S PALACE OF WICKEDNESS. — A RAID BY ANTHONY COMSTOCK. SUICIDE IN A BATH TUB. — THE NAKED CORPSE FOUND IN A TRUNK. A SHRIEK WHICH STARTLED THE COURT. “ FOR GOD’S SAKE, SPARE MY POOR FRANK.” PP. 434-442. CONTENTS. *3 CHAPTER XXXII. FRAUDS ON INSURANCE COMPANIES. — A NOTABLE INSTANCE. — ERNST ULING AND HIS CLEVER SCHEMES. — CONVULSIONS AND SOAP. — A LIVELY CORPSE. — WHAT THE COFFIN CONTAINED. — THE LAST SAD RITES QVER NINETEEN BRICKS. — HID UNDER THE BED. — A FULL CONFESSION.— FINK, THE UNDERTAKER. STATE’S PRISON FOR BOTH PP. 443-448. CHAPTER XXXIII. BEGGARS. — THE DUDE MENDICANT. — FROM BEGGING TO THIEVING. TILL TAPPERS. SNEAK THIEVES ROBBING RUFUS LORD. SHOPLIFTING. — HOW THE lt CONFIDENCE ” GAME IS WORKED. — CATCHING A TARTAR. — THE USE OF DRUGS BY THIEVES. — A MISTAKEN IDEA PP. 449-466. CHAPTER XXXIV. A POT POURRI OF CRIMES. — A BLOODY ASSASSINATION IN FRONT of Sutherland’s restaurant. — the muffled groan of “ MURDER ! ” HIGHWAY ROBBERIES IN A THIRD AVENUE CAR. GARROTED IN THE FOURTH AVENUE TUNNEL. — A THIEF TRIPPED UP BY A SERVANT GIRL. — THE RICH MAN’S SON WHO SHOT A LAWYER. GRADY, THE MASCULINE RIVAL OF MADAME MANDELBAUM. A RASCALLY THEOLOGIAN PP. 467-478. CHAPTER XXXV. THE DIVES OF NEW YORK. FROM THE HAYMARKET TO THE MORGUE IN THE CREMORNE. TOM .GOULD’S DIVE. — HARRY HILL’S THE- ATRE. — AT THE AMERICAN MABILLE. VICE IN THE BLACK-AND- TAN. THE CAN-CAN IN ITS GLORY. — BILLY m’gLORY’s SYSTEM. 14 CONTENTS. THE WRECK OF A WOMAN. THE SAILORS’ DIVES. — A FRENCH BALL PP. 479-496. CHAPTER XXXVI. BUTCHER-CART THIEVES. — STARVING CHILDREN IN 11 THE SHEP- HERD’S fold.” — Garfield’s murderer at. police head- quarters. THE WOMAN WHO THOUGHT SHE WAS SHADOWED. — THE NOTORIOUS FLORENTINE FORGERS. — A VISIT TO EU- ROPE. — HOW THE EXCISE LAWS ARE EVADED PP. 497-516. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE DETECTIVE OF ROMANCE. — SOME POPULAR ERRORS CORRECTED. LOST CHILDREN. MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES. MISSING MR. SMITH. HOW I FOUND HIM. STEPPING OVER THE COUNTY LINE. LIVINGSTONE THE FORGER. — A CHASE AS FAR AS CHICAGO. — AN ACCOMPLISHED PENMAN. MORTGAGING A DEAD MAN’S PROPERTY. — CLEVER TRICK ON A LAWYER. — THE STORY OF A WATCH. pp - 5 * 7 ~ 53 °- CHAPTER XXXVIII. TRAIN ROBBERS IN HOBOKEN, N. J. — THE CASHIER’S SATCHEL. — A BALKY HORSE. — CLEVERLY CAPTURED. — EX-POLICEMAN NU- GENT’S EXPLOIT. — THE CHARLTON STREET GANG OF PIRATES. — SILK STEALING ON A STORMY NIGHT. — BANK BURGLARS FOILED. — how mr. .Alexander’s plan miscarried. — pots of “ jam.” — THE CONSPIRACY FOILED. — “ JOHNNY” ROWE AND HIS CLUB- HOUSE. — HOW THE PLUMBER WAS ROPED IN. — HIS REVENGE. PP - S3 1 " 542. CHAPTER XXXIX. REMARKABLE CRIMES IN BROOKLYN. SUPT. CAMPBELL AS A DETEC- TIVE. THE HEAD THAT WAS FOUND IN A LUMBER YARD. — A CONTENTS, 15 HORRIBLE SMELL. THE DETECTIVES’ DISCOVERY. — WHAT WAS BOILING IN THE POT. AN INHUMAN DEED. THE GOODRICH MURDER. LOOKING FOR KATE STODDARD. A FEMALE DETEC- TIVE AND HER PROVIDENTIAL MEETING WITH THE MURDERESS. ONLY A LOCKET. CRUMBS OF CONGEALED BLOOD. SEARCH- ING EVERY HOUSE IN BROOKLYN. — SUCCESS AT LAST. pp - 543-55 !• CHAPTER XL. CHIEF STEWART OF THE PHILADELPHIA POLICE. — STORY OF A CRANK. — SAVED FROM HIS ENEMIES. — CHIEF KELLY, OF THE PHILADELPHIA DETECTIVES. POOR KIRBY, AND HOW HE WAS KILLED BY POLITENESS. — CLEVERLY LAID PLANS MISCARRY. A PLOT TO STEAL $11,000,000. COPPER INSTEAD OF GOLD. DISAP- POINTMENT AND DEATH. “ GOPHER BILL,” THE CUNNING COUN- TERFEITER. HIS CAREER AND HOW HE WAS CAPTURED. WALTER SHERIDAN. — A CURIOUS HISTORY. A CASE OF SHANG- HAI. — THE “ BUNDLE ” GAME. — PRINTED DESCRIPTIONS OF THIEVES. — SOME CURIOUS SPECIMENS. — A BRUTAL MURDER IN PENNSYLVANIA. ROBBERY OF THE PHILADELPHIA MINT. A BAR OF SILVER THAT WASN’T MISSED PP. 552 - 57 1. CHAPTER XLI. JUSTICE’S JUSTICE IN NEW YORK. — HOW THE WHEELS ARE “COGGED.” — AN INADEQUATE JUDICIARY. — EVASION OF PUNISHMENT. — SEVERAL INSTANCES. “ BUNCO ” MEN AND SWINDLERS. WHY THEY ARE NOT BROUGHT TO TRIAL. ROUGH ON THE COMPLAIN- ANT. SEVENTEEN WEEKS IN THE HOUSE OF DETENTION. “ FINE WORK.” SOMETHING ABOUT GAMBLERS. NOT A SINGLE HONEST ONE. WALL STREET’S INSATIABLE MAW. — SOLITARY MR. SMITH, OF RHODE ISLAND. WHERE ALL THE MONEY GOES. POLICE CAPTAINS SHOULD BE MADE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE EXIST- ENCE OF “ HELLS.” BLACKMAIL LEVIED ON GAMBLING HOUSES. PP * 57 2 ~ 57 8 - REMEDIES SUGGESTED i6 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XLII, THE “SOCIAL EVIL” AGAIN. HOW TO CLEAR A RESPECTABLE NEIGHBORHOOD. A NOVEL PLAN. — CAPTAINS NOT UNAWARE OF ILLEGAL RESORTS IN THEIR PRECINCTS. “FIXED UP” RE- PORTS. MISREPRESENTATIONS WHICH HAVE OCCURRED. — , BLACKMAILING BY DETECTIVES. HOW I CAUGHT THE OF- FENDERS. A STORY WITH AN INTERESTING SEQUEL. — “PLIN” WHITE’S WONDERFUL CAREER. — HOW HE WENT HOME TO DIE PP. 579-588. CHAPTER XLIII. INFORMATION TO REPORTERS. — ABUSES WHICH CREEP IN. — A CASE IN POINT. — BLISSFUL IGNORANCE OF THE PUBLIC. — PUNISH- MENT NOT THE SOLE PURPOSE OF A COURT OF JUSTICE. ITS REAL END AND AIM. FULL PUBLICATION DESIRABLE UNDER CERTAIN RESTRICTIONS. A PARALLEL CASE WITH THAT OF MR. COMMISSIONER SQUIRE. HOW MR. DISBECKER BECAME A POLICE COMMISSIONER. WHY HE DID NOT RESIGN. PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF THE “ FINEST.” HOW IT CAN BE IMPROVED. A PROPOSED “ SCHOOL OF DEPORTMENT.” THE ART OF WEAR- ING CLOTHES. MR. E. BERRY WALL AS AN INSTRUCTOR. A POLICEMAN WITH A PERFECT MENTAL EQUILIBRIUM.— WHAT A VICTORY ! EFFECT OF POLITENESS ON THE LOWER CLASSES. A POWERFUL OBJECT LESSON. . . . . PP. 589-595. CHAPTER XLIV. TWO MAIN CAUSES OF CRIME. — MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT IN NEW YORK. — “ POLITICS ” SYNONYMOUS WITH POWER AND PLUNDER. THE PREDOMINANT IDEA IN A POLITICAL CAMPAIGN. ALL THE SNEAKS ARE REPUBLICANS, AND ALL THE ROUGHS ARE DEMOCRATS. NEW YORK RULED BY THE WORST ELEMENTS IN THE COMMUNITY. WHY THE BETTER CLASSES DO NOT ATTEND THE PRIMARIES. RESULTS OF QUR FORM OF GOVERNMENT. CONTENTS. <7 EXCESSIVE TAXATION. — SHAMEFUL STREETS. — DISGRACEFUL DOCKS. — INSUFFICIENT SCHOOL ACCOMMODATION. — THE JUDICI- ARY. — NOT AN EDIFYING SIGHT. — HOW JUSTICE IS PERVERTED. — WHY JAY GOULD COULD DEFY THE LAW. — PERSECUTING A PROSECUTOR. — OUR LIBERTIES CURTAILED.— ONE LAW FOR THE RICH AND ANOTHER FOR THE POOR. — THE EXCISE LAWS. — SOME SUGGESTIONS. — THE SOCIAL EVIL AND HOW TO DEAL WITH IT. — THE COMMISSIONER OF JURORS. — UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE A FAILURE. — DIFFICULTIES IN THE PATH OF REFORM. — THE ROOT OF THE EVIL. — REMEDIES. — THE LAST PAGE. PP. 596-608. J ILLUSTRATIONS. The illustrations of this work are from original drawings by the fallowing well-known artists : Baron C. DeGrimm, (by permission of Mr. James Gordon Bennett), Valerian Gribayedoff, James A. Wales of “Puck,” Wm. F. Me Dougall and Geo. Folsom. Philip G. Cusachs, Chas. Broughton, A. Meyer, H. E. Patterson, Louis Dalrymple, Jno. A. McDougall, Jr., C. Beecher, A. B. Shults and J. F. J. Tresch. page drawn «y Geo. W. Walling .Frontispiece. 25. Helen Jewett Wm. E. McDougall. 26. Richard P. Robinson , “ 27. Colt Tragedy — The Discovery McDougall and Folsom. 28. Mary Rogers’ Resting-Place “ 30. The Ducking Stool C. BeecJver . 31. The Pillory and Whipping Post “ 37. Old Bowery Theatre. Geo. Folsom. 41. Tom Hyer “ V. GF 42. Yankee Sullivan “ 45. Astor Place Riot Phil. G. Cusachs. 49. Bill Poole “ V. G .” 50. Murder of Bill Poole — Stanwix Hall H. E. Patterson. 57. Mayor Fernando Wood i J E.J. Tresch. 59. Fight Between the Metropolitan and Mu- nicipal Police Valerian Gribayedoff. 63. Prince of Wales’ Ball James A. Wales. 65. Hanging of Gordon the Slave Trader Phil. G. Cusachs. 70. Detective Thomas Sampson. 73. Willard’s Hotel, Washington, D. C McDougall and Folsom. 76. The Leap for Life “ 81. Battle of r HE Barricades J. F. J. Tresch. 83. At the Church « 90. The Widow at Work Louis Dalrymple. 92. “This Woman is a Thief” H. E. Patterson. 95. Burning of Barnum’s Museum. McDougall and Folsom. 102. The Death-bed Recognition “ 109. The Forged Check a. Meyer. 1 16. An Unsolved Mystery. Chas. Broughton. 1 18. Supt. John Jourdan. 129. A Biter Bitten Phil. G. Cusachs . 9 20 ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE DRAWN BY 136. A Horsey Go-Between Phil . G . Cusachs . 140. Police and River Pirates “ 147. Wharf Rats at Work “ 155. Car Hook Murder J . A . McDougall , Jr . 157. Orange Parade Phil . G . Cusachs . 158. James Fiske, Jr 168. The Pedlar at the Door H . E . Patterson . 170 The Counterfeiters’ Den. A . Meyer . 173. A Warm Welcome. H . E . Patterson . 178. Supt. Walling’s Badge 180. Police Headquarters, Mulberry Street Geo . Folsom . 183. Supt. Walling’s Office McDougall and Folsom . 185. Rogues’ Gallery and Mementoes * “ 186. The Cell Corridor Geo . Folsom . 187. The Museum — Burglars’ Tools McDougall and Folsom . 188. “ “ — Relics of Crime “ 190. Inspector Byrnes’ Office “ 191. Private Rooms, Central Office “ 192. Chas. Williams (No. 843) “ V . G .” 195. Police Parade, Broadway McDougall and Folsom . 199. Charley Ross. u V . G .” 207. Death of the Abductors McDougall and Folsom . 211. Inspector Henry V. Steers “ V . G .” 213. Ashore in Jersey A . B . Shults . 221. Adams Express Robbery “ 225. A. T. Stewart’s House and Store McDougall and Folsom . 227. St. Mary’s Church — Stealing Stewart’s Re- mains “ 234. The Meeting “ 240. Bank Burglars’ Outfit “ 248. Interior of Bank Vault 255. Dan Noble “ V . G .” 257. Fac Simile of a Requisition 262. Pete Emerson, alias Banjo Pete “ 265. The Manhattan Bank McDougall and Folsom 267. John Hope “ V . G. y 275. Billy Porter “ 276. Edward Gearing, alias Eddie Goodie, Butch- er-cart Thief “ ’280. Mother Mandelbaum “ 282. “Big” Frank McCoy * “ 284. Mandelbaum Store and House. Geo . Folsom . 285. Michael Kurtz, alias Sheeney Mike “ V . G .” 288. Geo. Mason, alias Oscar Decker, Burglar “ 290. “ Marm ’’ Mandelbaum’s Dinner Party Valerian Gribayedoff . 293. Wm. J. Sharkey “ 295. Escape of Sharkey H . E . Patterson . ILLUSTRATIONS. 21 PAGE 303. “ Red ” Leary 3ro. Dr. Dix’s Visitors 342. Wm. E. Brockway 345. “ Hungry Joe’s ” Poker Game 376. John Morrissey 377. John Lawrence Sullivan 381. Jimmy Elliott 393. The Tombs — Exterior 394. The Tombs — Courtyard 395. The Tombs— Interior 396. Blackwell’s Island 397. The “ Black Maria ” . . 400. John Walsh. . 401. Capt. Alex. S. Williams, 29th Precinct. 403. Surprised at Work 416. At the Prayer-meeting 435. Madam Restell 437. Suicide of Madam Restell 439. Dr. Rosenzweig 440. Alice Augusta Bowlsby 450. Capt. Anthony J. Allaire 454. Spencer Pettis 457. “Tip” Little 460. Jimmy Price 464. Theo. Bishop 474. Jim Brady’s Jump 486. A Bowery Dive 490. Owney Geogeghan 493. French Ball 503. The Shepherd’s Flock 544. A Brooklyn Chief 553. A Philadelphia Chief 559. A Chief of Detectives DRAWN BY “ V. G." C. DeGrimm. “ v. g:’ Phil. G. Cusacks. “ V. G” “V. G.” “ V. G.” ft A. Meyer. Phil. G. Cusacks. “ V. G.” Phil. G. Cusacks. “ V. G.” ft “ V. G ft a it u A. Meyer. “ V. 6 ’.” H. E. Patterson. Phil. G. Cusacks' t RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW YORK CHIEF OF POLICE. CHAPTER I. EARLY YEARS. — REMOVAL TO KEYPORT, N. J. — THE “ CHINGA- RORA.” — “THE LONG, LOW, BLACK SCHOONER.” — A REGULAR SCARE. — ON THE “ SPENCER.”— THE MURDER OF HELEN JEW- ETT. — THE COLT TRAGEDY. — DID THE MURDERER COMMIT SUICIDE ? — THE PRETTY CIGAR GIRL. — EDGAR A. POE AS AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE. — THE STADT HUYS. — BELL AND RATTLE WATCH. — THE WHIPPING POST. — CREMATION WITH A VENGEANCE. — “ LEATHERHEADS.” — WASHINGTON IRVING’S PRACTICAL JOKE. I was born on the first of May, 1823, in Middletown township, Monmouth county, New Jersey, some two miles from Keyport. The original Walling stock was Welsh ; a Walling settled in New Jersey at the close of the seventeenth century. My grandfather, Daniel Walling, served in the Revolutionary army, and afterwards received a pension from the United States. My mother’s maiden name was Catharine Aumack ; her ancestors came from Denmark. My father, Leonard Walling, was a civil engineer and surveyor ; he kept a country store, and had been a member of the State Legis- lature. I was sent to a school in the village, where I received most of my early instruction. My father, who had ambitious views for me, was desirous of preparing me for college ; to which, be it said, I never went. When not at school I acted as clerk in my father’s store. Sometimes I would accompany him on his frequent trips to 23 24 “ THE LONG, LOW, BLACK SCHOONER.” New York, to purchase goods. The journey was made on a sloop or packet, and sometimes took an entire day. These excursions were my delight, for I was an open-air boy, fond of athletic exer- cises, proficient in rowing, swimming and running, and capable of sailing a boat. In 1832, when I was nine years old, my father removed to Key- port and opened a store there; but, to my delight, he soon after gave up store-keeping and built a schooner of about a hundred tons, which he named the “ Chingarora.” He had taught him- self navigation and made several trips on the vessel as her master. The schooner brought pine wood and oysters from Virginia, and naval stores from North Carolina, and carried back miscellaneous freights to Southern ports. I made several trips to Virginia be- fore I was fourteen years old, and so learned something about sea life. This “ Chingarora ” deserves more than passing mention, for she wrote history to the extent of a slang phrase. Even now you will hear the expression, “ long, low, black schooner ; ” fifty years ago it was in everybody’s mouth and quite the vogue. I will tell you what gave birth to it. Father was bound to New York with a load of Virginia oysters ; a little off the Hook he met the old Liver- pool liner, “ Susquehanna,” outward bound. The captain hailed father and asked him what he had to sell. “ Virginia oysters,” he replied, and forthwith went aboard and made a sale. It was dusk, and some inward-bound vessels sighted father’s boat alongside the packet. The “ Chingarora ” was painted black, with the ex- ception of a narrow red streak below the bulwarks. She had no cabin windows and her masts were tall and rakish. The next day the news was reported that a pirate had boarded a large ship off Sandy Hook ; newspapers printed columns about the mysterious “ long, low, black schooner,” and accounts of the ferocious pirate went broadcast over the country, while official reports were fur- nished to all the ports. Meanwhile, of course, the “ Susquehanna ” went silently to sea. Father came up innocently to New York, sold his oysters, loaded up again and proceeded peacefully to Baltimore, where he was im- mediately taken into custody as a bold buccaneer. Of course his papers were in order and his identity was easily established. The scare about pirates went out in a roar of laughter and “ long, low, black schooner ” became the fashion in speech. HELEN JEWETT. Poor old “ Chingarora.” We had to sell her when my good father ended his sturdy life, but the sea knowledge I gained on her stood me in good stead. I adopted the sea as my profession, and worked on several of the steam-boats then plying up the North River and the Sound. I was one of the hands on the old “ Colum- bus ” and the “ Neptune ” of those days. In 1845 I went on the revenue steamer “ Spencer ” and re- mained with her a few months. I remember a great fire in New York in 1845, at which the crew of the “ Spencer,” and a squad of marines from the Brooklyn navy-yard assisted as guardians of property. This was really my first service as a keeper of the peace. Growing tired of marine life, I left the “ Spencer ” and took up my residence in New York. I went into business, and sold mar- ket produce brought to Washington Market by the river craft. In spring, summer and fall I was kept busy, but during the winter months I had but little to do. I had not thought of police work then, but recollect all the great crimes that startled the country, and particularly one of the most remarkable and atrocious which had been committed. This was the murder of the notorious courtesan, Helen Jewett, by, as was alleged, her quondam lover, Richard P. Robinson, on the night of April n, 1836. Helen, whose real name was Dorcas Doyan, was but twenty-three years old. She possessed rare beauty of person and in- telligence. The story of her career need not be repeated here. It may be simply related that Robinson remained her lover for a con- siderable time, and, eventually, upon her solicitation, agreed to go through the form of a marriage. At the time of her murder, Helen was an inmate of Mrs. Townsend’s house on Thomas Street, and there, on the night of April n, 1836, she was visited by Robinson. After that she was never seen alive. At about three o’clock the next morning, when Mrs. Townsend entered the room, she was met by a dense volume of smoke which almost overpowered her. The chamber was on fire, and there, on the floor, lay the body of the ill fated Helen, her transparent fore- HELEN JEWETT. (From a Photograph.) 20 THE COLT TRAGEDY. head half divided by a gaping wound, and her body half consumed by fire. Robinson was arrested a few hours later, but was acquitted of the charge of murder. There is almost con- clusive evidence that he escaped the gallows through the bribery of one of the jurors. Another fearful tragedy, which oc- curred on September 17, 1841, was the horrible murder of Samuel Adams, a printer, by John C. Colt, book-keeper and teacher of ornamental penmanship, richard p. robinson, m an office at the corner of Broadway (From a Photograph.) and Chambers Street. After braining Adams with a hatchet, Colt cut up the body and salted it down in a box. He then had it conveyed by a teamster to a ves- sel bound for New Orleans, lying at the foot of Maiden Lane. This vessel was to have departed immediately, but she was delayed a week. A horrible stench came from the hold, and the order was given by the captain to “break cargo.” The result was the discovery of the box containing all that remained of Adams. Colt was arrested, and shortly afterwards confessed his crime, stating, however, that there had been a fight between him and his victim. He was sentenced to be hanged, but com- mitted suicide by stabbing himself to the heart with a knife. This has been generally accepted as true by the public, but I have heard it declared over and over again, by those in a position to know, that Colt did not commit suicide ; that the body found in his cell when the Tombs caught fire was only a corpse prepared for the purpose, and that he escaped in the confusion. The coroner, it is said, was aware of the deception, and the jurymen were se- lected for their ignorance of Colt’s personal appearance. Persons who knew Colt well are positive they have seen him since the time of his alleged suicide in both California and Texas. The mysterious murder of Mary Rogers, the “ pretty cigar girl,” occurred in 1842. For some years previously Mary was employed to sell cigars in the store of John Anderson, the famous snuff man- ufacturer. She was a very handsome girl, and her fame extended far and wide among the swells of that period, who were constant customers at the store. In the early part of 1842 she relinquished THE PRETTY CIGAR GIRL. 2 7 her position in the cigar store, and henceforward assisted her mother, who kept a boarding-house at No. 126 Nassau Street. One Sunday in July, 1842, Mary left her home, telling Daniel Payn, a young man to whom she was to be married, that she was going to church, and that if she were not home to supper he was to call at a female friend’s house for her. There was a heavy thunder storm that evening, and Payn, thinking his betrothed would stay over night with her friend, did not call for her. He never saw her again in this world. The next morning her body was found floating in the water near what was then known as the “ Sybil’s Cave,” in the vicinity of the Elysian Fields, on the Jersey side of the Hudson. It bore the marks of the most horrible and name- less maltreatment. Subsequently, some ^ articles of wearing ap- parel, which were recognized as having belonged to the murdered girl, were found in a thicket of the Elysian Fields, where the crime was undoubtedly committed, the body being afterwards thrown into the water. Several persons were arrested on suspicion of having committed the crime, including a rejected suitor for the victim’s hand, but no evidence was forthcoming, and the suspected persons were all discharged. EDGAR A. POE’S THEORY. 2S The excitement following the murder of Mary Rogers was con- spicuously felt by the prominent New Yorkers of the day. Such men as Gen. James Watson Webb, Gen. Scott, M. M. Noah, James Gordon Bennett, Fenimore Cooper, Washington Irving, N. P. Willis and Edgar A. Poe, were acquainted with the dainty figure and pretty face where they bought their cigars. Edgar A. Poe possessed, or thought he possessed, high ability as a detective ; and his ingenuity in this ghastly groping is shown in “ The Gold MARY ROGERS’ RESTING-PLACE. Bug,” “ Murder on the Rue Morgue,” and “ The Mystery of Marie Roget.” In the latter story he endeavors to account for the disappear- ance of the pretty cigar girl. He slightly disguises her name, sub- stitutes the Rue Morgue for Broadway, the Seine for the Hudson, the Bois de Boulogne for the Hackensack Wood, etc. He follows all her acquaintances, analyzes their characters, and examines their relation to her, coming to the conclusion that a well-known officer in the United States Navy was her murderer. The best YE OLDEN TIMES. 2 9 authorities of that time do not agree with Poe’s finding, but the tragic romance is full of painful interest. But leaving these records of crime for a time to deal directly with the ancient police force of the city, which exerted itself to detect criminals, I will write of the old watchmen who found their headquarters in the City Hall. The first of these buildings of which New York could boast was built in 1642, on Pearl Street, close to the Battery. It was called the “ Stadt Huys,” and was five years old when old Peter Stuy- vesant, with his wooden leg, took his seat in the governor’s chair, and commenced his vigorous crusade against the liquor saloons in the interests of temperance. Nine years later, the first police force was organized. It was called “ the rattle watch,” and con- sisted of just half a dozen men. They marched about the streets at night, sounding the rattles with which they were equipped, and yelling : “ By the grace of God, two o’clock in peace ! ” The records show that boys in those days were as noisy and mischievous as they are now, for we are gravely told that “ two boys were arrested for shouting after Indians in Pearl Street.” And Pearl Street, by the way, is one of the few city thoroughfares which has held its name from the very first. Street lighting came into fashion some ten or fifteen years later, an ordinance being passed commanding that “ every seventh house in all the streets shall, in the dark of the moon, cause a lantern and candle to be hung out on a pole, the charge to be defrayed equally by the inhabitants of the said seven houses.” In 1673 a decree was promulgated looking to the banishment of the droves of hogs with which the streets were infested. The reason given for this decree was “ because the hogs which are kept within this city in multitudes have from time to time committed great damage to the fortifications.” Twenty years later, the first uniformed policeman of the city appeared in its streets. He was armed with a bell and a long and formidable looking axe. Plis uniform was “a coat of ye citty livery, with a badge of ye citty armes, shoes and stockings.” The cost of all this paraphernalia was charged “ to ye account of ye citty.” For the punishment of offenders there were erected on the wharf at Whitehall, a gallows, a pillory, a cage, whipping- post and ducking-stool. The mayor in person was the public ad- ministrator of all forms of punishment. 3 ° BARBAROUS PUNISHMENTS. A new City Hall was built in 1700, its site being where the Sub-Treasury now stands, on Wall Street, near the . corner of Nassau, then commonly spoken of as “the road that runs by the pie-woman’s.” What is now the City Hall Park, with its foun- tain, neat walks and well kept green sward, was known as the Common in those days. Here it was that those persons con- victed of heinous crimes were burnt alive ! Ah, those were “ good old days,” were they not ! Why, even as late as 1712, a poor old slave, known as “ Tom,” suffered this awful penalty. He belonged to Nicholas Roosevelt, and the sentence passed upon him read this wise : “ That you be carryed from hence to the place whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution ; and there be burned with a slow fire, that you may continue in tor- ment for eight or ten hours, and continue burning in the said fire until you be dead and consumed to ashes.” In these days such punishment would be deemed barbarous, inhuman, or worse ; yet the majority of people who were then living were loud-professing, earnest and fervent Christians. New York was very religious THE ANCIENT POLICE. 3 ' then, far more so than it has ever been since, with all her costly churches and wide-spreading missionary efforts. For twenty years the whipping-post stood on Broad Street, and its site is at present flanked by D. O. Mills’ colossal building, where the great banking house of Henry Clews & Co. is now located. Down through this thoroughfare ran a canal, crossed by bridges. Wall Street was the northern boundary of the city, and along it, divid- ing it from the country beyond, was a high wall. But about the whipping-post. Why, one of the newspapers of that time disposes of a case of whipping in this manner, as if it THE PILLORY AND WHIPPING-POST. were quite a common occurrence : “ A woman was whipped at the whipping-post on the 3d, and afforded much amusement to the spectators by her resistance.” The pillory was not idle, either, for “James Gain, pursuant to sentence, stood in the pil- lory near the City Hall, and was most severely pelted by great numbers of spectators ; a lad was also branded in the hand.” The old night-watchmen of the city were required to announce not only the hour, but the state of the weather at the time, ring- ing their bell and chanting lustily something like this : “ Past four 32 WASHINGTON IRVING’S V ESCAPADES. o’clock, and a dark and cloudy morning.” The highest wages paid to policemen in New York, up to the close of the Revolu- tionary war, was $5.25 a week. During the first half of the present century the police were known as “ Leathtfrheads,” a nickname which arose from the fact that they wore leather hats, something like an old-fashioned fire- man’s helmet, with a broad brim behind. Twice a year these hats received a thick coat of varnish, and after a time they be- came almost as hard and heavy as iron. These old “ Leather- heads ” were subject to very little discipline, and were anything but imposing or athletic. Should one attempt to make an arrest, he was either very roughly handled, or led a long and fruitless chase, in the course of which he was sure to meet with many and ludicrous mishaps. He was, in fact, unable to protect himself, let alone guarding and protecting citizens and property. The young bloods of those days took liberties with this official which no youth of our time, if he valued his head and health, would dare take with “ One of the Finest.” Youthful and exuberant New Yorkers considered that an evening out was not spent in the ortho- dox manner unless they played some rough practical jokes on the poor, old, inoffensive “ Leatherheads.” It is recorded of such a staid young man as Washington Irving, even', that he was in the habit of upsetting watch-boxes if he caught a “ Leatherhead ” asleep inside ; and on one occasion, so it is said, he lassoed the box with a stout rope, and with the aid of companions dragged it down Broadway, while the watchman inside yelled loudly for help. The only insignia of office which these old fellows had, besides the leather helmet, was a big cloak and a club ; at night they also carried a lantern. CHAPTER II. I BECOME A POLICEMAN. “ BUTTER-CAKE DICK.” “ YOU MUST NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.” THE “ BUTTON ” CASE. A SHARP PIECE OF DE- TECTIVE WORK. HOW I SAVED TOM HYER FROM YANKEE SUL- LIVAN’S GANG. — “ THE ’FORTY-NINERS.” One day, late in 1847, I was hunting quail in New Jersey, when a friend accosted me and asked whether I would like to take his position on the New York police force. He was about to. resign, and the alderman and assistant-alderman of his ward had given him the privilege of naming his successor; In those days aldermen and assistant-aldermen nominated, subject to the mayor’s approval, which was rarely refused. The term of service of each appointee was two years. I certainly never had the slightest idea of becoming a police- man, but the proposition did not displease me. I had no particu- lar business at the time and decided that I might as well carry a club till something better turned up. I accepted my friend’s offer. Little did I think then that I was to pass my life on police duty. My friend sent in his resignation and I was nominated by Alderman Egbert Benson and Assistant- Alderman Thomas McElrath, the latter well known as one of the original proprie- tors of the Tribune , with the illustrious Horace Greeley. The mayor, Mr. Wm. V. Brady, approved and swore me in on the twenty-second day of December, 1847. My debut was made as one of the force of the Third Ward. I received no special instructions as to what were to be my duties, but was ordered to report to Captain Tobias Boudinot, who was then in charge of the Third Ward station, situated on Robinson Street, west of College Place. The station was a small frame building, with a stoop ; there was a door below opening into the basement, where the cells were. It is amusing to me to recall the ease with which my appoint- ment was secured. The men at that time owed their appoint- ments entirely to political preferences-; there were no surgeons’ 3 33 34 “ BUTTER-CAKE DICK.” inspections, nor any civil-service examinations, in fact no atten- tion whatever was paid to the physique or mental acquirements of the applicant. The salary was $600 a year, the pay days were twice a month. The sergeants then, the roundsmen of to-day, visited the various posts to see that the men were on duty. The merely physical work, to a young man like myself, accus- tomed to walk all day with a gun on my shoulders, shooting birds in the Jersey fields, was not at all onerous. As far as covering my post went, I had no trouble about that ; nor did an exact obedience to the rules present much difficulty. But I must confess that once I fell from grace. Just at the beginning of my official career there came a fiitterly cold night. I had been on post for a number of hours, and if there was anything on this earth that I yearned for it was a cup of hot coffee. Now, in those days one Richard Marshall, better known as “ Butter-cake Dick,” kept a coffee-and-cake saloon under the then Tribmie building. I could look from my post across the Park and see the genial light of this haven of refuge, the windows deliciously frosted with congealed coffee-steam. O, how I wanted coffee ! Well, I was young, and I found my feet instinctively crossing the Park and irresistibly carrying me to “ something hot.” I en- tered the shop, and to my amazement it was filled with policemen ! “ Butter-cake Dick ” himself, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, brought me refreshments, and, speechless, I swal- lowed my coffee as quickly as I could, gobbled my butter-cakes and flew back to my post. But, to my horror, Nemesis, in the rotund person of Sergeant Hervey, was there, and apparently looking for me. “ Where have you been, sir ? ” said he. '“To ‘Butter-cake Dick’s , 5 sir,” I replied, quaking. “ You must never do that again,” said he, very sharply. But he was a kind-hearted sergeant, and I suppose he saw my dismay, for he went on to say that in very severe weather, if I were very cold, and if coffee was very necessary, I could wait till I saw him, ask his permission, and he would patrol my post till I returned. He wound up by telling me that as I was a new hand he would not report me for this first offence, but if it ever happened again he would have to send my name up. It never did ! THE “ BUTTON ” CASE. 35 But I could not help wondering how the other policemen I had seen in the coffee-shop managed it. And here, at this late day, I am informing on them. In 1848, when Mr. George W. Matsell was chief of police, com- plaints were frequently made to him of Sunday robberies among the wholesale and retail houses about Maiden Lane and John Street. These depredations were sources of as great annoyance to Mr. Matsell as to the members of the force. One morning the chief of police sent for Theodore Shadbolt, John Reed, John Wade and me, and said : “ Boys, I have sent for you to help me. Every Monday morning when I come down to the office I have complaints of burglaries committed in Maiden Lane or John Street, and if you do not catch the thieves I shall have to jump off the dock.” Of course we all looked exceedingly vigilant and wide awake, but we had to wait further developments. One Monday morning Mr. Matsell sent for us. The chief was not in a good humor. There had been enough to ruffle him. He began at us at once with : “ There has been another burglary in Maiden Lane. I want you to go there and investigate, and see what you can do ! T ’ Accompanied by Reed and Shadbolt, I went at once to the store in Maiden Lane and made a thorough examination. We found that the burglars had entered the store by breaking through a small window opening on an alley. The thieves had stolen some very choice cutlery and costly suspenders. In count- ing the stock, about the exact quantity of cutlery was deter- mined ; and upon examining the loss of suspenders, three pairs were found missing. It was a fair suspicion that three burglars had been at work, and that each man had helped himself to a pair of suspenders. Examining every nook and corner of the place, we found a number of bits of newspaper, and in sorting them out carefully, we came across a single button. This button would be now classed as an ordinary one, but thirty odd years ago it was a button not in common use. Sack coats had just then come into fashion and were novelties. This button was covered with the same material as the cloth of the coat. The button had been, therefore, part and parcel of one of these new-fashioned garments. The question arose whether any one in the store wore a sack coat, or had lost a button ? The clerks were brought before us, of course not aware why their 3 ^ AT THE THEATRE. clothes were examined so particularly ; but none of them wore a sack. How, then, did the button come there ? It did not look as if it had been pulled olf suddenly. I came to the conclusion that the owner of the button, when it became loose, had put it in his pocket, intending to have it sewed on again. When he was filling his pockets with the cutlery, to make room for the fine knives, he had turned out the paper in his pocket with the other contents, and the button had fallen on the floor. A button was a very insignificant clue, but it was all we had. We returned to Mr. Matsell and reported our investigation. We said there were three burglars, and one of them had lost a button. I do not know whether the chief of police was very well satisfied. We held a consultation with the officers of the force. We were all of the opinion that we must find a man wearing a sack coat, minus a button or buttons which would match the one in our possession. We all studied, very carefully, the configuration of that little disc, and, if I may so express it, got it by heart. We now visited all the places wherein we fancied thieves would congregate, but no buttonless rascals were visible. We be- gan to be- quite despondent ; but nevertheless, that button kept passing around. About a month and a half had elapsed, when, one very cold night, I was on duty at the old Chatham Street Theatre, just above Pearl Street. Officer Shadbolt came to me and said : “ There are three young men going up stairs. I know them to be thieves. I will give you the cue so that you can distinguish them, and then you watch them. As the men know me by sight, I mustn’t show.” “All right, Mr. Shadbolt,” I replied, “I will keep my eye on them.” Presently three men came up to one of the upper galleries. Shadbolt signalled to me, and I knew my men. I took a theatre bill, and was apparently very much interested in the performance. Being in plain clothing, I took a seat directly behind the men. Always having that button on the brain, the first thing I did was to scan their coats. There was not a button wanting. I scruti- nized the make of all their buttons. Could I believe my eyes? Yes 1 one of them displayed buttons precisely like the one we had treasured. More than that, this same man with the suspicious buttons had one button on his coat of a slightly different pattern. ON THE TRACK. 37 There was no doubt about the matter ; we had the thief, perhaps the thieves. I hurried down the stairs of the theatre at once, and saw Shadbolt. “ Those are the fellows we are looking for,” I said. “ We will watch them. As they will come out with the crowd, we might lose them. You keep in the shade, somewhere in the house, and follow them out. I will go on the opposite side of the street. When you are on their track, lift your hat, and then I will take the trail and follow them. When you see me in their wake, station yourself in front of the Bowery Theatre and do not OLD BOWERY THEATRE. leave it until you hear from me. Then perhaps Mr. Matsell will not jump off the dock.” Shadbolt agreed to the plan, and at midnight, when the theatre was closed, I was on the tracks following the three men. They went into an eating-house in Chatham Street, and had some supper ; came out, and then went on their way to the east side of the street. The house they went into had a light in the door-way. I waited for a long time, and made up my mind that the men had gone to bed. The house was probably a lodging- place. It was bitterly cold, and I had hidden myself in a door- 38 GET UP ! THE COPS.” way on the opposite side of the street. After having run the men to earth, it would never have done to lose them. I must not leave my place of observation. At about half-past two o’clock in the morning I saw a man come along. I slipped out of the door-way. The man was apparently alarmed and started across the street. I halted him and as- sured him that there was no cause for fear. “ Do not be fright- ened,” I said, “ I am an officer.” I took out my star and showed it to him. I asked him in what direction he was going. It so hap- pened that on his way to his house he would have to pass the Bower} T Theatre. I begged him to notify the officer he would find in front of the theatre where I was and to come to me at once- The man left. After a while down came Mr. Shadbolt. I quickly explained to him the condition of affairs, and told him that the men were in the house opposite and asleep. I begged him to go at once to the Tenth Ward police station and to send Reed and Wade to meet me where I then was, at five o’clock in the morning. Promptly on time, Reed and Wade were there. We went to the house, knocked and were admitted by the man in charge. I told him : “ You have three men in bed in this house, and we want them.” I advised him what to do, so that we might get into the room where they were, in order that we could catch them all at once. It was arranged that the lodging-house keeper should tell them to open their door so that he could get their candle. The man went to the room, knocked, awoke the sleepers and the door was opened. No sooner was the door ajar than I went in, followed by Reed and Wade. I put my foot in the door so that it could not be closed. It looked as if our visit was no surprise, for one of the men said to the others, “ Get up — the 4 cops ’ are here for us.” The men made no resistance and were taken to Mr. Matsell’s office and locked up in the cells. In searching them we found that every man of them had on a pair of suspenders of the best quality. We sent at once to the house in Maiden Lane, reporting the finding of the suspenders. The Maiden Lane merchant examined the suspenders, and de- clared that they were exactly like those which had been stolen, but unfortunately he had sold a great many and could not of course swear that these were the stolen ones. Here then came the chance that, after all our trouble, nothing could be proved against A COMEDY OP ERRORS. 39 the men. The button was good for nothing in court ; other evi- dence against the thieves was necessary. I thought the problem out, and made up my mind that Shadbolt, because he knew the thieves, would be of use to us.. It should be remembered that, so far, the three men had no knowledge that Shadbolt had had anything to do with this arrest. A little comedy was agreed upon by Mr. Matsell, Shadbolt and myself, and the play was managed in this way : I took the three men before Mr. Matsell, and they were left with him for a little while. Then Mr. Shadbolt came in and asked Mr. Matsell for permission to leave the city. Mr. Matsell was to be apparently very much engaged, so as not to pay immedi- ate attention to Shadbolt’s request. Seeing the three men, Shad- bolt expressed surprise, and inquired : “ What are you doing here ? ” Then I came in, apparently in a towering rage. “What!” I cried, “ Mr. Matsell, is this the way business is carried on in this office, sir ? When I have prisoners, can another officer come in and talk to them ? This is an injustice which I will not permit.” Then Mr. Matsell turned on Shadbolt, and said Mr. Shadbolt, this is contrary to every rule. You have no right to talk to these prisoners. If ever anything of this kind occurs again I shall bring charges against you.” I turned quickly on Shadbolt, and told him he had no business at all in the office. I ended by insisting “ that his room was better than his company.” Then I took the prisoners and put them in a passage-way and left them again, apparently, for a moment. Shad- bolt then returned to where they were. One of the men called him to them. Shadbolt looked around with suspicion, and said Is Walling gone ? ” The men replied, “ Yes.” Shadbolt said : “ I can talk with you for a minute. Talk quickly, however, for it is more than my place is worth for me to be seen talking with you. What are you here for, anyhow ? ” The men said they did not know. Shadbolt told them that he would find out. Then Shadbolt went away, came back after a while and informed them that it was in regard to stealing sus- penders and cutlery, and that they had better confess their guilt, and get off with a short imprisonment. This they consented to do. They confessed the theft. Then Shadbolt advised them to tell Mr. Matsell what they had done with the property. I was given charge 40 TOM HYER AND YANKEE SULLIVAN. of the men and took them before Mr. Matsell. The men informed us that they had sold their goods to a man in Centre Street. Mr. Matsell despatched me to Centre Street at once. I said to the man : “You have been buying goods from three thieves. We have got the men fast. Now you had better tell me where the cutlery and other things are.” The man positively denied that he had bought any stolen goods. “ Then,” I said, “ I will search the place,” and I did so. In one corner of the room, stowed away behind some boxes, I found the cutlery. No sooner had I put my hands on the knives than I said : “ Here is evidence enough to send you to the State prison.” I sent for a truck and carried to Mr. Matsell’s office a whole load of plunder. Among the goods we found the stock of a tailor, who had been robbed in Brooklyn some time before. The “ fence ” was tried, convicted and sent to State’s prison. As for the thieves, they pleaded guilty on three charges, and were convicted. A coat button lost by a thief, the finding of it by a policeman, the element of luck entering to some slight degree in the matter, led to the discovery of the burglars, the taking of the receiver and the capture of property worth a great deal of money, the result of seven burglaries. I suppose a certain tenacity of purpose in de- tective w r ork is always necessary. If the clew is worthless to-day, it may be valuable to-morrow. In following up a rascal an endless number of small things, apparently insignificant, must be always borne in mind. Political feeling ran high during the year 1848. The excite- ment, in fact, was intense, and fights were more than frequent between the members of the various factions. I was on duty on Broadway the night that Tom Hyer thrashed Yankee Sullivan. It was about twelve o’clock when, just as I was passing an oyster saloon at Park Place and Broadway, I heard the sound of disput- ing going on within. The doors were wide open and the place was brilliantly lighted. I paused for a few minutes on the side- walk, and then, as the noise suddenly ceased, I proceeded to patrol my beat, going down Broadway towards Cortlandt Street. Barely was the latter thoroughfare reached before I heard the rap of a policeman’s club. Hurriedly retracing my steps, I found the officer who had signalled me standing in front of the oyster saloon which I had just left. 4i “ WHO THE DEVIL ARE YOU ? ” “ There’s a fight going on down there,” he said , “ somebody’s going to be killed.” I tried the doors and found they were locked and bolted. Evi- dently there was a row going on, and a lively one, judging from the noise. Presently one of the waiters came running out of the saloon through a side entrance on Park Place, and I immediately captured him. He showed me the door through which he had come, and I entered the place, telling the other police-officer to keep close to me. But he didn’t ; when I got inside he was not there. There stood Tom Hyer, whom I knew well by sight and repu- tation, placing a percussion-cap upon the nipple of a pistol which he held in his hand. In one of the boxes was Yankee Sullivan, who looked as if he had been roughly handled. I took in the situation at once. “ Put up that pistol,” I said to Hyer, who looked calm and collected enough, and with no trace on his person of hav- ing been engaged in a fight. “ Who the devil are you ? ” he asked, in a gruff voice. “ I’m an officer,” I replied, exhibit- ing my star. “They’re going to bring the gang here,” said Hyer, in a calm voice ; “ and I’m not going to let them murder me without a pretty tough fight for my life.” “ Come, get out of this. Come along with me,” I said, and Hyer, taking hold of my arm, we left the saloon. Just as soon as we reached the street, Hyer said he thought he would go to the Em- pire Club, and, bidding me good-night, crossed Broadway. No sooner was he out of sight than a howling mob of Sullivan’s friends came rushing toward me. They had heard of Sullivan’s discomfiture, and were in search of Hyer, who, if they had caught him, would most assuredly have been murdered. Some of the crowd asked me where Sullivan was, and when I told them where I had last seen him they made a rush for the oyster saloon. I TOM HYER. (F rom a Photograph.) 4 ^ li > 49 — ERS.^ could plainly hear their yells of rage when they found their friend. * Hyer had not left the place a moment too early. I frequently met Hyer after that, but he never referred to his narrow escape on that night, — neither did I. Concerning Hyer, I may say that with associates of his own class, who were all fight- ing men, the word and the blow would follow each other closely; but with those physically his inferiors he was never inclined to pick a quarrel. The same, I am sorry to say, can- not be said of the pu- gilists of to-day. The year 1849 opened with the excitement re- sulting from the dis- covery of gold in Cali- fornia. This craze, for such it was, exceeded anything of the kind ever experienced in this country. From this city there went merchants, professional men and men of every grade of wage-workers. Among them was Sam Ward, the epicure and prince of dinner-givers. He was then a member of the firm of Prime, Ward & King, but he subsequently became the best known lobbyist in the country. In the same em- igration went three sons of Robert Emmett, S. S. Osgood, the artist, and others. I well remember the sailing of the bark “Joseph” for San Francisco. She was purchased and equipped by young men from the Seventh Ward. The number of expeditions fitted out was very large, parties coming from Utica, Buffalo, Hudson, Oswego, Albany and other parts of New York State. YANKEE SULLIVAN. (From a Photograph.) CHAPTER III. ASTOR PLACE RIOTS. — FORREST AND MACREADY. — “ SI ” SHAY AND “ BUTT ” ALLEN. — RIOTERS STORM THE OPERA HOUSE. — FEARFUL LOSS OF LIFE. AUTHORSHIP OF INFLAMMATORY HANDBILLS. THE “ HONEYMOON ” GANG. ENGLISH ROW AND IRISH ROW. — ATTACK ON N. P. WILLIS. — “ STAND BACK, GENTLEMEN.”— JENNY LIND. BILL POOLE AND LEW BAKER. DELIBERATE MURDER. GRAND FUNERAL. AN OCEAN CHASE. CAPTURE OF THE ASSASSIN. “i DIE A TRUE AMERICAN.” THE SWORD-CANE. — BOND-STREET TRAGEDY. — THE BOGUS BABY. The Astor Place riots — the outcome of jealousy between the two great actors, Forrest and Macready — occurred during the latter part of 1849, two y ears after my appointment as a police officer. In this, therefore, was gained my first experience in the concerted action of the force to quell a disturbance. Upon the night of the riot Macready was to appear at the Astor Place Opera House. Long before the hour for the per- formance to begin a large and excited crowd assembled near the theatre. The first two acts of the play were proceeded with in com- parative quiet, though there was some groaning and hissing heard. Being on duty within the theatre I saw everything that occurred. In the upper galleries was a crowd of disorderly persons, many of whom I knew. Two of the leaders in the disturbance were “ Si ” Shay and “ Butt ” Allen. They were yelling and inciting others to do the same. I went towards them with the intention of ordering them to desist. As I neared them Allen picked up a heavy chair and was about to throw it at Mr. Macready, who was then on the stage. I caught hold of it. At the same instant, several young ruffians, friendly to Allen, attacked me, and a rough-and-tumble fight ensued. Allen managed to wrench the chair from my grasp, and taking careful aim, threw it at Macready. It struck within two feet of him, but he never flinched. He simply looked up and went on with his lines. A few moments afterwards a shower of stones from the mob outside shattered nearly every window in the theatre. This stopped the perform- 43 44 ASTOR PLACE RIOTS. ance for that night, and Mr. Macready announced it to be his in- tention not to appear again in this city. Many prominent per- sons waited upon him in a body, however, and insisted that he should give a second performance, promising him ample pro- tection. He reluctantly consented, and the result was one of the most serious disturbances which has ever occurred in New York. A sewer was being constructed on Fourth Avenue, and the pave- ments, in consequence, had been torn up. At Macready’s next performance the cobble-stones became effective weapons in the hands of the mob. Where the Bible House now stands was a stone-yard. The stone clippings which the rioters found there furnished sufficient ammunition to pelt the military and police. The main attack came from Fourth Avenue, the police being stationed there, as well as on Astor Place, Broadway, Eighth Street and Lafayette Place. I was in charge of the amphitheatre entrance to the theatre, on Astor Place. There were six men under me. The stones came from the mob in volleys. Several soldiers were struck down, one or two of them being seriously in- jured. I carried them within the theatre. There the scene was one of terror and confusion. Shower after shower of paving- stones was hurled against the windows. The stones, however, fell in the midst of the frightened audience, which became positively terror-stricken. When the military appeared the rioters became still more demonstrative. Mr. Frederick A. Talmage, the recorder, ordered the rioters to disperse, but their only reply was another volley of stones. General Hall was in command of the military, and very reluctantly gave the order to — “ Fire!” The first volley was aimed over the heads of the crowd. Many of the bullets struck the wall of Mrs. Langdon’s house, at Lafayette and Astor places, and many innocent persons, taking no part in the riotous proceedings and standing far from the fighting, fell to the ground, wounded by the spent bullets. The scene was now one of the wildest excitement, and the fury of the mob became uncontrollable. Immediately after the first firing some of the rioters shouted : “Don’t run; they’re only firing blank cartridges. Damn ’em, they daren’t snoot anybody.” 45 46 THE HANDBILLS. It was apparent that unless the militia acted in a decisive manner they would be driven from their position. A brief pause, and then, amid the din and discord of that awful scene, was heard the command : “ Fire ! ” There was a flash, a deafening roar, and then were heard the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying. The effect of that volley was awful. Scores lay upon the ground, writhing with pain. 1 error-stricken, the cowardly rioters rushed from the scene, tramp- ling upon the prostrate forms of those who had fallen. In twenty seconds there was not a person to be seen on the street who was capable of moving. Edward Z. C. Judson, otherwise known as “ Ned Buntline,” took a very active part in leading the mob. He was arrested on the spot, and subsequently sentenced to one year’s imprisonment and a fine of $250. The police, at this time, were not uniformed. They were com- mended by all peaceful persons for their bravery. So far as I was able to learn, not a single man showed the white feather. A careful inquiry was made after the riot as to its cause. Mr. Matsell, the chief of police, was satisfied that there had been pre- meditation on the part of some of the rioters, and placed clews in my possession to be followed. My experience has satisfied me that the concerted actions of a mob have rarely anything spontaneous about them. In most cases the so-called “ uprising ” has much premeditation in its composi- tion. In order to bring about the Astor Place riot, handbills were distributed, and an endeavor had been made to set two elements of our foreign population against each other — the English and the Irish. Some of these handbills bore an appeal to the Irish, headed, “ Will you allow Englishmen to rule this country ? ” Others were addressed to Englishmen, calling upon them to “ sustain their coun- trymen.” The latter were circulated among the English sailors. Both handbills were pasted side by side upon walls, boxes and all available places. Astor Place was designated as the rendezvous for both factions. Mr. Matsell furnished me with copies of both handbills, and I at once sought the printer. The first place I visited was a job of- fice in the old Tribune Building. There the proprietor informed me that from some peculiarity in the type he suspected they were ISAIAH RYNDERS. 47 printed at an office in Ann Street. Thither I went, and at once asked, as if I were sure of the whole matter : “ For whom did you print these handbills ? ” “ I don’t know ; I can’t tell you,” was the reply. “ A man called with the copy, gave me instructions to print the bills, paid me in advance and ordered me to deliver them, with the copy, at No. 2 s Park Row.” “ All right,” I replied. Now, I knew that the Empire Club occupied rooms at the ad- dress mentioned. I also knew that it was the headquarters of the “ Native American ” party, as it was then called. There was a saloon there, kept by William Miner ; it was frequented by members of the Empire Club. I went to Miner, and questioned him about the mysterious package of handbills. “ Yes,” he said ; “ there was such a package left here. Some- body came and took it away, but I don’t know who it was.” That was as far as I could trace the handbills. I never discov- ered who wrote the copy, or who had the bills printed and circulated. But for all that I had my suspicions. Some months after the riot, while I was standing in front of Chief Matsell’s office, Isaiah Rynders came along. I immediately began a conversation about the Astor Place riot, and suddenly made this remark, in a sharp tone of voice : “The man who got up those handbills ought to have been shot, instead of so many innocent persons.” Rynders turned upon me, and in an angry manner said : “ Well, maybe you ought to have been shot instead of me.” “ I haven’t accused you of it yet, Mr, Rynders,” I replied. “ But if the shoe fits, you are welcome to .rear it.” My last remark seemed to put Rynders in a greater passion. He ripped out in a savage manner : “It was a big red-headed Irishman of about your size who did it.” I had no direct evidence that Rynders had taken any part in the distribution of the bills, but I shall always believe that he was one of those who incited the trouble. In 1849 my first two years of service expired, and owing to po- litical differences with the aldermen who appointed me was re- fused* a re-appointment. I removed, however, to Ward Eighteen, 48 “stand back, gentlemen.” lived there for a short time, and was once more nominated for a position on the force, this time by Alderman Jonas Conkling. This appointment, under the existing laws, was for the term of four years ; but in 1853 an act was passed by the Legislature em- powering policemen to retain their position during good conduct. This, I believe, was the first time that appointments on the force were made for merit only. The same year I was promoted to be captain of police in the Eighteenth Ward. The station was on Twenty-ninth Street, between Madison and Fourth avenues. “ Squatters ” were plentiful in this locality. Fights were of fre- quent occurrence, and the precinct was by no means as orderly as it is now. There was one especially notorious party of ruffians, known as the “ Honeymoon Gang.” It was named after its leader. For a long time the members of this “ gang ” had every- thing their own way, and I determined to clear them out of the ward. Taking five or six of my best men, all in citizen’s dress, I began hunting the ruffians, and in a few weeks, by dint of some pretty hard “licks,” judiciously administered, the ward was cleared. At this time there was no regular surgeon attached to the force to care for prisoners, and we had to frequently call upon one who lived near the station to dress their wounds. His fee was $1.00 for attending to a single cut. Not infrequently one head would be worth as much as $5.00 to him. On Twenty-second Street, between Second and Third avenues, there were two rows of tenements, known as the “ English ” and “ Irish.” They were on either side of the street, and the occu- pants were rarely at a loss for an excuse to come to blows. I have known them to indulge in as many as a dozen fights in one evening. After dusk the life of a policeman who patrolled this beat alone was not worth much. But by a severe course of disci- pline the neighborhood was soon made safe. It was in June, 1850, that Edwin Forrest assaulted Nathaniel P. Willis, the poet. This encounter occurred in Washington Square, Forrest striking Willis from behind and knocking him down. While the latter was on the ground, Forrest beat him un- mercifully with a gutta-percha cane. Willis shouted loudly for help, but the bystanders who attempted to interfere were warned off by Forrest, who exclaimed : “ Stand back, gentlemen ; he has interfered in my domestic affairs.” A $225. SEAT. 49 After a few more blows, Forrest allowed Willis to make his es- cape, badly bruised. This encounter, I have every reason to know, was an outcome of the famous Forrest divorce case. The arrival of Jenny Lind in this country on September 1, 1850, by the steamship “ Atlantic,” was the occasion of a great as- sembly in the vicinity of the Canal-Street pier, where a triumphal arch had been erected. From thirty to forty thousand persons were packed upon the wharf and vicinity. Five or six of them were pushed into the water in the mad struggle to obtain a glimpse of the famous songstress. Her first concert was given in Castle Garden. She received $ 1000 a night for her services. Genin, the hatter, paid $225 for the first choice of a seat. The receipts for the first concert were $24,753. During the years 1854-55 violence and ruffianism, resulting from the “ Know No- thing ” excitement, was rampant. It was in the early part of 1855 that “ Bill” Poole, the famous pugilist, was murdered by Lewis Baker. Between these men there had been much “ bad blood,” and it was foretold by those who knew both men that their differences could only be settled by the death of one. On the night of February 24, 1855, Poole was shot by Baker in Stanwix Hall, opposite the Metropolitan Hotel, in Broad- way. “Lew” Baker, James Turner, and a man named McLaugh- lin, alias “ Paudeen,” followed each other into Stanwix Hotel at about midnight. Poole was standing in front of the bar, drinking with some of his friends. “ Paudeen,” who was the last to enter, remarked to him as he locked the door : “ What are you looking at, you black-muzzled ? ” 4 BILL POOLE. (From a Photograph.) MURDER OF BILL POOLE.— STANWIX HALL. 5 “ I DIE A TRUE AMERICAN.” Poole, who must have known something serious was to happen, was very cool. Even when “ Paudeen ” had spit in his face several times and challenged him to fight, Poole simply took a hundred dollars in gold from his pocket and offered to bet that amount upon his ability to thrash any one of his opponents. He treated “Paudeen” with disdain, saying he was beneath his notice. Suddenly, Turner took off his cloak, and swinging a large revolver once round his head, fired at Poole, using the hollow of his left rrm as a rest. From some cause or other the bullet entered Turner’s arm and he fell to the floor, but not before he had fired a second shot. This time Poole was wounded in the leg. He staggered toward Baker, who drew his revolver and fired two shots into Poole as he lay on the floor. He then escaped from the saloon. Notwithstanding that one of the bullets penetrated Poole’s heart, he was taken to his home and actually lived fourteen days afterwards. Poole was a brawny man, proud of the fact that he was an American. In those days such men were in politics. Upon his death-bed his last words were : “ I die a true American.” The excitement following the tragedy was great, and Poole’s funeral was one of the most extraordinary I ever remember to have seen. It was attended by an immense assembly of “ sports” and “ toughs,” together with thousands of respectable men who belonged to the “ Native American ” party, and Broadway was com- pletely lined with spectators from Bleecker Street to Whitehall. The coffin was wrapped in the American flag, and plays were pro- duced at various theatres in the city, in which the hero, encircling his limbs with the star-spangled banner, departed this life to slow music and red fire, exclaiming : “ I die a true American ! ” Baker boarded a brig bound for the Canary Islands, but the clipper yacht “ Grapeshot ” was sent in pursuit, arriving at the port of Teneriffe two hours before the vessel in which the mur- derer had taken passage, and Baker was brought back to New York. He was indicted with a number of others, and tried three times for the murdei. The jury, however, disagreed in each case, and he was finally discharged on bail. There has been only one funeral of such character since then which approached that of Poole’s. This was that of Joseph Elliott, killed by “Jerry” Dunn, in Chicago, in 1884, and buried from New York. His funeral came the nearest in magnitude to that of LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF IUT' 5 2 DR. BURDELL. Poole’s, and was attended by “ toughs,” “blacklegs,” gamblers, and “ sports ” of all grades. Perhaps the last recorded case of the use of the sword-cane was at the St. Nicholas Hotel, now demolished, but well known to travellers. Dr. R. H. Graham, of New Orleans, at the dead of night, intoxicated, noisy, and being unable to find his room, was accosted by a fellow-guest, Colonel Charles Loring, of California, whose slumbers had been disturbed, and who arose from his bed. Graham, enraged at the interference, drew a sword which the cane enclosed, and without warning plunged it into the body of the Colonel, whose cries aroused the entire hotel. The Colonel died. I continued captain of the Eighteenth Ward until the close of 1856. It was in the following year that what was known as “the Bond-Street tragedy ” occurred. At about half-past ten o’clock on the night of Friday, January 3, 1857, many persons residing on Bond Street were startled from their sleep by the shrill cry of “murder!” Then followed silence, and those who had been aroused turned over and went to sleep again. The next morning it was discovered that Dr. Harvey Burdell, a dental surgeon, of No. 31 Bond Street, had been murdered in the night. When his room was entered by a boy to light a fire, a terrible scene was disclosed. The life-blood of Dr. Burdell had smeared the whole apartment with its crimson stains. It had splashed against the door to a height of five feet. There was blood on the stairs, in the hallway and on the front door, I^ood was also on the stairway leading to the attic, and on the floor of the attic itself. An exam- ination disclosed fifteen wounds on the body, any one of which would have been sufficient to cause death. In addition, there was the mark of a cord around the neck, as though an attempt had been made to strangle the dentist. That the murdered man had fought desperately against his unknown assailant there could be no doubt, the furniture of the room being scattered. The ostensible landlady of the house was a Mrs. Cunningham, the house, owned by Dr. Burdell, being leased to her. Mrs. Cunningham, it was said, was very much in love with the doctor, and, as she subsequently asserted, had married him on the 28th of October, the previous year. This fact was denied by the relatives of the murdered man ; but there is little doubt that On the date mentioned Mrs. Cunningham was married to some- body. If she was in fact Mrs. Burdell, at the doctor’s death she THE BOGUS BABV. 53 would be entitled to her share of his property, and he was quite a wealthy man. There also lived in the house a Mr. John J. Eckel, who, it w’as reported, was a lover of Mrs. Cunningham. Both were arrested, but Mrs. Cunningham alone was tried. She was acquitted after a three days’ hearing. And now comes the sequel. If, as Mrs. Cunningham asserted, she had been married to Dr. Burdell, she would, after his death, be entitled to one-third of his property. As the mother of a child by him she would secure control of the whole of it. This absolute possession was what she wanted, but in order to have her desire satisfied it would be necessary to secure a child. She went about the business in a most methodical manner, “ making up,” as time went on, after the most artistic fashion. Unfortunately, however, *for the ultimate success of her plan, she made a confidant of Dr. Uhl. He informed District Attorney Hall, and between the two it was decided to let Mrs. Cunningham have all the freedom she wanted. She asked the doctor to assist her in her subterfuge, and he promised to aid her. The time set for the consummation of the scheme drew near. At length the child was “ born ” again, one having been obtained from Bellevue Hospital, through the connivance of the District Attorney. Mrs. Cunningham was happy. But not for long. She made her claim on the estate, and was at once confronted with the most damning proofs of her intended fraud. What became of her is not known, but I think she went to California, and afterwards wandered from place to place. A year or two ago she appeared in this city again, under an assumed name, in a “dispossession ” case, before the First District Civil Court. She was, however, so old and poor as to be almost unrecognizable. Eckel turned out badly, serving a term of imprisonment for defrauding the Government. CHAPTER IV. CHANGES IN POLICE DISCIPLINE. POLITICAL INFLUENCE. FER- NANDO WOOD’S BATTLE. — WARRANT FOR THE ARREST OF THE MAYOR. HE DEFIES MY AUTHORITY. ANOTHER ATTEMPT. THE SEVENTH REGIMENT APPEARS ON THE SCENE. — RELUC- TANT SURRENDER. $50,000 WORTH OF DIAMONDS. HICKS, THE PIRATE. A FLOATING SLAUGHTER-HOUSE. A COSTLY BANQUET. FLOORS WASHED WITH WINE. VISIT OF THE PRINCE OF WALES. EXECUTION OF CAPTAIN GORDON. — MARRIED TO HER FATHER’S COACHMAN.— rMURDER IN THE “ LIBRARY.” A JUSTIFIABLE DEED. THE PANIC. RUN ON THE BANKS. From 1853 to 1857 the police force was controlled by a commis- sion composed of the mayor, recorder and city judge. At the commencement, all officers were selected and promoted for effi- ciency. This continued until Fernando Wood became mayor, when he assumed full control of the force, which resulted in its being used for political purposes. It failed to give satisfaction and was ridiculed and condemned. In 1857 the Legislature declared that the great city was too cor- rupt to govern itself, and the control of the police was transferred from the city to the State. The new police district comprised New York, Kings, Westchester and Richmond counties, and was man- aged by a board of five commissioners appointed by the Governor. These men appointed the chief, who under this act was given the title of superintendent of police and controlled the whole force. Under him were two deputy superintendents, five surgeons, in- spectors and captains (not to exceed forty), sergeants (not more than one hundred and fifty), the rest being called “ patrolmen.” Of course the change created a tremendous excitement in the force, and there was much talk of resistance among the old mem- bers, encouraged by the mayor, Fernando Wood. In May the new law was declared constitutional by the Supreme Court. That settled the matter in my mind. But fifteen captains and between seven and eight hundred policemen refused to obey the commis- 54 FAC SIMILE OF BADGE PRESENTED TO ME ON OCTOBER THIRTEENTH, 1853. On the reverse is this inscription : George W. Walling, Eighteenth Patrol District. Presented to George W. Walling, on his promotion to the office of Captain of the Eighteenth Ward Patrol Districf, by the officers attached to the office of the Chief of Police, and other friends, as a token of respect and esteem. 55 56 “just the man WE want.” sioners. When called upon to vote on the question as to which side they would serve (the Municipal or the Metropolitan), the old or the new, only about 300 out of 1100 voted at roll-call to support and respect the authority of the State board. The others were tried for insubordination and dismissed ; but they defied dis- missal and remained on duty and in charge of the police stations. The Metropolitans rented headquarters in White Street. So the Mayor filled the places of the 300 absentees in .the Municipal force. Subsequently the Metropolitan board filled the 800 vacancies in the State force. Thus there were two complete sets of policemen on duty, covering the same beats throughout the city. Collisions were frequent. When Deputy Superintendent Matsell refused to obey the order of the Metropolitan board to furnish men to go to Quarantine and guard the public hospitals he was dismissed and I was sent. I took charge, and came up to the city jail to report at police head- quarters. On the sixteenth of June, when I arrived at headquar- ters, in the hallway I met Jas. W. Nye, one of the police commis- sioners appointed by the Governor, and afterwards a senator from Nevada. He hailed me. As I went in at the door, he said : “ Here’s just the man we want.” Turning toward me, he added : “Come in the room.” He took me into the room beforejhe other commissioners, and said : “Here’s a warrant for the arrest of Fernando Wood.” I said : “ Very well, give it to me. Shall I arrest him now ? ” “Yes, this minute,” answered Nye. “ How many men do you want ? ” “ None.” Nye smiled grimly, and handed me the warrant. I found the City Hall the scene of great excitement. It was filled with hun- dreds of the Mayor’s police. I stepped to the anteroom of the Mayor’s office, and sent in my name. I was requested to wait till the Mayor was at leisure, and after five or ten minutes the man at the door said : “ The Mayor will see you now.” As I went in the Mayor inquired : “ Well, sir, what will you have ? ” 11 I WILL NOT BE TAKEN.” 57 “I have a warrant for your arrest,” I answered, exhibiting the paper. “ I do not recognize you as an officer,” he said ; “ I dismissed you from the department.” “ I am an officer,” I retorted ; “ a member of the Metropolitan police.” “ I do not recognize the legality of the service or the existence of the Metropolitan police,” he answered. “ I will not submit to ar- rest, or go with you, or concede that you are an officer at all.” I remarked : “Well, sir, as we don’t agree on that point, I shall be obliged to do as I always did when I served warrants under your authority ; I shall have to take you out forcibly if you resist.” “ I will not be taken ! You may consider that answer resistance if you please.” “ No, sir, that is not resistance,” I replied. “ That is only refusal.” I went around the desk to take hold of him ; he ordered me away and struck his office bell. It brought Captain Ackerman, of the Municipals, who had adhered to the Mayor’s usurpation. He rushed in with several of his men. He and his men grabbed hold of me at Wood’s order and forcibly ejected me from the office. I would have been put out of the building, except that I was well known to the men in the corridors, having served with them. So I came and went at pleasure. One of the Municipals, a stranger, stopped me, but others shouted to him : “ Here ! What are you about ? Let go of him ! He’s all right.” I reported to the recorder, James M. Smith, who had issued the warrant ; and he immediately wrote a letter addressed to 5 « u PRESERVERS OF THE PEACE.” Sheriff Westervelt, directing him to furnish me with a posse for the execution of the warrant. This I delivered to the sheriff, who requested me to wait till he could consult his counsel, Mr. Brown, of the firm of Brown, Hall & Vanderpoel. While I was waiting, I was surprised to see a body of fifty Met- ropolitan policemen marching from Chambers Street, apparently under the command of Coroner Perry and Captain Jacob Seabring, of the Ninth Ward. D. D. Conover, who claimed to be street commissioner, had obtained an order of arrest against the Mayor and Sheriff from Judge Hoffman, in a suit for damages for having been forcibly ejected from the office which he claimed. As the patrolmen came up the steps there was a collision. The place was garrisoned by some 800 or 900 Municipals, who attacked the approaching force, about one-fifteenth of their number. There was a fierce battle between the “ preservers of the peace.” The Metropolitans were attacked front, flank and rear, and terribly beaten. Many were badly hurt, and a few, including Patrolman Crofut, of the Seventeenth Precinct, were almost killed. The seriously wounded were carried over to Recorder Smith’s rooms. There doctors dressed their injuries. The affair was a disgrace and dishonor to the Mayor, and from it his reputation never re- covered. About this time Mr. Brown, the lawyer, came into the sheriff’s office, and, after a short consultation, said : “ Sheriff Westervelt, it is clearly your duty to get the necessary force and execute this warrant at all hazards.” The sheriff answered : “ Come with me, you and Walling, and we’ll execute the warrant.” I returned to the Mayor’s office with them, where Mr. Brown said : “ Mr. Mayor, here is an order for your arrest. It is in the hands of the sheriff of this county. I warn you that it is your duty as a law-abiding citizen to quietly submit to arrest.” Mayor Wood stood up behind his desk, seized his staff of office, jammed it down defiantly and angrily on the floor, and exclaimed : “I will never submit! You are invading the city’s precincts and violating the law. I will never submit. You only want to humil- iate me ! I will never let you arrest me.” Mr. Brown then added: ‘‘Mr. Mayor, a battle has been fought before this building, and a number of men have been nearly killed \ FIGHT BETWEEN THE METROPOLITAN AND MUNICIPAL POLICE. 6o WELL, OUR GAME IS UP.” on account of your obstinacy in resisting the execution of a proc- ess. Your duty is to submit to arrest by the officers of the law, and if you refuse, and further blood is shed, the consequences will be on your head.” Just at this moment George W. Matsell, who had continued to act as Chief of Police under Wood, entered the door and said, exultingly : “ Mr. Mayor,, the Metropolitans came and we’ve beat them off.” The Mayor refused to allow himself to be arrested, and we, de- siring to avoid another combat, retired and consulted. Soon after, the Seventh Regiment was seen gayly marching down Broadway to take the boat for Boston, where it was to have a grand reception. The Police Board called upon General Sanford for assistance. The regiment was halted, the trumpets were stilled, and the regi- ment marched into the Park. It formed in line in front of the City Hall, facing the Mayor’s window. Matsell and his men looked out at the exhibition, and said to one another : “ Well, our game is up.” Their conclusion seemed to be correct, for General Sanford walked into the City Hall by the side of Street Commissioner Conover, and the writ was fead to the obstinate mayor. Wood saw that further resistance would be not only futile but wicked, and he submitted to arrest. The conflict between the State and the city was over. The Metropolitans had won. By an arrangement the Municipals held their places for a month after that, during which both the “ old ” and the “ new ” were on duty, saluting each other on their beats. But it was observed by all men that in this conflict of authority and the anomalous conditions which accompanied it, the city had become demoralized. The re- pression of crime had been neglected, thieving had become ram- pant, and law-breakers had ceased to respect or fear the officers of* the law. The succeeding troubles followed as a matter of course. One thing I should mention in connection with this conflict of authorities. Those officers of the Metropolitan police who had been wounded in the affray sued Mayor Wood for their injuries, and employed Mr. David Dudley Field as their counsel. Mr. Charles O’Connor was retained for the defendant, against whom a verdict was rendered for each of the plaintiffs for $250, together with the total costs, amounting to about $13,000. The defendant THE DIAMOND WEDDING. 6 r never paid the money. It was finally put in the tax levy by the Legislature, and the city eventually paid both damages and costs. A great crowd thronged old St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Molt Street early on the morning of October 13, 1859, to witness the marriage of Miss Frances Amelia Bartlett, daughter of Lieutenant W. A. Bartlett, of No. 59 West Fourteenth Street’ and Don Este- ban Sancta Cruz de Oviedo, a very wealthy Cuban planter. The ceremony took place at noon, and was performed by Archbishop Hughes. The reception following this wedding was so thronged that detectives were sent to watch the house. The jewels, ordered from Tiffany’s, cost $50,000 ; the bride’s wardrobe was valued at $15,000. A few days after the wedding Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman published a satirical poem on the humorous features of the event. This he entitled “The Diamond Wedding.” The poem angered Lieutenant Bartlett, and he sent a challenge to Mr. Stedman. The poet refused to apologize, and Mr. Bartlett with- drew his challenge. The trial of Hicks, the pirate, occurred in i860. He was one of the crew of the oyster sloop “ E. A. Johnson,” which left this port on March 16, for Deep Creek, Virginia. The crew of the sloop con- sisted of Captain Burr, Oliver and Smith Watts (boys), and a man who had shipped under the name of William Johnson. He after- wards turned out to be Hicks. Five days after the sloop left New York 'she was picked up at sea and towed to Fulton Market slip. There was no one on board, and everything was in confusion. The cabin floor and furniture, as well as the bedding, were spat- tered and stained with blood. The scene was a ghastly one. The day previous to the finding of the sloop, Johnson, it was afterwards discovered, had returned to his home in New York, with a large amount of money in his possession. He had immediately started for Providence, R. I., with his wife and child. He was followed and arrested, but denied that he had ever been on the sloop, or that his name was Johnson. A watch belonging to Captain Burr, and a photograph given to Oliver Watts by a young lady, were found on him, however, and his identity was also established in many other ways. His name, he said, was Albert E. Hicks. Notwithstanding his protestations of innocence, he was found guilty of the murders, and sentenced to be hanged on Bedloe’s Island, where the statue of Liberty Enlightening the World has been erected. While in the Tombs after trial and conviction, Hicks 62 HICKS, THE PIRATE. made a confession of his guilt. He was hanged on July 13, i860, and maintained his coolness and bravado to the very last. The scaffold was erected only a short distance from the shore, and the execution was witnessed by a large number of persons. The same year that this horrible crime was committed, the first embassy from Japan visited New York. This was on the 16th of June, and the arrival of the Japanese was made an excuse for festivities of the most elaborate character. The members of the embassy arrived on the steamer “ Alida,” and enormous crowds assembled at the Battery where they landed. Their journey up town was a continuous ovation. More than six thousand soldiers were in line. One of the notable incidents of the visit was the “matinee” given by Mrs. James Gordon Bennett in honor of the two Japanese princes at Fort Washington. Three thousand invi- tations were issued, and Delmonico was told to spare no expense in preparing the collation. A grand ball was given by the Munici- pal authorities at the Metropolitan Hotel, the tickets of admission to which commanded a premium of $30. The hotel and Niblo’s Garden were profusely decorated with flowers. The supper rooms were opened at iop. m. Ten thousand bottles of champagne were drunk. The crush was terrible, and before morning the floors were literally washed with wine. This was one of the most costly banquets ever given by the city of New York. It was estimated that the festivities cost between $90,000 and $100,000. It was on Thursday, at 2 p. m., October 11, i860, that the Prince of Wales landed at Castle Garden, and was escorted to the Fifth Avenue Hotel by the military and police. The Prince rode in a barouche drawn by six horses. Broadway made a beautiful dis- play of bunting, and the Prince was continually greeted with cheers. A grand serenade was given him at midnight. A splen- did ball, which I attended, was given in the evening of the second day at the Academy of Music. The Prince arrived at 10 p. m., and shortly after, to the great dismay of the enormous crowd, the ball-room floor gave way, and the police had hard work to keep the crowd back. The Prince folded his hands and looked on without emotion. After repairs had been made the Prince opened the ball with Mrs. Governor Morgan. At this ball, as at all others tendered him in various parts of the country, partners were assigned the Prince who were evidently not to his taste. As a general rule, ladies very estimable in every re- PRINCE OF WALES’ BALT 6 4 A SLAVE TRADER. spect, but advanced in years, were forced upon his notice and com- pany. The result was that it was only towards the close of the ball that this scion of royalty was free to exercise his own fancy in the matter of selecting partners from among the youthful beau- ties present. Toward the close of i860 I was placed in command of the Twentieth Ward. The trial of Captain Nathanief Gordon, the slave trader, occurred the following year and excited a great deal of public attention. Gordon was master of the ship “ Erie,” and sailed from Havana for the west coast of Africa, having on board everything considered necessary for carrying on the slave trade. Near the mouth of the Congo River he shipped nine hundred ne- groes, male and female, who were packed in the hold without ven- tilation. He then set sail for Cuba, but when about fifty miles from his journey’s end he was captured by the United States man- of-war “ Michigan,” and conveyed, together with such of his human freight as had survived that awful passage, to Monravia. Upon his second trial — the jury having failed to agree upon a verdict in the first instance — he was convicted, and sentence of death was passed upon him by Judge Shipman. “ Remember,” said the Judge, “ that you showed mercy to none — carrying off, as you did, not only those of your own sex, but women and helpless children. Do not flatter ^urself that, because they belonged to a different race from yourself, your guilt is therefore lessened. Rather fear that it is increased. Do not imagine that, because others shared in the guilt of this enterprise, yours is thereby di- minished ; but remember the awful admonition of the Bible : ‘Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not go unpun- ished.’ ” His execution was fixed for February 7, 1862, and the most strenuous exertions were made by Gordon’s relatives and friends, particularly his devoted wife and mother, to save the man from the gallows. They even went to Washington together in the hope of obtaining a pardon from the President. Their efforts were in vain, but a respite of two weeks was granted. On the evening previous to the day set for his execution, Gordon took a most affecting farewell of his family. Mrs. Gordon, together with the prisoner’s aged mother, called at the prison about six o’clock in the evening and remained an hour or more. He re- ceived them in a most affectionate manner and talked most tenderly of his little son, who was absent. He appeared to HANGING OF GORDON, THE SLAVE TRADER. 5 65 66 THE COACHMAN. trouble himself very little about his own fate, but was very anxious concerning the future of his wife and only child. At about three o’clock the next morning the keepers who occupied the same cell with Gordon were considerably surprised to see him seized with convulsions. A physician was summoned, and it was found that Gordon was suffering from the effects of poison. How he ob- tained it no one could tell. The man was evidently dying, but by means of the stomach-pump and the use of brandy he was brought back to consciousness. He then begged the doctors to let him die by his own hand rather than suffer the disgrace of a public execution. But to no avail. Gordon walked, or rather tottered, to the scaffold in the City Prison like a drunken man, and while the rope was being adjusted he had to be supported by two of the deputy-marshals. It has been so much the fashion of late years for young ladies to marry coachmen, that I cannot help recalling almost the first noted instance. It occurred in 18^7, when Miss Mary Ann Baker, the daughter of Mr. John E. Baker, a well-known importer at No. 93 Front Street, married John Dean, her father’s coachman. When Mr. Baker heard of the marriage, he locked his daughter in a, back room, informing her friends that she was of unsound mind. Dean procured a writ of habeas corpus , but Mr. Baker threatened to shoot the officer who went to execute it. The house was watched until after the departure of the European steamer by which, it was said, Mr. Baker intended to smuggle his daughter out of the country. A commission de lunatico inquirendo was appointed, and their report was that Mrs. Dean was perfectly sane. An order was accordingly made by the court for her res- toration to her husband. In 1857 the “ Library,” a saloon at No. 480 Broadway, was a noted resort. Theodore S. Nims, formerly city librarian, was leaning against the bar one evening in August, conversing with a party of friends, when a Tombs “ shyster ” lawyer, named Henry J. Wagstaff, entered the place. He walked up to the party and suddenly struck Nims two stunning blows in the face. Nims took refuge behind a table, but being closely followed by his assailant, drew a double-barrelled pistol and fired two shots. Wagstaff fell dead. An inquest was held, and the coroner, addressing Nims, who had been arrested on a charge of murder, said : “ In my opinion this deed was committed in self-defence, and upon my AT THE “ LIBRARY.” 67 own responsibility I shall discharge you from custody.” Wag- staff was a notorious character about the city, and no one ap- peared to regret his death. The climax of the great financial panic of 1857 was reached on October 13th. The excitement on Wall Street was intense. Tre- mendous “runs” occurred on all the banks in the city, and tens of thousands of people thronged the streets. Suspensions were the rule with scarcely an exception. Large forces of police guarded the banks and great trouble was feared, but the impend- ing storm blew over. Y CHAPTER V. THE POLICE AND SECESSIONISTS. AN ANTE-BELLUM EPISODE. — PLOT TO ASSASSINATE PRESIDENT LINCOLN. DOWN IN DIXIE. THE SOUTHERN VOLUNTEERS. A PERILOUS POSITION AND A MYSTERIOUS GUIDE. — ON THE TRAIN.— A JUMP FOR LIFE; — BRAVE TIM WEBSTER AND HIS SAD FATE. THE MAN WITH THE FUR CAP. To the young men of to-day the war is a thing of the past — a page of history. I, who belong to the generation that is passing, recall with a shudder the years of bloody fight, and that time yet more dismal that preceded open hostilities, when all was forebod- ing, trembling with uncertainty; when, if I may so express it, the volcano was smoking, but not yet ablaze. One day, early in January, 1861, Superintendent Kennedy ordered me, by telegraph, to report immediately at headquarters. I did so, but he had gone, leaving word for me to proceed to his house. I went at once, and found his wife awaiting me with the message that he was at Cortlandt Street ferry, and I was to meet him there. I found him deep in consultation with certain offi- cials. He said to me : “ Buy two tickets for Washington ; you are to go with me. I will explain later.” I bought the tickets. In fifteen minutes we were on our way to Washington by the fast express. During the journey the superintendent told me of the condi- tion of affairs. He was alarmed at the state of public feeling in Maryland, especially in Baltimore, through which Mr. Lincoln was to pass on his way to Washington to assume office. Riots were feared, and there were sinister rumors of threatened attempts to assassinate the President-elect. I learned from the superintend- ent that the Washington authorities were uneasy. They had requested that some of the most trustworthy officers of the New York police should be detailed for service in Baltimore to ascer- tain what grounds there were for such suspicions. 68 ■ ABRAHAM LINCOLN’S PERIL. 69 Upon reaching Washington we were instantly admitted to con- sultation with a Government officer, high in position, whose nerv- ousness was proof of the gravity of the crisis. With secret instructions from this gentleman we went to Baltimore. Mr. Kennedy’s duty' was a very delicate one. We were soon satisfied that Baltimore was bitterly irritated, but whether the feel- ing against Mr. Lincoln was personal enough to make his passage through the city dangerous was hard to determine. Such evi- dence as we could hastily collect we sifted ; and though we found that many of the rumors current in New York were not trust- worthy, there was enough bad feeling to give cause for alarm. The situation demanded closer investigation, and Mr. Kennedy, with whom I entirely agreed, instructed me to return at once to New York and send on two of the best officers of the detective corps. So back to New York I went. I carefully considered the selection of proper detectives for this delicate affair, and after anxious thought I chose Messrs. Samp- son and De Voe. They were instructed to go to Baltimore, look over the ground and ingratiate themselves with disaffected per- sons. In other words, to use their own discretion and find out all they could. It may be that Superintendent Kennedy was thoroughly in- formed as to the exact situation in Baltimore at that time, though this is open to doubt. I will say, however, that I was not. Matters were bad enough, I knew, but I was not aware what ter- rible risks the two officers were to run. As this ended my per- sonal connection with the affair, I have thought it proper to give Mr. Sampson’s own graphic version of his adventures : “ I was selected by Captain Walling, with Mr. De Voe as my partner, under Superintendent Kennedy’s orders, to go to Balti- more. Our instructions were to investigate the situation there and to see Mr. Lincoln safely through. “As soon as we reached our destination we assumed the role of Southern sympathizers and mixed freely with the secessionists. I had been at Augusta and knew some persons there, so I called myself ‘ Anderson ’ and hailed from Augusta. De Voe dubbed himself ‘ Davis ’ from Mobile, because he had lived there for some time. “ We were well supplied with money, very swaggering and loud- mouthed, and soon made friends with a certain class of Southern- THOMAS SAMPSON. (Detective Municipal and Metropolitan Police. U. S. Marshal and Chief of Police U S. Sub-Treasury.) 70 THE “ SOUTHERN VOLUNTEERS.’ V ers whose talk was ‘ fight to kill.’ We stayed at the Fountain Inn and for some weeks had a good time. “ By degrees we worked our way into the confidence of our new friends. We had to be cautious, though, for, as is well known to- day, defection was common enough in the Government bureaus at Washington, and the South was kept well posted of all movements made North. There were in consequence plenty of persons watch- ing the movements of Kennedy and the New York police. “ For a time things went on smoothly. De Voe and I became members of a military company that met regularly in a kind of barracks. Our presiding officer and military instructor was a Texan, Captain Hays by name, and a picturesque Texan he was, with great flashing eyes and long floating hair, topped with a huge white sombrero. We had no muskets, but that was nothing to the inventive Texan. He put us through the manual of arms with laths. Sometimes there was a . squad of forty men at drill. Our company was known as the ‘ Southern Volunteers.’ “ All this time we were communicating with New York by tele- graph. It would not have been safe to send messages from Balti- more, so we forwarded them from Cockeysville, a suburb of the city. “ But suddenly I discovered that we were suspected. It was no laughing matter. The ‘Volunteers’ were loud in their threats against traitors. The desperadoes of the company were in the majority. All carried revolvers, and De Voe and I stood a first- rate chance of being killed on sight. There was even a detail whose duty it was to ‘do away’ with suspected persons. “ I do not know how the intimation of danger came to me, but I was positive that we were watched. I had been asked searchii% questions as to the identity of ‘ Davis ’ (De Voe). His wife had been indiscreet enough to write him a letter, addressed in his as- sumed name, and bearing the New York post-mark. It had been in some way seen by one of the ‘ Volunteers.’ Now a letter from the North for ‘ Davis ’ did not dove-tail with ‘ Davis’s ’ account of himself. I may here remark that to act an imaginary story or identity straightly is one of the most difficult bits of work a de- tective has to do. “ I was at once asked many questions in regard to the letter — where it came from and what it was about. I had to turn it off as well as I could. I am afraid that my explanation was not at 7 2 U WHAT ON EARTH SHALL WE DO ? ’* all complimentary to good Mrs. De Voe, but that unconscious victim was revenged ; my explanation was accepted dubiously. It looked as if we, the shadowers, were about to become the shadowed. A telegram of inquiry to Augusta or Mobile would make it very hot for us. I thought it was time to go, and we went. “ How we got to Washington in safety I do not recollect. We were in too tight a place for comfort and had no time to spare. We left all our wardrobe in Baltimore and assumed another guise. I remember that I had worn a heavy cloth cap with a band of fur around it. I gave it away, and donned a soft slouch hat. “Whew! let me stop a moment. A good many years have passed, but even now I cannot understand why we were not murdered in Baltimore, unless, perhaps, the conspirators thought something more was to be had by letting us go on to Washington. “ Well, we went to Willard’s and registered as Anderson and Davis. It happened that our signatures were written on the last half of the page. As I wrote I noticed the peculiar scrawl of Horace Greeley and remarked to De Voe that we were in good company. We went to our rooms and talked matters over. We made up our minds that we were in a bad box. How much did we know of these ‘ Southern Volunteers ’ ? They numbered many hundreds, perhaps thousands, and we were acquainted with but a few. We felt certain that they were on the watch for us. “We could not stand being caged in our rooms. We went down the stairs, and looking carefully around, examined the main hall. There, sure enough, we recognized several of our genial friends, the ‘ Southern Volunteers,’ who were critically examining the hotel register. I watched them breathlessly. When Mr. Greeley’s signature was reached they stopped at that for an in- stant. Then one of them ran his finger down the column and stopped again while he read our assumed names. I cursed my stupidity in not having thought to change my alias. The man turned and whispered to his associates, and they all went slowly out. “‘What on earth shall we do? ’ asked De Voe. “ ‘ Do ? ’ said I, ‘ I don’t know. About the best thing is to get some supper.’ “ We went slowly down the stairs. I knew we were watched. Some of the party might be outside. ‘Our only chance,’ I 73 “i DO NOT RECOGNIZE YOU.** whispered to De Voe, 1 is that in the crowd and confusion here, our new get-up may throw them off the track for the moment. But that won’t be for long.’ “ When we entered the hall, De Voe leaned on the cigar-stand, and I cast my eyes toward the billiard-room. I don’t want to dis- guise matters ; I was afraid, and cudgelling my brains how to get out of the mess we were in. I did not move for a few instants, when a man in a long overcoat lounged along and got his back directly toward me. Then he suddenly spoke to me — in a very low tone — so that I could just hear his words : WILLARD’S HOTEL, WASHINGTON, D. C. “ ‘ For God’s sake, Tom, come out of this.’ “ He spoke just above his breath and did not move. I was startled, but had wits enough about me to understand that I was not to show, in any way, that I knew the speaker. I certainly did not, nor could I see his face. His low voice sounded strange and sepulchral. Mind, I was using all my wits just then, every nerve and muscle at full strain. “ I replied, also without budging : ‘ I do not recognize you/ “ The man’s hand just faintly moved behind him, as though bid- ding me to follow. What was I to do ? Was he friend or foe ? It was just as pleasant to be killed inside the house as out of it. 74 ‘‘WHERE IS WASH. WALLING?” “ The man went deliberately out of the hotel. I followed very close to him, my steps almost locking his. I carried a self-cock- ing pistol, and I knew how to use it. I made up my mind that at the first suspicious movement I would shoot. As we stepped on the avenue the man exclaimed, still very low : “ ‘ My God ! where is Wash. Walling ? ’ “ I asked : ‘ What Wash. Walling ? ’ “ ‘ Why, Tom, Captain Walling,’ was the reply. “ This time I did i^ot answer. Alert with suspicion I fancied that Captain Walling might be in Washington ; that it was sup- posed I knew where he was. The man was seeking him. Wal- ling, perhaps, was to be killed. “ My companion had on a great, rough coat, with the collar turned up to his nose. A heavy cap was drawn over his eyes. We walked silently along Pennsylvania Avenue. I was on the side toward the street, near the gas-lamps. If he is an enemy,’ I thought, ‘ he has put me where he can the better see me.’ “ We had walked on a little way, I with my hand on my pistol, when the man said : ‘ Tom, for God’s sake tell me who is with you, and where is your fur cap ? ’ “ This made me start. The man knew I had exchanged my cap for a soft hat. He must have followed me from Baltimore. I could stand the suspense no longer. I caught him suddenly by the arm, spun him around with my left hand, while with my right I still gripped the pistol. The violence of the movement flung open his coat and shifted his cap, so that his face was revealed. He made no movement but looked calmly at me. Then slowly, very slowly, his face came back to me. “ ‘ Is that you, Tim ? ’ I cried, overjoyed. “ 4 You did not know Tim Webster, Tom ? ’ he asked. “ ‘ You will never know, Tim,’ said I, ‘ how near you came to being killed. For the last five minutes my finger has been on the trigger of my pistol.’ “ Sure enough it was Tim Webster, whom I had not seen for many years. Now Tim was one of Captain Walling’s and my best friends. He had been on the force with us in former years and I knew him to be a man of exceptional honesty and courage. “ ‘ It was not a question of killing me, Tom,’ said Tim Webster, rapidly, ‘ but it is to save you from death that I have followed you. Your life is not worth a cent. I swear to you there are twenty ON THE TRAIN. 75 men after you this very insfant. Even now I expect we are being watched. I may not be suspected, for I am with them, but they shan’t kill my old friend if I can help it. But you clear out of this just as fast as you can, Tom ; it is more serious than you think. The chances are you will not get through safely unless you use every precaution. Quickness of movement is everything now.’ “ Perhaps he thought I looked incredulous. I didn’t feel so. He went on — “ ‘ Tom, it’s so close a shave that at this moment if there’s any- thing particular you’d like to say to your wife you’d better say it to me for her.’ “ This was pleasant indeed. ‘ But, Tim,’ said I, ‘ I can’t leave De Voe in the lurch.’ “ ‘ He will have to take care of himself. You’re a dead man if you go back after him.’ “ I insisted, however, on going back for De Voe, and Tim re- luctantly consented to help me. We slipped around to the hotel by a back way, and Tim told me briefly that he' was in detective work himself and had been affiliated with the most desperate branch of the Secession party ; that he was one of the leading spirits, and that it was his special duty to kill De Voe and me on sight. “ I managed by no end of manoeuvring to get; De Voe out of Willard’s and explain matters to him. “ Said Tim, ‘ If you go to the railroad depot you will both be dead men. You will have to walk around Washington some fif- teen miles and take the train there. I will start with you and put you on the track. It is your only chance of escape, for every other exit is guarded.’ “ Tim led us out of the city, and we got to a barn, where he left us. There we slept, and early in the morning took the first train to Baltimore. Bad luck still pursued us. As we stepped in our car we saw three of the 1 Southern Volunteers,’ our quondam friends; men we had drilled with. “ ‘ There they are,’ I whispered to De Voe. £ If they are only three we can hold our own, I suppose.’ Presently, from another car, three more walked in. They knew we were in the car. One of them, with a grin, pointed his thumb backward toward us. 'We were in the rear end. They were deliberating what to do and how to do it. Then they all sat down. Evidently they were going to 76 THE LEAP FOR LIFE. wait till we got out at Baltimore, when history would know De Voe and me no more. “ An idea — an inspiration — came to my aid. 4 De Voe/ said I, ‘let us take a jump for life.’ De Voe understood in a moment. ‘ Done/ he replied. “ We were going at a rapid rate, but it was certain death to stay on that train ; there was a chance for life if we jumped. We sauntered out on the platform, closed the door, and took the leap. De Voe fell with a yell, he had sprained his ankle badly. I was much cut and bruised, but not seriously hurt. The train sped on.. We had escaped. THE LEAP FOR LIFE. “ It was agony for De Voe to walk, but he had to, and I helped' him all I could. We made the circuit of Baltimore and reached the side opposite Washington. We hailed a horse-car, and I helped De Voe on. Along we went, and, said I, ‘ At last we are safe.’ “ But where should that confounded car pull up but exactly in front of our old drill-room. ‘ Car stops here ! ’ sung out the con- ductor. Of all places in the world what a terminus ! We had to alight. I reconnoitred the house. I dreaded to see the flashing eyes, the floating hair, the huge sombrero of our Texan teacher. THE MYSTERIOUS SOUTHERNER. 77 Thank heaven ! neither he nor any other ‘ Southern Volunteer ’ was visible. Poor De Voe was almost fainting with the agony of his sprain, and could walk no more. I looked down the street and discovered a hack with a negro driver. I went up to him. ‘ Engaged, sah,’ says Sambo. ‘ How much do you expect from your fare ? ’ I asked. ‘ One dollar, boss.’ “ ‘ I will give you five,’ I returned. “ The look of joy that spread over that darkey’s face was soon reflected on mine. The driver deserted his customer (I hope he was a ‘ Volunteer ’) ; we bundled De Voe in and rattled merrily away to the Philadelphia depot. We caught the train for the North and our troubles were over. After we had started, a mem- ber of the Philadelphia detective force, whom I knew, came up and spoke to me. ‘ Why, Mr. Sampson,’ said he, ‘ we were positive that De Voe and you had been murdered somewhere in Maryland. Where is your fur cap ? ’ “ And so we should have been murdered but for the good head and great heart of Tim Webster, the bravest, coolest man, I think, that ever lived. Poor fellow, his fate was a sad one. He was ex- ecuted as a spy at Richmond. After the war they brought his body North for Christian burial, and I followed to the grave the remains of him to whose skill and courage I owe it that I am alive to-day to tell this tale. “ Upon our return to New York we received the thanks of Su- perintendent Kennedy and Captain Walling. “ There were some rather laughable stories brought to head- quarters' about a man in Baltimore distinguished by a renowned fur cap, who was reported as a very dangerous person, furiously Southern in his sentiments, breathing nothing but blood and mur- der. Putting this and that together I am inclined to believe that I am the individual. “ In conclusion, let me say that the change made by Mr. Lin- coln as to the date of his arrival in Washington, prior to his taking the oath of office, and his escape from insult, were in no small measure due to the unwearied efforts of Superintendent Kennedy and Captain Walling.” CHAPTER VI. IN WAR TIME. THE DRAFT RIOTS. HEROISM OF THE POLICE. THE BATTLE OF THE BARRICADES. — THE SHARP- 'HOOTER ON THE ROOF. WITH A BULLET IN HIS BRAIN. Affairs progressed very quietly in the Twentieth Ward, of which I was still captain, until 1863, when the draft riots occurred. We did not lack warnings of these troubles. Handbills bad been circulated and meetings held, protesting against the draft. Mr. John A.. Kennedy, then superintendent, did not believe that these mutterings of discontent would grow into riot, and did not prepare for danger. Even on that Monday morning in June, when the first mob assembled and showed its aggressiveness, the “ off- platoon ” had not been called on duty. The only reserve ready in an emergency was one section of police in each of the stations. These sections were immediately ordered to the scene of dis- turbance. Having different routes, they did not arrive at the same time, and were beaten by the mob in detail. The only effective way would have been for the various sections to have had a common rendezvous, and then, when a sufficient number of men had arrived, marched on the rioters. The police would have asserted their power and the mob would have been broken. For my part, I had for several days noticed with great uneasi- ness the growing discontent among certain classes. Things, I thought, were coming to a head, and so I remained at the pre- cinct station Sunday night. Early on Monday morning I went to my house, took breakfast and proceeded to headquarters to make my customary report^ At Third Avenue and Nineteenth Street I learned, for the first time, that rioting was in progress. I was told that the mob had attacked an enrolling office in Third Ave-' nue, driven off the police and set fire to the building. My station was in Thirty-fifth Street, between Eighth and Ninth avenues. I immediately started back again on the “ dead run,” believing the whole force would be called out. I was not mistaken. In a short time orders were sent from headquarters directing me to col- 78 AT THE CITY HALL. 79 lect my “ off-platoon. ” Messengers were despatched, and soon all the men reported for duty. Information was received that the rioters were on their way to the Colored Orphan Asylum, on Fifth Avenue, between Forty-third and Forty-fourth streets, in which were about two hundred colored children, besides the matron and attendants. Then came the news that the institution had been attacked by a mob three thou- sand strong, pillaged and burned to the ground, the inmates making their escape as best they could. All were brought to my station, the small upon the backs of the larger, and were made as comfortable as possible, remaining with me a week. The poor creatures were almost crazed with terror, and were glad enough when, after the riots were over, arrangements were made to convey them to a temporary place of refuge on Blackwell’s Island. Just as the negroes were coming into the station I received orders to report at police headquarters. No cars or stages were running, and in order to get to Mulberry Street as quickly as possible I hired stages, in which I placed all my available force, leaving in the station a sergeant, two doormen and a few partially disabled patrolmen who were on the sick-list. We arrived safely at head- quarters. Meantime a body of rioters had attacked and burned another enrolling office in Broadway, near Twenty-sixth Street. That evening we were stationed in the City Hall, as threats had been made to destroy the Tribune and other newspaper offices. Some time during the next morning one of my men came to me and said : “ Captain Walling, I’ve seen a big, rough-looking fellow peep- ing through the window. He’s done it three or four times.” “ Ah ! ” I remarked ; “ perhaps it will be just as well to keep a watch on him. Next time he peeps in call my attention to it.” “ There he is again,” said the man, presently. And sure enough, the dim outline of a man’s face could be seen pressed against the window pane. I opened the door cautiously, and slipping out quietly grabbed him by the collar. “ Good heavens ! ” I exclaimed, as I looked at his features. “What are you doing here, Leonard ?” for it was no other than my brother, who was a ship-carpenter. He told me his fellow workmen had struck and wouldn’t let him work. “ Well, if you can’t work, can you fight ? ” I asked him. 8 o “ KILL EVERY MAN WHO HAS A CLUB ! ” “ Try me,” he replied. I immediately had him sworn in, gave him a club and had no occasion to feel ashamed of my unexpected recruit. He served under me the whole of the week, and took an active part in all that occurred, on one occasion narrowly escaping death. That day I was directed to proceed with my men — one hun- dred in number — to certain buildings in the Twentieth and Twenty-second wards which were to be protected. We marched up Broadway, being supported by a company of regulars from the Invalid Corps. Thirty-second Street was reached without any exciting incident ; but on arriving there I was informed that a mob was about to attack the Sixth Avenue car stables. This was not exactly true, the mob having designs on Dr. Ward’s and other private residences in the neighborhood of Forty-sixth Street and Fifth Avenue. We marched up to Forty-fifth Street, and through it to Fifth Avenue. We were confronted by a howling mob of men and women, numbering over 2000. A large number were armed with bludgeons. There was but one thing to do, and that was done quickly. I shouted out at the top of my voice, so that the rioters could hear me : “ Kill every man who has a club. Double quick. Charge ! ” And at them we went with our clubs. The rioters dropped their bludgeons, tumbling over each other, and took to their heels. We took no prisoners, but left the rioters where they fell. The number of broken heads was large. The mob dispersed in all directions, despite the frenzied cries of the women for the men to “ stand up and give the police .” This scrimmage, however, was nothing compared with what was to follow. Early the next day, Wednesday, at the request of General Sanford, I conveyed a large number of colored persons, who-had taken refuge in the Arsenal, to my station. This was crowded already, but I managed to stow them away somehow, the officers and men giving up their rooms. Barricades had been erected by the mob on Ninth Avenue, at certain intervals, all the way from Twenty-sixth to Forty-second Street. These obstructions were constructed of carts, bricks, wagons, etc., the vehicles being lashed together with telegraph wires, or anything else that came to hand. Many of the rioters had fire-arms. They could be seen not only behind the barricades, but on the house-tops. 6 8i BATTLE OF THE BARRICADES. HOW THE BARRICADE WAS WON. My instruciions were simply to “clear the streets,” and a com- pany of Zouaves having been sent to support us, we proceeded to obey orders. We advanced towards the first barricade at the “double quick” with the soldiers in our rear. When within a short distance of it we were greeted by a sharp volley of pistol shots, with an occasional bullet from a musket by way of variety. Fortunately most of the balls passed over our heads, but it was warm work. The barricade could not be carried by the police alone, so we deployed to the right and left, thus allowing the sol- diers space in which to manoeuvre and return the fire of the mob. This they did, and the rioters retreated. Barricade No. i was won. The police then went to the front, but were again greeted with a volley from the mob, while the Zouaves, in skirmishing order, occupied the sidewalks, getting a shot at the rioters whenever they exposed themselves. Even after so many years one or two tragical incidents come to my mind in connection with this sad affair as distinctly as though they happened yesterday. One was that of a rioter who had stationed himself with a musket at the corner of an intersecting street, and was firing at us as fast as he could load, simply poking the muzzle of his gun round, he being protected by the angle of the house. One of the Zouaves saw' this trick, and, watching his opportunity, fired completely through the wooden house, killing the man instantly. Another fellow on top of a house made himself very conspicuous during the conflict by taking a shot at either the police or the soldiers, and then dodging behind one of the chimneys. He tried this once too often. Suddenly, while I was watching him, he threw up his arms and fell headlong to the street with a rifle ball through the very centre of his forehead. Every inch of ground was disputed by the now desperate rioters, but slowly and surely we advanced. One by one we captured the remaining barricades with the aid of the soldiers, until our task was accomplished. We marched back to the station only to find that our duties for that day were by no means ended. At night, word was brought that the mob had attacked a church in Twenty-seventh Street belonging to a colored congregation, and that we must disperse the rioters. AT THE CHURCH. 83 8 4 WITH A CART RUNG. No time was lost in getting to the scene of action, but the rioters were well prepared to give us a warm reception. They had thrown out a line of pickets to warn them of our approach. It happened that several fire-engines were passing through the street at the time, and mixing with the party of firemen we ap- proached close to the church without attracting much attention. The building was occupied by the rioters, and no sooner was our presence made known than we were greeted with a sharp fusillade from pistols, muskets, shotguns, etc. My men returned the fire with their revolvers, and this was the first time during the day that the police under my command had recourse to fire-arms. But now they did use them they proved most effective, as the following incident will show : One of the rioters had straddled the ridge-pole of the church, and was hacking away at the timbers with an axe. The outline of his form stood out boldly against the sky, and he was in full view of the crowd. His actions were watched with great interest, and I kept my eye on him, as did everybody else. Presently the arm of one of my men was slowly raised to the proper level, there was a flash and a report, and the man on the roof disappeared from sight. Next day his body was found at the rear of the church. The bullet had lodged in his skull, and death must have been instantaneous. That shot was followed by a howl of rage from th£ rioters, who attacked us in a savage and determined manner. We also set to work with a will, clubbing our opponents most unmercifully. The neighborhood was cleared in short order. Before this a tragic occurrence was added to my day’s experi- ence. I was standing on Eighth Avenue^at Thirty-fifth Street, late in the afternoon, when six or eight burly-looking fellows, armed with clubs, marched up the street. In the middle of the^blGck was a hardware store kept by a man named Heiser, and there it was that the party of ruffians stopped. The one who was evi- dently the leader was flourishing a heavy cart rung, with which he attempted to smash in the door. Heiser dealt in guns and pistols among other things, and if these men succeeded in getting into the store they would arm themselves and their comrades. I was alone, and there was no time to waste in seeking assistance. The fellow with the cart rung plied his weapon with such energy and strength that at the third or fourth blow he split the door in two. THE MAN WAS DEAD ! 85 It so happened that his club stuck in the crack, and while he was endeavoring to pull it out I rushed forward and struck him a terri- ble blow on the head with my locust. He fell to the pavement as if he had been shot. His companions, who made no attempt to attack me, put him in a wagon and hauled him away. A doctor was afterwards sent for to attend him, but his only remark on see- ing the patient was : “ He doesn’t want a doctor. He needs an undertaker.” The man was dead ! I am entirely aware that resistance to the draft was the first incentive to these disturbances ; but in New York, as in all large centres of population, where any set of men makes a demonstra- tion to ventilate its grievances, there will always be grouped around this party of malcontents the very worst elements of so- ciety. Aside from the strictly criminal classes — always ready to take advantage of any local troubles in order to carry on their peculiar vocations — there is a large body of idle persons, with no interests at stake, who amalgamate with the thieves for the pur- pose of sharing in the plunder. At times, when the utmost license has been rampant, this class has formed a most dangerous element. I really know of no instance of a riot occurring in New York, or in any other large city, during which robbery did not play a prom- inent part. A riot, or disturbance, is the thief’s opportunity, and he is sure to take advantage of it. For more than a year after the draft-riots various articles, stolen during the disturbances from the houses of well-to-do citizens, were discovered by the police in different parts of the city. Furniture, carpets, china and other articles of a domestic character were carried off, and in some instances tapestry carpets, valuable rugs and rich hangings were found decorating some of the most squalid and poverty-stricken shanties on Manhattan Island. One circumstance more in connection with these riots will bring my reminiscences of them to a close. On Wednesday afternoon, after the Battle of the Barricades on Ninth Avenue, the police under my command, together with the Zouaves, returned to the station. While there, waiting for orders, the Governor (Horatio Seymour), accompanied by Alderman John Hardy, came up and I accosted them. Alderman Hardy said to me : “The Governor and myself have been over on Ninth Avenue, 86 i can’t help that.” and found a number of persons there killed in the fight. It’s too bad.” “ I can’t help that,” was my reply. “ They were there behind their barricades, and we had orders to clear the street. If there were any innocent persons there, I regret it very much. But such persons had no business there ; they should have got out of the way when ordered to disperse. It’s certain they were there, an.d gave encouragement to the rioters by their presence. If they come back,” I added, after a pause, “ I shall attack them again and serve them in the same way.” Turning to the Governor, I asked him : “ Have you anything to say, sir ; or any orders to give ? ” The Governor’s reply was : “ Take your orders from your official superiors.” Both then walked away. The draft-riot was certainly the most serious uprising that has ever occurred in New York, both in the area over which the dis- turbances extended and in the number of persons engaged in it. The forces of the police at the beginning of the trouble were not of sufficient strength to cope with the rioters at all points at once ; but whenever the police and the mob came in contact the former were invariably the victors. No sooner, however, had the conflict ended in one part of the city than it began in another. That the struggle would have been prolonged and more disastrous had it not been for the aid of the military, there is no doubt ; but I be- lieve the police would have subdued the mob eventually. Whenever there are the slightest premonitions of a riot, an ounce of prevention is worth more than a ton of cure in the shape of clubs or bullets. At the beginning of such a conflict a' mob has no organization, and can be readily broken up. CHAPTER VII. CAPTURING HACKENSACK. — MYSTERIOUS VISITS TO NEW YORK. — AT THE SHOP WINDOW. THE FATEFUL RING. — RECEIVING THE, RUS- SIANS. — TRYING TO BURN THE CITY. THE BLACK BAGS. THE “BOGUS” PROCLAMATION. — BURNING OF BARNUM’s MUSEUM. AN UNHAPPY “ HAPPY FAMILY.” STRUGGLE OF THE EAGLE AND SERPENT. EMBEZZLING $ 2 $ 0,000 TO SATISFY BLACKMAILERS. A POLICEMAN MURDERED. Shortly after the stirring events of the early part of 1863, the adventures of a woman known as Mrs. Klineschmidt caused soci- ety to take a quickened interest in the criminal classes. To that part of the world which did not know her, Mrs. Klineschmidt was a lady. She dressed like one, looked like one, and spoke like a woman of education and refined tastes. Her acquaintance was cast, as much as possible, among severely respectable persons.* She was young when she first became known to the police. Her beauty was of the full-blown, blowzy sort, if you please, but it was effective with all men and many women. She made her phys- ical attractions pay her a heavy royalty all the time. Not satisfied with that, she became one of the most adroit thieves ever known in New York. For some years, about the time of the war, she trav- elled between New York and Chicago, sometimes stopping in Can- ada, and smuggling by wholesale. She was arrested several times, and so became a person of note on the police records. She had a husband in the early part of her career, but he subsequently dis- appeared. Finally she disappeared, too. Nobody knew what had become of her. It was afterwards discovered, however, that she was liv- ing in the village of Hackensack, New Jersey. There in the lat- ter part of 1862, from the proceeds of her theft and economy, she built a stylish mansion. The Mandelbaums, some of whom are known to the detective police of America, lived across the street in good style. The two households resolved to “capture Hacken- sack.” * This incident did not come under my personal observation. 87 88 HIGH LIFE IN JERSEY. Mrs. Klineschmidt was eager for the fray. Her social ambition demanded that she should “shine in society.”. She was anxious to test upon persons of established respectability the powers that had won her such success in her own circle. She furnished her house after the most luxurious fashion. In the rooms were high- priced couches, lounges, ottomans and easy chairs, dressing-cases, Wilton carpets and portieres of heavy satin. The walls were hung with tapestry. Valuable pictures were on the walls, and statuary was among the decorations of hall and drawing-room. On the front lawn a fountain played. Her carriage was a magnificent vehicle — perhaps a trifle too magnificent — the wheels and tongue red, and the body green. The upholstery was of brilliant yellow satin. The coachman’s livery was of blue and silver, and the har- ness of the white horses was mounted with gold. She dressed in the latest fashion, and her beauty was a theme of never-failing comment among the male population of the town. Some persons to whom she was a mystery declared that she was the daughter of a rich old sea-captain who had just died in Nantucket; some that she had bought Harlem at a lucky moment on a tip from Com- modore Vanderbilt ; others that she had got rich in cotton, by the connivance of General Banks ; still others that she had been the housekeeper for a miserly Californian who had just died and left her rich. When she had succeeded in arousing the curiosity of the whole town, she coyly confessed to the veterinary surgeon, who called to attend her lap-dog, and who said he had seen service in Calcutta, that she was the grandchild of an Indian merchant who had left her a colossal fortune, which he had made in the spice-trade. The man spread the news. Ladies began to call on her. Some were shy and still inquired. The men were not incredulous ; they admired her from the first. She returned the calls, and did her utmost to ingratiate herself. The suspicion of the people gradually disappeared. As the winter passed she gave a ball at her residence, and was gratified with a general response. She took a conspicuous pew in church. She became the queen of Hackensack. There were three or four families who did not welcome her, and on these she vainly tried all her arts. The men surrendered, but the women refused to associate with the Klineschmidt. This she resented, and resolved to punish. One young man, Blank, BEFORE THE SHOP WINDOW. 89 whose -wife was thus placed under her ban, she secretly encour- aged until he was completely infatuated with her. He was a tall, handsome, alert, and wealthy young fellow, and he became dazzled by her vulgar splendor, and by the preference for him which she manifested. Mrs. Blank was not long in learning that her husband’s affec- tions were being estranged. She told him her fears and re- proached him. The secret of the transfer of his affection soon be- came the property of the public, for the foolish fellow spent even- ing after evening at Mrs. K’s. There was one thing which con fused and puzzled him. She spent two nights and days of every week in New York; and when he asked her why, he received an answer which silenced, while it did not satisfy him He became madly jealous, and resolved to find out whether she had another amour in the great city. His suspicion was wrong. The fact was, that being the social arbiter of Hackensack cost considerable money, and her treasury needed constant replenishing. Blank, however, determined to find out what these mysterious disappearances meant ; and the next time she crossed to New York he followed her. He watched her go to a house on Thirty-fourth Street, waited till he was certain that she would remain there, then took the number for future investigation, and slipped back home. He was unconscious of being followed by a tall and graceful boy. But his wife had thus disguised her- self to makecertain of the whereabouts of the inconstant Blank. The next morning Mrs. Blank expressed a desire to visit her mother, in New York, for a day or two. He assented, and she im- mediately crossed the river, took a school-friend into her confi- • dence, and together they watched the house on Thirty-fourth Street. While they were watching, Mrs. Klineschmidt came in after a predatory excursion to Broadway, Storing her booty, she again sallied forth. “ There she is, the hussy ! Quick, or we shall lose her ! ” ex- claimed Mrs. Blank to her friend. “ Hush ! She may notice us.” “ No fear of that. Our own mothers wouldn’t know us ; and I am not certain that she has ever seen either of us.” “ How she is muffled up — for disguise, I suppose.” “ There ! she has stopped to see those people by that shop win- dow. Let’s dodge in this door-way,” THE WIDOW AT WORK. 90 ENTRAPPED. 9 1 “ There ! There ! See, Kate, see ! ” “ Heavens ! She is a thief. How skilfully she works ! ” “ What shall we do? How shall we trap her ? ” The ladies talked the matter over, and then consulted the near- est captain of police. Mrs. Blank did not wish the woman ar- rested, — “ not yet.” “ Ah ! ” observed the astute officer , “ you want her to steal something from you, so that you can hold it over her? ” “ That was it,” said she. “ Very well ; go out to-morrow, or any day when you can find her. Dress in your best, so as to attract her. When you are in her vicinity and feel yourselves inspected, let your friend hand you a roll of bills. Put them in your purse and put the purse in your pocket. Have in it, also, some odd ring, or other piece of jewellery that you can identify. I will have a detective there to witness the theft.” The scheme worked to a charm the next day. Her purse was taken, and the thief made off. The next week Mrs. Klineschmidt gave a grand ball at her house in Hackensack. Everybody went : even Mrs. Blank accompanied her husband, to his great surprise. Mrs. Klineschmidt met them at the door of her drawing-room with an air of triumph. Mrs. Blank’s appearance created a sensation. All eyes turned on her ; but they were astonished to see that she was arrayed in plain walking attire. She turned one look on the obsequious figure of her would-be hostess, and then to the astounded guests said : “ I am sorry to disturb you, but this woman is a thief ! ” “ A thief ! ” they exclaimed in amazed chorus. “ Yes, she picked my pocket in Broadway. There is my emerald ring on her finger now. The one your neighbors gave me for selling the most tickets at the bazaar.” Mrs. Klineschmidt drew her hand convulsively within her dress folds, and shouted in desperation : “ You’re a liar ! ” “ Here is an old acquaintance of yours who saw you doit. Walk in, Mr. Officer.” The detective stepped into the room. Soon all the guests stepped out. “Well,” laughed Mrs. Klineschmidt, “ I’ve had a good time, and fooled all these stupid asses. Going over to-night ? ” “ Yes,” answered the officer. ‘■THIS WOMAN IS A TIIIEF! V “ ARREST ALL CARRYING BLACK BAGS.” 93 And the queen of Hackensack was dethroned. Late in the autumn of the year when Klineschmidt was run to earth (1863), Admiral Lessoffsky, with a Russian squadron, arrived in New York waters. This was the signal for a grand military reception, a municipal banquet, and a ball at the Academy of Music, on the evening of the fifth of November. This ball was the finest and most elaborate ever seen in New York. . Irving Hall was used for a supper room. Some 6000 persons assembled about the Academy to see the guests arrive. Besides Admiral Lessoff- sky, the guests included Baron Stoeckel, General Dix and Admiral Farragut. The following year was made memorable by the discovery of a plot to burn New York. The police had received information con- cerning this dastardly scheme, but they refused at first to believe it. The intention of the conspirators was to start fires up and down town at the same time, and while the firemen were thus en- gaged to fire the hotels in the centre of the city. The first fire was discovered at 8.43 o’clock on the evening of November 25th, at the St. James Hotel. At the same time Barnum’s Museum was found to be in flames. In quick succession, alarms came from the St. Nicholas Hotel, the United States Hotel, the Lafarge House, the Metropolitan, the New England Hotel and Lovejoy’s. At midnight an attempt was made to burn the shipping in the North River, and from that time until daylight, the Bel- mont, Fifth Avenue, Howard and Hanford hotels, the Astor House and Tammany Hall were found to be on fire. Lumber yards in various parts of the city were also in flames. Fortunately, all these schemes miscarried, and the fires were extinguished in time to prevent a general conflagration. Bags of black canvas were discovered in the rooms set on fire at the different hotels and were taken to police headquarters. Each contained a quantity of paper, about a pound and a half of rosin, a bottle of turpentine and one or two bottles containing phosphorus in water. The fires were started by piling the bedding in the middle of the room and satur- ating it with turpentine, setting it on fire and then locking the door. The hotel-keepers offered a reward of $ 20,000 for the detec- tion of the criminals, but they all escaped. The terror in the city on the night of the fire and some weeks after was very great. A somewhat amusing, yet withal an important incident con- nected with wartimes in New York, was the publication on May 94 THE BOGUS PROCLAMATION. 18, 1864, of what purported to be a proclamation from the Presi- dent, recommending a Fast-day, and calling for 400,000 troops. The document was printed in the World and the Journal of Com- merce. It was soon discovered that the proclamation was bogus. A large mob collected about the office of the Journal of Com- merce , in Wall Street, and demanded that the report should be contradicted forthwith. The Government at once suppressed both papers, and the Associated Press offered a reward of $1000 for the conviction of the author. In due time it was discovered that “Joe” Howard, Jr., wrote the proclamation. He was arrested and sent to Fort Lafayette. Although an attempt to burn Barnum’s Museum had been made in the “Black Bag ” conspiracy, it was not until July 1, 1865, that it w r as destroyed by fire. With it was consumed almost the entire block bounded by Fulton, Ann and Nassau streets and Broadway. The fire originated in the upper story of the Museum, and gradu- ally worked its way down, at the same time spreading to the adjoining buildings. The entire loss reached $ 2,000,000 . During the progress of the fire a large force of policemen was kept busy in looking after the thieves and pickpockets with whom the city fairly swarmed at that time. Several stores were pillaged. One of the places broken into was Knox’s hat store, the hats being offered for sale in the most barefaced manner within sight of the shop from which they were stolen. They found a r$ady sale, so many head-coverings having been lost in the trampling and crush of the vast crowd. Although I witnessed the conflagration, I prefer to describe it in the words of an account which appeared in the N,ew York Tribune of the following day, which created a great sensation : Soon after the breaking out of the conflagration, strange and terrible howls and moans proceeding from the large apartment in the third floor of the Museum, startled the throngs who had collected in front of the burning build- ing, and who were at first under the impression that the sounds must proceed from human beings unable to effect their escape. Their anxiety was somewhat relieved on this score, but their consternation was by no means decreased upon learning that the room was the principal chamber of the menagerie connected with the Museum, and that there was imminent danger of the release of the ani- mals there confined, by the action of the flames. Our reporter fortunately occu- pied a room, the windows of which looked immediately into this apartment. Luckily the windows of the Museum were unclosed, and he had a perfect view BURNING OF BARNUM’S MUSEUM. 9 6 BURNING OF BARNUM’s MUSEUM. of almost the entire interior of the apartment. The following is his statement of what followed, in his own language : “ Protecting myself from the intense heat as well as T could, by taking the mattress from the bed and erecting it as a bulwark before the window, with only enough space reserved on the top so as to look out, I anxiously observed the animals in the opposite room. Immediately opposite the window through which I gazed was a large cage containing a lion and lioness. To the right hand was the three-story cage, containing monkeys at the top, two kangaroos in the second story, and a happy family of cats, rats, adders, rabbits, etc., in the lower apartment. To the left of the lion’s cage was the tank containing the two vast alligators, and still further to the left, partially hidden from my sight, was the grand tank containing the great white whale, which has created such a furore in our sight-seeing midst for the past few weeks. Upon the floor were caged the boa-constrictor, anacondas and rattlesnakes, whose heads would now and then rise menacingly through the top of the cage. In the extreme right was the cage, entirely shut from my view at first, containing the Bengal tiger and the Polar bear, whose tenjlfic growls could be distinctly heard from behind the partition. With a simultaneous bound the lion and his mate sprang against the bars, which gave way and came down with a great crash, releasing the beasts, which for a moment, apparently amazed at their sudden liberty, stood in the middle of the floor lashing their sides with their tails and roaring dolefully. “ Almost at the same mofhent the upper part of the three-story cage, con- sumed bv the flames, fell forward, letting the rods drop to the floor, and many other animals were set free. Just at this time the door fell through and the flames and smoke rolled in like a whirlwind from the Hadean river Cocytus. A horrible scene in the right-hand corner of the room, a yell of indescribable agony, and a crashing, grating sound, indicated that the tiger and Polar bear were stirred up to the highest pitch of excitement. Then there came a great crash, as of the giving way of the bars of their cage. The flames and smoke momentarily rolled back, and for a few seconds the interior of the room was visible in the lurid light of the flames, which revealed the tiger and the lion locked together in close combat. “ The monkeys were perched around the windows shivering with dread, and afraid to jump out. The snakes were writhing about, crippled and blistered by the heat, darting out their forked tongues, and expressing their rage and fear in the most sibilant of hisses. The ‘Happy Family’ was experiencing an amount of beatitude which was evidently too cordial for philosophical enjoy- ment. A lonsr tongue of flame had crept under the cage, completely singeing every hair from the cat’s body. The felicitous adder was slowly burning in two and busily engaged in impregnating his organic system with his own venom. The joyful rat had lost his tail by a falling bar of iron; and the beatific rabbit, perforated by a red-hot nail, looked as if nothing would be more grateful than a cool corner in some Esquimaux farm-yard. The members of the delectated convocation were all huddled together in the bottom of their cage, which sud- denly gave way, precipitating them out of view in the depths below, which by this time were also blazing like the fabled Tophet. “ At this moment the flames rolled again into the room, and then again BURNING OF BARNUM’s MUSEUM. 97 retired. The whale and alligators were by this time suffering dreadful tor- ments. The water in which they swam was literally boiling. The alligators dashed fiercely about, endeavoring to escape, and opening and shutting their great jaws in ferocious torture ; but the poor whale, almost boiled, with great ulcers bursting from his blubbery sides, could only feebly swim about, though blowing excessively, and every now and then sending up great fountains of spray. At length, craqjk went the glass sides of the great cases, and whale and alligators rolled out on the floor with the rushing and steaming water. The whale died easily, having been pretty well used up before. A Jew great gasps and a convulsive flap or two of his mighty flukes were his expiring spasm. One of the alligators was killed almost immediately by falling across a great frag- ment of shattered glass, which cut open his stomach and let out the greater part of his entrails to the light of day. The remaining alligator became in- volved in a controversy with an anaconda, and joined in the milee in the cen- tre of the flaming apartment. “ A number of birds which were caged in the upper part of the building were set free by some charitably inclined person at the first alarm of fire, and at in- tervals they flew out. There were many valuable tropical birds, parrots, cock- atoos, mocking birds, humming-birds, etc., as well as some vultures and eagles, and one condor. Great excitement existed among the swaying crowds in the streets below as they took wing. There were confined in the same room a few serpents, which also obtained their liberty ; and soon after the rising and de- vouring flames began to enwrap the entire building, a splendid and emblematic sight was presented to the wondering and upgazing throngs. Bursting through the central casement, with flap of wings and lashing coils, appeared an eagle and a serpent wreathed in fight. For a moment they hung poised in mid-air, presenting a novel and terrible conflict. It was the earth and air (or their respective representatives) at war for mastery ; the base and the lofty, the grov- eller and the soarer, were engaged in deadly battle. At length the flat head of the serpent sank ; his writhing, sinuous form grew still ; and wafted upward by the cheers of the gazing multitude, the eagle, with a scream of triumph, and bearing his prey in his iron talons, soared towards the sun. Several monkeys escaped from the burning building to the neighboring roofs and streets; and considerable excitement was caused by the attempts to secure them. One of the most amusing incidents in this respect, was in connection with Mr. James Gordon Bennett. The veteran editor of the Herald was sitting in his private office with his back to the open window, calmly discussing with a friend the chances that the Herald establishment would escape the conflagration, which at that time was threateningly advancing up Ann Street, towards Nassau Street. In the course of his conversation, Mr. Bennett observed : ‘ Although I have usually had good luck in cases of fire, they say that the devil is ever at one’s shoulder, and — ’ Here an exclamation from his friend interrupted him, and turning quickly he was considerably taken aback at seeing the devil himself or something like him, at his very shoulder as he spoke. Recovering his equa- nimity, with the ease and suavity which is usual with him in all company, Mr. Bennett was about to address the intruder when he perceived that what he had taken for the gentleman in black was nothing more than a frightened orang- outang. The poor creature, but recently released from captivity, and doubt- 7 9 8 BURNING OF BARNURl’s MUSEUM. less thinking that he might fill some vacancy in the editorial corps of the paper in question, had descended by the water-pipe and instinctively taken refuge in the inner sanctum of the establishment. Although the editor— perhaps from the fact that he saw nothing peculiarly strange in the visitation — soon regained his composure, it was far otherwise with his friend, who immediately gave the alarm. Mr. Hudson rushed in and boldly attacked the monkey, grasping him by the throat. The book-editor next came in, obtaining a clutch upon the brute by the ears; the musical critic followed, and seized the tail with both hands, and a number of reporters, armed with inkstands and sharpened pencils, came next, followed by a dozen policemen with brandished clubs ; at the same time, the engineer in the basement received the preconcerted signal and got ready his hose, wherewith to pour boiling hot water upon the heads of those in the streets, in case it should prove a regular systematized attack by gorillas, Brazil apes and chimpanzees. Opposed to this formidable combination, the rash intruder fared badly, and was soon in durance vile. “We believe that all the human curiosities were saved ; but the giant girl, Anna Swan, was only rescued with the utmost difficulty. There was not a door through which her bulky frame could obtain a passage. It was likewise feared that the stairs would break down, even if she should reach them. Her best friend, the living skeleton, stood by her as long as he dared, but then deserted her, while, as the heat grew in intensity, the perspiration rolled from her face in little brooks and rivulets, which pattered musically upon the floor. At length, as a last resort, the employees of the place procured a lofty derrick which fortunately happened to be standing near, and erected it alongside the Museum. A portion of the wall was then broken off on each side of the window, the strong tackle was got in readiness, the tall woman was made fast to one end and swung over the heads of the people in the street, with eighteen men grasp- ing the other extremity. of the line, and lowered down from the third story amid enthusiastic applause. A carriage of extraordinary capacity was in readiness, and, entering this, the young lady was driven to a hotel. “ When the surviving serpents, that were released by the partial burning of the box in which they were contained, crept along on the floor to the balcony of the Museum and dropped on the sidewalk, the crowd, seized with St. Patrick’s aversion to the reptiles, fled with such precipitate haste that they knocked each other down and trampled on one another in the most reckless and damaging manner. “ Hats were lost, coats torn, boots burst and pantaloons dropped with mag- nificent miscellaneousness, and dozens of those who rose from the miry streets into which they had been thrown, looked like the disembodied spirits of a mud bank. The snakes crawled on the sidewalk and into Broadway, where some of them died from injuries received, and others were despatched by the excited populace. Several of the serpents of the copper-head species escaped the fury of the tumultuous masses, and, true to their instincts, sought shelter in the World and News offices. A large black bear escaped from the burning Museum into Ann Street, and then made his way into Nassau, and down that thorough- fare into Wall, where his appearance caused a sensation. Some superstitious persons believed him the spirit of a departed Ursa Major, and others of his fraternity welcomed the animal as a favorable omen. The bear walked quietly PHOENIX RANK CASHIER. 99 along to the Custom House, ascended the steps of the building, and became bewildered, as many a biped bear has done before him. He seemed to lose his sense of vision, and no doubt, endeavoring to operate for a fall, walked over the side of the steps and broke his neck. He succeeded in his object, but it cost him dearly. The appearance of Bruin in the street sensibly affected the stock market, and shares fell rapidly; but when he lost his life in the careless manner we have described, shares advanced again, and the Bulls triumphed once more. “ After the fire several high-art epicures groping among the ruins, found choice morsels of boiled whale, roasted kangaroo and fricasseed crocodile, which, it is said, they relished ; though the many would have failed to appreciate such rare edibles. Probably the recherche epicures will declare the only true way to prepare those meats is to cook them in a museum wrapped in flames, in the same manner that the Chinese, according to Charles Lamb, first dis- covered roast pig in a burning house, and ever afterward set a house on fire with a pig inside, when they wanted that particular food.” Very early on the morning of August ioth, 1865, Patrolman McCarty, of the Twenty-ninth Precinct, arrested Henry B. Jen- kins, cashier of the Phoenix Bank, one of the wealthiest institutions on Wall Street. Jenkins was charged with embezzling $250,000. He had been in the employ of the bank for twenty years. He admitted his guilt, and asserted that five or six other persons were implicated in the crime. Excitement ran high, and a num- ber of arrests were made at once. It soon became known that Jenkins was the victim of an in- famous case of blackmailing. Having become the dupe of a woman whose acquaintance he made in a concert saloon, he was forced to support her and her “lover” in richly furnished apart- ments in Bleecker Street. One of the men implicated was James H. Earl, a clerk in an office on Wall Street. He admitted hav ing received $100,000 in stolen bonds from Jenkins. He was arrested and taken to a cell in the police station, in Twenty-ninth Street, near Fourth Avenue. There he immediately committed suicide with a small pen-knife, which he had concealed. “ Vieve Brower,” the mistress of Jenkins, and Charles Brower, her para- mour, were also arrested. Vieve was the leech who bled Jenkins, sometimes getting from him as much as $1000. She discovered Jenkins’ dishonest practices, and used the secret as a threat so that she and her associates could obtain money. She told other persons of her suspicions, and soon Jenkins found himself surrounded by rowdies, pimps, and ex-bounty IOO DIED AT HIS POST. jumpers, who demanded large loans of money, which he was ; afraid to refuse. Soon after the detection of this crime the city was shocked by the murder of Patrolman Thomas Walker. While Walker and a f el low-officer, named Rork, were patrolling West Seventeenth Street, about two o’clock on Tuesday morning, August 15, 1865, they heard the screams of a woman coming from a carpenter’s shop near by. Drawing their revolvers, they entered the place where they found twelve or fifteen men. “You devilish scoundrels, what are you doing here?” cried Officer Rork. The reply was a volley of shots from the room. A ball struck Walker on the head, over the right ear, passing through the brain. He instantly fell dead, and was found lying on his back with his pistol in the hand that was stretched across his breast. The men in the carpenter shop fled, but Rork pursued them, capturing one named John Ward. Before daybreak the police had succeeded in arresting twelve of the gang. The funeral of Walker was attended by the police force of the city. CHAPTER VIII. ALBERT D. RICHARDSON’S MURDER. — THE DYING MAN’S RECOGNI- TION. TRIALS OF A YOUNG WIFE. THE LOVER’S PROMISE. THE MURDERER FREE. VAN EETEN FORGERIES. A STERN CHASE BUT A SUCCESSFUL ONE. — RE-ARRESTED WHEN LIBERTY WAS SECURED. BEFORE THE LAST JUDGE OF ALL. In the latter part of 1869, New York gossip fairly hummed with the details of the murder of Albert D. Richardson, a prominent journalist. At five o’clock on the afternoon of November 25, 1869, Richardson opened the door of the Tribune office which led from Spruce Street, and walking to a desk at one end of the counter, asked if there was any mail for him. No sooner had the words left his mouth than from behind the counter sprang a man with a revolver in his hand. He leaned forward, took hasty aim and fired. Richardson, mortally shot, held on to the edge of the counter a moment for support, then staggered to the fourth floor where the editorial rooms were, and threw himself upon a sofa. There he lay in terrible agony. The murderer, seeing that his purpose was accomplished, leaped over the counter behind which he had been concealed, and with the still smoking weapon clutched to his breast, vanished in the crowd. George M. King, a clerk, stood within a few feet of him, and yet so sudden was the shooting that he did not realize what had happened until it was over. Neither did the other clerks, nor the men who were going in and out of the office, nor the passing throng on the sidewalk. The murderer, unknown, unrecognized, had disappeared, leaving no trace. In room No. 31 at the Westmoreland Hotel that night was a man who was unknown to the proprietors, or to any of the guests in the house. He had registered in the afternoon with a trembling hand, and had left orders not to be disturbed. At ten o’clock Captain Allaire, of the Fourth Precinct, knocked at the door of that room. He opened it and found himself in the presence of the murderer, Daniel McFarland, an assistant assessor in the city government. 101 1 THE DEATH-BED RECOGNITION, THAT IS THE MAN.” 103 When told that he was under arrest for shooting Albert Richardson, his limbs jerked spasmodically and his features were distorted, as he cried out in hoarse tones : “ My God, it must have been me — No ! — It was not — Yes, it must have been me ! ” The man seemed dazed. There was another scene before the day closed on this tragedy. It occurred a half hour later, and was placed in the Astor House, room No. 115. The wounded journalist was there with his life slowly ebbing away. He had been brought across the square from the Tribune building. Dr. Swan had probed for the fatal ball and was trying to make his patient comfortable. Sud- denly two men entered — one in uniform. They approached the bed on which Richardson lay. The murderer and his victim were face to face. The stricken man looked feebly up, let his eyes fall for a second on the captain’s companion, and in a thrilling whisper said : “ That is the man.” There was a woman in the case, of course ; else gossiping tongues wouldn’t have wagged. This woman was the wife of Daniel McFarland. Her maiden name was Abby Sage, and her childhood had been spent in Manchester, N. H. Here McFar- land found her — a girl in her teens, bright, beautiful and talented. He was an Irishman, born in the old country, left at twelve years of age without parents and obliged to cut his own way through the world. He came to this country, worked hard for an education and received a degree from Dartmouth College. When Abby Sage met him he had been admitted to the practice of the law seven years. According to her sworn testimony he had represented him- self to be enjoying a good practice in Madison, Wisconsin, to own property worth $20,000 or $30,000, and a man of excellent morals. So they were married in 1857. They went to Madison to live, but after a few weeks returned to New York. The young wife ascertained that her husband’s property was in Wisconsin lands, and little money could be real- ized on them. Within three months fronrthe time of the marriage her jewels were in the hands of New York pawnbrokers and the bride was sent home to visit her father. McFarland visited her there, and, according to her own story, she got to know him better. She found out that he was passionate in disposition, profane, and intemperate. In the following year they took a house in Brooklyn, 104 MRS. MCFARLAND. and at Christmas time a child was born — born to die within a few months. Domestic harmony after this was often interrupted. Mrs. McFarland several times left her husband on account of his alleged brutality and went home to her father’s. In April, i860, the second child, Percy, was born. The mother paid her physi- cian’s bill out of the proceeds of a public reading which she gave for that purpose — for she had no small talent as an elocutionist. In the spring of 1861 the little family moved back to Madison for a year, and then returned to New York. They went to Mrs. Oliver’s to board, at No. 58 Varick Street. And now this young woman of Puritan stock, who had beauty and charms and talent, but an uncongenial and ill-tempered hus- band, began to prepare herself for going on the stage. She took lessons of Mr. and Mrs. George Vanderhoff, and gave numerous dra- matic readings, thereby earning enough money to support both her husband and herself. But McFarland continued to treat her cruelly. She told afterward, how one morning, after he had been out all night on a drunken orgie and had risen ■ from their bed in one of his worst tempers,* she approached him as he stood by the mirror finishing his toilet and tried to soothe him. In reply he turned around fiercely and struck the woman he had married across the face, sending her reeling backward. She said that sometimes he would extend his hands, with his fingers bent like claws, as if he were about to clutch her throat, and cry out : “ How I should like — like to strangle you ! ” She told Mrs. John F. Cleveland (a sister of Mr. Greeley) about the blow she had re- ceived, and won that lady’s sympathy. About this time and later, Mrs. McFarland, through her read- ings, made the acquaintance of a number of persons who were openly designated in the courts afterward as Free-lovers, Fourier- ites, Mormons and the like. They were for the most part persons of more or less social prominence in the city, and professed the most affectionate interest in the young dramatic reader. They en- couraged her plans for going on the stage, and were the confi- dants of her trials and misfortunes. The weak young wife’s heart easily softened towards them under such genial rays of affection. Mrs. McFarland’s enemies afterward accused these persons with being the instruments of her destruction. They openly charged them with having conspired to tear her from her legal husband, ALBERT D. RICHARDSON. io 5 and join her with him for whom they thought her soul had an “ affinity.” But Mrs. McFarland, to the last, denied the existence of any such conspiracy. Under the influence of their acquaint- anceship, however, or on account of further harsh treatment from her husband, the breach between Mr. and Mrs. McFarland grew wider. Albert D. Richardson, whom Daniel McFarland shot in a fit of jealousy, was born in 1833. He chose a literary occupation, and during the war became correspondent of the New York Tribune. He was taken prisoner by the Confederate army and remained in jail for some time. After the war he came to New York, continued his connection with the Tribune , and won considerable fame as a newspaper writer and as the author of several books. Among his more intimate friends in New York were Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Sinclair and Mrs. L. G. Calhoun. He was a frequent visitor at their homes. Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Calhoun, it chanced, were also Mrs. McFarland’s most intimate friends. They were attracted by her charms and talents, and all three being persons of literary tastes found congenial companions in each other. “ There are just three persons who are much to me in the flesh,” wrote Mrs. Cal- houn to Mrs. McFarland, “ you — and you can guess the other two.” Mrs. McFarland’s introduction to such society had given her a taste of the sweet poison which was to ruin her. She longed for wealth and refinement and love. Her home relations became repulsive to her. Perhaps she considered them the irksome ties which prevented her from occupying the sphere in life which she thought belonged to one of her talents. She had won some notice as a writer in the Independent, in the Riverside Magazine, and had written a little book called “ Percy’s Year of Rhymes ” for chil- dren. But this success only tickled her vanity. She was led by her friends to believe that she could shine on the stage, and to win public applause behind the foot-lights became her sole ambition. She first met Mrs. Calhoun in the winter of 1866. Mrs. Cal- houn interested herself in getting Mrs. McFarland a theatrical engagement. Her efforts were successful, and the dramatic reader secured a position in the Winter Garden Theatre, which, was con- trolled by Edwin Booth. Her salary was $20 a week, and on November 28, 1866, she made her debut as Neri'ssa, in the “ Merchant of Venice.” i o6 SEPARATION. In January, 1867, Mr. and Mrs. ' McFarland moved to No. 72 Amity Street, and took the back parlor and extension room. The rooms were rented from a Mrs. Mason. The two had not been there a month when Richardson, who had been boarding at No. 61 Amity Street, came to see about engaging rooms. This, Mrs. McFarland said, was the first time he had called upon her. Richardson secured a room, and after that, Mrs. McFarland said in a written statement, “ I saw him often, and he did me many kindnesses. I knew very well he pitied me, because he thought I was overworked and not very happy. . . . He called sometimes at my room, which was next his, but from its situation, and the fact that it was my sleeping-room, parlor and dining-room in one, made it in no sense a private room.” On the evening of February 19, Mr. McFarland entered the house and saw his wife standing at Richardson’s door. The hus- band thought it was time to expostulate, and he did. But this was his wife’s reply : “ I did not go into Mr. Richardson’s room and I am not in the habit of going there. Even if I was, it is not a pri- vate room, but an office in the day time.” But Mr. McFarland was not satisfied. That night he raged and tore around. “ Did Rich- ardson ever kiss you ? ” he shouted to his wife. “ Have you ever been in his room alone with him ? ” The partition between McFarland’s room and Richardson’s was so thin that the latter heard all this conversation. The next day McFarland spent at home, and had the pleasure of seeing his wife’s lover open the door and hurriedly retreat as soon as he dis- covered the husband’s presence. McFarland left the house for a while, and when he returned his wife had fled and the boy Percy was on his way to Boston. Mrs. McFarland had gone to the Sin- clairs, where she had seen Richardson, and he had assisted in taking her and her boy from the husband and father. Three days later, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Johnson, Mr. Sin- clair and Mr. Sage, Mrs. McFarland told her husband that she had determined to leave him forever. His answer was brief : “ I bow to it, and submit to it.” That evening Richardson was at the Sinclair house. As he was about to leave, Mrs. McFarland followed him to the door. As they stood alone in the hallway, the woman murmured : “You have been very , very good to me. I cannot repay you, but God will bless you for it.” She spoke with great emotion. DIVORCE, MARRIAGE, DEATH. IO7 “ How do you feel about facing the world with two babies ? ” he asked. “ It looks hard for a woman, but I am sure I can get on better without that man than with him,” was her answer. All this while Richardson held her hand. Now he leaned over and in a low tone said : “ I wish you to remember, my child, that any responsibility you choose to give me in any possible future, I shall be very glad to take.” Two nights later he called again, and proposed marriage. The relations between the two thereafter are a matter of dis- pute, and I do not pretend to decide which side was right. It should be mentioned, however, that on the night of March 13, of this year, while Richardson was returning from the theatre with Mrs. McFarland, Mr. McFarland came up behind them and fired several shots, one of them wounding Richardson in the thigh. Finally, in 1868, Mrs. McFarland went to Indiana to get a legal divorce from her husband. On October 31, 1869, she returned to her mother’s house a free woman. She saw Richardson on Thanksgiving Day. Then he went back to New York, and a week later she heard that he had been mortally wounded by her former husband. This was the story of a woman’s trials and temptations which resulted in the Tribune office tragedy. Shocked as the woman undoubtedly was by the intelligence which sped to her over the wire, she was not frightened. Her part in this sad play was not yet ended. Nothing but hate filled her heart toward her lover’s murderer; nothing but pity and affection had she for the dying victim. She came to him at once, and by his bedside in the Astor House watched until he died. But three days before death came, Albert D. Richardson and Abby Sage McFarland were lawfully married. The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher and the Rev. O. B. Frothingham. It was a tender and touching marriage. Then came death, on the night of December 2. Five persons watched the spirit take its flight. These were Junius Henri Browne, Col. T. H. Knox, Mrs. Sage and the two doctors, Carter and Swan. The trial of the murderer began on April 4, 1870. His case was represented by Col. Charles S. Spencer, John Graham, and Elbridge T. Gerry. For the prosecution were District Attorney Garvin, his assistant, Mr. Fellows, and Noah Davis. The hearing 108 “not guilty.” was before Recorder Hackett. The court room was crowded. Prominent men were dragged in as witnesses. Horace Greeley was in the box; so were Whitelaw Reid, Amos J. Cummings, Junius Henri Browne, Fitz-Hugh Ludlow, William Stuart, man- ager of the ^Winter Garden Theatre ; F. B. Carpenter, the artist ; Samuel Sinclair, the publisher of the Tribmie , and Oliver Johnson. The speeches of the counsel were florid and eloquent. Public Curi- osity looked eagerly for the verdict. After the jury had been out two hours, it came : “ Not guilty.” Daniel McFarland wiped the perspiration from his brow, and walked out of the court room to breathe a purer and freer air. One of the most expert forgers in the country made a very clever attempt at swindling in 1871, and, when discovered, led one of the detectives in the office on a chase which included thousands of miles and covered half a continent. The circumstances were these : In October of that year, a man named John R. Livingstone was introduced to Mr. Cyrus G. Clark, a broker, of No. 3 Exchange Place, by Mr. George W. Chadwick, a dealer in real estate. The three men talked together, and finally Mr. Clark promised to buy for Livingstone $100,000 worth of bonds from Mr. Goddard, the treasurer of Wells, Fargo & Co. Livingstone paid for the bonds, by a check on Hallgarten &. Co. for $77,500. He took them to the Commercial Warehouse Co., and deposited them as security for two checks of $25,000 each. Having endorsed the checks, Livingstone handed them over to. Mr. Chadwick, asking him to go to Caldwell & Co., at No. 77 Wall Street, and get them cashed. Chadwick willingly assented.. It so happened that at the very instant Chadwick entered the office and presented the checks, a Mr. Gilman, president of a railroad in Alabama, who was there conversing with Mr. Caldwell, was telling the latter how nearly he had escaped being swindled by a rascal named Livingstone. “ Why ! ” exclaimed Mr. Caldwell, “ here are checks payable to the very John R. Livingstone that you are talking about ! ” The thought naturally occurred to both men that the checks were forgeries. A messenger was despatched to make inquiries, but it was found there was nothing wrong about the checks them- selves. Still Mr. Caldwell hesitated to cash them, and put Chad, wick off with some trivial excuse, telling him to call on the next 109 11Q “ 1 TOLD YOU SO/’ day, when he should receive for the checks $30,000 in Government bonds and $20,000 in currency. At the appointed time Chadwick was there. The bonds and the bills were counted out and he started to put the money in his pocket. Just then a messenger, almost breathless, rushed into Mr. CaldwelPs office with the astounding information that Livingstone was a forger. Mr. Caldwell started as if shot. Mr. Gilman looked as if he wanted to^say “I told you so,” and the real estate dealer scarcely knew what to make of it. Chadwick was compelled, however, to give up the money, and immediately disappeared from the office. It was singular how the forgery had been discovered. On the morning that Chadwick was to receive the cash for the two checks, the officers of the Park Bank discovered that Hallgarten & Co. had overdrawn their account. The attention of the firm was called to the fact and the members were naturally very much sur- prised. The check for $77,500, given by Livingstone to Mr. God- dard, came to light. No one knew anything about it, but the work upon it was of so skilful a character that the firm hesitated at first to say that the check was a forgery. Nevertheless it was. The bonds purchased with it were found at the office of the Warehouse Company, and Mr. CaldwelPs office was reached in the nick of time to prevent the payment of the money to Chadwick. Now efforts were directed to catch the forger, and the assistance of the police was asked. Detective Thomas Sampson was assigned to work up the case. Sampson went to work with a will-, and quickly discovered that Livingstone was none other than Louis W. Van Eeten, already notorious in this department of crime. Chadwick was arrested by Sampson just as the former was making arrangements for a trip to Europe. From him it was learned that upon the discovery of the forgery he had gone to Van Eeten and informed him of the state of affairs. Van Eeten swore that Chadwick had played him false, put a pistol to the latter’s head and forced him to give up $1000, which was all the money he had. Van Eeten took flight. Then began a long and remarkable chase after the forger. Sampson first heard that he was in San Francisco. There Van Eeten obtained from the Bank of California the value of a $10,00 ct United States registered bond, which had been stolen from Senor B. Castillo. In San Francisco Van Eeten assumed the name of A 3TKRN CHASE. 1 1 t Van Tassell, but embarked for the Isthmus of Panama under the name of Phillips. Sampson was close upon his heels, but did not arrive until the day after the steamer sailed. At Panama Van Eeten struck out at once for Central America. Sampson still tracked his footsteps. Van Eeten then tried to make his way to Mexico, but gave it up as useless, and went to St. Thomas ; thence to Havana, and from there to New Orleans. He put up at the St. Charles Hotel and remained there for several days. By the lavish manner in which he spent his money at the bar, and by his interesting conversational powers, he made many friends. He knew, however, that as long as he remained on American soil he was liable to arrest, should he be recognized. He therefore settled upon Tampico as his next abiding place. He announced his intention one evening to leave the hotel on the next morning, and was busily engaged in his room, packing his trunk, when a stranger entered the hotel and looked over the register. “ Is Mr. Phillips in his room ? ” he asked. “ He is,” replied the clerk, and at the same time directed a call-boy to conduct the stranger to Mr. Phillips’s apartment. Arrived at the door, the boy knocked, and a voice replied : # “ Come in.” The stranger entered. The occupant’s back was towards the door. He turned his head to greet his visitor, and then, in a ter- rified manner, jumped to his feet. “ Why ! Captain — ” he gasped. “ I never expected to see you.” “ I don’t suppose you did,” was the reply of Detective Samp- son, for the stranger was none other than he, while Mr. Phillips was Louis M. Van Eeten. This ended the chase. Van Eeten practically admitted his guilt when brought back to New York and tried. He was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment in Sing Sing, and while there invented an automatic arrangement by which a keeper could sit in his chair at one end of a corridor and have certain knowledge whether convicts were in their cells or not. One Sunday morning, some eight years afterwards, immediately upon his release from prison — for he earned a commutation of his sentence by good conduct — Van Eeten called at Detective Sampson’s house. The call was merely a friendly one, Van Eeten I 12 BEFORE THE LAST JUDGE. only wishing to show Sampson that he entertained no ill feeling towards him for performing his duty. Still pursuing the line of duty, however, Sampson telegraphed to the Bank of California the fact that Van Eeten was at liberty, and the next day there came an order for his arrest upon a charge of stealing the $10,000 United States registered bond in San Francisco. Van Eeten’s capture was easily effected, and Sampson, with another officer, took him to Trenton, N. J., there to await the arrival of the requisite documents from California. Van Eeten took his re-arrest very much to heart, and seemed completely broken down. “ Never mind,” said Sampson to him, “ you’ll have an easy judge in ’Frisco, and you will get off with a light sentence.” “That’s all very well,” Van Eeten replied, “but before morn- ing I shall go before the best judge of all.” And he did. The officers slept in the same room with him, but somehow he managed to swallow a dose of laudanum. Where he obtained the drug is a mystery. Despite the efforts of several medical men who were called in, the unfortunate man never re- gained his senses and died before the sun had risen. V CHAPTER IX. THE NATHAN MURDER. — A TERRIBLE NIGHT. — THE TWO BROTHERS. — A GHASTLY SCENE. — TWELVE BLOWS WHICH TOOK A LIFE. — BLOODY FINGER-MARKS ON THE WALL. — FINDING OF THE IRON “ DOG.” — MERCILESS SUSPICIONS. — THE HOUSEKEEPER’S SON. — “ HIS CLOTHES DON’T FIT HIM.” — CLEANSING THE ROOM. — AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY. The month of July, 1870, is remembered as being one of the most glorious months of that most enjoyable summer. The days were warm with a seasonable warmth, and the nights were cooled by showers and eastern breezes. Just previous to Independence Day, Mr. Benjamin Nathan had left his business affairs on Wall Street, where he was a broker and private banker of great fortune and repute, to go to his country-seat at Morristown, New Jersey. His luxuriously furnished town house at No. 12 West Twenty- third Street had been given over to upholsterers and decorators, to be refitted for the autumn. Once or twice a week it was Mr. Nathan’s habit to visit his office, confer with his confidential clerk about the light financial operations of the summer, call at his mansion to see how the alterations were progressing - and then to return to his retreat. On July 29 he made one of his trips to the city. He planned to pass the night at his up-town house. Chief of his objects in doing this was to make a fast day of the succeeding one, the anniversary of his mother’s death. He intended to pass the morning in prayer at the synagogue to which he belonged. He found his house the scene of disorder. Not a room was prepared to receive him, as Mrs. Kelly, the housekeeper, was not aware of his inten- tion to remain. But his sons, Frederick, his favorite, and Wash- ington, who was something of a scapegrace, were in town and he expected to meet them. The former was a broker of repute like his father ; the latter was simply a man of pleasure, whose pas- times were a source of much anxiety to his venerable father. But Mr. Nathan’s patience with “ Wash,” as he was called was proof 8 113 THE HALL BEDROOM. 114 against any but the gravest misdeeds, and on the night of the anniversary of his mother’s death the old man decided once more to warn his erring child. Early in the evening the skies in the west began to darken, and prospects of a storm increased as the night progressed. It was cool, and a right sort of time for the charms of retrospection to seize upon an elderly man. In a little hall bedroom on the second floor Mr. Nathan kept his family papers, and as the senti- ment of the anniversary he was about to celebrate grew upon him, he decided to look over these familiar archives after he had settled the housekeeping bills of the month. So he directed Mrs. Kelly to arrange a bed of mattresses upon the floor of the reception-room immediately adjoining his little office room, and there he thought he would sleep after he had concluded his work. The old gentle- man, after his bed had been prepared, passed several hours in his little office engaged with his affairs. There were mutterings of thunder without, but no heed was paid to the approaching storm. As the hours passed footsteps sounded less frequently upon the pavements, and then the old man began to wonder why his sons did not return. Fred was making some calls among those of his friends who were still in the city ; Wash was clinking glasses with men of questionable repute and women of the demi monde. The growling of the storm grew more distinct. Lightning flashed, but yet no rain fell. The anniversary of -his mother’s death grew nearer, and after gazing affectionately at the features of his beloved parent, which were disclosed from the 'case of a miniature, Mr. Nathan replaced the case in a small safe which stood in the corner of the little room, locked the iron door, dropped the keys into his pocket and prepared for rest. Within an hour after he had retired, or just before midnight, Fred Nathan entered the house. Passing the reception-room he entered and, finding his father still awake, chatted with him for a time about “Wash,” who was still away from home, and then kissing his father upon the forehead, wished him good-night and retired to his bedroom. Mr. Nathan watched his son leave the room with the eagerness of a parent who is sure of his child’s love. A half- hour afterwards, it is said, “Wash” Nathan entered the house, and observing, as he afterwards declared, his father sleeping peacefully upon his bed of mattresses went to his room on an upper floor. “ FOR god’s sake, hurry ! ” 115 At midnight the storm broke. It was one of those awful mani- festations of nature’s power which frequently occur in the tropics, but seldom in our temperate climate. The rain fell in sheets with a persistency which made it almost impossible for a pedestrian to withstand their force. The lightning was extremely vivid, and the thun’der followed the flashes with sharp reports that resembled the volleys of musketry upon a battle field. Patrolman John Mangam, of the Twenty-ninth Precinct, had that night the post on which the Nathan mansion was situated, and was struggling bravely against the storm. He saw a light flash for a moment in the windows of the splendid house of the banker millionaire, and then all was dark. The day dawned bright and glorious. The terrible storm of the night had passed. The sky was of that vivid blue which our northern hefavens assume after a storm. Mangam passed along Twenty-third Street, toward Sixth Avenue, thinking of his relief at six o’clock and of those at home. It lacked but a few minutes of that hour when he was walking slowly along on the last turn of his beat. But, hark ! A voice, even at a distance vibrant with terror, calls to him. “ Officer ! Officer ! For God’s sake, hurry ! ” Mangam turned right about. Away up the street toward Fifth Avenue, on the brown-stone steps of their home, in their night- clothing, stood Washington and Fred Nathan, the latter intensely excited, and the former pale but calm. They shouted again while Mangam was going towards them, so excitedly that he began to run, and went up the steps at a dash. While he was uttering: “ What’s the matter, gents ? ” Fred exclaimed : “ Officer, quick ! My father’s been murdered ! ” Washington chimed in, like an echo : “ Father’s lying murdered up stairs.” Mangam threw down his water-proof, went to the street railing and struck a vigorous rap on the sidewalk. Without waiting to see if this summons for assistance was answered, he rushed up Tairs, after inquiring of the “boys ” if they suspected anybody — i the murderer was in the house. He was told where the mur- dered man was. Going into the reception-room and turning the pile of mattresses aside, he saw one of the most ghastly spectacles that ever met the eye of a policeman. Lying with its feet on the threshold of the little hall bedroom ii 6 AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY. fearful Work. ll 7 and its head to the east was the body of Benjamin Nathan. It was lying on its back, with the left leg bent up, the right arm ex- tended straight above the head, and the left arm by the side, so covered with blood that the corpse resembled a red Irish setter dog asleep more than a human being. Mangam rushed to Mr. Nathan’s side, knelt down beside him, put his hand on his breast and exclaimed to Fred, who had followed him up stairs : “ Why, he can’t be dead ! There’s life here yet.” “ What shall I do ? ” asked Fred. “ Send for a doctor, quick ! ” was Mangam’s reply. Patrolman Iheodore Rowland had by this time answered the alarm rap. He was despatched to the Fifth Avenue Hotel for a physician. One came in a few minutes. But before his arrival Mangam had discovered that in his agitation he had made a mis- take. Mr. Nathan’s body was quite cold, and when the doctor entered he told him the man was dead. There was in fact every indication that the murdered man had been dead for three hours or more. Little blood remained that was not coagulated or en- tirely dry. As soon as the doctor arrived, Mangam went to the front door and told the Nathan boys that while he regretted it very much it was his duty, under the circumstances, to take complete charge of the house and not permit any one to leave the premises. He then despatched Patrolman Rowland to the Twenty-ninth Precinct Station with a request that Captain Henry Burden should visit the scene of the murder. This the latter did within half an hour. He commended Mangam for what he had done, and remarked that he seemed to know his duty so well that he might remain in charge of the house for the remainder of the day. Captain Burden set the machinery of justice in operation by placing his ward detec- tives on the case and notifying Superintendent John Jourdan and Chief Detective James J. Kelso. After the news of the murder had been telegraphed to police headquarters detectives arrived in a short time. They had seen the results of many bloody quarrels and self-inflicted injuries, but had never witnessed a bloodier scene, or greater evidences of a terrible and determined struggle for life on the part of a victim. Hardly had they regained their self-possession when Chief Jourdan and Captain of Detectives Kelso entered the room, and they, too, were appalled at what they saw — Jourdan especially so. He looked at 1 18 HAND-PRINTS ON THE WALLS. the body, cast a glance round the room, gazed upon the crimson evidences of the struggle and became as white as a marble statue. His voice faltered as he called out to Kelso, “ Come here,” and the two retired to a corner of the room to discuss the tragedy. On Mr. Nathan’s body were the marks of eleven or twelve dis- tinct blows, evidently inflicted with an instrument, and that a blunt one. There were four wounds on the head, two of which were each sufficient to cause immediate death. It is certain that Benjamin Nathan was not conscious after he received the first of them. Upon his right hand were the marks of two crushing blows, suffi- cient to break three of the fingers and fracture the knuckles. There were five other marks of the instrument used upon his arms, breast and back. The body lay in a pool of blood, three by four feet in extent, surrounded by blotches and smaller pools. Everything pointed to a struggle having taken place in the doorway, between the room in which he had laid down to rest and the little hall bedroom, or office. The most desperate struggle evidently occurred in the angle formed by the west and front walls. Here, covering a space of four by three feet, were gouts, blotches and smears of olood, and the imprint of bloody fingers. One set of these finger- marks was as distinct as though the person whose hand had touched the wall had purposely dipped his hand in blood and placed it there. The other set differed greatly from the hand of ' the murdered man, and was long and lady-like, with well-kept fingers — in short, that of a gentleman. Where the fatal blow was struck was clearly and accurately de- fined. There was a smear on the wall, as if, when struggling hand- to-hand with his assailant, old Mr. Nathan received a crushing blow and pitched headlong to the floor. He could have been safely left there by the murderer, but who- ever he may have been, he evidently did not think so. This is proved by the fact of the body being found a distance of four feet from the smear on the wall alluded to. It was evident that another blow was dealt, apparently with a view of making sure of the old man’s death and thus avoiding the possibility of the story of the crime ever coming from his lips. A thorough examination of the room revealed little or nothing that was of value to the police. It was apparent that whoever kib>?d old Mr. Nathan also committed robbery, either to make it THE “DOG.” ng appear that the crime was the work of a thief, or to secure enough money with which to leave the city. The murdered man’s keys had been taken from his pocket, whether before or after his death is, of course, not known. The safe in the private office had been unlocked. This was a somewhat peculiar circumstance, as the safe was so situated that even an expert burglar, if a stranger, could hardly have discovered its existence. From it had been taken a wooden receptacle, or trunk, which contained several rare old gold, silver and copper coins, of value only to collectors. When the murder was discovered the wooden receptacle in ques- tion was on the pile of mattresses, and the coins missing. The safe itself had been rifled. In it Mr. Nathan generally kept the money for housekeeping purposes. This never amounted to less than $100, and often reached as high as $600 or $700. There were also missing some cherished family trinkets, valuable to a thief only as old gold. Upon the desk in the office was a partly written check, which, it was afterwards explained, was to have been drawn in payment of a stock transaction. In the room where the body lay, the murderer secured a Jurgensen watch and chain, worth about $600, and three diamond studs. That these studs were taken after the murder was committed is indisputable, as bloody finger-marks were found on Mr. Nathan’s shirt. In the basin in the bath-room was found bloody water, as if the mur- derer had washed his hands before leaving the house. The assassin had not apparently explored any other part of the dwell- ing, or even ventured into the passage leading to the apartment of the housekeeper, Mrs. Kelly. While Patrolman Mangam was waiting at the street door for the arrival of Captain Burden, young Fred Nathan, who was with him, suddenly stooped, exclaiming : “ Here’s something.” The “ something ” proved to be an iron bar, about twenty inches long. It was smeared with blood, and there were a few gray hairs on it. That this was the instrument with which the awful deed was committed there could be no doubt. It was what is known among ship-carpenters and lumbermen as a “ dog,” a bar of one- inch wrought iron with the two ends turned up. The whole community was startled by the news of the tragedy. The excitement was not confined to New York. The press of the 120 “ WASH.” NATHAN. entire country commented upon it, and with one voice called on the authorities to discover the perpetrator of the crime. When the real work of the detectives began they were con- fronted by a great many obstacles. The first and greatest was the intense interest manifested in it by the Hebrew community. Foremost among those who looked after the interests of the late Mr. Nathan and his family were ex-Judge Cardozo and Mr. Eman- uel B. Hart. It is unfortunate for Mr. Nathan’s children that the mystery enshrouding the crime has never been cleared up, because suspicion — justly or unjustly — still attaches to one of the members of his family. Possibly those who sought to divert this suspicion knew how in some cases circumstantial evidence might err, and were unwilling that the slightest misfortune, neglect, or false evidence should put the neck of the suspected individual in jeop- ardy. The first care of the detectives was to inform themselves as to the movements, habits and character of the persons who slept in the house the night of the murder ; those who knew its ins and outs, or who had the slightest motive for killing Mr. Nathan. In this they were at first merciless. It was generally known that Mr. Nathan did not regard Washington as he did his other sons. “ Wash ” had been rebellious, dissipated, heedless, and had fallen so much under the ban of his father’s displeasure that when the old gentleman’s will was read it was found to be particularly harsh in his regard. It practically disinherited him. When Patrolman Mangam first saw the two brothers on the stoop, he noticed that Fred’s shirt-front and socks were bloody. This was easily explained. Finding his father dead, he had thrown himself on the body, after wading in the blood which sur- rounded it. Washington Nathan had exhibited no such emotion, and in addition some one interested in the family had taken pre- cautions which afterwards increased the suspicion against him. His demeanor was not that of a dutiful son suddenly and terribly bereaved. For a whole week after the murder he wore a handker- chief, so arranged as to conceal his neck. The stories told of his life and associates were such as to cause the police, if not to put him in the position of a prisoner, to place him under the sur- veillance of friends, who pledged themselves to produce him at the inquest. Stress has been laid on the fact that on the night before the murder Washington Nathan was not in proper company, but this CRANKS AND THEORIES. 21 is worthy of but slight consideration. Still, it is true he was at a resort in Fourteenth Street, near Fourth Avenue, from an early hour Thursday evening up to the time when he started to walk home. His companion that evening was a fallen woman, of great beauty, who afterwards went the way of all such unfortunates. The inquest held by Coroner Rollins shortly afterwards released Washington Nathan, and for the time held back the tide of sus- picion against him. The police were encouraged in every way to discover the mur- derer. Rewards were offered by the Stock Exchange, the munici- pality, the Israelites of the city and friends of the dead man — ag- gregating more than $45,000. As usual in such cases, the police were hampered by cranks and that class of practical jokers who ap- pear, in such an emergency, to take delight in leading the detectives astray. Why, within the three weeks succeeding the murder Super- intendent Jourdan received at least 500 letters from all parts of the country, proffering advice, venting suspicions and giving “clews.” When the inquest was over, the action of those in authority on the police force was strongly commented upon. They appeared to have failed utterly in making one step towards lifting the veil which concealed the identity of the criminal. Half-a-dozen arrests were made, and all sorts of plans were adopted to establish a reasonable theory. Some of the able detectives engaged on the case insisted that it was what is known as an “inside job,” without the slightest reference to the possibility of a member of Mr. Nathan’s family having committed the crime. Others said it was a “ stow-away ” ; the instrument used was that of a “duffer ” ; no professional crimi- nal, they argued, would have carried such a tool into a house, and, as a matter of fact, such an instrument would have been useless to break open a drawer in a mahogany cabinet. Still others came to the conclusion that it was a first-class, professional, “second story job,” marks on the pillars of the portico being pointed out as proof. Those who held to the theory that it was an “ inside job,” pointed at William Kelly, the son of the housekeeper, as the guilty man. The adherents of the “stow-away” theory had a long, weary, and fruitless hunt among the seven thousand or more professional and unprofessional bummers of New York, each of whom was ca- pable of committing the crime, supposing, as was not the case, that the front door had been left open. own personal belief is that William Kelly, the son of the 122 “his clothes don’t fit him.” housekeeper, admitted confederates into the house with a view robbing the safe ; that they succeeded in getting the key and o, ing it, and in doing so aroused Mr. Nathan, who engaged ii. struggle which ended in his death. He must have recognize young Kelly, and this made it necessary, in order to insure ti safety of the party, to close the old man’s mouth forever. Ti, explains the many unnecessary blows inflicted on the body. Sin. the murder it has been shown that Kelly was the associate of thieve and he has never satisfactorily explained his whereabouts on tha eventful night. Among those arrested on suspicion was George Ellis, a burglar, who was brought down from Sing Sing on the supposition that he was possessed of valuable secrets in regard to a man who had been “ named ” by the police as having committed the murder. Ellis was kept under guard in the Sixth Precinct Station for more than three months, a man being detailed to watch him day and night. One of these men was Detective Patrick Dolan, of the Central Office, to whom Ellis remarked one day : “Pat, Jourdan (the superintendent) is going to die, and I’m a goin’ back to State’s Prison. Isn’t it too bad ? ” “How do you know that?” Dolan inquired. “ Well — his clothes don’t fit him.” That was Ellis’s gauge of Superintendent Jourdan, who did, in fact, die shortly afterwards. From the day after the Nathan tragedy Jourdan seemed to pine away, and never, apparently, re- gained his old familiar air. Was he in possession of an awful secret ? There were other persons arrested, namely, Hayes, John T. Irv- ing (who “ confessed ” in order to be brought from San Francisco to New York free of charge), and Robert Kipling. Each arrest furnished a certain amount of news for the papers and that was all that came of it. There was much ado made concerning the dis- position made of the room in which Mr. Nathan died, shortly after the discovery of the crime; also concerning “Wash” Nathan’s clothing. The story told concerning the latter was that a myste- rious bundle of bloody articles was smuggled out of the house be- fore noon on the day of the murder. Yet with more than $45,000 ready to be given to them in case of their success, and at their dis- posal to trace the crime, the detectives were unable to cajole or frighten the washerwoman who received the bundle into disclosing DISPOSITION OF THE ROOM, 123 its contents. The story 01 the disposition of the room is startling. Before dusk on the day of the murder, and shortly after Benjamin Nathan’s mutilated body had been laid out in state in the hand- some parlor of his residence, the carpet of the reception-room was on its way to a cleaner’s establishment and every blood-stain on the walls was removed. JOHN JOURDAN. The story of the Nathan murder remains the greatest mystery of the age. “ Murder will out,” they say. If this be true, the query, “ Who killed Benjamin Nathan ? ” will one day be answered. Men yet living, who were young and vigorous when it occurred, have never lost sight of it, and will never give up the search so long as they are capable of continuing it. 124 A DESIRABLE EXPERIMENT. Some day the police may “ revive ” the murder ; they have come near doing it more than once. They should “ revive ” it in justice to Benjamin Nathan’s memory and to his suspected son. They came near doing it not very long ago. Washington Nathan did not reform when his father died. His associations became worse instead of better. He not only asso- ciated with gamblers, but was a companion of one of the most notorious of this city — “ Philo ” Fields — on West Twenty-second Street, between Seventh and Eighth avenues. His liaisons became public and disgraceful. By one woman with whom he associated his life was threatened in a fit of jealousy, and he was afterwards shot at by her in the Coleman House. A curious. experiment might have been tried on Mr. Washington Nathan at this time. His in- juries by the bullets were such as to make a certain operation almost inevitable. Had such an operation been performed it is possible that a well-known physician of this city would have been taken into consultation. He has declared that in such an event it would have been necessary to employ an anaesthetic. One would have been used which would first have placed the patient in a state of stupor, then in a condition of anaesthetic inebriety, and lastly in a state of coma. In returning to consciousness the patient would have passed into the inebriate stage again. The physician in ques- tion, an expert in anaesthetics, knew, as all first-class practitioners do, that in this inebriate condition the patient is incapable of re- taining a secret. fhe physician, had he been called in, would have determined to either clear Washington Nathan, for whose family he had the greatest regard, or satisfy himself of his guilt. He proposed, when the patient should be in the inebriate stage, to question him in such a deft manner as to rapidly ascertain whether he slew his father, or was innocent. He would have re- peated the questions at the second inebriate stage ; and he would have left the chamber of the patient convinced one way or the other. The operation was not performed, and the opportunity was not afforded the physician of making the desired test. Mr. Nathan, in later years, married the daughter of Colonel J. H. Mapleson, a widow of high social standing. The last heard of “ Wash ” was that he was seriously ill in Europe. Was the secret of the Nathan murder too awful a one for such a man as John Jourdan to keep? From the day of Nathan’s death, WHO KILLED BENJAMIN NATHAN? ' 125 Jourdan failed. He never made a step in advance, and died a few months afterwards. The “ dog ” with which the crime was committed disappeared during Mr. Kelso’s administration ; and the one among the relics of crime at the Central Office is only a fae simile . CHAPTER X. THE “SAWDUST” SWINDLE. — A BROKER DUPED. — THE* BOGUS DE- TECTIVE. — MOCK AUCTIONS. — FLANNEL AND HOT WATER. — WITH A BIBLE IN HIS HAND. — A HORSEY GO-BETWEEN. , The “ Sawdust” swindle is so termed because the victim gets a box filled with sawdust, instead of the counterfeit money he ex- pected. A large number of printed circulars are sent throughout the country by the swindler. Sometimes he advertises his wares, addressing “ country merchants in trouble,” and inviting them to write to him, as he can give “ assistance to those financially embarrassed, on the most favorable terms.” Of course he gets many answers, and is thus provided with an excellent list of names to use in his operations. He informs his prospective victim that he has a large quantity of “green goods” (counterfeit money) of different denominations, which he will sell at a great discount. He invites a visit to the city for inspection. In one of the many circulars which fell into my hands, $3000 in “ green goods ” was offered for $ 200 in good cash; $5000 for $300, $8000 for $400, $15,000 for $600, and so on in proportion. Of course the person addressed, if he be dishonest, concludes that he has a good chance to make money, and has an interview with his correspondent. He is shown what are said to be specimens of the counterfeits, but which, in reality, have just been obtained from the bank. If he has any doubts about being able to pass this money, he and the “ operator ” take some of it and purchase articles at a neighboring store. It is accepted without a word, and the countryman is satis- fied. He concludes to take a certain amount. The counterfeits are to be sent by express, “ as it would be dangerous for him to carry so much of the stuff on his person.” The victim goes away perfectly satisfied, with bright pictures of the manner in which he will enjoy himself when he gets home. A box arrives, “ C. O. D.” He pays the charges and carries it to a quiet corner in the hay-loft, where, away from other eyes than his own, he opens the box and finds it filled usually with sawdust. Sometimes a little green 126 SAWDUST AND GOLD BRICKS. 127 paper is thrown in by way of variety. The farmer feels like kick- ing himself all round the cow-yard, while the swindler and his con- federates in the city are asking : “ What are you going to do about it ? ” The answer is, “ Nothing.” The would-be swindler has been swindled. He must bear with it, or else risk the ex- posure which would result if he complained. The Davis-Holland murder case, in which the former was shot, furnishes a good illustration of the way in which the “sawdust swindle ” is operated, though with some slight variations in the procedure. A clever trick is the “gold brick” swindle. Some wealthy bus- iness man is selected by the swindlers, who approach him with a plausible story concerning a solid brick of gold which they have in their possession, and which they will part with for a very small sum, for certain reasons they don’t care to have known. They give the impression that they have come by it in an underhand manner. The usual tests of the gold are made with satisfactory results, and a bargain is struck. The money is paid, and then the victim discovers that the supposed gold brick is made of brass. A corner has been chipped off the baser metal and pure gold sub- stituted. This is what is tested, and the wealthy business man is “out” the amount he paid for the brick. Of the innumerable cases of fraud which have come under my observation, I do not recall any more cleverly arranged and car- ried out than the one I now relate. A man visited a broker’s office on Chatham Street, and showed several ounces of gold dust as a sample. He offered it for sale, representing that it was only a small part of a large quantity which he had. As it came into his possession in a somewhat peculiar manner, he did not care to sell it all at once. He was not only willing, but anxious to have the sample assayed without any delay, so that its real value should be determined. If it proved to be all right, a price was to be named for the remainder. To this the broker agreed, and his caller left. A few minutes later the broker noticed a small handbill upon the floor of his office, in which a reward of $ 1000 was offered for the recovery of a large quantity of gold dust which had been stolen. The man who had just left him, the broker thought, was the thief, or, at any rate, knew where the stolen dust was. Being a man of considerable reputation he would not be suspected of 128 I MUST ARREST YOU.” complicity, even if he bought it. He could get the gold at his own price ; the man would not dare say a word for fear of being arrested. But was the sample genuine gold ? An assayer was visited and his report was favorable — the dust was gold, indeed. A day or two passed, and the owner of the dust again visited the brokers office. This time he was greeted in a pleasant manner, and the broker signified his willingness to take all the dust that he had, provided they could agree upon the price. The broker offered $10 an ounce. His visitor laughed and said : “ Fifteen ; not a cent less.” “ Nonsense, my dear fellow. Look here. That dust of yours was stolen and I know it. Why, here is the very handbill offering a reward of $1000 for the recovery of that gold dust (holding up the piece of paper which he had found on the floor of his office). However^ I won’t be hard on you. I’ll give you $12 an ounce and you can take that or nothing.” The visitor was very naturally much alarmed at the turn affairs had taken, and managed to say : “ All right. You can have the stuff, but I won’t bring it here. Meet me at ,” naming a retired spot up town. Provided with a pair of small steelyards, gauged for weighing sixteen ounces to the pound, the broker went to the appointed place. His unknown visitor was there, and produced a quantity of the gold dust. In the shadow of a dimly-lighted alley-way the broker produced his steelyard, the dust was weighed and the money paid. If the broker had been a little less intent upon the business in hand, and had glanced across the street, he might have noticed a short, thick-set man who was watching the whole transaction with considerable interest. But the broker didn’t look in that direction, and so didn’t see this third person. Steelyards and gold dust were securely in his possession, his coat was buttoned, and he had turned to leave the alley-way, the individual from whom he had made the purchase having left in a hurry. At this moment, the watcher from over the way stepped up to the broker, and accosted him with the information that he was an officer. The broker's knees trembled under him. “You are just the man I’ve wanted for a long time. That gold you have is stolen, and a reward of $1000 has been offered for its recovery. I must arrest you.” 9 A BITh-R BITTEN. 129 3 ° WHAT ASSAY SHOWED. “ For God’s sake, don’t expose me,” cried the now thoroughly frightened broker. “ I shall be ruined if you do. Come with me to my office, and see if we can’t arrange this thing.” “ Can’t do it,” was the short, stem reply of his captor. “ You’ll have to go with me.” The broker pleaded hard, and the detective finally relented, and accompanied him to his office, where $1000 was paid to the latter, on condition that the matter should be allowed to drop. It was a heavy blow to the broker, who had congratulated himself upon having made a remarkably good bargain. But he consoled himself with the thought that he still had the gold dust, sixteen ounces to the pound, whereas he could sell it at twelve ounces. He sent the gold to an assayer, but imagine his rage and conster- nation when it was reported to him that it was not gold at all — simply very fine brass filings, some of which were covered with a thin wash of the precious metal. I was in charge of the detective force at the time, and the dis- comfited broker called upon me. He had, he said, a very serious complaint to make. He had purchased a large quantity of gold dust, and on sending it to an assayer it turned out to be brass. During my long experience with brokers I had always found them to be extremely shrewd and careful in their transactions, and it struck me as very strange that he should not have ascertained wdiether the dust w 7 as genuine or not before purchasing. Of course I listened attentively to his story, and by close questioning suc- ceeded in getting from him a pretty full description of the man from whom he had bought the dust. It tallied with that of a well- known confidence man, and I had him arrested. The story he told was very different from that of the broker. He admitted being the individual w r ho had played the trick on the broker, and that he had dropped the bogus handbill on the floor of the office for the purpose of misleading him. The detective wffio had arrested the broker was no detective at all. He w^as a confederate. The police justice before wdiom the case v T as tried had no alternative but to discharge the sharper. The broker, I afterwards discovered, was a thorough-paced rascal, who only got his deserts. In my time I have been acquainted with many brokers, and my relations with them, as a whole, have been very pleasant. It is not unusual for them to be asked for quotations on bonds or other BONDS, BIDS AND BARGAINS. I ' I securities which have been stolen. In such cases, an honest broker loses no time in informing the police. But sharp and su - picious as some brokers are, they are occasionally swindled by a method differing very little from the “ sawdust ” game. A man goes to a broker, and pulling out of his pocket a bundle of what are apparently bonds, takes one from the package and asks the broker to name its value. The broker examines it carefully, finds it is genuine and mentions the price. “ Well,” says the visitor, “ I have fifteen or twenty just like that. They belong to a friend of mine, and I think he would be inclined to sell them at a bargain — something under the regular price. I’ll see him about it, and call again in a day or two.” This is only a way of finding out whether the broker is honest or not. If he is not he may be caught in the trap,, for the man is sure to make a second call, and an arrangement is made to have the transfer of the money and the bonds take place in the streets. And a sorry transfer it is for the broker. The “ bonds ” turn out to be nothing more than nicely folded sheets of tissue paper. I have often wondered how such an obvious fraud can blind any one’s eyes. One can have little sympathy for such men, and while human nature remains what it is, there will be always those who are eager to take advantage of what appears to be a weakness of their fellows. The “mock auction” dodge is another of the tricks played on rustics, though of late years it has been pretty well suppressed. A store is rented, usually on some frequented thoroughfare, and fitted with a stock of goods — cigars, for instance. These are seemingly sold at public auction, but the crowd generally assem- bled around the auctioneer consists of confederates in the swindle. A stranger enters, and bids on a box of cigars ; they are low in price, and are finally “knocked down” to him. He steps up to the cashier to settle his bill and is informed he has bought a dozen or more boxes. He remonstrates, but after some haggling he pays the amount demanded, and orders the goods sent to his address, only to discover that they are not worth smoking. Another trick of auction-dealers, so called, which cannot be strictly termed a swindle, is the fitting up of a house with furniture, and representing it as being second-hand, sold out to close an es- tate, or something of that sort. It is an old belief that women in search of bargains will pay more for a second-hand article than A MUSICAL WAY. i ■ 32 they will for a new one ; and the dealers thus set the nets to catch the unwary. I know of one house on Twenty-third Street where the red flag has been flapping in the breeze for nearly twenty years; the auctioneer has held a “peremptory sale” once a week during that period. A curious swindle which was successful for a season in New York was known as the “ hot water ” scheme. A natty, fashionably dressed little fellow, innocent looking, fluent in conversation, with a delicate blonde mustache, calculated to disarm suspicion, went about the city, from house to house, pulling door-bells and inquir- ing for the lady of the house. He had a partiality for flats. En- tering the main hall of the building, he asked the elevator boy who lived in the right hand flat on the second floor. “ Mrs. Stevens,” the boy would reply. “ Yes, that’s the name. I wish to see her. Take me up, please.” When her bell had been answered he would say in the blandest manner possible : “ I have come to fix the piano.” The servant would show him into the drawing-room, and he would note the name of the maker before the mistress of the house appeared. As she entered he would bow gracefully, saying : — “ Mrs. Stevens, I presume.” “ Yes,” the lady would reply. “ The girl tells me you have come to fix my piano.” “Yes, madam. Mr. Steinway sent me up. He said Mr. Stevens called a day or two ago and wished some one to be sent to examine the piano. He thought it needed a little tuning. I see you have a beautiful Steinway. Do you play ? ” “ Well, yes, I play some for my own amusement. I hadn’t dis- covered that there was anything the matter with the piano.” “ I can soon tell,” replied the swindler going to the instrument and deftly running his fingers up and down the key-board. “ It is a little ‘off pitch,’ as we say, in the higher notes. No wonder, in this dreadful climate of ours and in the steam-heated rooms of flats. Steam heat is so bad for pianos, madam.” By this time Mrs. Stevens ceases to think about the strangeness of her husband’s actions in relation to her piano. He was never before known to have sent a tuner to the house. But men are such strange creatures ! She becomes absorbed in the work and FIVE DOLLARS THE TUNE. 133 conversation of the agreeable man. He opens a little hand satchel, takes out a tuning key, raises the lid of the piano and begins to tighten the high strings. “ I suppose you might as well have your piano put at concert pitch,” he says. “That will do no harm, for there is sure to be a lowering of tone in a little while.” So he turns this staple and that, and keeps up a vigorous pound- ing on the instrument, striking single notes and chords. “ Ah ! ” he declares at last, elevating his eyebrows, and listening with keen attention. “ Here is a note which needs special treat- ment. May I trouble you to get me a piece of flannel and a dish of boiling hot water.” “ Certainly, if you will wait a few moments,” is the reply, and Mrs. Stevens darts out of the room and finds a servant, or flies to the kitchen herself. She is gone a considerable time, for flannel and boiling hot water are not to be brought on the instant. The fire is poked, and drawers are ransacked for flannel. The “bogus” piano-tuner smiles serenely. He keeps up a strumming of the piano and looks about the room for any little valu- able trinket he can pocket. He usually sees one and steals it. Ultimately the hot water and flannel arrive, and after an elabo- rate operation he declares the work of tuning completed. “ How much do I owe you ? ” the lady asks. As she has taken him at his word without any suspicions, he modestly replies : “ Five dollars. And the next time you play you will get much better effects than ever before.” Finally the husband comes home to his seven o’clock dinner. “ Whatever made you think of sending a piano-tuner up to the house ? ” she asks. “ A piano-tuner ! What do you mean ? I haven’t seen any piano-tuner.” “ Well, but didn’t you stop at Steinway’s a few days ago and ask them to send a man to fix our piano ? ” “ No, of course not. Why should I ? What do I know about pianos ? ” “ But a man came here, and said he was sent by you.” “ Well ? ” “ And he tuned the piano.” “ Well ? ” 134 FARMERS : DON’T SIGN. “ And I paid him five dollars.” “ Swindled ! An impostor ! A humbug ! Nobody sent him. I suppose if a man came and said Redfern had sent him, you’d give him your $600 dress to be fixed. A button off, or a stitch broken.” “ You frighten me. Why, it is perfectly dreadful ! He may have stolen something from the parlor ! ” “ Most likely he did,” replies the husband. She rushes about and finds her pocket-book and watch missing, which were in the next room ; also a rare bronze ornament which stood on the parlor chimney-piece, and a costly Japanese embroi- dered scarf which hung over a picture. The next morning, on his way down town, Mr. Stevens steps into Steinway’s to ascertain if they did ask a tuner to call at his house. “ We know nothing of the matter,” is the reply. “ Half a dozen persons have been here within a week, to ask questions about the same fellow. He’s no tuner at all, but a piano destroyer! One day he claims to be from .this house ; the next day he is from Chick- ering’s, or some other establishment. He always plays the hot water and flannel dodge, to give himself a chance to rob while the lady of the house is away.” Complaints have been made to me very often by farmers from New Jersey, Long Island and other places of having been swin- dled by a person who travels about in the garb of a clergyman. He enters a farm-house, and declaring that he is an agent of the New York Bible Society, says that he needs a meal. After having eaten as much as he can, he inquires the cost, and is usually in- formed that there is no charge. He insists upon leaving twenty- five cents in the hands of his host, remarking that the Bible So- ciety will not allow him to receive any charity. But the Society is very strict about the production of vouchers or receipts for money paid by its agents. “ Please sign this voucher,” says the agent. “ It is a mere mat- ter of form, you know.” And the farmer signs, and forgets all about it in an hour. But the incident is brought to his mind in a forcible manner, ninety days afterwards, when he receives a letter from the county bank asking him to settle a note for $146.25, signed by him, which the bank had discounted in good faith. The next clerical-looking indi- ‘COACHMAN ” JOHN. *35 viclual who calls at that farmer’s house is treated with suspicion, if nothing else. The sheriff of Monroe County, New York, was a very shrewd man. He declared that he had not been constable of Irondequoit, and a policeman in Rochester, for nothing. He had learned all there was to learn about “ sharpers.” So when he was on a train going to the metropolis one morning to buy a horse, harness and various trappings, he bought a paper and looked over the news. He in- formed himself, and then he turned sleepily to the column of “ horses at auction ” and read the advertisements — among others this: — “For Sale At Immense Sacrifice! — Owing to death in the family, a widow is compelled to sell for what they will bring, her entire stock of horses, carriages, harness, etc. Among these are some young and handsome Hamble- tonians of the following pedigree — [here follows alleged pedigree.] Apply at stable corner Morton and Ashby streets, and ask for coachman, John.” “ I’ll call and look at those,” said the shrewd sheriff to himself. After going to the Bull’s Head the next morning and looking over the stock, he answered the attractive advertisement. John was present, exercising the animals in the yard. The sheriff cast a critical glance at their fetlocks, and the horse-talk began. The examination continued. Presently in came another customer. The coachman slyly questioned him and found that he was a dealer, looking for slock for omnibuses. This fact was revealed just as a bargain was making for two strong-looking horses at $450. The coachman suddenly exclaimed : “No use talking any longer. You can’t have any of these horses at any price. I suspected you was a dealer at first, and now you want ’em for omnibuses. No, sir ! My mistress in- structed me positively not to sell any of ’em ’cept to private par- ties, who would feed ’em well and treat ’em kindly. So no use for you to talk.” The buyer expostulated, but the coachman was firm, and the dealer reluctantly went away. “I wouldn’t sell them two horses to him for $ 1000 ! ” John ex- claimed when he and the sheriff were alone. “ Omnibus horses ! Jim and Nancy, who never knew anything harder than to toddle around with the old lady or the girls, and live on the fat of the land. I’d sell ’em for private use cheaper than I charged him.” The sheriff inquired and found that he could get them for $400. A HORSEY GO-BETWEEN. I36 IF YOU SELL ’EM QUICK.” J 37 But he knew something about horse-flesh, and thought he saw evi- dences of their having been doctored and “ fixed up ” to sell. So he declined with thanks and withdrew, thinking, “ Now, if I could buy them for $400 and sell them to the other fellow for $450 ! ” He had not gone a block before he met the disappointed searcher after horses, who bowed to him and asked, “ Did you buy ’em ? ” “No,” replied the sheriff, “but I could. In fact, I thought of buying them for you.” “Why didn’t you ? ” “ Well, hang it ! I can’t take any risks. I’d no idea I should ever see you again.” “The fact is,” said the other, “I sort of stayed around here to see if I couldn’t get the horses somehow. I shall hire somebody to buy them for me, some respectable-looking man like yourself.” “ B’ George ! ” exclaimed the sheriff, “ I’ll get ’em for you. You say $450 for ’em ? ” “ Yes, $450 it is, and blamed glad I shall be. They’re worth $600 if a cent. I’ve seen ’em on the road.” The sheriff went back, bought the steeds for $400, and led them through the double doors to the street, with the halters which John had generously “ thrown in.” He led them around the cor- ner to where the anxious purchaser was ten minutes ago, but, alas ! was no longer. He had vanished. The sheriff climbed on one of the horses and waited for the owner. When dusk came he thoughtfully took the horses back to the stable. “ Of course,” John said, “ I know nothing about the other gen- tleman. Never saw him before.” Sadly the sheriff led his hungry purchase to the Bull’s Head, and inquired how much they were worth. “Them?” said a good-natured expert; “them? Well, hides, $2.50 ; shoes — there’re only five — fifty cents ; hoofs and so forth, fifty cents more — Well, them horses may be worth four dollars, if you sell ’em quick ! ” Leaving them as temporary boarders, he hurried back to Mor- ton Street with a sturdy policeman, but the darkey had shifted his quarters and was seen no more. - • CHAPTER XI. THE THIEVES OF THE RIVER. — MURDER ON THE “ WATSON.” — KILLED FOR TWELVE CENTS. — THE HARBOR POLICE. SCENE IN A BROOK- LYN HORSE-CAR. — “SOCCO, THE BRACER’s” END. — THE HOOK GANG. — GONE TO BROOKLYN AND JERSEY CITY. On a dark night in August, 1852, three men in a small boat pushed out into the East River from the neighborhood of James Slip, and with oars muffled rowed stealthily for a few rods to where the ship “ William Watson ” was moored. It was just the night for a crime. The black river rushed on its course as though afraid to stop and see what was doing on its surface. Heavy clouds hung overhead. The air was hot and oppressive, and the atmosphere was thick with mist. The small boat neared the larger vessel. In a moment they joined. Two men rose from their seats and climbed nimbly over the ship’s side to her deck. Neither man was more than twenty years old. The lights from the great city, which now and then shone on their faces, revealed features marked with crime. They worked quietly about the deck, stealing whatever they could, until they were discovered by the watchman. But what was he to men who lived on crime ? One of them whipped out his revolver, fired, and in a second Charles Baxter’s body was inanimate. Nicholas Howlett and William Saul, two notorious river thieves, were his murderers. William Johnson, their confederate, whom they had left in the small boat, stupidly drunk, was no unwilling witness of the tragedy. The pistol shot which killed the watchman of the “ Watson ” was not loud, but it was heard by a policeman on shore, and the results of the investigation which followed aroused the police authorities of New York to face a new and prolific source of crime. I was put at the head of an able corps of detectives to ferret out the murderers. Our task was not an easy one, but suspicion cen- tred on the right persons, and they were arrested. Johnson turned State’s evidence. He was committed to imprisonment for life, but Saul and Howlett were hanged on January 28, 1853. 138 THE RIVER FRONT. 139 My investigations in this murder opened to me a chapter in the annals of crime, of the full horrors of which I never dreamed. If they could be told exactly as they occurred, they would make a tale of human depravity unparalleled in history. Citizens were thrilled with wonder as they realized for the first time what human monsters prowled around our river fronts. The police found that there were organized bands of harbor thieves, who thought no more of the life of a man than that of a chicken. If they had been merely thieves, the revelations would not have caused the sensation they did ; but these men, or boys rather, looked on mur- der merely as a means to enable them to steal without molestation. Perhaps a more hopeless maze of crime was never laid bare in the city of New York. No way appeared at first for checking it. Detective skill had been successful in nearly every kind of crime on shore, but here it was baffled by natural disadvantages. The main part of the island was bounded by piers and slips, which were in turn fringed on one side by grog shops, rum holes, and all kinds of iniquitous dens, breeding crimes as rapidly as mos- quitoes are bred in a swamp. Along the piers ran the swiftly flow- ing rivers, a constant source of escape by day or night. Down the North River fronts and up the East River docks criminals formed the greater part of the population. They went in gangs. Each gang had its leaders and its rough rules of discipline. Its members lived in the vilest dens. Carousing or scheming all day, prowling, marauding and thieving all night — these were their occu- pations. The criminal operations of these men were not confined to the water. They stole, and robbed, and murdered on land as well. Woe to the pedestrian who happened to be seen alone at night in the dark places along the river ! It is dangerous enough now, but then it was a thousand times worse. These fiends infested every place where men were likely to spend money. Here they watched their prey, tracked them out-of-doors, waylaid and robbed them. Abandoned women were confederates of the thieves. They prom- enaded on the fashionable streets, and lured victims into the haunts of their companions in crime. To rob was the consuming motive ; a murder was an amusement. There must have been at least one every month. The criminal records include thousands. How many more occurred is known only to the waters that eddy round Manhattan Island and then hurry out to sea. With no POLICE AND RIVER PIRATES. “daybreak boys.” '* 141 police supervision on the water there was little clanger that a mur- der would out. It was an easy thing to stun a man in some dark corner, ritie his pockets and toss the body into the river. The splash was the only sound likely to betray the awful crime. It made no difference apparently to these criminals how little money or how few valuables their intended victim had about him. A few pennies were sufficient reward for a dastardly crime. A German immigrant, poorer in appearance than themselves, and nothing but a wanderer, without even a home, was found at mid- night walking on the Battery. A single blow with a slung-shot ended his life. His assailants secured twelve cents as the result of their conscienceless crime, and threw the body into the water. It was winter, and the river was frozen. This body did not drift out to sea with other victims of these midnight monsters ; it remained upon, the ice, and those who passed along the Battery wall early the next morning saw glaring at them the fixed eyes of a frozen corpse. There was still a worse case. Three sailors, being rowed out to their ship in the North River, were overtaken by^ four of these river pirates, robbed of their trunks and thrown overboard to drown. The wretches who did the crime went coolly to the shore with the captured boat. A somewhat similar case, though not attended with murder, happened on the North River in broad daylight. It was an achievement of the gang known as the “ Daybreak Boys.” They were mere boys in years, but were patriarchs in villany. They were called the “ Daybreak Boys ” because they nearly always chose for their depredations that hour of dawn when men sleep soundest. In this instance, however, ihey were out of their dens in the daytime. As they rowed leisurely along, they discovered three boys at a distance, out for a pleasure sail. The boys were sons of respectable parents, and in an innocent way were enjoying their sport to the utmost. In a moment the young thieves were alongside the sail-boat. Grabbing the edge of the boat and hold- ing it fast, they flourished some ugly knives in the air and began to climb into it. The frightened boys attempted to resist, but in vain. Resistance wounded the pride of these tyrants. They flourished their knives with more bravado, and let forth a volley of oaths that would have made a hardened reprobate quiver. The boys gave in. They let themselves be robbed of their pocket knives, their money and the silver watch which one of them had, 142 “sneaks.” and then were obliged to row their captors ashore. Fortunately, there was a detective on the shore, and the thieves were arrested and afterwards imprisoned. Two classes of thieves infest the river front and ply their nefa- rious trade on the waters surrounding Manhattan Island, Long Island and Staten Island. The first are the “ wharf rats,” as they are called. These, as a rule, confine their operations to the piers and docks, and conduct them during the day. They are the “sneaks” of the profession, and are for the most part boys and young men. The other and more dangerous class is composed of those who know no short lengths in crime — men who plunge their knives up to the hilt in the bodies of defenceless victims, in order that their lust for money or valuables may be gratified — men who know no resistance, scarce even the mighty power of the law. To them the cutting of a throat is no worse a crime than the stealing of a bag of coffee. If they can get the coffee without interruption, well and good. But woe to him who interferes. The thousands of vessels which load and unload in New York harbor are the sources from which these river pirates get their stolen property. There is nothing extraordinary in the mere thefts of these men ; it is the way they commit them and the means they use, together with their audacious boldness and hard- ness. When the blackness of night hangs over the harbor, then the pirates dart out from the shore in their small boats to the ship they wish to ransack. They watch for a moment when well out, to see that they are not observed. By ropes they climb nimbly up the vessel’s sides and soon are looking for things to steal. The sailors on the ship sleep soundly, familiar with the crime which lurks on all sides of them, but made reckless by their very famil- iarity with it. Usually the prowlers meet with no opposition. They go through the vessel like hungry men through a pantry. Nothing is too small for them to carry away. A rope’s-end, a pulley, anything they can afterward dispose of. Sometimes the vessel is loaded with rice, or sugar, or coffee. If there are any stray bags they seize them, drop them gently over into their boat, and when well laden pull back to their dives. It is almost impos- sible to convict them if captured, for they tear the wrappings from the stolen articles, and it is hard to prove that the sugar, or rice, or coffee, or what not in their possession, is the same as that missed from the vessel. Sergeant Edwin O’Brien in one year WHERE PLUNDER GOES. M3 made fifty-seven arrests, and yet secured only three convictions. The stolen property is taken to police headquarters and placed under the charge of the property clerk. Sometimes the owners think they recognize it as theirs, but they dare not swear so ; so the thieves go free and get their goods besides. When I was superintendent, however, it occasionally happened that we caught and convicted the thieves by a shrewd move which took them completely by surprise. We would let the charge of larceny go by, detain the thieves, and send for the customs officers, who held them for smuggling. The rascals could not demonstrate, of course, that they had paid duty on the goods which they asserted had come into their possession by lawful means, and so were obliged to surrender their plunder and boats to the United States Government. Another happy thought on the part of the police was to prosecute the offenders for violating the quarantine laws, in boarding vessels which were under surveillance by the State authorities. The neighborhood of Quarantine was at that time thickly infested with harbor thieves, and efforts to secure their conviction when caught, on the charge of larceny, failed, as in many other cases. But this new scheme reached them nearly every time, and so many convictions were secured that the thieves were gradually scattered to other parts of the river and harbor. The stolen property of the river pirates is disposed of at the shops of the junk dealers. These line the river fronts almost as thickly as rum shops, and are quite as fruitful in fostering crime. The junk dealers are in most cases the equals in iniquity with their piratical business friends. They are the “ fences.” It is in their shops often that foul murders are plotted. It is there that choice fields for robbers’ work are made known and talked over. To get their stolen goods to these places the pirates have to call into play all their cunning, and the junk dealers in turn have to exert all their shrewdness in getting rid of the property before the police discover it. It has been said that junk dealers will receive almost anything save hot-house flowers or an iceberg. When Saul and Howlett were hanged for that foul murder com- mitted on the night of the 25th of August, 1852, it had a wholesome effect for a time upon this kind of villany. The thieves had hitherto prospered undisturbed. Now public attention and police attention were fixed upon them. They stood in little awe of both, it is true, but nevertheless Crime stalked not quite so triumphantly 144 A JOLLY EXCURSION. as it had. The establishment of a corps of harbor police was the first step to wipe out this evil. The captain in charge of this corps had fifty-seven men under his command. The rules to which the force was subjected were essentially the same as those which gov- erned the land force. There was a station-house on shore. There were six boats constantly on patrol and, well manned, they worked their way up and down the two rivers at regular hours of the day. These did not protect the entire water-front of the city, but they frightened somewhat these demons who before had shown no signs of fear. Yet robberies and murders went on. During the first year of its organization the new force signalized itself by practically breaking up the old gang of which Saul and Howlett were the leaders. Twelve pirates had been shot ; “ Bill ” Lowrie, a famous thief, had been sent to prison for fifteen years ; “ Sam ” McCarthy had been driven from the river, and the rest of the mob had been dispersed. The good work was kept up, and soon the harbor police became an indispensable auxiliary to the land force. Instead of the row-boats with which they at first pa- trolled the river, they were supplied with a fast little steamer of one hundred and fifteen tons, called the “ Seneca,” and thus they were enabled to make their work still more efficient. The tragedy which was the final one during my term of office of superintendent of police, and which directly concerned the harbor squad, was that which occurred on Sunday, August 31, 1884. The lads and young girls employed in a laundry in West Houston Street determined to indulge themselves in an outing, after their long summer of excessively enervating work. They had formed an association among themselves, and after chartering a tug and two barges they invited all their friends and set out for a jolly excur- sion up the Hudson River. Their destination was Linden Grove, where there was much fun to be obtained from the double swings, merry-go-rounds and the dancing platform. These work- ing persons were most respectable. But in their distribution of tickets they did not make judicious selections. On all well regulated New York excursions there is a luncheon counter on one of the decks of the barges. That on the laundry’s pleasure trip had been rented by a quiet German, named Kopf. Near him was a bar for the sale of beer. The trip up the river was made pleasantly, save for the disorderly actions of a party of five or six men who attempted to swindle the bar-keeper out of his ITS SEQUEL. 45 beer. These men were partly intoxicated when the excursion left Linden Grove. They drank more liquor, however, and became exceedingly obnoxious to the women on board the barge. They singled out Mrs. Kopf from the rest and insulted her. She paid no attention to them and they went away. Mrs. Kopf had several of her young children with her on the ex- cursion, and as they played about her and gazed, open-eyed, at the sweep of the majestic highlands, the mother was unmindful of the unpleasant adventure of a little time before. Luncheon from the stand down stairs was eaten, and Mrs. Kopf was already counting the prospective profits of the day. But suddenly she heard a rush made on the lower deck. Then came the loud protestations of a man and a volley of curses from a crowd. Another rush was made ; women who were seated' near her shrieked and fainted, but Mrs. Kopf was a sturdy German matron whose nerves were seldom shaken. Then there was the sound of crashing glass, a groan and a shout : “ Beat them back — they’ve killed the Dutchman ! ” Mrs. Kopf thought the fight was becoming interesting, so she drew her children about her and went towards the stairway to watch it. She went half way down stairs. She saw a form lying upon the deck with ugly red blotches of blood about it. She looked at the face. It was but a glance. “ Oh, my God ! Oh, my children, they have killed him — they have murdered your father ! Kopf was dead. The ruffians had made an attack on his counter with the intention of raiding it, but the courageous German stood his ground and defended his sandwiches. His defence cost him his life. One of the ruffians caught up a he.avy beer-glass and struck Kopf oh the head, driving a piece of the skull into the brain. Death was almost instantaneous. The fight continued until the barges reached New York, and before the boats were moored the men who had killed the German leaped to the pier and escaped. Then the harbor police appeared, but it was too late ; the murderers had fled. The barges were towed to Staten Island and there an arrest was made, but the prisoner was discharged on some legal technicality. Kopf’s murderers never paid the penalty of their crime. One morning the passengers in a Brooklyn street-car were as- 10 146 “ NED PERRY SHOT ME ! ” lonished and horrified by a man who, with blood streaming down his garments, jumped aboard, and, sinking into a seat, exclaimed : “ I am a watchman at Harbeck’s stores. My name is Thomas Hayes. Ned Perry shot me ! ” The man spoke and then was dead. The passengers on that car never forgot that tragic scene. Perry, who was a junkman, was arrested and tried. It was proved that Hayes was shot in order that a certain robbery might be committed — a deliberately planned murder — yet Perry escaped hanging and was sentenced for life. Several years passed with no unusual occurrence, the routine work being carried on with great efficiency. However, as the old thieves were “ settled ” in various ways, the younger ones became more ambitious, committing many bold and daring robberies. In May, 1873, Joseph Gayles, alias “ Socco, the Bracer,” “ Bum ” Mahoney, and “ Billy” Woods, all expert river thieves, the latter a murderer, stole a boat, and muffling their oars rowed out to the brig “ Margaret ” at Pier 27. They boarded her and were engaged in rifling the captain’s trunk, when both the captain and mate were awakened. Thereupon the thieves, for a wonder, took to their boat, but not until an alarm had been sounded which brought two officers on the scene. The night was very dark. The policemen looked at first in vain for any signs of the missing thieves. The waters danced to a mournful song, and seemed grimly to rejoice that they were sheltering criminals. The fog, too combatted the blue-coated messengers of justice. One of the policemen brought out his dark-lantern. The flash from the bull’s-eye lit up the sur- face of the river, yet revealed no shadowy figures floating off with the tide. Again the water was scanned, and with no better result. Had the river itself opened to receive at last the fiends who had filled it with victims ? But now ! What do these policemen see? The rays of the lantern have lit up that blackest space be- neath the pier, and there, crouching in the darkness, are three men in a boat, one at the oars, the other two standing with drawn revol- vers. Without a word being spoken on either side Policeman Musgrave’s pistol breaks the silence. As it echoes across the river, “ Socco, the Bracer,” falls, mortally wounded, to the bottom of the boat. A fusillade of shots follow, but the pirates are too alert. Down the stream they urge their boat. Socco, the Bracer’s, body becomes too heavy a weight to carry for those who are trying to escape from brave and determined men, so overboard it goes, WHARF RATS AT WORK. 148 THE “ HOOK GANG.” and is picked up four days later at the foot of Stanton Street. Socco was the only one who met his punishment ; his companions escaped from their pursuers. Shortly after this, another brig, lying off the Battery, was boarded by a gang of thieves, masked and heavily armed. They abused the captain in a shocking manner, assaulted his wife and departed with everything of value on board. Two well-known river thieves were arrested for this crime, tried and sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment. While they confessed that they were river pirates and had been such for years, they denied any knowledge of this crime, and years afterward the police discovered that they really were innocent, and that the outrage had been committed by a gang under the lead of “ Denny ” Brady, “ Larry ” Griffen and “ Patsey ” Cohroy, who had also committed many depredations in suburban villages. In the same year, Engleman, another famous Fourth Ward river thief, robbed the bark “ Zouma.” Being discovered, he jumped overboard and clung to the rudder of a schooner. A rope was thrown him but he exclaimed: “Go to h -with your rope,” and dove under the vessel. Swimming from dock to dock, he evaded for three hours six policemen in row boats, but was finally captured and afterward convicted and sentenced. Not long after this an attempt was made to steal some merchan- dise from Pier 8, North River, but the watchman gave an alarm which brought the police. A shot in the dark after the thieves’ retreating boat was answered with the cry, “Oh, I’m shot!” But if a man was shot no one ever knew it. No body of a dead or wounded thief was afterward found. Perhaps the cry was a ruse ; perhaps the North River really did claim another body. The pirates of the day of Saul and Howlett probably had their successors in the “ Hook Gang,” which had its headquar- ters at the foot of Stanton Street, and operated anywhere between the Battery and Fourteenth Street. It was one of the boldest of the gangs. The leaders were Merricks, a desperate thief ; James Coffee, who had served one term in State’s prison ; Preslin, a fear- less robber; Le Strange and Lewis, professionals in all sorts of crime; “Sam” McCracken, John Gallagher and “Tommy” Bonner. At one o’clock on the night of December 20th, the three last mentioned members of this gang* climbed to the deck of the canal boat “ Thomas H. Birch,” which was lying off Fourteenth ON THE BRIG “ MATTAN.” 149 Street, in the East River, and marched with pistols in their hands to where the captain lay asleep. “ Gag him ! ” whispered “ Tommy ” Bonner. They set to work to do it. The captain refused to be gagged. He struggled, and, in spite of their desperate efforts to prevent him, yelled. The sound of his voice aroused Officer Booz and Captain M. J. Murphy, who came to his assistance. When they got there the thieves had got the best of the boat captain, and he lay bound hands and feet and unable to speak. The policemen cornered the robbers, covered them with their revolvers, and made them prisoners. The three thieves were afterward sent to the Auburn prison. Among the places where thieves assembled and discussed their trade was Slaughter House Point, a low rum hole at Water Street and James Slip. At one time “Bill” Lowrie and “Slobbery Jim ” were the leaders of the gang which had its headquarters here. Captain Thorne, then of the Fourth Ward, thought it was time to close up the den after seven murders had been committed there. But closing the gin mill did not break up the gang. “ The Rising States,” kept by Lowrie and “ Moll ” Maher, the woman who passed as his wife, was opened near by in Water Street. Another place, then well known to the police, was “ One-armed Charley’s ” grog shop, called the “ Hole in the Wall,” where “ Patsey, the Barber,” was killed by “ Slobbery Jim.” “ Denny ” Brady, who figured as a leader among the harbor thieves, was connected in his day with almost every great robbery which took place in this country. He was engaged in the Ken- sington Bank robbery, where he took $100,000 from the safe. Other chief spirits in this kind of crime were often participants in robberies of a greater magnitude. Few depredations of the harbor thieves were more daring than the outrage on board the brig “ Mattan.” Early on the morning of November 30th, 1873, the brig had been loaded with petroleum, and on the Sunday previous to the time of the crime had dropped down the river from an up-town pier and an- chored off the Battery. Her captain and owner, T. H. Connauton, was expecting to take his crew aboard on the following day and then to embark for Liverpool. Unexpectedly his voyage was de- layed. The very night on which he brought his vessel to anchor near Castle Garden, a gang of river thieves was watching his “ who's there ? ” * 5 ° movements and laying plans for robbing him. These plans were carried out with audaciousness and brutality. The quiet of the stillest part of the night — 2 a.m. — hung over the harbor and the city, as a boatload of seven men pushed out from a dark retreat on the river front, and slowly and cautiously made its way to the “ Mattan.” Just before reaching the brig, the seven men adjusted the masks which concealed their features, and scanned the surrounding waters for a moment. Then they came close to the vessel and climbed upon her decks. Unfortunately for them they made considerable noise. The first mate went for- ward to see what was the matter, and the gang at once seized and gagged him. The second mate was treated in the same way, and when the steward ventured to show his head above the hatchway he, too, was bound, and prevented from using his voice. In the cabin, asleep, were the captain, his wife and three children. They had no consciousness of the presence of strangers aboard the vessel until the two mates and the steward had been bound and gagged. Then Captain Connauton cried out : “ Who’s there ? ” “ The harbor police,” came the reply, as the gang rushed toward the half-open stateroom door. The captain quickly closed the aperture and braced himself against the door. One of the marauders fired a heavy navy revolver. The ball passed through the panel and wounded Connauton in the lower part of the leg. The door finally gave way to their repeated blows, and with pis- tols raised and cocked they demanded that the captain should give them the $4000 which they said he had on Saturday, and all the jewellery there was on board. The captain did not lose his coolness in this emergency. He tried to parley with his assailants, but they were in no mood for that. When he hesitated to comply with their demands they seized him and dragged him about the narrow cabin. The wound in the captain’s leg was causing him great agony, and at last he be- came submissive ; for one of the gang had hold of Mrs. Connauton, and with the barrel of a pistol against her head was threatening to blow her brains out if she and her husband did not facilitate the thieves’ search for valuables. The pirates, however, secured only $45 in money, a diamond ring, two watches, three chains, a ruby ring, and several silk dresses. They were on the brig just an hour, and after cautioning those whom they had robbed and mal- THE CLERICAL IMPOSTOR. I^I treated not to give an alarm, on penalty of future injuries at the hands of the gang, they made their departure and escaped. Within twenty-four hours the police of the Twenty-fourth Precinct, under direction of Captain Siebert, had arrested two of the seven marau- ders. Their names were William Carroll, a boatman, aged twenty- one years, and William Dagan, a bar-tender, aged twenty-three. From year to year, improvements of more or less importance were made in the harbor police system. The wisdom of forming such an organization had been abundantly shown, and the work which it did was generally recognized. Those respectable persons whose duties obliged them to be in the neighborhood where such wretched crimes had been committed, breathed far more freely. They were no longer in constant fear as they walked out at night lest some devilish assassin should leap out from a dark corner and deal out a death-blow. The public looked back with horror at the state of things as they had existed in the fifties and early sixties. The commissioners of police were liberal in their expen- ditures for this purpose. The steam-boat squad, which was organized in 1876 and put under the command of Captain G. W. Gastlin, still further im- proved the police protection on the waters. It succeeded espe- cially in freeing the river front, the steam-boats, the ferries, and Castle Garden from that more refined class of criminals known as confidence men. Swindlers had taken the place largely of the abandoned thieves and murderers who were their predecessors in crime. This class of operators is numerous enough at present, but poor immigrants and unsuspecting travellers ten years ago were “ fleeced ” much more frequently than now. There were two sharpers, I remember, who passed themselves off for priests, and so easily won the confidence of foreigners who arrived at Castle Garden. One morning Mazin, one of the “priests,” got into conversation with an Italian, named Mono, who was about return- ing home, and told him he was going to Italy and needed an inter- preter. Mono accepted the position and gave the alleged priest his money for safe keeping. The clerical impostor then sent his newly employed interpreter to get some cigars. When the latter returned, Mazin was gone, together with his confrere, Michell. Both were arrested afterwards and sent to State’s prison. A short time after this occurrence, Hilza Von Zauen, alias Le Marquis O’Neil de Lassantas, was employed as a waiter in New- J 5 2 DRIVEN TO JERSEY. port. In the evening he was in the habit of dressing himself as a woman, in which guise he became the rage among the young “ bloods.” Afterward he came to New York and was employed as a waiter in a Fifth Avenue house, which he robbed and then fled. Captain Gastlin arrested him as he was about leaving the city, on a boat for Boston. The prisoner was sent to Sing Sing. The work of the harbor police is most difficult. They are obliged to be out in all kinds of weather, and in winter the incon- veniences are almost unbearable. Captain William Schultz took charge of the force in 1876. The “ Seneca ” was then in need of repairs, which she received. In 1880 the little steamer burned in some unknown manner. Then the “ Moses Taylor ” was used, but she was good for nothing. Then came the “ Tiger Lily ” ; then the “ Florence,” a fair boat. In 1882, the “ Patrol ” was built at a cost of $ 60 , 000 . She served not only as a headquarters for the harbor police, but is well supplied with powerful engines and pumps throwing ten or twelve streams. Large boats are of no use for the best purposes of the harbor police, for to do effective work in chasing thieves in and out of and around wharves and piers, boats of small size are necessary, and small steam-launches would over- come many failings of the service. In 1877, the captain of the “ Seneca ” discovered some thieves making away with plunder in a small boat. With his spy-glass he could see that the boat was loaded with merchandise, but as soon as the “ Seneca ” was upon the thieves, lo ! there was no load in the boat at all. The thieves had thrown it overboard when they saw the police were after them, and they denied having had a load. This is a trick frequently practised. Sometimes, especially when the thieves have aboard a cargo of iron or other booty which is heavy and is not likely to be injured by the water, they do not throw the cargo overboard, but sink the boat and all into the river. In this way they prevent their enemies from confiscating either the stolen goods or the boat. The harbor is not yet free from pirates, but they have left the New York river fronts largely, and have sought the less exposed and less protected piers of Jersey City and Brooklyn. Crime is still committed there and relics of the old criminal gangs are still to be found. They have- opportunities in their present quarters which they cannot get now in New York, and unless checked in time may yet grow bold enough again to terrorize the harbor. CHAPTER XII. ON DUTY AT STATEN ISLAND. — APPOINTED INSPECTOR. — THE “ CAR HOOK MURDER.” THE ORANGE RIOTS. — A GOOD STORY ABOUT JIM FISKE. — HIS DEATH. — STEVE GORDON AND THE $IOOO BILL. “ BOSS ” TWEED AND HIS RING. HOW WINANS WAS BRIBED. While still in command of the Twentieth Precinct, where I re- mained for nearly six years, I was detailed for duty at Seguin’s Point, Staten Island. The old Garibaldi candle-factory buildings there were being arranged for hospital purposes by the quarantine commissioners, and the villagers energetically objected to these proceedings. They protested against the establishment of hos- pitals anywhere on the island. Indignation meetings were held, mobs assembled near the old candle factory and threats were made to burn the buildings. I was sent with one hundred men to pro- tect this property. Although the situation at times appeared to be rather serious, no important disturbance occurred. I remained until the buildings were nearly completed, when the plan of es- tablishing a hospital there was abandoned. It must not be regarded as egotistical if I say that by this time I had become familiar with all the administrative require- ments of the police force, and when Inspector Daniel Carpenter died I was appointed to fill the vacancy. My two colleagues were James Leonard and George Dilks, the latter being office in- spector. Every other night Inspector Leonard or I was required to be on duty from 6 p. m. to 8 a, m. We had the city divided into districts, Broadway being the dividing line. It was our duty to visit the various precincts at irregular intervals, to inspect the police stations, see that the books were properly kept and that the captains, sergeants and others performed their duties. Each month we had to make a report of our inspections to the superintendent. Having no one to assist us, it is no wonder we found the work ar- duous, requiring, as it did, constant personal watchfulness. During the year 1870 several important changes occurred in the police force. In April, Mr. John A. Kennedy, the superintendent, *53 *54 THE “CAR-HOOK MURDER.” resigned, and the vacancy was filled by the appointment of Cap- tain John Jourdan, of the Sixth Precinct. Upon his death, in October of the same year, he was succeeded by James J. Kelso, captain of the detective force. What is known as the “car-hook murder ” occurred on the night of April 26, 1871. The victim was Avery D. Putnam ; his as- sailant was William Foster, a horse-car conductor. In company with Madame Duval and her daughter, Mr. Putnam was riding up town on a Broadway car. Foster, who was not on duty, and had been on a protracted debauch, was standing upon the front platform. Miss Duval, happening to look through the front window, Foster pressed his face closely against the glass and made an in- sulting grimace. The ladies took no notice of him. He then opened the door. Mr. Putnam remonstrated with him, and Foster replied : “I’m going as far as you, and before you get out I’ll give you hell.” The ladies and their escort stopped the car at Forty-sixth Street. Putnam had one foot on the rear platform, when Foster, stepping behind him, dealt him a crushing blow on the head with the car- hook, felling him to the ground and fracturing his skull. Mad- ame Duval shrieked for help, but the driver of the car whipped up his horses and drove rapidly away. Foster was at liberty only un- til three o’clock the next morning. The jury before whom he was tried found him guilty of murder in the first degree, and he was sentenced to death on May 25, one month after the murder. A reprieve was granted, but the sentence of the court was eventually satisfied on March 21, 1873. His execution was witnessed by about three hundred persons. Shortly after this murder, on July 12, 1871, the famous Orange riots occurred. They happened just eight years after the terrible scenes during the draft. They resulted from the well-known an- tipathy between Roman Catholic and Protestant Irishmen. The twelfth of July is the anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne, and on that day it was customary with the Orange societies to turn out in large numbers and march in procession. When the “twelfth” came in 1871, Mr. A. Oakey Hall was Mayor, and at his instigation Superintendent Kelso issued an order forbidding the parade. This at once caused a great outcry ; the newspapers were filled with arguments pro and co?i , and finally the matter was CAR-HOOK MURDER. J S6 ORANGE RIOT. brought officially to the attention of Governor Hoffman. He im- mediately issued a proclamation countermanding Mayor Hall’s instructions to the police, assuring the Orangemen that they should have ample police and military protection. Public feeling, of course, ran high. Irish Protestants and Roman Catholics were pitted against each other, and it was very evident that little would be needed to cause a serious disturbance. The day for the parade arrived. Wise because of the lessons taught during the draft riots, Superintendent Kelso massed the whole of the police force on Eighth Avenue, near Lamertine Hall, whence the procession was to start. The Ninth, Sixth, and Eighty-fourth regiments were also assembled here under com- mand of General Varien, to aid the police, should it become nec- essary. The sidewalks oh both sides of the avenue were crowded with a yelling mob, and before the procession started several fu- tile attempts were made to break through the lines. Superintendent Kelso placed me in command of the police at this point, with Inspector Jamieson (appointed on the death of Leonard) to assist me. Dividing the force under me into two bat- talions, I directed Jamieson to cover the left or rear of the pro- cession, while I assumed command of the right. And here, let me say, there were probably as many policemen as Orangemen. As an advance guard, we threw out a body of mounted men under Captain Wilson. The line of march was down town, and beyond some shouting and hissing nothing of any moment occurred until Twenty-sixth Street was reached. There a dense crowd, including many women, had collected. It was with the greatest difficulty that my men could clear the way for the Orangemen, who were obliged to come to a halt. At Twenty-fifth Street, Captain Joseph Petty found it necessary to order the men under him to charge the rioters, driv- ing them towards Seventh Avenue. Stones and other missiles were now thrown from the housetops, not a few of which struck members of the Ninth Regiment, who were in position at Eighth Avenue and Twenty-fifth Street. Suddenly a shot was fired from a window near the corner of Twenty-fourth Street. Other accounts say that the shot came from one of the soldier’s rifles, which was accidentally discharged. However that may be, that shot was most certainly the signal for the horrible scene which immediately followed. ORANGE PARADE, COL. “ JIM ” FISKE. I5 S In an instant the Eighty-fourth Regiment, without waiting for orders, fired upon the crowd. Then came volleys from both the Sixth and Ninth Regiments. The sight which was disclosed when the smoke cleared away was heart-rending and terrible in the ex- treme. Dozens of bodies — men, women, and children even — lay upon the ground ; the shrieks and groans of the wounded rang out above the noise caused by the feet of the vast mob, now madly trampling upon the weaker of the fugitives in the wild rush to reach a place of safety. In consequence of this reckless, wholesale JAMES FISKE, JR. (From a Photograph.) shooting on the part of the military, no less than one hundred and twenty-eight persons were either killed or injured, including a po- liceman and a soldier. Colonel “ Jim ” Fiske, who was in command of his regiment, did not cover himself with unqualified glory upon this occasion. He was on horseback, and as soon as the first volley was fired he dis- mounted with considerable alacrity and ran into a saloon on Eighth Avenue. After scaling a back-yard fence he at length found shel- ter in a house on Twenty-third Street. There he rid himself of A WRESTLING BOUT. 59 his uniform, replacing it with citizens’ clothing, and made rapid time to the North River, where he got aboard a tug. The next heard of him was that he was at Long Branch, but how he got there was a secret which he would never disclose. Neither did he ever give any explicit explanation of the causes which led to his precipitate flight from the scene of the disturbance. After the military had fired upon the crowd, and the dead and wounded had been removed to the hospitals, there was no further trouble. The procession marched to the Cooper Institute in comparative silence and disbanded. Poor Fiske ! Little he thought then that within six months he would be shot down on the stairway of the Grand Central Hotel by his rival, Stokes. This, however, occurred on the afternoon of January 6, 1872. There is an incident connected with the trial of Stokes which has hitherto escaped publication. One of the men on the jury was named James D. Centre. He was formerly a member of the po- lice force, and is now, I believe, a private detective. Grave suspi- cions were entertained that Centre had been bribed by the “ jury fixers,” and there were certainly good grounds for these suspicions. So much so, in fact, that he was arrested on a bench-warrant for contempt of court, having boasted at Harry Hill’s place that he would save Stokes from the gallows, at the same time displaying a large sum of money. For this, after the trial, he was sentenced to a short term of imprisonment. Some few weeks subsequent to his release, Centre visited a liquor saloon in Jersey City. He had been drinking freely, and taking a $ 1000 bill out of his pocket, said he could beat any man in the room at wrestling. After some little talk, a man named Steve Gordon (nicknamed “ Pirate ”) offered to try conclusions with him. The stakes were the drinks. Centre put the $1000 bill back in his vest pocket and prepared for the struggle. A space was cleared and the two went at it. Gordon, though an ex- pert wrestler, was advanced in years, and was easily thrown by Centre. As though ashamed of his defeat, Gordon quickly left the saloon. In a few minutes Centre discovered that he had lost his $1000 bill, and at once had the “ Pirate” arrested. No proof, however, was forthcoming at the examination and Gordon was dis- charged. l6o “IRVING WEEK.” The matter subsequently came to my ears, and meeting Gordon one day as I was walking along West Street, I said : “Hullo, Steve; they tell me you can’t wrestle now.” “O yes, I can, a little,” was Gordon’s reply. “ But I understand Centre threw you, though,” I rejoined. “ Yes,” said he ; “ Centre throwed me ; but I won his motley .” While Mr. A. Oakey Hall was Mayor of New York he was inti- mate with Tweed, Sweeney and Connolly of the Tammany “ Ring,” whose bare-faced robberies and corruptions in administering mu- nicipal affairs left such a stain upon the city’s history. The “ Ring ” controlled the Board of Audit, and millions of dollars found their way into the pockets of Tweed and his followers, by means of fraudulent vouchers. Among the many who asserted that the city treasury was in- debted to them was Mr. James O’Brien, formerly a sheriff. He presented a bill of $200,000 for unpaid fees due him, and the Board of Audit refused to approve it. He repeatedly demanded payment, but always with the same result — he could get nothing. In some Way O’Brien managed to secure copies of the fraudulent vouchers in the comptroller’s office, and handed them to the New York Times. That paper made a thorough investigation, and published a most startling array of facts and figures, all tend- ing to prove the existence of a most gigantic robbery. The con- spirators were with few exceptions punished. Certain matters in connection with what is known as the “ Irv- ing week ” of 1871 which came to my knowledge will be of inter- est. It was in the winter of that year. The Democrats had sixty- five votes in the Assembly and seventeen in the Senate. The twenty-one assemblymen from New York City were all bound to support Tweed’s measures. They had obtained fat offices, and if they did not vote as he ordered them, their monthly visits to the paymaster’s office would become things of the past. Affairs went on very smoothly until “Jim” Irving assaulted Smith Weed by striking him in the face, and was obliged to resign from the Assem- bly. Previous to this the Democrats had been able to pass any measures they pleased, having just the requisite majority in both branches. But when Irving resigned there came a dead-lock. Whenever an attempt was made to pass a bill the vote stood : Democrats, 64; Republicans, 63. Bad feeHng began to show itself, and so bitter was the strife AT ALBANY. 161 that Republicans and Democrats would not affiliate. When asked what he thought about the situation, Sweeney simply remarked : “ We have been in worse snaps than this, and got out of them all right.” The Republicans held a caucus, and decided to force a vote in the Assembly on certain measures upon which they knew Tweed had set his heart. One of the Albany evening newspapers pub- lished the resolutions passed by the Republicans at their caucus, signed by every one of the sixty-three. The next day the Assembly Chamber was filled to overflowing. Four bills, which would decide Tweed’s fate, were called up for consideration. A motion was made to suspend the usual order of business. This was carried, and before the spectators had re- covered from their surprise the first of the bills was read a third time, and the call of the roll began. As the first name was called, Tweed walked into the gallery and pushed his way to the front. With his small gray eyes glittering maliciously, and his arms folded across his chest, he stood looking down upon the Assembly. Not a movement on the floor escaped his notice. As name after name was called his head was thrust forward and inclined on one side, the more easily to hear the response. When the “ B’s ” were reached, he rested his hands on the rail and leaned over. The “ B ” who had been expected to vote in favor of the bill cast a decided “ No.” A faint flush, as of dis- appointment, swept over the face of the “ Boss,” and a word, which sounded very much like “ damnation,” came from between his lips. He was calm again in an instant and resumed his for- mer position. Finally came the name of “ Winans.” Throughout the session, Winans had been the most exacting of Republicans. He had never failed to add a bitter word to every discussion, de- nouncing the rough-shod methods of the Democrats. He now voted “ Aye,” and made a short speech explaining his reasons for voting with the Democrats. The effect upon those in the Cham- ber was electrical. Those in the galleries cheered loudly and the Democrats on the floor jumped to their feet in a body. The Re- publicans were completely dumbfounded, and remained motion- less in their seats like statues. Truly it was a sad day for the Republicans ; but what of the author of their defeat — Winans ? He became an outcast ; every- one — Democrats and Republicans alike — avoided him as though T I 162 A SLEIGH RIDE. he had been a leper. Previous to uttering that blighting “ Aye ” he had been popular with all persons he came in contact with. The morning after the vote Winans was a changed man ; he had aged in a single night, and acted during the remainder of the session as though he were suffering from a horrible nightmare. Was Winans bribed ? He always denied that he was, but ad- mitted that Gould and Fiske had compelled him to act as he did. He held a position under them on the Erie Railroad, he said, and was threatened with discharge if he failed to obey their behests. The amount which Winans’s vote cost has never been made pub- lic, but a little circumstance which occurred the night before the memorable scene doubtless had something to do with binding him so closely to the interests of Tweed. That “ little circumstance ” was this : About four o’clock in the morning a covered sleigh was driven up near the railroad track adjoining the Delavan House at Albany, there being no depot there then. A man got into this sleigh and was driven down the road which leads along the canal to Troy. There was a negro on the box, and alongside of him, wearing an overcoat with its collar nearly hiding his head, was a New York assemblyman who shall be nameless. Before the strange man entered the sleigh at the Delavan House there were two others in it. One was “Tom” Fields and the other a well-known lobbyist. , The sleigh was driven down the dark road for a short distance, and then came to a stop in one of the side streets. Here the New York assemblyman alighted. An hour later he was in his room. It was during the drive that the bribery was consummated. Some say the assemblyman was paid $ 100,000 in small bills for his work, but the amount was generally believed to be $75,000. The negro driver never uttered a word on the subject ; but “ Tom ” Fields was questioned about it by a police official who had seen the assemblyman get out of the sleigh and had caught a glimpse of Fields’s face at the same time. Fields replied with a laugh: “Why, I’m subject to rheumatism, and when I drink a good deal of champagne I always take a ride before going to bed — my doc- tor told me to take one.” Who that doctor was can easily be imagined. It was William M. Tweed. Years afterwards “ Jim ” Fiske once remarked to a well- known newspaper writer : “ Winans was too good a fellow to be killed off the way he was BRIBERY. lC 3 at Albany ; but when you’re in a tight place there’s nothing one won’t risk to get out of it. The only trouble with Winans was that he had to do something everybody knew about. Fellows in that Legislature who did worse than he did are now respected citizens. But they didn’t happen to be found out.” CHAPTER XIII. SURPRISED BY NIGHT. HOW THEY WERE TO “ DO IT.” BROCKWAY, THE COUNTERFEITER. THE PEDLER. WOMAN’S LOVE OF FINERY. A MILLION-DOLLAR SWINDLE. ABOARD THE “ THU- RINGIA.” — TWO IMPERFECT BILLS. — SENTENCED FOR LIFE. A SWINDLER’S CAREER. — AN UNSUSPECTING CATTLE DROVER. — AFTER TIFFANY’S DIAMONDS. While I was in charge of the detective force, a curious and somewhat startling incident occurred. Sauntering along Broad- way one day, a detective happened to see a man named Cart- wright, whom he knew to be a counterfeiter. Cartwright had as- sured us some time before that he had “retired from business,” but it nevertheless occurred to the detective that it might be worth while to find out for himself if the fellow was still engaged in his unlawful occupation. Following him across the Harlem River into Westchester County, the officer reached a spot near the Harlem Railroad company’s tracks where there were but few dwellings. Cartwright there en- tered a frame house. This meeting and its result were reported to me. There was nothing particularly suspicious in Cartwright’s proceedings ; still I deemed it advisable to watch the house, and so sent two or three men to remain near it for several nights. After waiting patiently for a week, they saw enough to convince them that “work” was carried on at the place. I then joined the party of watchers, and determined to force an entrance into the house. Dividing my men into two parties, I stationed one in the rear and the other in front of the building. We waited until the lights were extinguished. We had been able to locate the occupants of the house by as- suming that they slept in the rooms where we last saw the lights. Detective Sampson and I then advanced to the rear door, while the two other detectives were at the front. At a signal a rush was made for the doors. Sampson and I easily burst open the rear one, as it was not very strongly fastened, and, lanterns in hand, made 164 “ you’re my prisoner.” 165 for a room on the left of the hall. The door was open and our sudden entrance awoke the occupant. Without a moment’s hesita- tion he reached out his hand towards a pistol which lay on a stand near his bed. Before he could grasp it we both sprang upon him, while Sampson, pressing the cold muzzle of a revolver against the fellow’s head, ordered him to give up his weapon and lie quietly. He did ; and after securing him we went up stairs to the room in which we had last noticed a light. Here we found another man. “ Hullo ! ” he shouted, apparently guessing our errand ; “ I’m only a visitor here.” “ Can’t help that,” was my unconsoling reply ; “ you’re my prisoner.” Somewhat crestfallen, he remarked : “ Well, anyhow, you’ll allow me to put on a clean shirt.” With that he stepped to a bureau which stood against one side of the room, took out a snowy white garment and put it on. Bureaus, under certain circumstances, have a strong fascination for me. This one had, so giving in to the feeling I searched it. Five other shirts were carefully folded in a drawer. Under them I got what I wanted: a plate for making counterfeit money. In the mean time I had been closely watching the gentleman with the clean shirt, and noticed that he kept glancing at the fire- place every now and then in a furtive manner. In fact, it seemed to have a very peculiar attraction for him. Consequently it inter- ested me sd greatly that I determined on a closer examination. A quantity of burnt paper on the hearth looked like business. Brushing the ashes carefully away I discovered a number of partly consumed counterfeit ten-dollar bills representing those of the Ogdensburg Bank. Evidently they had not been satisfactory impressions, and so had been destroyed. Searching further we secured a large quantity of excellent specimens of these ten-dollar bills which were finished, including the signature. At the foot of a small pear tree in the garden we found another plate. The counterfeiters were tried and convicted shortly afterwards, before Judge Robertson at White Plains. I had a conversation with the men after their conviction, and they informed me of the unique and ingenious device with which they had expected to “ work off ” the counterfeit bills. A big prize fight was just about to occur, and they intended to bet $20,000 on each of the contestants. Of course, whatever might have been / 1 66 COUNTERFEIT GOLD. the result of the fight, the counterfeiters would have obtained $20,000 in good money. At this time a number of complaints were made to me regard- ing counterfeit gold dollar and two-dollar-and-a-half coins which were circulating. Some specimens were shown me. They showed great skill in their making. They were so well finished indeed that it was not at all surprising that so many persons were deceived. Now it is by no means easy to trace counterfeit money to its source. In the first place it is necessary to discover whether its circulation is restricted to one locality. The coin or bill may pass through a great many hands before its spurious character is discovered, and even therf no one is quite willing to bear the loss and so tries to pass it on. This is human nature. Then again a man may take a counterfeit coin from a customer who has re- ceived it in good faith, and who has perhaps handled large amounts of money. The latter, of course, if the character of the coin be pointed out, will probably insist that the coin given is genuine. Long and tedious research is necessary to find out how innocent each man is in these transactions and who may or may not be the counterfeiter. The one who first passed the false coin of course uses every precaution to conceal his identity. In these coin counterfeiting cases I finally came to the conclusion, that the locality where the work was carried on was on the east side of the city. Many of the coins were found in the omnibuses, and the dollar pieces were frequently passed by the drivers in making change. Cautious detective work was begun and ulti- mately success began to crown our efforts. We found a man nick named “Tom Hyer,” who seemed to have some knowledge of the matter. Hyer intimated to some of the officers that he had an idea where the “ stuff ” could be bought. After questioning him I secured his services, undertaking to pay his expenses and for his time. For two days I saw nothing of him. At the end of that time he reported to me that for $30 he could buy $100 worth of the counterfeits we were after. “A man,” he said, “has agreed to meet me at a certain place near Chatham Square. I must have $30. He will have the $100 of his money and will make an exchange in the street, at two o’clock to-morrow.” “All right,” I said, “you shall have the money.” With the $30 in his pocket Hyer left the office. I had him •'‘iVe got the money.” 167 “shadowed” to his home. Next day he was seen by my detec- tives to go to Chatham Square, where, they informed me, a short, dark-complexioned man met Hver and the exchange of coin took place. Officer John McCord subsequently followed the man who had passed the counterfeits. Again Hyer came to the office and reported the matter to me, saying : “ I’ve got the money.” Whoever Hyer was or whatever might be his character, his ver- sion of the story agreed with that of the detective. Two days afterwards McCord said to me : “ I witnessed the ex- change and then followed the man the rest of the afternoon. There was nothing suspicious about his actions that day. At ten o’clock at night he went into a house in the Fifth Ward, and as he did not come out again I suppose he slept there. I followed him the next day. He walked down Beekman Street and went into a store where sheet-metal is sold, then he crossed Fulton Ferry to Brooklyn and got on a Myrtle Avenue car. I went to a hackman and hired his carriage ; the driver got inside, while I took off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, jumped on the box and followed that car. After awhile the man got out and went into a drug store, and then took another car. I drove after him for about a mile, when he left the car and proceeded on foot. I dismissed the hack, and kept my man in view as he went towards a house on the outskirts of Brooklyn. I cut across the open fields, and, ap- proaching the dwelling, hid behind a fence and waited, but I saw no more of him after that. I left this morning to report the state of affairs.” Officer McCord asked for help, so two men were sent to him. For four days the detectives watched, but nothing remarkable occurred. The man who sold the counterfeit coin would go to New York and return again. While he was absent the time was spent in studying the house and its inmates, and so was not wasted. For instance, we discovered that the house was protected with many locks, bolts and bars. The butcher, baker, grocer and milkman came with the usual supplies, but were not admitted. The stores were taken in at the basement by a woman who used a great deal of precaution. These tradespeople would knock, and the door, which had a sliding chain, would be cautiously opened. As the chase was now becoming interesting I joined the party, and we discussed the best means of effecting an entrance. We THE PROPERTY-CLERK S OUTFIT. / 68 were satisfied that the counterfeit coin was being made in the house. We, of course, must arrest the “gang” with their tools. They must not be allowed to carry off their machinery, nor must they have the opportunity of concealing their dies. My desire was to break up the concern, root and branch. To employ brute force was entirely out of the question. What then was the best method of accomplishing the object ? The fact that the doorkeeper was of the gentler sex was something in our favor. Could no persua- sive means be used to induce her to admit us ? I remembered that Walpole is reported to have said, with regard to political bribes, that he never saw but one woman who refused gold ; and diamonds captured her. Acting in a measure upon the above sug- gestion, we attired Mr. Thomas Sampson as a pedler. He was dressed in a long black coat, and was provided with a capacious blue paper box. Neatly packed in it were such articles as were calculated to excite feminine cupidity. The property-clerk at headquarters furnished Sampson with his stock in trade. And it may be as well to say that a police property-clerk in New York can produce any description of outfit on very short notice, from a needle to an anchor. Thus disguised, Sampson knocked at the basement door. It was opened a little way, the chain still remaining up. The pale face of a woman was visible. “ What is it ? ” she asked, sharply and suspiciously. “ Oh ! mine tear madam, I vas a trafflin merchant, a pedler. I haf some beautiful tings vot I vill sold you,- mine tear,” at the same time Sampson flourished an embroidered handkerchief before the woman’s eyes. She looked longingly at the article, but answered, “ No,” and was about to close the door in his face. “ Don’t go for to shut the door, mine tear. I haf here a real beauty,” said Sampson, now producing a very handsome cream- colored crepe shawl, elaborately embroidered. “ See how vresh and nize it vas, my tear. It vas vorth a huntred tollars. I vill sold it to you — only to you, for feefty. Dirt sheep, mine tear, dirt sheep. Shoost look at eet.” The woman stretched out her hand to touch the delicate fabric. “ Dry it on, my tear. If I vas to go round I might get some- tings vat it was vorth. Say twenty-five tollars ! ” The bait was too much for the woman. She loosed the chain, ] 169 / 1*70 FAIRLY CAUGHT. made one step outside the door, and Sampson was inside the house before she realized the situation. Two of the officers at once rushed from their concealment and ran to the rear of the house. I joined Sampson, who with pistol in hand was ready for any emergency. Running through to the back of the house I let in the two other men, and with this force ad- mitted everything was in our hands. There was no show of fight. The prisoners were as docile as lambs. Criminals know that when fairly caught, to fight only makes matters worse. We found four persons engaged in making this false money, Brockway, Thomas, another man and the woman who coveted the crepe shawl. A press complete in every particular was found in the basement. Brockway was cool about the matter. Going to a bureau he took out of a drawer a thousand dollars in good bank bills, and offering them to me, said : “If you will let me off I’ll give you a thousand dollars more.” He had the assurance to produce his bank book, showing there was something more than that amount to his credit. “Let one of your men go to the savings bank and draw out the money,” he remarked. “I will give you that provided you make no search.” I, of course, refused, and we were about to ransack the premises, when Brockway remarked: “Very well, I will save you a great deal of trouble.” He w T ent to another bureau and exhibited a quantity of counter- feit one-dollar and two-dollar-and-a-half gold pieces. Then from a secret drawer he produced the dies. We took nothing for granted, however. Long strips of metal were found in the cellar from which the blanks had been punched. By counting these holes we were satisfied that Brockway had manufactured not less than a hundred thousand dollars in spurious coin. We took pos- session of everything, and carried prisoners and machinery to headquarters. We found the silver imitations were poor, only a few spurious half-dollars were among them ; the gold coins, how- ever, were works of art. The prisoners were tried in the United States court. We had no evidence against one of the men, and he was released ; but the others were sentenced and sent to prison. The woman pretended to be Brockway’s wife, and claimed that she acted as a counter- feiter under compulsion; but she could not prove it, and was put \ \ I 7 I THE COUNTERFEITERS’ DEN. 172 MORNING IN THE HARBOR. on trial. Brockway was more than fifty years of age, and was tall and slim. With the exception of Marcus Cicero Stanly, no one seems to have been personally acquainted with him. I had the dies put in a neat velvet case and took them to Wash- ington, where they are to be found to-day among the curiosities of counterfeiting. The Government of the United States, it might be thought, would have paid the expenses incurred in arresting the Brockway party, but such was not the case. The cost was de- frayed by the New York Police Department. It was rumored that the woman was a confirmed opium-eater, but this had not appar- ently blunted her appreciation of what was really a superb china crepe shawl. George MacDonnell was the most expert and persistent forger and confidence man that ever exercised his cunning on unsuspect- ing humanity in this country and in Europe. Detection, capture, and even imprisonment were no restraining influences on the development of this man’s knavish propensities. To paraphrase Shakespeare’s phrase, he was a rascal, take him all in all; I ne’er shall look upon his like again. Failure goaded him to new en- deavors ; success nerved him. That he was shrewd, cautious, determined and bold goes without saying. It was a long while before eager justice got a tight grip upon this polished villain, but when once it did there was no letting up, and MacDonnell was doomed to pass the remainder of his life in prison stripes. His last crime was his greatest, for it was no other than swindling the Bank of England out of one million dollars. Gray clouds were hanging over New York harbor one summer’s morning in 1873. The sun was just making his appearance over the bastions of Fort Hamilton, and his first rays shone full in the face of a man who was slowly pacing up and down the dock in front of the health officer’s house at Quarantine. Something was evidently preying on the man’s mind. A close observer would have noticed lines of care on his forehead. Every now and then his eyes glanced furtively from beneath his brow and took in the scope of the harbor. They rested for a moment upon the huge ocean steamships with their black hulls that lay anchored a dozen rods or so from shore ; they scanned the waters reaching down into the lower bay, and noticed in the distance the little cloud of black smoke which betokened the approach of another ocean racer. Then they turned quickly in the direction of the health officer’s AT QUARANTINE. 173 house, which sat prettily among the trees of the neighboring bluff. Suddenly the man’s expression brightened, as from above he heard a sound of feet and beheld the deputy health officer walking down the path. A few minutes later a steam tug left the dock and puffed rapidly out to the steamships which lay at rest in the stream. The strange man on the dock and the deputy health officer were the tug’s only passengers. They boarded the different steamers, and while the Government officer examined critically for signs of disease among the incoming passengers, his companion was busily studying their faces. “ Did you find your man ? ” the deputy asked, as the two returned to the tug and were taken back to shore. “ No,” answered the detective, for such he was. “ He isn’t on those vessels.” Other steamers came into port during the day, and this inspec- tion was repeated. The sun reached its zenith, sank slowly in the west, and was finally gilding Fort Hamilton from over in the Jersey marshes. At this time another steamer came through the Narrows and anchored off Quarantine. Again the deputy health offi- cer and the detective went out to board her. She was the “ Thu- ringia.” The passengers were called up for examination, and among the number was one who answered the description of George MacDonnell, the object of the detective’s search. “ You are my prisoner,” said the detective, quietly. The man started back, and then in apparent indignation de- manded, “What do you mean, sir? I want to know the meaning of this insult.” MacDonnell, the forger, was tall, well-built and very handsome. His voice was gentle, except when he was angry, and he possessed a ready vocabulary. He had a delicately fair skin, and wore a dark brown beard. He was not the man you would have picked out for a criminal. But the detective’s experience had taught him to be no respecter of appearances, and even when his distin- guished prisoner professed to be greatly insulted, and threatened in loud tones to make the officer “ pay bitterly for this outrage,” as he called it, the detective had no idea of letting him go. Mac- Donnell was taken to jail as soon as the “ Thuringia ” landed at her pier, and was held for examination. The clever bit of forgery of which he was accused was accom- WARM WELCOME. A “ BUSINESS ’’ FIRM. J 75 plished in this manner: After having prospered for years in their devices for swindling, MacDonnell and three associates, Austin and Biron Bidwell, brothers, and Edwin Noyes, conceived the gigantic scheme of defrauding the Bank of England out of many hundred thousands of dollars. The reputation of the bank for conservatism and shrewdness in management did not warn them. They knew that untold millions were there to steal, and they boldly matched their wits against those of the bank officers. Their plans were well laid. They went at their task deliberately and cautiously. They established an office in London, and put a large amount of money in their business. The firm’s name was “ Mac- Donnell & Co.,” and they deposited English gold in the vaults of the Bank of England. They were in no hurry to reap the rewards of their iniquitous conspiracy. They carried on a legitimate busi- ness for months, and made a reputation for honesty and fair deal- ing. George MacDonnell opened an account with the western branch of the bank, and waited patiently for an opportunity to execute his forgeries. When the conspirators thought the time had come, they set to work to manufacture the forged bills. This required great ingenuity and labor. It was necessary to copy exactly, water marks and all, the particular kind of paper used by the various firms upon which they intended to draw the bills. This was done so carefully and perfectly, that when the forgeries were at last discovered it was not because the genuineness of the bills was questioned. They were payable in three months, and the forgers had no difficulty in discounting them. But by a very careless blunder, MacDonnell and his associates forgot to put the date of acceptance on two of the bills which they presented at the bank, and the firms whose names were upon the paper were asked by the bank officers to rectify the supposed mistake. Then of course the bills were pronounced forgeries. It was too late, however, to capture the forgers. They had taken alarm and fled with nearly a million dollars, the earnings of their conspiracy. MacDonnell was supposed to have gone to New York, and a minute description of him was cabled thither. It was for the man of this description that the detective at Quarantine searched all incoming vessels, and at last found him on the “Thuringia.” MacDonnell’s associates were afterwards discov- ered in this country, and all four were taken to London. On August 26, 1873, in the Old Bailey Court, they were convicted 176 WESTERN SOCIABILITY. and sentenced to hard labor for life. By good fortune the bank officers recovered the bulk of the stolen money. MacDonnell was well known to the police of this country. Pre- vious to this, his last crime, he had performed many daring swind- ling operations on this side the water. Once, while on his way to New York from the West, he made the acquaintance of a good- natured cattle drover. MacDonnell called into play his most fas- cinating manners, talked brilliantly, and made a deep impression on the Westerner. Both drank frequently from the flask of excel- lent brandy which the forger carried with him, and soon the cattle- man was sound asleep. It was a very easy matter then for Mac- Donnell to take his companion’s pocket-book. This he did, and was richer by $2600. He placed the money in some newspapers he had with him, and addressing them to a fictitious name in this city posted them at the next station. By the time the drover awoke the train was at a junction, and he invited MacDonnell to take luncheon with him. The two ate, and when they had finished the drover took out his pocket-book to pay the bill. He found to his astonishment that it was empty. He turned to his companion and said : “ I had $2600 in that pocket-book ; where is it? ” “ Do you accuse me of taking it ? ” asked MacDonnell indig- nantly, and then insisted upon being searched. This was done, but nothing of course was found. The cattleman was greatly hum- bled, and naturally ashamed of himself for his suspicions. During the rest of his journey he treated MacDonnell with the greatest courtesy, and apologized over and over again for his rudeness. At Buffalo they parted the best of friends. MacDonnell came to New York, secured the papers with the money inclosed, and en- joyed the profits of his ill-gotten gains. In the autumn of 1867 MacDonnell was in New York. He answered the advertisement of Dr. James W. Barnard, a well known physician on Fifth Avenue, who wished to rent the front parlor and adjoining rooms of his house. Calling at the house and presenting a card on which was the name of Henry B. Liv- ingston, he represented himself as an English traveller who was tired of hotel life. After inspecting the rooms he agreed to take them. The rent was high, but he professed no objection, and paid part of it in advance. During his call he was accompanied by a valet, whom he addressed as Clarence. DIAMONDS AND DUPES. 77 Later on the same day he went to Tiffany’s and asked to look at diamonds. He chose a brooch with seven stones, a solitaire ring, two diamond ear drops, and two large unset diamonds. The value of all was about $2500. He gave his name to the salesman as W. H. Barnard, and said that he had not sufficient money with him to pay for the diamonds, but would go down town and see his father. Pretty soon he returned and said that his father was out, but that he had left word to have the money left at his residence on Fifth Avenue. His carriage was outside, he said, and he in- vited the salesman to take the diamonds and ride with him to his house, where he would be paid. The salesman assented, and they were driven off by a coachman whom MacDonnell called “ Charles.” They stopped at Dr. Barnard’s residence, and went in the parlor. MacDonnell asked Clarence, who was there, where his father was. Clarence replied that he had just stepped out, mentioning where he had gone. Then MacDonnell told his valet to go after him and get the money for the diamonds. Clarence did so, and re- turned with a check drawn for the proper amount upon a promi- nent bank, and signed by Jas. W. Barnard. This was given to the salesman, and he departed with the worthless check. MacDonnell and Clarence, who was no less than one of the Bidwells, left the city at once. Charles, the coachman, had been in the conspiracy, but his companions had “ shelved ” him at the last moment, and he, through spite, divulged the fraud. MacDonnell was found by detectives in Portland, Maine, and brought back to New York, where he was sentenced to prison for three years. Bidwell escaped. 12 CHAPTER XIV. dispute With the police commissioners. — cranks who write LETTERS. EXPECTING COUNTERFEIT NOTES AND GETTING SAW- DUST. — A LITTLE BY-PLAY ON BROADWAY. u THE THIRD DE- GREE.” — THE MAN WHO PULLED OUT HIS WHISKERS. — FACTS ABOUT THE FINEST FORCE. I was appointed superintendent of police on July 23, 1874. At that time the force consisted of four inspectors, thirty-six captains, one hundred and thirty-five sergeants, two thousand two hundred and seventy-two patrolmen and eighty doormen — mak- ing a total of 2521. In a strictly legal sense, the superintendent of the New York police is the executive officer of the department ; but during the eleven years I occupied the position my powers were considerably curtailed, with the exception of the short period when Mr. Matsell was president of the Police Board. At the time I was appointed superintendent, the Board of Police had authority under a special act of the Legislature to remove me when they pleased. This arbitrary power they held until the Consolidation Act was passed in 1882. It will be at once manifest that if, under the old act, the superintendent attempted to carry out the promptings of his own judgment, and his actions happened to be at variance with the ideas of any member of the Police Board, that member in all probability became his enemy. Under such circumstances it can readily be seen that the removal of the superintendent would not be a very difficult thing to bring about. As a general rule, the subjects of dispute between the police commissioners and myself were not of major importance. There was one point, however, on which we never could agree, and that was in regard to the duties of the inspectors. Prior to my assurm ing the position, captains were responsible to the superintendent personally ; they were under his immediate control and not under that of the inspectors. By more recent regulations, the inspectors received the reports of the captains. They thus came between me 178 A STEP HIGHER. 179 and the latter. The inspectors were four in number, and when Inspector Byrnes was appointed he was given command of the de- tective force, which had heretofore been under my control. His duties differed materially from those of the others. The captains of the various precincts, therefore, did not feel under any special responsibility to him, as no analogy exists between the work of the detectives and that of the general patrol force. Under the new rule, captains soon came to consider that the inspector of their district was the officer to whom their allegiance was directly due, and whose instructions they should follow. With such a divided responsibility and authority, a great many matters occurred in the city which might be classed among lesser misdemeanors, and which did not come under the immediate notice of the superintend- ent, and only reached his ears after some lapse of time. Orders, too, emanating from the superintendent and addressed to the cap- tains through the medium of the inspectors, were imparted by the latter in a half-hearted manner. In fact, it rested wholly with the inspectors themselves whether the superintendent’s wishes should be supported or practically ignored. I have every reason to be- l8o ROUTINE. — EVERYBODY’S FRIEND. lieve that because the inspectors failed to give me the aid which they should have given the laws in regard to gambling, lotteries and policy playing were not enforced. Had the old and intimate relations which heretofore existed between the superintendent and captains continued, I am certain I could have suppressed many of the evils to which I have alluded. Mr. Hawley, who was chief clerk, co-operated most heartily with me in the endeavor to effect a change in these rules relative to inspectors. Our efforts were in vain ; but I am pleased to know that Mr. Murray, my successor, who, as inspector and with the other inspectors opposed the change, has now urged the very iden- tical changes which I had tried to obtain for so many years, and that his “ requests ” have been complied with. To explain in detail the varied work which falls to the lot of the police superintendent in New York would occupy many pages, and I can give only a brief sketch of his complex duties. The hours of the day, even when re-enforced by those of the night, are barely sufficient to meet all the requirements of the situation. It was my habit to be at the office promptly at eight o’clock in the morning, and, with the exception of a brief interval for luncheon, to remain there until six o’clock at night. Sunday was never a day of rest to me. I was always prepared for night work, and was frequently called upon at the most unexpected hours. It was also my duty to be present at all riots, serious fires, etc. Anything like regular hours or an established routine of work was altogether impossible. The daily mail of a New York superintendent of police is very large. Everybody in the United States seems to want to write to him ; and besides the letters from this country, he gets communications from all over the world. Everybody with a grievance of any kind addresses him ; and in addition to a great deal of trivial matter, no small amount of important business reaches his busy hands. The bulk of his correspondence comes from people who complain of having been “ swindled.” In most cases of this kind even a cursory examination of the letters shows that the “ swindled ” are not above suspicion themselves. The grievances are many. Some say they have sent good money, expecting to receive counterfeit notes in return, and got nothing but blank paper or sawdust. Others expected to obtain a $250 piano for $5 ; a $60 sewdng machine for $2 ; or a $10 washer and wringer for fifty cents. And because their expectations w r ere •V j8t POLICE HEADQUARTERS, MULBERRY STREET. 182 CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATIONS. not realized they get angry, denounce the “ swindler ” to the superintendent, and demand justice. To such I paid no attention. But whenever it was clear that a fraud or swindle had been perpetrated, I always did the best I could to make it “ warm ” for those who were carrying on the crooked business. With letters of this kind there come to the superintendent inquiries demanding his closest attention. Many of these are of a strictly private, or family, character. A man is paying attention to a woman who lives a thousand miles from New York, and has told her that he formerly resided in this city ; that he is unmarried, in independent circumstances and of fair repute. “There is something,” says the writer, “which is not quite plain in regard to the gentleman who sues for the lady’s hand. Will the superintendent kindly find out all he can?” Why, if the superintendent’s office were the General Intelligence Bureau of the Continent of North America it would not suffice for the numerous and preposterous demands made upon its time and patience. Some people seem to have the impression that the superintendent is at the head of a commercial agency, and it is not unusual to find in the correspondence requests that the financial standing, probity and so on, of such and such a firm shall be investigated and revealed. If it were possible to give such information as is requested by anxious parents, lovers, and creditors, the superintendent would be perfectly willing to impart all he knows ; but in most cases he is helpless. On every day in the year the office of the superintendent is in communication with the leading cities of the United States in regard to business which is particularly within his province : the whereabouts and conduct of criminals. A robbery is committed, and the perpetrator is supposed to have fled to New York. A description of him is immediately sent to the New York police. Or perhaps a burglary has occurred in this city, and the criminal is stealthily making his way to some other place ; if we have a photograph of the supposed culprit, a number of his pictures are immediately struck off and forwarded, together with printed par- ticulars of the robbery and the articles stolen, to all parts of the country. Foreign letters are frequent. Germans, Frenchmen, Italians, Swedes, Norwegians, English, Irish, Scotch and persons of all other nationalities who have sons or daughters in the United DUTIES. 83 States (and in South America even, sometimes), write to the superintendent to learn of their children’s whereabouts. When- ever possible, inquiries of this nature are given attention. A considerable portion of the superintendent’s time is taken , up by callers, and many valuable hours are lost through the thought- lessness of persons who come on all kinds of matters which are utterly foreign to police business. Everybody, however, must be listened to attentively, for now and then a genuine grievance SUPERINTENDENT WALLING’S OFFICE. comes to light, requiring prompt action. The “ routine ” work of the superintendent alone requires a great deal of time and atten- tion, no matter how commonplace it may seem. All parades and public meetings come under the supervision of the superintendent. In such cases, notice of the time and place and route is sent to headquarters. If a procession is likely to be large, the superintendent studies the route, and instructions con- cerning the disposition of the force are sent to the police captains. During the close presidential contest of 1884 the police force was taxed to its utmost, and from the superintendent down to the pa- trolmen not one had scarcely a moment’s rest for three weeks. 184 BY-PLAY ON BROADWAY. And let me say here that the good sense and temper of the com munity were never more conspicuous than on those occasions. The tens of thousands of excited people who congregated on the streets were easily managed. The superintendent has no leisure. His position is no sinecure or bed of roses; and with the rapid growth of New York and the country of which it is the commercial mart, his responsibilities are rapidly increasing. The reader will be interested in the actual circumstances usually attendant upon the arrest of a criminal by a Central Office detec- tive, and I cannot do better than narrate an incident which oc- curred some time ago. In company with a Western friend inter- ested in police matters, I was walking on Broadway one afternoon in the vicinity of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, when I caught sight of a little by-play which was going on unnoticed by the large number of persons on the street. An exceedingly well-dressed individual, wearing modest but expensive jewellery, was engaged in apparently friendly conversation with another man, about whom there was nothing to attract observation, unless it was his efforts to escape it. “ Do you see that ? ” I asked of my friend, pointing out the two men. “ Yes,” he replied ; “ but what about them ? ” “Well, one of them is a detective, and the other is a forger whom he is arresting.” “ Tell me all about it,” said my friend. “ I’ve long wanted to know the modus operandi of such a capture — the conversation and so on between the detective and his prisoner.” “ That detective is ‘ Phil ’ , and his prisoner is John . I think I can guess at the conversation between them. I’ll wager . it’s something after this fashion : “ ‘ How are you, John ? ’ “ ‘ O, first-rate, thank you, Phil,’ answers the fellow, knowing well that Phil’s inquiry bodes him no good. “‘John, the old man [that’s me] wants to see you.’ “ ‘ All right. I’ll go along.’ “‘Well, look here, no skipping. I’m fixed, and there might be a little accident if you tried to go as you please here. Under- stand ? ’ ROGUES’ GALLERY AND MEMENTOES. i86 HOW THEY WENT. “ ‘ Why, certainly, Phil. Don’t suppose I’m going to give you the slip, do you ? ”’ * The detective and his prisoner now walked along the street, and we followed. The pair had the appearance of being old friends, just going to take a drink. There was no exhibition of revolver or “billy/’ nippers or handcuffs. John knew well that even if he made a bolt and escaped the bullets from Phil’s pistol, his re-arrest would quickly follow, and an exhibition of his ability as a pedestrian would be accepted as an evidence of his guilt. THE CELL CORRIDOR. “John,” I informed my friend, “is a notorious ‘layer down’ of checks, who has given the community and the police a great deal of trouble.” The two jumped aboard a car and alighted at Bleecker Street. We followed, and my Western acquaintance could not avoid remarking that Phil walked along as if he didn’t know of any such place as police headquarters. Turning into Mott Street, Phil and his charge approached the rear of the Central Office, went down a flight of stairs, and entered a corridor just outside of what is used as an office by the boiler inspectors and policemen detailed to enforce the health ordinances. Phil was anxious that his chief i8 7 “all hope abandon.” should know what he had achieved, while John, knowing too well who had him in custody, was aware that the sooner he got in a cell the sooner he would have a little comfort. So far, no sign of a prison has met the eye. But the detective and his man now reach a door fitted with heavy springs, on which might be written, “ All hope abandon ye who enter here.” This door gives entrance to a gloomy-looking arched passage-way, on THE MUSEUM.— BURGLARS’ TOOLS. either side of which are yards paved with stone slabs. There is no chance for escape. The walls surrounding the yards rise to the level of the fifth story, and are unscalable. To the left is a huge chamber barred with iron windows and fitted with iron doors, and used for the safe confinement of large numbers of prisoners, as in times of riot. To the right are two sets of casemates, arranged with cells, out of which nobody, even if left alone and possessed of the most improved tools, could escape. Hurrying 88 “ BRIDGE OF SIGHS.” his prisoner along, Phil turns sharply to the right, to a yard under the “ Bridge of Sighs,” as it is called, the connecting link between the office of the superintendent and the Detective Bureau. A ring at the wooden door brings Turnkey Birney to view. He is bearded and has a martial and business-like air, and his eyes are as piercing as a gimlet. He appreciates the situation at a glance, opens wide the door, and when his visitors have passed through THE .MUSEUM.— RELICS OF CRIME. closes it with a resounding slam. Birney follows the officer and his prisoner past the “ day room ” of the detectives, where they pass the time while waiting for orders in writing “ baby letters ” and playing dominoes. The prisoner is then conducted up one of the worst corkscrew staircases that ever a builder constructed. The landing on the top leads directly into the main office of the Detective Bureau — an ample, lofty apartment, railed off at the east end. Outside the railing is a measuring-stand and a subordinate “ DEACON ” BIRD. 189 rogues’ gallery. Behind is venerable “ Deacon ” Sergeant Isaac Bird, spare, angular, always exceedingly neat, particular, white- bearded, amiable, business-like and gentlemanly. He is of course busy when Phil and his charge enter, but he leaves his mysterious occupation to reach for the “ blotter,” while he says : “ What’s the case ? ” “ Forgery,” replies Phil, in a mechanical tone of voice. The “ Deacon ” dips his pen in the ink, searches for the proper line, and then, addressing the prisoner, says : “ What’s your name ? ” “ John Jones.” The “ Deacon ” glances at Jones, and then makes an entry of the single letter “ W.” This signifies “ white.” “ Your age ? ” “ Thirty-five.” “ Born ? ” “ United States.” “ Married or single ? ” “ Married.” “ Occupation ? ” “ Speculator.” Then the “ Deacon,” without consulting the prisoner, and as if holding communion with himself alone, murmurs : “ Forgery,” and enters it. “ Complainant ? ” he then inquires. “ Phil Riley. Guess the chief wants to see this man.” (This means chief of detectives, not the superintendent of police.) “ Well, wait a second, I’ll see.” Saying which the “ Deacon ” disappears through a doorwa}', only to reappear after a brief absence and hold up his finger. This indicates that the prisoner is going to pass a bad quarter of an hour, or what is known in police slang as “ getting the third degree.” Phil accordingly hurries his charge into the presence of In- spector Byrnes, who is fully prepared to receive his visitors. He has struck a meditative attitude behind his low but simple desk, crossed his legs, and begins operations by casting a short, sharp glance. at unfortunate John Jones. John knows the inspector, so he makes a humble salutation. If the interview is likely to be a prolonged one he is waved to a seat. Not so with Phil ; if it lasted all day he must stand. BEFORE THE INSPECTOR. 190 John Jones enters the presence of Mr. Byrnes, determined to do the best he can for himself. The inspector is perfectly well aware of John’s intention and proceeds to upset it. Of course Jones has certain secrets connected with his nefarious profession ; but the inspector soon shows him that the possession of such secrets is a joint stock affair. All that Jones has done, or nearly all, for months, appears to be as familiar to the inspector as to the pris- oner himself. He begins to forget an original intention of keep- ing “ mum,” is entrapped into making admissions and contradic- tions, and generally ends by “Squealing.” Some prisoners under this ordeal are not so easily brought to confession. A few hours sojourn in a cell, however, pondering over the inspector’s parting words frequently brings them to terms, and ready to impart such information as the authorities desire at the next interview. The interview ended, John Jones goes back before the “ Deacon,” and if he has not yet been searched, that operation is in order. The man who “goes through him ” has become expert by long experience. His search is not an ordinary one of pockets merely. It is thorough. It includes from hat to boots, seams, tailors’ “ pocket tricks,” hat band, hat lining, boot heels, watch THE SEARCH. IQ. case, underwear, even the prisoner’s person, — all are ruthlessly examined, and each article found in his possession is placed upon the broad shelf in front of the “ Deacon,” by whom it is subjected to a close scrutiny. Such articles as relate to the charge against the prisoner, and any instruments with which he might inflict injury upon himself, are laid aside. Generally he has returned to him possessions of no value, small sums of money and so on. If PRIVATE ROOMS, CENTRAL OFFICE. the prisoner’s photograph is not in the possession of the police, or has been secured by them, at such a remote day as to be valueless in recognizing him, he is walked off by the detective, in the same apparently friendly way as that with which he came to head- quarters, to one of three Bowery photographers. The conversation during the walk is almost invariably the same. The prisoner ranks his captor as among the dearest of his friends, and addresses him by his Christian name, asking him confidentially concerning the nature of the charge against him, the evidence in possession of the police and his “ chances.” The detective does not, of course, answer all the questions put to him, but generally outlines what he his against him, and seldom omits to interject a few grains of (From a Photograph taken under Duress.) 192 TURNKEY RIRNEY AGAIN. l 9 3 comfort. At the photographer’s the prisoner is treated as an ordi- nary customer. He poses, as a rule, to the best advantage, vanity impels him to look his best, the negative is examined, pronounced satisfactory or otherwise, and when a good likeness is assured, the detective and his man chat on their way bacl^ to the Central Office. First-class “ professionals ” undergo the process of having their faces handed down to infamy with bad grace. Not infrequently they resist the taking of their photograph in a most vigorous manner. Under the old method, such a prisoner was difficult to photograph. Even when force was used it was found impossible to obtain other than distorted features for the gallery. Nowa- days, however, by means of the instantaneous process, and by catching the reluctant sitter at an unguarded moment, portraits sufficiently correct for the required purpose are always obtained. When once more back at the Central Office, John Jones is treated kindly, and his personal wants are inquired into. If he is hungry, a generous meal is soon provided, either from the kitchen of Mrs. Mary Webb, the matron, or from a neighboring restaurant, if the prisoner has money. His defence is not neglected, either, if he can defray the cost of employing a messenger. The major- ity of thieves have their pet lawyers, and a message speedily brings the latter to their clients. Such visits, except in cases where it would be possible for an unscrupulous lawyer to thwart the ends of justice by making away with evidence or property necessary to convict the criminal, are regarded as sacredly confi- dential. The prisoner is now handed over to Turnkey Birney, who con- ducts him down the corkscrew staircase and places him in what- ever cell may be empty at the time. All the cells are alike. The furniture consists of but one article- — a slanting board, with a raised ledge at the higher end in lieu of a pillow. If, on the next morning, he desires to employ a barber, he can do so, provided that in the process of shaving no hair is cut from the head or from the whiskers or mustache. It has now and then happened that, in order to avoid identification, prisoners have gone so far as to burn their beard and mustache off. Others have been known to hack their whiskers with a pocket-knife. But the most remarka- ble instance of all was where a man, with whiskers on his chin, actually pulled out the hairs one by one rather than run the risk 13 194 “the finest/’ of being identified the next morning in court. The agony he en- dured must have been excruciating, but he had his reward — the witnesses were unable to swear to his identity. The police force of New York City is without doubt the finest organization of its kind in the world. The men composing it are finer looking, better paid, more vigilant than the protectors of any other large city. No organization is more effective either ; and even if our police do not exercise that perpetual espionage over individual citizens that the Parisian gendarmes exercise, they are better trained, more athletic, more resolute and hardy. The es- prit de corps which prevails is unequalled in any other city. Then, too, the men are given to understand that their actions, when governed by a desire for the public good, will be protected and up- held by the courts. In this respect the New York police have unusual liberty of action — more by far than the London police, who dare not lay a finger on a man unless he is engaged in the very act of violating the law. Here, however, it is often a case of “giving a dog a bad name and then hanging him,” — men being- arrested merely because they are known to have been law-breakers or persons of bad character. But in London, and in other large cities of the Old World, thieves, burglars and criminals of all classes march past the guardians of peace and law, feeling confident that they are safe from arrest so long as they are not caught in the act of law-breaking. A band of pickpockets may rush through a crowd at Hyde Park, or hustle the throngs that gather upon Epsom Downs on the “ Derby Day,” but the police are powerless. A howling mob of ten or twenty thousand rascals may gather in Trafalgar Square with the declared intention of sacking Bucking- ham Palace, but the police can only stand round, waiting for the commission of some illegal act — the throwing of a stone, the tear- ing down of a fence — ‘before taking any active part in stopping the performance. With “ the finest,” as the New York police are sometimes called, criminals do not experience such forbearance. A New York police officer knows he has been sworn in to “ keep the peace,” and he keeps it. There’s no “shilly-shallying” with him ; he doesn’t consider himself half patrolman and half supreme court judge. He can and does arrest on suspicion. In times of turbulence, or threatened rioting, he keeps people moving. If men or women who are notorious enter places of amusement, a policeman is very / POLICE PARADE, BROADWAY. I 95 196 MY EXPERIENCES likely to eject them. If they don’t go quietly and without many words, the station-house becomes their abiding-place for the night. The London police do not arrest for gross intoxication and dis- turbance in the street, or for street-walking, as our police do. In New York, prostitutes are not allowed to pursue their calling in a bold and shameless manner. When I was in London I remember standing by the “ Old Bailey ” and seeing a drunken sailor be- tween two drunken women, chaffing the policemen as they went along and shouting and swearing at the wayfarers. This would not be allowed here one minute. I stood by Charing Cross one day with Police Commissioner Matthews. Two of his friends stopped him, and while they were talking, a woman who was very noisy and drunken came stagger- ing along. She accosted them with some ribaldry and they moved away to avoid her. She then came and harangued me. I said : “ Get out ! Move on ! I’ll have you arrested if you don’t go away.” She turned around and denounced and defied me with a pro- fane and obscene expression. Policemen were close by, but they paid no attention to her. In London and Liverpool are seen mul- titudes of lewd women in the streets, and the police never molest them. When I was captain of detectives I assumed a liberty which had never been taken by any of my predecessors. That was, on every public holiday, or in the event of large parades, to issue this order to the detective force : “ Arrest all known pickpockets on the streets, and take them in.” Of course my action caused con- siderable consternation in the ranks of the “ crooked ” fraternity. Some remonstrated, and not a few were furious at my “ restraining the liberty of the subject.” A considerable number clubbed to- gether and hired a lawyer to argue the matter before the courts. It was no use ; my order was sustained and remains to this day. When the Prince of Wales visited this country he expressed his astonishment at the ease with which the police of New York con- trolled the large crowds in the streets. The Duke of Newcastle noticed the same thing. As a contrast, the fact may be mentioned that afterwards, when the Prince and Princess of Wales gave a re- ception in London, the mob there overpowered the police, seven persons were killed and hundreds were wounded, to say nothing WHILE ABROAD. l 97 of the robberies effected in the consequent confusion. When the “Great Eastern ” was on exhibition in England, the pickpockets reaped a rich harvest, many thousands of pounds being reported stolen. When the mammoth steamship was exhibited here, how- ever, not a dime was known to have been taken, although she was visited by more than a hundred thousand persons and only six policemen were on duty. CHAPTER XV. KIDNAPPING OF CHARLEY ROSS. — MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. — ON THE TRACK OF THE CRIMINALS. SEARCHING LAND AND WATER. A TREACHEROUS AID. THE BURGLARY AT VAN BRUNT’S HOUSE. DEATH OF THE ABDUCTORS. Of all my experiences while connected with the police I recall no case which gave me greater solicitude than the abduction of Charley Ross. This occurred on the evening of Wednesday, July i, 1874, at Germantown, a suburb of Philadelphia. I became superintendent of police on July 23, and in consequence I took an active part in the search for the child and the discovery of the kidnappers. The crime was one which called for vigorous and continued action. For some years after the futility of the search became evident the abduction was repeatedly brought to my memory. In this case my sympathies were particularly enlisted. The first intimation the public had of the abduction was gained from the following advertisement which appeared on July 3 in the Philadelphia Public Ledger: “ Lost, on the first instant, a small boy about four years of age ; light com- plexion, and light curly hair. A suitable reward will be paid on his return to E. L. Joyce, Central Station, corner of Fifth and Chestnut streets.” The name “ Ross ” was not mentioned in this notice, as Mr. Christian K. Ross, the father, did not wish to alarm his wife, who was spending a few weeks at Atlantic City. When Mr. Ross came home on July 1 he discovered that his two youngest children, Walter and Charley, were missing. He began search, and before night learned that two strange men, with a horse and wagon, had passed his house and had induced the boys to take a ride. After driving about eight miles toward the city the men deserted Walter. He was found and returned to his father’s house. But Charley has never since been seen by his parents. The community became alarmed, and with the entire police 198 SPREADING THE ALARM. I 99 force of Philadelphia a vigorous search was begun. On the even- ing of July 4 Mr. Ross received the first unsigned letter from the abductors. It was in a disguised handwriting, and contained much purposely-incorrect spelling, as the following extract will show : “ July 3. Mr. Ros : be not uneasy you son Charley bruster be all writ we is got him and no powers on earth can deliver out of our hand, you wil hav two pay us befor you git him from us, and pay us a big cent to. . . . if any aproch is maid to his hidin place that is the signil for his instant anihilation.” CHARLEY ROSS. (From a Photograph.) July 7, posters, giving an account of the abduction of Charley Ross, and offering a reward, were sent to the New York police. All this time the Philadelphia police, as well as that of the cities and towns in Pennsylvania, Delaware and New Jersey, continued their search for the abductors. In a short time the people of the entire country became interested in the matter, and all did what they could to discover the criminals and restore the missing child. Much sympathy was also expressed in Europe, and wherever news- papers were read the fate of Charley Ross was discussed and deplored. A long correspondence followed with the unknown abductors, through the post and press. They frankly admitted that Charley had been stolen with the hope of getting a large ransom. They declared that he would not be returned until the money was paid. 200 REWARDS, NOT RANSOM. Acting upon the advice of the authorities and friends, Mr. Ross decided not to pay the sum asked, but to offer large rewards for the recovery of the child, and the capture and conviction of the kidnappers. The Mayor of Philadelphia, at the request of many citizens, offered a reward of $ 20,000 for the arrest and conviction of the abductors and the restoration of the child to its parents. The publication of this reward drew a letter from the abductors, dated “ Philadelphia, July 24,” in which they said : — “ We have him so that we feel at ease against all the detective force in the country ever feritin him out. the authorities have offered $ 20,000 for the re- covery of the child an detection of us if they had yu interest at hart this would be the worst thing they could do. this is only oferin a reward for the sacrifice of yu child.” The abductors continued the correspondence for a long time, and made many attempts to induce Mr. Ross to pay them $20,000 for Charley’s return. Finally the correspondence closed, and the search proved fruitless. The first information received in Philadelphia that there was any clew known in New York was through a telegram received on the evening of August 2, as follows : “ Chief of Police of Philadelphia : — Send detective here with original letters of kidnappers of Ross child ; think I have information. “Geo. W. Walling, “ Superintendent of New York Police .” The next day Captain Heins, of Philadelphia, and Mr. Joseph Ross, brother of Charley Ross’s father, came to New York with the original letters of the abductors. They met me at police headquarters. “ We hope that you at least have some trustworthy information,” said Captain Heins. “ I think I have,” I replied. “ Through Captain Henry Hedden, of the Thirteenth Police District, I have heard of a man who professes to know who the abductors are. I will send for Captain Hedden.” Mr. Ross was impatient to learn the news. “ Have you any idea who the abductors were ? ” he asked. “ We suspect two men named William Mosher and Joseph Douglas,” I answered. “ If we have their names,” he exclaimed, eagerly, “ they can be hunted down.” THE SUSPECTED MEN. 201 “Undoubtedly. And that is what we hope to do.” I do not think, before the publication of this autobiography, that the exact reasons have been given why William Mosher was first suspected. A policeman named Doyle came to me one day and said : “ Superintendent, I have been talking with ‘Gill ’ Mosher, and from all I have learned I think his brother William had a hand in carrying off Charley Ross.” “ Bring ‘ Gill ’ Mosher to see me, as soon as you can,” I or- dered. After a great deal of searching and trouble, “ Gill ” Mosher was found. After asking him many questions I finally said : — “ What are your reasons for suspecting that your brother William took part in the kidnapping of Charley Ross ? ” “ Well,” he replied, “ I was approached by Bill, who asked me if I would join him in carrying off some child who had rich parents. The plan was to steal one of Commodore Vanderbilt’s grand- children.” — (Some child of the late William H. Vanderbilt.) “ Which one of the children was to be taken ? ” I asked. “The youngest one we could get.” “ What would you do with it ? ” “ Hold it for a ransom.” “ Where did he propose to conceal the child ? ” “ In a boat,” said “ Gill ” Mosher. “ And,” he added, “ I was to negotiate for the ransom.” “ Well, what then ? ” “ I refused to have anything to do with* the business.” “ Why ? ” “ Because I thought there would be too much risk in trying to get money from the Vanderbilts. They are too rich, have too much power and are not the kind of people to be frightened. There would be no trouble in stealing the child, the difficulty would be in negotiating for its ransom.” “ So you gave up the plan ? ” “ Yes ; I would not run the risk of being detected. I did not think it was a safe enterprise.” “ Gill ” Mosher’s statement made a strong impression on me. I was convinced he did not come to me from any honest motives. He hoped he might secure a share of the reward. He was a noto- rious character, and had been in State Prison for horse-stealing. 202 ON THE TRACK. It was principally from the clew given by “ Gill ” Mosher that we followed his brother William, and Douglas. When Captain Hed- den arrived at police headquarters he told Captain Heins, of Phil- adelphia, the story as narrated by “ Gill ” Mosher. He added : “ If my suspicions are correct, this William Mosher is the leader of the conspiracy. He arranged the plot and is the writer of the letters sent to Mr. Ross. I am familiar with Mosher’s writing, and can tell if I see the letters whether he is the author of them.” “ Before we show you the letters,” said Captain Heins, ‘‘describe to us the peculiarities of Mosher’s handwriting.” “ He writes very rapidly,” was the reply, “ and is careless. He seldom finishes a page without blotting it. He often writes either above or below the lines. When he folds a letter it is in a peculiar and awkward way.” The letters were produced. “ They are his, without the shadow of a doubt ! ” exclaimed Hedden. “Here is the handwriting, blots and all, just as I told you. And you see for yourselves, gentlemen, that the letters are folded in a peculiar and awkward manner.” This identification of the letters seemed conclusive. It produced a profound impression upon Captain Heins and Mr. Ross. “ At last ! ” exclaimed Charley’s uncle. Arrangements were made with the New York detectives that the Philadelphia police should be kept informed of all that trans- pired, and whatever assistance could be given in Philadelphia should be forthcoming. Captain Hedden afterwards learned that Mosher and Douglas manufactured a moth preventive, which they called “ Mothee.” They travelled about the country with a horse and wagon, selling this with other small articles. He also discovered that Mosher had a brother-in-law, William Westervelt, a discharged police offi- cer, of New York, who was probably implicated in the abduction. I wrote the following letter to Captain Heins, of Philadelphia, on August n, 1874 : “ Dear Sir : — The bearer, Officer Doyle, and another man, go to your city, and intend going onto Baltimore, where the family of Johnson (Mosher) lived a few weeks since. Johnson, we think, is the prime mover in the Ross abduction. Mr. Doyle and the man who is with him both know Johnson and his family well. This Johnson has a wife aiad four children. Sometime since he escaped from jail at Freehold, N. J., while awaiting trial for burglary. His correct MISSIVES. 203 name is William Mosher. It may be that we are on the wrong scent; but I think not. If they can locate Johnson’s family, we can certainly find his where- abouts. “ Yours respectfully, “ Geo. W. Walling, “ Superintendent .” The search for Mosher in Baltimore and Philadelphia was disap- pointing, and the two men returned to New York. On the 13th I wrote again to Captain Heins, as follows : “ Dear Sir : — If we are right in our suspicions, and the parties that Detective Doyle and his companion are searching for in Baltimore are guilty of abducting the Ross child, in all probability the child is kept on board of a small boat, and may be in your vicinity. “ Y ours, in haste, “ G. W. Walling.” I knew that “ Bill ” Mosher lived on the water, and as he had been implicated in cases with river pirates this made it tolerably clear that a boat would be used by him and Douglas to evade pursuit. Pinkerton’s men were engaged for awhile on the case, yet with all their endeavors they failed to discover anything relat- ing to the mystery. On August 24, 1874, I wrote to Captain Heins the following : “ Yours of 22d received. I am more confident than ever that the parties, Clark and Mosher, alias Johnson, are the parties we want. I knew before receiving your letter that they were somewhere in this vicinity. Some one has let them know that they are being looked after, and that is the reason for their change of tone. They are frightened, and would, I believe, make terms very moderate, provided they could be assured of safety. There is no danger of their going to Europe ; they have no money, and Mosher’s wife and children would keep him here. Of this you can assure Mr. Ross, providing I am right as to the parties, and I have no doubt of it. I think it would be well for Mr. Ross to keep in communication (if possible \ with them. “ Yours, in haste, “ Geo. W. Walling, “ Superintendent of Police .” I sent for Westervelt, the brother-in-law of Mosher, on August 18, and asked him to assist me in finding the men and recovering the child. After considering the matter a few days he agreed to help the police. I freely confess that Westervelt’s entrance into the Charley Ross case was unfortunate. I well knew his relationship to Mosher. “ Set a thief to catch a thief ” may be a good method, 204 CLEWS AND DUPLICITY. but I am forced to say it failed utterly in this case. I thought, as did many with whom I consulted, that Westervelt could be induced, by a share in the reward, to inform where the child was. I do not think Westervelt knew where Charley Ross was, but that he took some part in the abduction I feel positive to this day. The following letter was sent by me to Captain Heins on September n : “ Dear Sir : — Since writing you this a.m. I have seen Westervelt; he says he knows nothing of the whereabouts of Mosher. He says Mosher lived in your city, about four months ago, on Monroe, near Third Street, and that he had a stable between Third and Fourth streets, in some street, name not known, but the third or fourth street from Monroe, towards Washington Avenue. The stable was an old wooden building with very large doors, and was near Third Street. A wagon answering to the description you gave me was in said stable at that time, and may be there yet, but probably not ; they kept in said stable a dark bay horse. He is confident the horse has been sold, but does .not know to whom. I showed him the drawing of the wagon you gave me, and he says he could not make a better one had he the wagon before him, except that he thinks this would not be quite so much rounded at the top. “Yours, etc., “Geo. W. Walling, “ Superintendent .” It was ascertained that a family named Henderson had lived at No. 235 Monroe Street, Philadelphia. This proved to be the name Mosher assumed when he went to Philadelphia. It was also learned that Joseph Douglas had lived with the family, and that Mosher’s wife and children removed to New York on August 18. It was also discovered that there had been an old stable on Mar- riott’s Lane, which had been since torn down. A part of this Mosher rented, and there he kept his horse and wagon. An effort was made to find some of Mosher’s writing. Wester- velt was asked to procure a letter or any paper that he knew Mosher had written ; but he would not or could not get any. It is certain that when Westervelt was aware that we were on the track of his brother-in-law he put Mosher and Douglas on their guard. By means of newspaper advertisements he kept the kidnappers thoroughly informed as to the methods to be employed by the police in tracking them. He never would admit that he had seen the men, but always professed that he was looking for them. I finally learned that he had seen them, and told him so. Then he admitted that he had met them twice, but asserted that CONCEALMENT, FEAR AND WANT. 205 he could not have informed me of the meeting in time to have been of any service. It was one of the most delicate and difficult of cases. I some- times dreaded that if probed too closely one of the ruffians would murder the child, so as to efface all traces of the crime of abduc- tion. The tracking of Mosher and Douglas was continuous, and a weary chase it was, I having followed what I thought were traces of them for days and nights. I was often close to them. The vigilance of the kidnappers was that of those who were hunted. The innumerable bays and water-courses about New York gave them the fullest opportunity for concealment. I had the evidence that the men rarely stopped in one place more than one night in their boat. Often we were so near to their hiding- place that we passed close by it in the dusk. But the search for the men continued ; they were hunted as relentlessly as by blood- hounds. So hard were they pressed by the police of New York that they were forced to remain almost wholly on the water, visit- ing the city at rare intervals, and then in the night. Soon they were brought to want, because of this, and resorted to burglary. At two a.m. on December 14, the night pitch-dark, ‘cold and wet, Mosher and Douglas attempted to rob the summer residence of Judge Van Brunt, at Bay Ridge, overlooking the Narrows. When they entered the Judge’s house, which was unoccupied, a burglar-alarm telegraph rang a bell in the house of Mr. J. H. Van Brunt, the judge’s son, who lived across the way. He roused his son and two men-servants, and arming them, the party stood guard at the front and back doors of the judge’s residence. “Now, boys,” said Mr. Van Brunt, “we have work to do and must understand each other. We must capture the thieves if we can without killing them, but if they resist we will have to de- fend ourselves. Albert, you and Scott stand before the front door ; Frank and I will take the rear, and whatever happens afterwards let us remain in the positions we first take up, because if we move around we will be certain in the dark to shoot one another instead of the thieves. Whichever way they come out, let the two who meet them take care of them as best they can. If they come out and scatter both ways then we will all have a chance to work.” The men took their places and watched for an hour, while the thieves w6nt all over the house. At length they came down to the 2o6 BURGLARY. basement. Through the window of the pantry Mr. Van Brunt could see the faces of the two burglars. He could have shot them as they stood, with perfect safety to himself, but he did not wish to take life unless forced to do so. He was getting numb from the effects of the cold. “ Frank,” he said to his hired man, “ we may as well push things. Take the key and open the back door quickly.” The burglars heard the rattle of the key in the key-hole. In- stantly they put out their light and began to ascend the basement or cellar stairs. Mr. Van Brunt heard their footsteps. “To the trap-door of the cellar, Frank!” whispered Mr. Van Brunt. The lock of the door had been broken. The door was soon opened, and the form of a man started up, followed by the head of another. “ Halt ! ” shouted Mr. Van Brunt. Two pistol-shots flashed almost in his face. They did no in- jury. He fired at the first man, and a cry of agony followed. The other man fired and ran towards the front of the house. There helmet young Mr. Albert Van Brunt, at whom he fired two shots, missing him. Before he could fire again Albert shattered his arm with a blow from his shot-gun. With an oath the thief retreated, when the elder Mr. Van Brunt shot him in the back. He staggered for an instant and fell dead. None of the Van Brunt party were injured, while the burglars were riddled with shot and bullets. One was dead, with his empty revolver under his head. The other lived about two hours. The neighbors came rushing to the place. Water was given the dying man. “ Who are you, and where did you come from ?” several asked. “Men, I won’t lie to you,” said the dying man. “ Mv name is Joseph Douglas, and that man over there is William Mosher. Mosher lives in New York City. I have no home. I am a single man and have no relatives, except a brother and sister, whom 1 have not seen for twelve or fifteen years. Mosher is a married man and has five children.” Believing himself to be mortally wounded, he said : “ I have $40 in my pocket. I wish to be buried with it. I made it honestly. It’s no use lying now. Mosher and I stole Charley Ross from Germantown .” 207 DEATH OF THE ABDUCTORS. 2 08 A FITTING END. “ Why did you steal him ? ” “To make money.” “ Who has the child now ? ” “ Mosher knows all about the child ; ask him.” “ Mosher is dead.” The men then lifted Douglas up so that he could see his dead partner. “ God help his poor wife and family ! ” he exclaimed. “ Can you tell us where the child is ? ” he was again asked. “God knows I tell you the truth,” he replied. “ I don’t know where he is. Mosher knew.” The same question was repeated. “ Superintendent Walling knows all about us and was after us, and now he shall have us. Send him word. The child will be returned home, safe and sound, in a few days.” “ How did you get here ? ” he was asked. “ We came over in a sloop which is down in the cove,” he an- swered. “ Please do not ask me any more questions. It hurts me to talk or move.” Writhing in agony, lying on the ground, drenched with rain, surrounded by darkness, the life of the miserable man who had caused so much sorrow and outraged the feelings of every parent in the country, went out. He died like a dog, as was fit. On the morning of December 14, Justice Church, of Bay Ridge, sent me a telegram, saying that Mosher and Douglas had been killed. I at once dispatched Detective Silleck to Bay Ridge, who, as soon as he saw the dead bodies, said : “That is Joe Douglas, and that is ‘Bill’ Mosher. Take the glove off his left hand and you will find a withered finger.” The glove was removed, and the finger found, as indicated. The first finger of the left hand was withered away to a point, the result of a felon. Little Walter Ross was brought on from Philadelphia, and fully identified the two bodies as they lay in the Brooklyn morgue. But this was all ; Charley Ross was never found. I think he is dead. I can conceive of no possible reason why, after the two kid- nappers had been killed and Westervelt was in prison, Charley Ross should not have been returned had he been alive. The promised immunity from punishment and the reward offered by the Mayor of Philadelphia are good reasons for supposing that the child, if alive, would have been returned to its parents. CHAPTER XVI. BURGLARS. — HOW THEY WORK. — PRETTY SERVANT GIRLS. — A LITTLE PIECE OF SCARLET RIBBON. THIEVES ON THE ROOF. A LEAP IN THE DARK. “ STUTTERING JOHN ” ASHORE IN JERSEY. — HOW PICKPOCKETS OPERATE. — A MAN WHO KNEW IT ALL. — ARRESTED AT SIGHT. — HOW I WAS FINED. — THIEVES WHO TALKED FROM THEIR CELL DOORS. There can be no doubt that burglary .is a fine art, when con- sidered in all its various phases. The night is usually the time when the burglar plies his vocation, and his operations are upon the property of all classes in the community. Any one who pos- sesses anything worth stealing is liable to be paid an unexpected and unwelcome visit by the house-breaker. In a city like New York the number of criminals of this class is very large. Drink- ing or sleeping is their usual avocation during the daytime, while at night they are engaged in plundering their unfortunate neigh- bors. The complete prevention of their depredations has always seemed to me to be impossible, and the only safeguard against their operations is incessant vigilance on the part of store-keepers and householders. To the uninitiated it may seem to be almost an impossibility in some cases for burglars to gain impressions of the keys of a large store, for instance. But there is nothing easier or simpler. Having selected the store to be robbed, the rascals will first attempt to fit a key to the door from their own stock-in-trade. If they succeed, there will be no further trouble. If not, they will watch for the opening of the store in the morning by the clerk or porter, and follow him in as if in a great hurry to buy some small article. It happens ten times out of twelve that the clerk lays his bunch of keys down on the counter while he goes for the article required. A lump of wax, kept handy for the purpose, disposes of that little matter in a trice, and the key is made at leisure. But suppose the clerk should place the key on a desk inside the office ? Even that is a difficulty easily surmounted. The thief very politely asks leave *4 209 2 10 IMPRESSIONS ON LOCKS AND SERVANTS. of the clerk to address a few letters which he is desirous of mailing immediately. “ Certainly, sir,” says the unsuspicious clerk, bowing his cus- tomer into the office. With the wax in his hand the thief accom- plishes his work in a second. It is queer, though, that people will nearly always furnish their front doors and windows with the most formidable bolts, bars and locks, while they will leave the back entrances to their buildings almost entirely unguarded. This is just what the burglar wants. He doesn’t care to “ work ” on the front street. The rear of the building is more secluded, and the thief is less liable to interrup- tion. Should the door prove too formidable an obstacle, the win- dow is frequently pried open with an ingeniously constructed “ jimmy.” Still another way is for the burglar to gain admission to a house or store in the daytime, and conceal himself in some unoccupied room until dark. Then he emerges from his hiding- place and ransacks the place at his own sweet will. Servant girls are often in league with thieves, and make things easy for their confederates by admitting them into houses after the family has retired to rest. One such instance I well remem- ber, and as it was nearly the first case in which Inspector Byrnes, now chief of the detective force, was engaged, it deserves to be told. A burglary, committed in a very skilful manner, had oc- curred on Madison Avenue. It was very evident the perpetrators were expert hands at the business. The house had been entered, a safe unlocked, the money and jewels extracted, and yet there was nothing to show how it was all done. Despite all this, how- ever, Inspector Byrnes (he was a patrolman then) found a piece of scarlet ribbon which had been caught between the sides of the safe and the inner drawer. It was not large, only a few shreds, but it suggested an idea to the detective. He put it carefully away in his pocket-book and closely scrutinized the apparel of the dozen or more female servants employed in the house. Only one of them, he noticed, was partial to wearing scarlet ribbon. She was a pretty girl, and was seen by the officer on several occasions to wear a ribbon the color of which was the same as that found in the safe. He waited and watched. One day, some time after the robber}’, she announced to her employer that she had obtained another situation which suited her better. She left in the middle of the night. Byrnes “ shadowed ” her, and rode on the front plat- steers’s experience. 21 I form of the Madison Avenue car which she boarded. Going down town she left the car at Canal Street, and hurrying along towards the East River, entered a small tenement house on one of the side streets. Byrnes was still at her heels, and with the aid of two policemen the pretty servant girl, together with two well-known rascals, were captured. Completely cornered, they admitted that the girl had only taken the situation in order that they might more easily rob the house. (From a Photograph.) It should be remembered that burglars always have in mind a way to escape if they are discovered or interrupted. As a rule, they will sooner run than fight. But get one of them in a corner and he will fight to the end in order to escape arrest. Searching for a thief in a house on a dark night is what tries the nerve of a police officer. He often gets in a tight place, taking fearful risks. I remember one experience which fell to the lot of Inspector Steers. An alarm had been given and Steers found his man on the second story of a high building, picking out an assortment of val- uable articles to carry away with him. Upon seeing Steers the 212 THE SLOOP. thief leaped up the stairs towards the roof, almost like a flash of lightning, while the officer followed as best he could. All this was in the dark. Out through the scuttle upon the roof the thief and his pursuer went. Steers did not hesitate even when the fellow jumped off the side of the house. Where he was going to land he didn’t know ; it seemed an age before he struck, and when he did it was with a force that nearly drove his legs up into his body. But he caught his man and took him to the station-house. The next day Steers went round and took a look at the scene of his advent- ure of the night previous, and found that he had jumped from one roof to another, a distance of about twenty feet. He has never fully recovered from the shock, and never will. It would be impossible for me, without going over ground that has long ago been covered, to give an account of all the big burgla- ries committed during my service on the force ; but one or two in- cidents occurred in connection with such crimes which are not gen- erally known. For instance, during what I might call a period of “ off-duty,” I was standing on the dock at Keyport, N. J., looking at the craft in the bay. The month of February on the coast is rather a stormy one, and on this particular day a fierce gale was blowing, accompanied by snow squalls. Through the rather obscured atmos- phere I made out a small boat struggling with the waves. She was close hauled, and it was with great difficulty she could be kept on her course. True to my instincts and training (for my first years of service on the police force had developed a certain amount of watchfulness), I watched the boat with considerable interest. She was too small for a fisherman’s or oysterman’s craft, and did not look like a “ clammer ” ; it was not the season for pleasure boats ; and as she came nearer the shore I determined to watch her. After some time she was almost upon the sand. The individual in charge seemed unused to the place, and finally the wind drove her on the beach near by. Concealing myself behind a convenient bulkhead, I watched the crew of three as they walked up the beach. They presented a pitiable condition — drenched to the skin and stiff with the cold. “Perhaps,” I said to myself, “they are a lot of fellows on a spree who have been blown up the bay.” But it wasn’t natural for men to start upon a pleasure cruise in February. Scanning the party closely, I noticed that one of the men had a familiar look about him. It was more in the way he ASHORE IN JERSEY. 213 214 JOHN AND I. carried himself than in his face, for at this time it was too dark for me to distinguish his features. The storm showed no signs of abating, but blew harder every minute. The men, therefore, I knew, would be obliged to seek shelter somewhere or other, and as the whole thing looked suspicious I thought it would do no harm to keep an eye on them. When they had taken to the main street I carelessly examined the boat. Had they run off with her ? Were there any stolen goods in her ? Should I try to gain admittance ? They might have left a man on board. I therefore thought it wiser to leave the boat alone for the present and follow the men. The villagers — for Keyport in those days was a smaller place than it is now — were also curious. A man named Poling, noticing the strange arrival, wanted to find out the character of the craft. He strolled on board, and looking through the windows of the little cabin — the door was locked — saw what he thought were bolts of silk. He and I were acquainted, and on making the discovery he came directly to me with the information. I was then absolutely certain that things were “crooked.” The crew of the boat had gone to one of the hotels in the place, and there I went. Entering cau- tiously, who should I see, warming himself by the stove, but John Monahan, commonly called “Stuttering John”: — a well known river thief. John and I had come in contact some years previously. Though he did not speak, my recognition of him was immediate. Perhaps he was not quite thawed out, for he did not notice my opening the door. Having put my head in, I immediately with- drew it. With “Stuttering John” there were three other men. One I knew by his face as a river pirate. The others I did not recognize. I was well acquainted with Keyport oystermen, a brave and honest set of men, and I enrolled several of them to help me. At once I returned to the hotel, and, facing “ Stuttering John,” told him he was a thief, and that I should arrest him and his party. John gave in at once, and offered no resistance, and his companions followed the action of their leader. We held them prisoners at the hotel, sitting up with them all night. On the next morning we escorted them to the steam-boat and took them to New York. Captain Arrowsmith was in command of the steamer, and at my request he ran the boat near the dock, so that I could jump off first When I*had done that the boat was A RUN, RECEPTION AND RECITAL. 215 backed off into the stream. I ran as hard as I could to Mr. Mat- sell’s office, and reported my haul. I was so much out of breath that I had some trouble in making my matter plain. Strange to say, my sudden entrance into the office had interrupted Mr. Cunard, of the Cunard line of steamers, who was explaining to Mr. Matsell the particulars of the robbery of a bonded warehouse in Jersey City, two nights before. When I had concluded, Mr. Cunard said : “The goods stolen were silks.” “I have got them,” I cried — “the thieves and the property.” It was one of those lucky accidents. At once Mr. Matsell touched his bell, and several officers were called, who accompanied me to the North River. I signalled the captain of the steamer. The boat made a landing and the thieves were taken to the chief’s office. Now that I knew the offence had been committed in New Jersey, the prisoners had to be conveyed there. Of course we had secured the silks in the boat. “ Stuttering John ” obtained the services of a lawyer, who served a habeas corpus, declared that we had no legal right to convey Monahan from New York to New Jersey, and insisted that a warrant from the governor, or extradition papers, were necessary. I had to show that the shortest way from Key- port to Jersey City was via New York, by steamer, as there were no railways in those days. I had the party lodged in the Hudson County jail. Justice, even Jersey justice, is not always swift or sure. Some of the thieves escaped. Monahan’s punishment was not in proportion to his crime. The silks were worth $2500, and with the exception of one piece all were recovered. How Monahan and his party had found themselves at Keyport was afterwards explained. The robbery of the bonded warehouse took place at Jersey City. The goods had to be carried across by the thieves to New York for concealment and subsequent disposal. In crossing the North River and trying to round the Battery, the gale took them and they were carried down the bay. The weather was so thick that they did not know where they were going, and at last; they were blown clean twenty-six miles from New York, glad enough to make a landing anywhere. They had been probably all night on the water, and without fire or food, and had suffered a great deal. A man subsequently claimed the boat, which had been stolen. There is an amusing sequence to this story, not so amusing to 2 1 6 VIRTUE MV ONLY REWARD. me at the time, as it will be to the reader. I had to pay for the supper and breakfast of the prisoners, the escort of oystermen for their time and the fare of the whole crowd on the boat — amounting in all to $40, a good deal of money for a policeman to pay out of his pocket in those days. The owner of the silks would not reimburse me : the bonded warehouse people respectfully de- clined ; the great Cunard Company was unwilling to pay, all prefer- ring to let the man who had restored the property* suffer by their gain : so this little bit of detective work was carried out at my own private expense. This, however, I did not so much mind. The sense of justice done compensated me. I suppose that my subse- quent promotion was due to several fairly clever pieces of work of somewhat the same character. On the occasion of the public reception offered to the Japanese ambassadors upon their arrival in New York in i860, a tremendous crowd assembled in the streets. On Broadway, especially in the neighborhood of the Metropolitan Hotel, the sidewalks were thronged. As captain of the detective force, it was my duty to be constantly in the streets, and to do my best to prevent those depre- dations on the public which are always committed on such occa- sions : for a large crowd in the streets or elsewhere is the pick- pockets’ carnival. It happened that on the very evening the Japanese arrived I had about my person a large amount of money. I was not in uniform, and in order to mix better with the crowd and be unobserved, I donned a rough suit of clothes : and, taking my roll of bank bills, stuffed it down my boot-leg, tucking my trousers inside my boots. I mingled freely with the people, and saw that my men were properly distributed and on the alert. When on the edge of the crowd, near the Metropolitan Hotel, I noticed a very well-dressed and pompous-looking man, who was el- bowing his way through the throng. He wore a handsome gold chain, to which a big watch was attached : for I could see the out- line of it in his waistcoat pocket. His coat was wide open : in fact, he was making a display of his jewellery. He was a walking invi- tation for a pickpocket. As he pushed up near me, I said, very quietly, to him, “ My friend, if you go into this crowd in that manner you will be very likely to lose your watch.” CHANGED HIS MIND. 217 The gentleman turned on me in an aggrieved manner, as if re- senting my officiousness, and said, “Who are you ?” “No matter who I am,” was my reply; “I only warn you that you will pretty certainly lose your watch if you go in there. That’s all.” “ Sir,” was his angry retort, “ I want to know who you are, and why you presume to give me advice ? ” “ Well, if you desire to know, I am an officer, and belong to the detective department,” was my answer. “All right!” he retorted spitefully, “if I do lose my watch I shall never ask you to recover it.” “ Very well,” I replied, in perfect good humor ; and a moment afterwards I had left him and was working my way into the crowd. On the very next day, I was sitting at my desk in the basement of the detective office examining some reports, when who should I see approaching me but this very gentleman, who had, notwith- standing my advice, insisted on decorating his manly breast with a conspicuous gold watch and chain. At once, from his expression, which was not quite so pompous and self-assured as on the even- ing before, I made out that something was wrong. The gentle- man asked quite meekly : “ Can I see the captain ? I have a complaint to make.” “ I presume so, sir,” was my reply. “ You lost your watch and chain before the Metropolitan Hotel last evening, at about seven o’clock.” “I did,” was his astonished answer; “but how do you know that ? ” “I am the identical person,” I replied, “ who took every measure to caution you yesterday evening, and you said to me that if you lost your watch I would be the last person you would come to in order that you might recover it; but it looks as if you have come to me after all.” The gentleman seemed to be quite taken aback. His loss an- noyed him exceedingly, and there was certainly reason for it, be- cause it had been entirely his own fault. “ Do you think you could get the watch and chain back ? ” he inquired. “ I do not know, but you may be assured I will try and do my very best,” I answered. It was of course my duty to make every exertion to recover any 2l8 HOW THEY WORK. stolen property, but my pride in this particular matter made me work very hard to get that watch. It was months before I had to give it up, and I regret to say the gentleman never saw his watch and chain again. Persons who have never been robbed by a pickpocket believe that they enjoy a certain immunity from such depredations, and flatter themselves that it is owing to their own superior cleverness and watchfulness that they have hitherto escaped. But experience tells me that even those most on their guard suffer at times from the operations of pickpockets. It is never safe to get into a crowd in New York; that is, if you have anything valuable in your pock- ets, for a crowd, as I have said before, is the pickpocket’s oppor- tunity. Thieves in this particular calling work in parties of from three to five. One of the rascals will tip a man’s hat as if by acci- dent, while another jostles him. The man, who is afraid his hat will fall off, raises his hands to secure it. A third person pushes him, and the fourth pickpocket, called “the wire,” takes the watch or the pocket-book. Prior to all this, the man to be robbed has been carefully looked over, and the way his watch is secured or the location of his wallet has been determined. If the wallet is in a deep pocket in his trousers two hands may be used by the pick- pocket, one to lift or press the wallet upwards, and two fingers of the other hand to extract the treasure. A wallet put in a pistol pocket is readily lifted in a crowd. When a watch is to be taken, the thief, with his thumb and forefinger, forces the ring of the watch open, which disconnects the chain, and as this springs readily the time-piece is easily removed. ’ The old-fashioned way of keeping the watch and chain in the fob pocket is the safest, for then nothing is exposed. The best place to keep money is in a pocket inside of the waistcoat, which should be secured by a button. Then when the "waistcoat is fastened up it is very difficult for a pickpocket to get at the money. Nevertheless, I have known wallets to have been taken when placed inside waistcoat pockets. There is but one rule for those who venture into a crowd in New York, and this is to leave watch, money and all valuables at home, and never to carry more than some small change. In the street-cars losses are frequent. A crowded car is just arranged for a pickpocket’s work. The man to be robbed is hanging on to a strap, and before and behind him is a thief, the one who is to be the “ wire ” being generally provided with an “i HAVE ADVISED MY CLIENTS.” 219 overcoat or duster, which he carries on his arm. In the swaying of the car the opportunity is found. Nothing is easier than for a pickpocket to filch a diamond breastpin under such circumstances. If the diamond be of some value the wearer of it will have been followed many times, and at all hours. The pickpockets wait patiently for the favorable opportunity. A half dozen futile efforts may have been made before the thieves are finally successful. I have never had my pocket picked, though in the course of my duty I have been in all parts of New York, and of course a great deal in crowds, and in such dress as did not show that I had any connection with the police force. Once when in a crowded car in the Bowery I saw the car invaded by a rush of men who I knew were pickpockets. I at once addressed them in a short speech, which was neither very chaste or polite. They recognized me at the very first word and a stampede was instantaneous. While I was captain of the detectives, the losses inflicted on the public by pickpockets, when crowds were assembled, were so seri- ous at one time, occasioning so many complaints, that I adopted a rule that has been kept up ever since, which was to arrest all well- known pickpockets when seen in a crowd, or in the vicinity of large assemblies, and to keep them in durance until the crowd had dis- persed. When this method was at first sanctioned, a well-known criminal lawyer came to police headquarters and protested against my arresting suspicious characters, insisting that I had no right to do so, as they had committed no crime, and, as he argued, “ they were not amenable to justice.” It was, he stated, a base usurpa- tion of the rights of free men, etc., etc. This gentleman’s perora- tion was peculiarly dramatic. “ I have advised my clients,” he said, “ to shoot the officers down the very next time they arrest them, when the latter have not been engaged in committing any crime.” I do not think what this advocate said impressed me very much, for my reply was, “ Pshaw ! Two can play at that game.” “You know you have no legal right to make such arrests unless you have some charges against them, and they can bring suit against you for false imprisonment,” he continued. “Yes, sir,” I answered, “I know that, and I will pay all the judgments your clients may get.” So the matter ended. The excellence of this method became immediately evident, for the practice of the trade of a pickpocket in a crowd became more 220 TEN DAYS’ PAY. difficult. As he might be arrested on sight, he found it wisest to be absent. The female pickpocket abounds in New York, but she preys only on her own sex. The habit women have of keeping their porte-monnaie in their hands is a constant source of temptation. As it cannot always be kept in the hand, the female pickpocket watches patiently until the woman puts it in the pocket of her dress, which, though not visible to men, is at once located by a woman who is a thief, and a porte-monnaie is much more readily abstracted from a woman’s pocket than from a man’s. As women rarely go into streets where crowds assemble, it is in cars and principally in the stores where these female pickpockets carry on their business. The work is generally done by two women, and shop-lifting often enters into the line of business of these female depredators. When an old, or even a young lady, carries too ostentatiously in the street a bag containing her purse, it is occa- sionally snatched from her by some young thief, who trusts to his legs to escape capture. In such cases it has generally turned out that the amount of money the lady is in the habit of carrying has been the object of study beforehand. I was fined ten days’ pay once for violating the law, and that, too, when I was at the head of the machinery established to enforce it. How it happened the reader will learn from the following story : Detective “ Dick ” King reported at headquarters one day that he had found a lot of bonds, payment of which had been stopped because they had been stolen. We found that some time before, on January 17, 1875, Ike Adams Express Company had been robbed. The company had kept quiet about it, and instead of confiding the matter to us, had put it in the hands of private de- tectives. Some persons prefer that way. But when the bonds were found by Detective King I put him on the case. He tracked the missing papers and laid his hand on the thieves. Chief of these was Daniel Haurey, the man who drove the Adams Express wagon containing the safe on the night of the robbery. This man carted express packages across the North River to the Jersey City depot. With miscellaneous packages of all sizes and shapes, there was a little iron safe containing money, bonds and jewellery. Investigations at the Adams Express Company’s office revealed the facts that this safe was securely locked ; that it was put in Haurey ’s wagon ; that Haurey drove off ; that the safe was apparently never 221 ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY. 222 BETWEEN THE CELLS. received in Jersey City; and that Haurey came back without it and swore he delivered it. The loss was over $50,000. When a portion of the missing goods was found, we arrested Haurey and a crony of his named John Sweeney, and confined them in adjoining cells, cautiously letting them know that they were neighbors. It was not long before they began to talk, each from his cell door. Our detectives overheard them, of course, and the robbers, as usual, “ gave themselves away.” It was disclosed that the bonds and most of the money were concealed under the flag stones in the cellar of a plumber’s shop somewhere in Nassau Street. We confronted Sweeney with his crime, and told him so much that he concluded his “ pal ” had “ peached ; ” and then he was eager to tell all he knew. He said that some of the “stuff” had been sold to a receiver by the name of Moses Ehrich. Moses was arrested, gave bail, and fled to Canada. From Sweeney’s disclosures, it was ascertained that when Haurey got over to the Jersey City depot he shoved the little safe up nearer the wagon seat, flung a horse blanket over it, 5 nd failed to deliver it. He then drove to a secluded place, where the rob- bers broke open the safe with tools and obtained the contents, and on the return the safe was thrown in the river. Sweeney took and secreted the plunder in the Nassau Street cellar, then Haurey drove directly back to the New York office, to escape suspicion. Sweeney went on the stand ; and Haurey was convicted within a month of the time of the robbery, and was sent to prison for five years. Most of the valuables were recovered. Now as to my fine. After Haurey’s conviction, his counsel, A. Oakey Hall, asked that sentence be deferred. The request was granted. He then sent up a charge against me, enclosing a written communication to the police commissioners, alleging that I had violated the law by keeping Haurey over Sunday after arresting him, before taking him to a police court. The law requires that a man under arrest shall be taken before a police magistrate at the next sitting of the court. I did not send Haurey up for examina- tion till Monday morning, because I had reason to believe that greater promptness would defeat the ends of justice. I was mor- ally, and Hall was technically, right. He asked me before the commissioners if I did not know I was violating a clause of the police law. MORALLY RIGHT. 223 “Yes,” I said; “I knew it was a technical violation.” “ How came you to violate the law ? ” he asked, with some harshness. “ 1 did it purposely and deliberately,” I replied, “ in order that I might insure not only the conviction of the prisoner, but the re- covery of the property. I had reason to fear that if I brought the prisoner to court on Sunday the property would escape from its hiding-place.” The charge made against me yvas sustained by the police com- missioners. They knew I was right, but found that the law did not allow them any option, for it imperatively prescribed a positive penalty — either dismissal or a fine. They fined me ten days’ pay — about $160. The law ought to give commissioners some option in cases like this. John Hoey, of the express company, offered to refund the money to me ; but I declined to receive it without the consent of the police board. Of course their own action prevented their giving their sanction to my being reimbursed ; so that was the last of it. After Haurey’s liberation he sought fresh fields. He finally at- tained the position of a police-marshal in New Orleans, his native city, and about Christmas time, 1884, he got into a quarrel and was killed. L CHAPTER XVII. THE COMPLETE STORY OF THE ROBBERY OF A. T. STEWART^ GRAVE. — WORK OF THE GHOULS. — CONCEALMENT OF THE BODY. DE- MAND FOR A RANSOM. MRS. STEWART’S DISTRESS. JUDGE hilton’s refusal to pay the robbers. — final negotia- tions. THE BONES OF THE MILLIONAIRE EXCHANGED FOR MONEY UPON A HILL IN WESTCHESTER COUNTY. — RESTORED AND BORNE TO THE CATHEDRAL VAULT. — THE GOBLIN BELLS. “ My God ! ” This exclamation sprang from the lips of a man unused to so vigorous an utterance, and he turned pale and clutched the tall iron fence near him. The speaker was Frank Parker, the assistant-sexton of old St. Mark’s Church, whose grounds are bounded by Second Avenue, Stuyvesant, Tenth hnd Eleventh streets — a church once fashionable, and still rich and powerful. It was an hour after dawn one wet and gloomy Wednesday in November, 1878. Parker had just entered the ancient church- yard, and he stood as if paralyzed as his eyes were fixed on new earth that had been upturned at the mouth of the vault where the remains of A. T. Stewart, the merchant-millionaire, had been deposited thirty months before. “ My God ! ” he repeated, with a tremor of fear and^grief in his voice. “ They’ve done it at last ! ” He understood that the Stewart tomb had been probably robbed ; that he was one of the only two or three men who knew its exact location ; that the horrible crime would convulse the city; and that he would be suspected of participating in it by those who did not know him. He stood a minute gazing nerve- lessly, and then gathering up his thoughts, he walked across the grass to the tell-tale heap of fresh clay. Thence he ran and told his superior officer, Sexton Hamill, who was still in his home near by on Tenth Street. Hamill hurried to the spot, and descended into the vault. 224 225 “ they’ve done it at last.” There he found his fears confirmed — it had been rifled of the remains of the dead millionaire. Then he ran over to the great store, a block up Fourth Avenue, rushing breathless into the glass office, only to find that Judge Hilton had not yet arrived. The sexton did not wait. He at once called a cab and drove to the judge’s house, next door to Stewart’s marble palace on Thirty- fourth Street. He gave the butler a message that his business was of extreme urgency, and the master of the house soon made his appearance. The sexton exclaimed : “ The vault has been robbed, sir ; Mr. Stewart’s body has been taken away ! — I am sorry.” The lawyer made no reply. He thought a moment, took a chair, and then without asking his visitor to be seated, looked long and earnestly at him. The sexton was ill at ease. He stood with furtive eyes and fidgeted with his cap. “All gone; no 15 226 ONE OF THE SEXTONS? traces left as I can see,” he added, to relieve his embarrassment. Hilton still regarded him fixedly. “You say you are ‘sorry’ such a thing should happen?” he suddenly asked, cross-examining. “Why, yes, sir; very sorry, of course.” “‘Sorry,’ eh?” repeated the judge, with sarcastic emphasis. “ That’s singular.” “ Singular ! ” said the sexton, quickly looking up. Then he saw what was in the judge’s mind, and he regretfully added: “Will you come over and look for yourself, sir ? ” “No; I’ll go down to police headquarters,” replied the judge, reaching for his coat. Hamill hurried down town and went to the vault again.* “ Sex- ton right here for twenty years,” he said, bitterly, “ and a member of the church and living an upright life, to be suspected now of this horrid thing ! ” I was not at headquarters when Judge Hilton got there. When I did arrive of course I was amazed. It was the first time I had ever seriously considered a crime of that sort. I went over and examined the premises. The vault was in the centre of the yard, east of the church, and seemed, prior to the digging, to have been unmarked and concealed from sight. It would be impossible to imagine a more exposed or difficult location for a grave-robbery. An iron fence, ten feet high, runs around the yard. The members of many old New York families were buried here, the Stewart vault being flanked by those of Thomas Bibby and Benjamin Winthrop. The rifled vault was of brick, io x 15 feet and 12 feet deep; the top was covered with three feet of earth. It was entered by a square hole in the roof, from which descended twelve stone steps to the bottom. This entrance was covered with three mar- ble slabs, and these in turn with three or four inches of sod on a level with the surrounding turf, entirely hiding any suggestion of an entrance. It did really look as if one of the sextons must have been implicated in the robbery, and on this Judge Hilton firmly insisted, as he explained : “ You don’t know, I suppose, that an attempt was made to steal the body last month ? Yes. On October 9th, just four weeks ago, the sexton discovered that the Stewart slab had been lifted from its bed and put back again. It had been done clumsily, and one end of the marble had been dropped on the grass; perhaps 227 ST. MARK’S CHURCH.— STEALING STEWART’S REMAINS. 228 NOBODY NEAR THE YARD. the intruders had descended to the vault, but neither the casket nor the brick pedestal on which it rested had been tampered with. I discovered clay on the lock of the Eleventh-Street gate, like that over the vault, and I had new patent locks put on the gate, and the name-slab, which was before exposed, taken up and removed to a vacant spot some ten feet south-west and sunk in the grass to mislead other ghouls. The old place was carefully sodded over. I then hired Michael Burton, night-watchman of the livery stable across the street, to visit the churchyard every hour and warn trespassers from the enclosure, without saying anything to him about Stewart’s vault. There was no disturbance, and Burton’s services were dispensed with three days ago.” That is what Judge Hilton said. We sent for Sexton Hamill next, and he came and told all he knew about it, adding to the information already in hand this : “ I can’t imagine how anybody knew where that stone was. Its approximate location was known to three of us only, and even I, who knew it best, couldn’t have gone straight to it the first time, on a dark night, as these villains seem to have done. They must have obtained perfect measurements of the place. Perhaps they were watching from a convenient nook when we took up the name- stone and hid it.” The night before the robbery had been a rainy one. At mid- night snow fell. The police saw nobody near the yard. The per- sons in the adjacent houses saw no one. The Rev. Dr. Rylance had married a couple in the vestry as late as 9.30 p.m. He left at ten o’clock, walking out past the Stewart vault and noticing noth- ing unusual. The robbers did their fiendish work in the blackness of the night and left hardly any clews. I put inspectors Murray and Dilks on the case. The following alarm was sent out that after- noon : “ Central Office, Nov. 7, 1878. “ To All : — The remains of A. T. Stewart were last night stolen from the family vault, St. Mark’s Churchyard. The casket was found broken and the body removed. The decomposition of the remains is so offensive that they cannot be concealed. This is apparent from standing at the opening of the vault this morning ; consequently the body cannot be taken across the ferries or placed anywhere above ground without discovery. Cause diligent search to be made in your precinct, as the remains were evidently stolen in hope of reward. “ Inspector Dilks.” THERE THE CLEW ENDED. 229 The robbers seemed to have gone directly to the spot, without experimenting in surrounding sod. The decoy name-slab had not been touched. Only just enough dirt had been removed to un- cover the mouth of the vault, closed by a slab three feet and a half by two feet. Two of the coffins within the vault were of Mr. Stewart’s infant children, and two of adult relatives of Mrs. Stewart. The burg- lars unscrewed the cover of the newest cedar-wood box, cut through the second receptacle of lead, and then forced the en- closed coffin of Mr. Stewart by breaking the locks and hinges. They tore off the costly silver inscription-plate, and carried it with them ; also a piece of the velvet lining which they cut out in the shape of an irregular triangle. They left behind a new coal-shovel and a tin bull’s-eye lantern. It was thought that the body of Mr. Stewart weighed about 100 pounds ; and as it was not embalmed, it was said by physicians that the flesh would liquefy soon after being exposed to the air. Mrs. Stewart was in her seventy-eighth year, and quite ill and feeble. On the morning after the robbery the following reward was offered : “$25,000 Reward! — Whereas, in the early morning of Nov. 7, 1878, the vault of the late Alexander T. Stewart, in St. Mark’s Churchyard, in this city, was broken into, and his remains removed from there, the above reward is offered by direction of Mrs. A. T. Stewart, and will be paid for the return of the body and information which will convict the parties who were engaged in the outrage. Or a liberal reward will be paid for information which will lead to either of these results. “ Henry Hilton.” The whole country was convulsed. Newspapers published page after page of comment, rumor and theory. A double guard was set over the tomb of Commodore Vanderbilt at New Dorp, Staten Island. We found out where the shovel and lantern were sold, and there the clew ended. We shadowed suspicious-looking persons ; investigated newly-made graves ; tracked old malefactors and made them account for their whereabouts on that eventful night. The emotions excited by the robbery of Stewart’s grave were various, even contradictory. Some, who were neither thoughtless nor heartless, were glad. A semi-anarchist newspaper said, 230 EARLY LIFE AND APPEARANCE. virtually : “ There is a sort of grim justice in it, and the very irony of greed, that this cruel, avaricious, hard-hearted man, who op- pressed his employees, ruined his creditors and drove his poorer competitors to bankruptcy should now have his flesh drop off and his bones rattled in a thieves’ bag, while the millions he earned are enjoyed by others.” Mr. Stewart began business in the very humblest way, and was his own salesman, book-keeper, porter and errand-boy. He lived over his store, in a room which served as parlor, bedroom and kitchen. He worked eighteen hours a day. He possessed an in- domitable will, great industry, energy, shrewdness, and the fore- sight to see this week what would be needed in trade the next. He did business for cash only, told the blunt truth about his goods and sold at the cheapest possible price. He bought for cash, controlled high-priced laces, silks, ribbons, furs and gloves, and levied on the world of fashion. He defied competition, and of course ruined a good many of his rivals. Half of his clerks were broken-down merchants. He did some harm incidentally, but he offset it by much good, for he sold goods cheaper than they were ever sold in this market before ; set a much-needed example of honesty, and laid the foundation of systematic and comprehensive methods which underlie the great dry-goods bazaars of which New York City boasts. He died worth $30,000,000. He had no children that lived more than a week. He had few if any friends. His mien was forbidding. He was undersized and slim, with reddish hair, sharp, avaricious features, furrowed with care, a clear, cold, gray eye and an unfriendly, suspicious voice. James Kealy was captain of detectives at that time, and he fol- lowed several promising clews to the end, but in vain. A lawyer named General Patrick H. Jones, who was at one time postmaster of this city, came to me one day, and in an excited tone, said : “ A man who formerly served under me in the army claims to know something about the Stewart body. I believe that with proper encouragement 1 can get information that will lead to its recovery.” By “ proper encouragement ” he meant some assurance that Hilton would negotiate for it. I declined to commit myself, but I told him to go ahead, and I would call on the judge, and lay the matter before him from that point of view. I did so ; the judge NOT “proper encouragement.” 231 declared that he would never pay one cent for Mr. Stewart’s bones, unless they came accompanied by the thieves in irons. I felt and expressed my serious doubts about the correctness of the information, but Jones was persistent and wanted to work up the case and make arrangements for buying the body. He brought a letter or two, which he asserted had come from the thieves. To complete the demonstration he walked into my office a few days later with a package sent to him by express from Bos- ton, in which was the original coffin-plate stolen with the remains. The engraver was sent for ; he came and looked the plate over, and at once exclaimed : “ That’s the very one.” I sent to Boston and interviewed the officers of the express office ; but I got no information, except that the package had been left by a lady muffled up to her eyes. Hilton was still obdurate. He would have nothing to do with a purchase, he said, unless it included the villains themselves. As they were the party of the first part in the negotiations, they were not at all likely to be included. To complete their identification, the robbers sent a piece of paper that fitted exactly the hole in the velvet cover of the coffin. This piece of paper is now in the hands of Sexton Hamill ; the coffin-plate is at police headquarters. Hilton’s suspicions in regard to the sextons were not only not confirmed, but were substantially disproved. The two men were of high personal character, and the Rev. Dr. Rylance, pastor of St. Mark’s, took up their cause very warmly, giving Judge Hilton a piece of his mind, and condemning his accusation. The authentic story of the recovery of Stewart’s body has not yet been publicly told, but a gentleman who is in a position to know the exact facts recently rehearsed the narrative, and for the first time it is given here. Two years had passed since the body was stolen, and its recov- ery was apparently as far off as ever. Judge Hilton had repelled the offers of the criminals to negotiate, and had resolutely opposed Mrs. Stewart’s desire to meet their advances. “ We must never compound a felony,” he said. “It isn’t, of course, the money, but the principle. If we were to pay these infamous scoundrels, what rich man’s or woman’s dead body would hereafter be safe ? We will never pay a cent except for the con- viction of the criminals.” The position taken was morally correct, but a mourning widow 23 2 A PACKAGE from romaine. could hardly be expected to regard the affair so coolly. Her af- fections were trampled under foot. This difference between the two seems to have been known and appreciated by the robbers, who, therefore, incessantly strove to re-open negotiations with Mrs. Stewart directly. Her nights were almost sleepless. She was well nigh driven insane. It was towards the spring of 1881 when correspondence with the robbers was resumed. No trace of the body or thieves was found until January of the following year, when General Patrick H. Jones, of No. 150 Nassau Street, called upon me at police headquarters. He brought with him a parcel and showed me the contents. They were the silver knobs and several of the handles belonging to the coffin in which the body had been buried. He also showed me some letters which he had received. They purported to have been written in Canada, and were signed by “Henry G. Romaine.” With the first letter a hundred-dollar bill was enclosed as a retainer for him to act as at- torney for the return of the body, upon the payment of $250,000. The letter then went on to say : “ The remains were taken before twelve o’clock on the night of the 6th and not at three o’clock on the morning of the 7th of November. They were not taken away in a carriage, but in a grocer’s wagon. They were not taken to any house near the grave-yard but to one near One Hundred and Sixtieth Street. They were then enclosed in a zinc-lined trunk and left on an early morning train. They went to Plattsburg and from there to the Dominion. There they were buried. Except that the eyes have disappeared, the flesh is as firm and the features as natural as the day of the interment, and can therefore be in- stantly identified. The enclosed piece of paper is exactly the size of the piece of velvet taken from the coffin, while the small strip sent you will prove to be of the same piece as that on the coffin. If any additional proofs are required the plate will be sent you upon inserting the following ‘personal ’ in the New York Herald : “ ‘ Canada — Send P. — Counsel.’ “ If you decline to act, a friend will call for the retainer sent you. When you are satisfied that the relatives of Mrs. Stewart will talk business, insert the fol- lowing ‘ personal.’ in the New York Herald: “ ‘ Canada — Will do business — Counsel.’ “ Then you will hear from me again. “ Henry G. Romaine.” The package with the articles mentioned arrived a few hours before the letter. It, with the letter, was at once brought to me. Three days later the personal calling for the coffin-plate was pub- lished as directed. The following reply came : PERSONALS AND PROPOSITIONS. 233 “ Boston, Mass., Jan. 31, 1879. “ P. H. Jones, Counsel , New York City : “ Immediately on arrival of Herald containing ‘ personal,’ I decided to express the plate from this city, and thus avoid the discovery and publicity which would certainly follow the examination of the package by the Customs officials of the Dominion. Having satisfied the representatives of Mrs. Stewart of its genuine- ness, you will await further instructions, which will be forwarded after the in- sertion of the second personal : “ 1 Canada — Will do business — Counsel.’ “ Henry G. Romaine.” The coffin-plate was received from Boston, and brought at once to me at police headquarters. On the 5th of February, at the re- quest of Judge Hilton, Mr. Jones put the second “ personal ” in the Herald , and a couple of days later Mr. Jones wrote to Romaine, agreeing to act as counsel, and saying that Judge Hilton was anxious to recover the remains. The reply which came from Bos- ton on the nth of February set forth the terms upon which the body would be restored. They were as follows : “ 1. The amount to be paid shall be $200,000. “ 2. The body will be delivered to yourself and Judge Hilton within twenty- five miles of the city of Montreal, and no other person shall be present. “3. The money to be placed in your hands or under your control until Judge Hilton is fully satisfied, when you will deliver it to my representative. “ 4. Both parties to maintain forever an unbroken silence in regard to the transaction. “ These are the first, last, and only terms which will ever receive attention. u Having communicated the contents of this letter to Judge Hilton you will await his decision. You will inform me of that by a ‘personal ’ in the Herald — “ ‘ Canada — terms accepted.’ “ Until this appears you will not hear from me again.” Judge Hilton refused to agree to the terms proposed, and, further, declined to negotiate through the medium of “ personals.” “ Romaine ” was then written to, General Jones informing him of the condition of things. His reply was soon received, ordering Mr. Jones to break off all communication with Judge Hilton and open negotiations with Mrs. Stewart. No notice was taken of this request, but in March Judge Hilton made an offer of $25,000 for the body. General Jones made the fact known to “ Romaine,” who “ respectfully but firmly declined.” This closed the correspondence. But the distracted widow and her relatives, without the consent of Judge Hilton, opened negotiations on her own account. The 234 REAL RESULTS — THE SEQUEL. lawyer was still the medium of communication with the ghouls. Foiled in their first attempt to secure money, they had become partly discouraged, and now, instead of expecting $ 200,000 , were willing to dispose of their dreadful booty for half that sum. Mrs. Stewart, after a wakeful night, gave orders to have the offer accepted ; but her representatives obtained a reduction of the price to $20,000, which sum they agreed to pay. The conditions of the delivery were made quite as severe as those which accompanied the negotiations for the return of THE MEETING. Charley Ross. The criminals declined to take any chances. They did not demand that the money be flung from a flying train in a leathern bag without any guarantee, but the man with the money had to surrender himself absolutely into the hands of the robbers, trusting to their “honor.” He was to leave New York City at ten o’clock at night alone, in a one-horse wagon, and drive into Westchester County along a lonely road which the robbers indicated on a map which they sent marked. “ Sometime before morning,” if the man was acting in good faith, and was not accompanied or followed by detectives, he would be met and given further directions. KNOWN AT LAST 235 A young relative of Mrs. Stewart undertook the hazardous er- rand, and drove out into the country. Two or three times during the night he became certain that he was closely watched, but it was three o’clock when a masked horseman rode up, gave the signal agreed on, and turned the buggy up a lonely lane. The strange visitor here left him, directing him to drive on. At the end of another mile he became aware that another wagon was blocking the way. He paused. A masked man promptly ap- peared, and brought forward a bag to his buggy, saying, “ Here ’tis ; where’s the money ? ” “ Where is the proof of identity ? ” asked the messenger, as the bag containing the mortal remains of A. T. Stewart was lifted into the buggy. “ Here ! ” said the other, holding up an irregular bit of velvet, and opening a bull’s-eye lantern upon it with a click. The piece was compared with a bit of paper of the same shape which the New Yorker had brought with him to this lonely spot. “ Come, hurry up ! ” was the command. The messenger obeyed by producing the money, and the rob- bers retired a few feet and counted it by the light of their lantern. Then they moved off with their vehicle, and the messenger of Mrs. Stewart drove back the way he had come, glad to escape from such company. The next night a freight car went out to Garden City contain- ing nothing except a trunk, and on it sat the man who had spent the previous night in the loneliest part of Westchester County. An empty coffin had already been deposited in the Cathedral, and at the dead of night two men transferred the bones to it from the trunk. They then placed the coffin in an inaccessible vault be- neath the dome. And now, they say, if any fiend should ever again touch, unbidden, the vault which holds the bones of the merchant-millionaire, the touch would release a hidden spring which would shake the chime of clustered bells in the tower, and send an instant alarm throughout the sleeping village. CHAPTER XVIII. BANK BURGLARIES. — KINGS AMONG THIEVES. — “ FOUR-FINGERED JACK.” — THE SATCHEL IN THE HALL. — MAKING THE CASHIER UNLOCK A BANK VAULT. “ RED ” LEARY’S BRAVADO. “ IF THE FUNDS HAVE GOT TO GO, I WILL GO WITH THEM.” A HEROIC CASHIER. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY. UNJUST SUSPICIONS. THE HOLE UNDER THE PRESIDENT’S CHAIR. THE SCHEME THAT WAS HATCHED IN A BROADWAY BILLIARD PARLOR. — SMOUL- DERING BAGS OF GOLD. THE LITTLE BLACK TRUNK ON ELIZ- ABETH STREET. — BARON SHINDELL. — BUGGINS, THE BANK MES- SENGER. The successful bank robber is a king among thieves, and so far as the skill and cunning which he exercises are concerned, he undoubtedly earns his reputation. As a rule, it is the most intelli- gent members of the criminal class who drift into this branch of wickedness. Experience has demonstrated that the expert bank burglar is possessed of more than ordinary mechanical skill, and an amount of energy and patience that is phenomenal. Thousands of dollars are expended in purchasing tools, and in experimenting with new mechanical contrivances. They are enthusiastic in learning every detail of their occupation. Thus it is that every succeeding year adds to the knowledge of the criminal, and makes absolute protection against detection seem more possible. But the most notorious bank burglars, 1-ike famous men of action, are known by their achievements rather than by their reputation among their fellows. To the burglar the sacking of a bank is as the sacking of a town to a great warrior ; if he accomplishes his object without suffering a maximum of loss he is for the time peer- less and much sought after by the people — or their representative, the district attorney. There was some very curious incidents in connection with the robbery of the Hatters’ Bank of Bethel, Conn. Some time before the robbery, two excellent officers on the detective force — John McCord and W. G. Elder — reported to me one day that they had 236 2 37 “ FOUR-FINGERED JACK.” seen young Jack Wright, commonly known as “ Four-fingered Jack,” because he had lost a thumb. Wright was a noted bank robber, and McCord and Elder, who worked together, followed him to see what he was about to do. They informed me that the rascal had entered a number of safe-stores, and had carefully examined the various styles and makes. Afterward he had gone into a tenement house on Charles Street. “We believe, Captain,” said Elder, “that Jack is up to some kind of a job. We are afraid, too, that we are known to him, and if he should see us watching we should lose him. However, he doesn’t know you; you might arrest him.” “ That will hardly do,” I replied. “ I know the fellow well by reputation. We had better shadow him further. If he has any job put up, we surely ought to be able to find it out. To arrest him now, with no proof against him, would be useless. You take me with you, and we’ll watch him.” We secreted ourselves in a coal office at Charles and Hudson streets, and watched Jack’s house. In a short time he came out, and I had a good view of him. “ Four-fingered Jack ” was a fine- looking man, tall and well built, and tastefully dressed. Leaving Elder and McCord to watch the house, I set out to follow the burglar. He was evidently bent upon a thorough and practical study of safes, for he went into nearly every establishment where they were sold. That he did not want to buy a safe was evident enough to me. After an extended tour around the city, “Four-fingered Jack” got aboard a Fourth Avenue car. I did also, but he did not seem to recognize me. He rode as far as the terminus of the line, then at Twenty-seventh Street, where the New Haven depot stood, on the site of the building now known as the Madison Square Garden. Here he loitered for a short time and was finally joined by a light- corn plexioned man. The two exchanged a few words, and then, as they went aboard the New Haven train, I left them. If they had a job in hand it would be at some point east of New York, I thought. I returned immediately to McCord and Elder, who had been watching Wright’s house on Charles Street. This they continued to do for some time. Eventually, they found that their man had returned and was about to remove to some other part of the city. The difficulty now was to track him to his new lodgings. After 238 THE HATTERS’ BANK. some trouble the new quarters were discovered in the suburbs of the city, and Jack and his partner kept coming and going, always leaving town via the New Haven Railroad. On his last excursion he was absent three days — somewhat longer than usual. This looked suspicious. I might have sent men to follow him on the railroad, but had this been attempted, “Four-fingered Jack” would have “ tumbled ” at once to the fact that he was being shadowed. He was a clever rascal, and doubtless had his own spies about. Then, again, if the job were in a country town, the presence of any strangers in the place would have at once been sufficient to put Jack on the alert. On the fourth day of his absence from New York the news came to me of the robbery of $100,000 from the Hatters’ Bank, of Bethel, Conn. The moment I heard of it I suspected “Four-fingered Jack.” His house in the suburbs was still under surveillance, and when he returned we immediately arrested him, together with another well-known bank burglar called “ Peppermint Joe.” The house was carefully searched, but, to my discomfiture, none of the stolen money was found. I telegraphed to the officers of the bank at Bethel to come on to New York, and they did. When our prisoners were brought before the bank officers, “Four-fingered Jack” and “ Peppermint Joe” were strangers to them. We sent to Bethel and brought some of the townspeople to look at the men, but they did not recognize them. In fact, no suspicious characters had been seen in Bethel. As usual under such circumstances, the robbery had been committed on Saturday night, and on Sunday the safe had been broken into. There had been some clever burrowing, the heavy floor-stones broken, the bolt of the lock blocked with wood and it was Monday afternoon before the bank officers could open the vault, and then the robbery was discovered. Of the $100,000 stolen, $80,000 were in the Hatters’ Bank notes, and the rest in general currency. The bills of the Hatters’ Bank were of the denomination of $50 and $100. Bethel being a small manufacturing town, large bank-bills were not much in use. The Hatters’ Bank sent to all the other moneyed institutions in the country an account of the robbery, with a description of the notes. It was impossible to hold the men. I was positive that “Four-fingered Jack” was one of the robbers, but there was no evidence against him, and the magis- trate was forced to release him and his “ mate.” “that’s very strange.’ 239 As Jack was leaving the court-room a free man 1 said to him, “ You have got clear now, but those bills of the Bethel Bank will be of no avail to you. They will lead to your detection.” I regret to say that my prophecy did not come true, as far as the detection of these robbers went, but something quite extraor- dinary in its way did happen. I was living then with a friend, named O’Donnel. About a week after the dismissal of “Four-fingered Jack,” on returning to my house one evening, Mr. O’Donnel said to me : “Captain Walling, I suppose some of your people are coming home from the country.” “Not at all,” I replied. “O, yes, they are,” was his answer, “for some of them have sent you a travelling-satchel.” “ How is that ? ” I inquired. “Just before you came in the door-bell rang. The servant girl answered it, and a man put a travelling-bag in her hand, saying, ‘ This is for Captain Walling.’ ” “That’s very strange,” I said. O’Donnel went for the article, which was a common-looking black bag. He put it on a chair in the hallway, and lit a candle so that I might better examine it. “ I never saw it before,” I said, looking it over. Just then there had been a scare about infernal machines and Mr. O’Don- nel said, “Watch out, Captain, maybe you and I will be blown sky- high.” “Nonsense,” I said. “Nobody is going to blow me up.” Then I felt of the bag, and it seemed to have a parcel in it. Hav- ing no key, I opened it with a knife. There was a bundle about eight inches wide and two feet long wrapped up in coarse straw paper. What could it be ? I had the wrapper off in a trice, and when I saw the contents I was excited perhaps more than I have been at any other time in my life, for there were the bills of the Hat- ters’ Bank, of Bethel ! I sent off in post-haste for McCord and Elder. They could hardly believe their eyes when they saw what was in the satchel. They sat down and we counted the bills. We made the bundle out to . contain exactly $60,025. I lost no time in telegraphing the Bank of Bethel, and made a special de- posit of the money in the Nassau Bank. The president of the bank came at once to the city, claimed the property and carried BANK BURGLARS' OUTFIT. THIEVES AND THIEVES. 241 it back to Bethel. Still there was about $40,000 of the amount stolen which was unaccounted- for. Some years afterward, the city marshal of Buffalo, Mr. Tyler, got hold of $20,000 more of the bills, but of the remaining $20,000 nothing was ever heard. The robbers were never arrested. Then, as now, I was perfectly convinced that “Four-fingered Jack” was the burglar. I do not regard the restitution of the $60,025 as entitling Four-fingered Jack to the least credit. There is no magnanimity about thieves. Probably his continued possession of these notes might have been a temptation to the rest of the gang, and the circulation of the notes might finally have led to his re-arrest and punishment. After this exploit, “Four-fingered Jack” disappeared from sight forever. I don’t know what became of him. The public often hears of an individual who figures during a very long career of crime. This I am inclined to think a rather exceptional con- dition of things, because the life of a thief, robber or burglar is not usually a long one. Take a hundred of the criminal class, and the larger proportion of them are dissipated. Drink kills them. Theirs is a calling that carries with it constant and tre- mendous risks. It is sometimes difficult to follow a thief by his soubriquet. A criminal may call himself, as in this instance, “Four-fingered Jack,” and at once he has imitators. There will probably spring up in various parts of the country a large crop of Four-fingered Jacks. There have been Jack Shepards in and out of prison walls ever since the time of Jonathan Wild. I do not think that criminals are over fond of these catch names. There are of course many aliases, but those oftenest adopted or applied are familiar through history or fiction. I have more than once startled a criminal who sported a long list of aliases by saluting him with the name given him by his father and mother. An officer of the police, in constant intercourse with the criminal class, may have his sympathies blunted, but I have sometimes felt sorry for even a hardened rascal when his own true name was thrown back at him. It was as if all his disguises had been mys- teriously stripped off, and he was suddenly brought face to face with the recollections of his innocent boyhood. The subject of the Northampton Bank robbery, on January 27, 1876, was on everybody’s tongue for several years after it oc- curred. It was an interesting robbery by reason of the large amount stolen, the notorious thieves who were believed to be im- 16 242 NORTHAMPTON BANK. plicated, the boldness of their operations and their escapes after capture. The thieves were seven : “ Shang ” Draper, “ Red ” Leary, “Billy” Connor, James Burns, George Howard (or George Leo- nidas Leslie), Thomas Dunlap and William Scott. There is some doubt, however, whether Howard was actually concerned in the work of the burglary or not. The criminals used considerable strategy in their operations. They wanted to rob a bank, but were not particular as to which one. It was necessary first to find out where there was a bank whose safes and vaults were easily opened. So they made the acquaintance of William D. Edson, an expert in locks and safes, who was a travelling agent for Her- ring & Co. Edson was not a man with very stern moral convic- tions. He smiled on his new acquaintances and soon became confidential. The burglars’ plot was finally laid before him, and he was promised a generous share in the proceeds if the scheme was successful. They wanted him to point out a weak bank, from a burglar’s point of view, and this he did, directing their attention to that at Northampton. With this much learned, the rest of the task was not difficult to thieves of such broad experiences. Northampton was a small town, and boldness, the burglars thought, would most successfully accomplish their designs. Cer- tainly it did. On the night of January 27, 1876, having reached the town and assembled at their rendezvous, they put on masks and proceeded at once to the residence of the cashier, Mr. Whittlesy. They aroused him from slumber, and after binding his wife, children and servants, made him march under the cover of their pistols to the bank. There they compelled him, by threats of instant death, to unlock the vaults and surrender the contents. Under such cir- cumstances the boldest cashier is apt to lose courage, and Mr. Whittlesy was no exception. He meekly followed his masked captors and surrendered all they asked for. They succeeded in getting $1,500,000 in money and negotiable securities. But even when the booty was in their possession there was no feverish haste to get away. They coolly walked back with the cashier to his house, gagged him and made secure the bonds of his family, and then departed. So large a sum had been stolen from the bank in the form of securities, upon which the burglars could not readily realize, that ARRESTED AND SENTENCED. 243 the bank officers tried to recover their lost property before at- tempting to secure the conviction of the thieves. This plan was followed by negotiations which lasted a year and then brought no satisfactory result. Detectives advised that as many of the thieves as could be caught should be arrested, and acting upon this advice, the bank officers soon had the satisfaction of knowing that Edson, the travelling agent who had conspired with the thieves, was under arrest. Edson was piqued at not getting as much money from the robbery as he had been promised, and it did not require much urging to get him to turn State’s evidence. The names of the burglars were disclosed, and soon afterward Scott and Dunlap were arrested in Philadelphia, just as they were about to take a train southward, where they intended to commit another bank burglary. They were taken to Northampton, and tried, not on the charge of rob- bing the bank, but on that of entering the cashier’s house and threatening the lives of the inmates. Conviction on the former charge would give the culprits only twenty years’ sentence, while on the latter charge a life-sentence was possible. The trial on this charge proved a failure, and the second was taken up. Scott and Dunlap were found guilty and were sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment in the Massachusetts State prison, at Charlestown. Scott died in captivity. Meanwhile, the New York detectives were continuing their search for the remainder of the gang. “Shang” Draper was taken in 1877, an d soon afterwards “ Billy ” Connors fell into the clutches of the law. He was confined in Ludlow Street Jail, but while his extradition papers were preparing he secured an im- pression of the key of the jail, and one day, at meal time, he un- locked the iron door and walked out. It was on February 4, 1881, that he was re-captured in Philadelphia as he was leaving a dram shop. He was taken to Northampton for trial. Leary had been arrested about the same time that Connors was first arrested, and was also lodged in Ludlow Street Jail. The des- perate character of these thieves is again illustrated when it is told that Leary also broke jail in 1879. Friends of his had rented a brick house adjoining the jail, and dug through the walls to a closet, making an excavation large enough for Leary to crawl through. He was re-arrested in Brooklyn on the same night that Connors was re-taken in Philadelphia. Of the other burglars, one 244 A HEROIC CASHIER. was already serving a term in Sing Sing before it was known that he was engaged in the Northampton bank robbery ; Howard, if he was really implicated, was killed, after a remarkable career, in Yonkers, and Edson, of course, got free by turning State’s evidence. The bank recovered all its property save $100,000 in securities, $40,000 in Government bonds and $12,000 in cash. The anniversary of Washington’s birthday in 1878 was a raw, cold day in Dexter, Maine. Since it was a holiday, most of the villagers were enjoying themselves in various ways suited to their tastes. On the second floor of what was known as the Masonic Building, however, was one citizen who was not spending the day in idleness. His name was J. W. Barron. He was the cashier of the Dexter Savings Bank, which had offices there. He had left his wife in the morning, and told her that he would return about 3 o’clock — he wanted to go to the bank “ to do a little figuring.” There he sat in the offices of the bank on that chill afternoon, and turned the pages of his books or added up a column of fig- ures. The fire in the grate became low, and the cashier shivered now and then as he went on with his work. Finally the room be- came too cold for him to endure the temperature any longer, so he arose from his desk and walked down to the coal room to bring up some more fuel. Little did James Barron suspect that several pairs of eyes were watching every step he took. Unconscious of coming doom he stooped over and filled the iron scuttle. The rat- tling of the coal drowned all other noises. He arose to lift his burden, and then fell, struck by a sudden and unlooked-for blow. Three men were upon him in an instant, three men whom that old cashier recognized at once as desperate criminals. He saw deter- mination and brutality written in their faces. He knew at once their intentions. But Cashier Barron was no coward. A short time before he had read of the Northampton Bank robbery, how the burglars had bound and gagged the cashier and made him divulge the com- bination of the safes, and Mr. Barron then had said to his wife : “ If the bank funds have got to go that way, I prefer to go with them.” And down in that dimly-lighted and dusty coal room, with three of the most desperate bank burglars in the country upon him, the gray-haired cashier did not flinch. Again the words he had used to his wife came back to him, and he murmured to him- self : “ If the funds have got to go, I will go with them.” THE DEXTER SAVINGS BANK. 245 So he struggled, and there was a desperate fight in the coal room, in which the brave old man’s head was cut and his face bruised. His eye-glasses were afterwards found amid the coal, broken, and a set of false teeth glistened brightly against the black diamonds. But three men can easily overpower one. Mr. Barron struggled until his strength was exhausted, and then the ruffians tied his wrists behind him and fastened them with hand-cuffs. After gag- ging him so that he could not scream for help they lead him to the bank vault and tried to force out of him the secret of the com- bination. But although the old man’s strength was gone his spirit was not bowed. That firm determination with which he said, “ If the funds have got to go I prefer to go with them,” stood by him still. He absolutely refused to divulge the combination. How this enraged the burglars ! They became perfect fiends. They beat the cashier, slashed him with knives, assaulted him with all sorts of indignities, and in short tried to murder him by slow tor- ture. But all was in vain ; their victim was a martyr. The thieves, fearing discovery, for it was broad daylight, abandoned their task and fled. They secured only about $100. In the mean while there was growing anxiety in the home of Cashier Barron. When 3 o’clock came around and her husband had not returned, Mrs. Barron became fearful lest something had happened to him. She smothered her fears, however, and went on with her household duties. Then the shades of that February day began to fall. The sun shone out clear for a moment just above the western horizon, and then fell behind the hill. The air grew chillier with the approach of dusk. Mrs. Barron left her comfortable seat by the grate fire, and walked to the window to ascertain if she could see her absent husband. There was no sign of him. She walked into the kitchen, and there saw a hired man, named Bement, to whom she expressed her fear that Mr. Barron had met with an accident. Bement offered to go down to the bank and find out if his employer had been detained there. As the hired man approached the Masonic Building and looked up into the second story, where the bank offices were, he saw no light in the window. He started to go up the steps, when he met Cashier Curtis, of the Dexter National Bank, which was in the same building, and asked him if he had seen anything of Mr. Bar- ron. Mr. Curtis replied that he had not, and together with Be- ment walked to the door of the building. They listened and heard 246 A SICKENING SIGHT. a faint groan. This was enough. They tried to burst open the door, but it withstood their efforts. There was another entrance, and through this they climbed and made their way to the bank offices. The door by which entrance was had was open a mere crack. They pushed against it, but could not open it sufficiently to get through. The groans became more audible and horrible. Something had to be done. They found a slender lad, who climbed up over the door and into the room. It was dark, but by feeling around he discovered that it was a man’s body which blocked the door. By much tugging and straining he managed to pull the body along so as to allow the door to open more widely. Then a Captain Weed, who had been attracted by the noise as he was passing, squeezed through the aperture. Bement, the hired man, handed him his lantern. The captain turned the rays full on the creature behind the door, and a cry of anguish broke from his lips. It was a sickening sight that met his searching look. By the lantern’s light he saw Mr. Barron wedged in between the vault and the door — his face livid, his eyes set, his jaws stretched apart by a blood-soaked gag, a rope around his neck, his hands fastened behind him with hand-cuffs, and the man himself dying. Mr. Barron was at once removed to another part of the building, and his wife was summoned. At midnight he died. Further examination of the premises revealed the false teeth, the broken eye-glasses, a lead pencil and the coal-hod, half tipped over. There were, however, no clews to the burglars. The little town was of course very much excited. Stories of strange men who had been seen in the village ' multiplied. Several sleighloads of suspicious-looking men had been seen driving across the coun- try, but whether they included the murderers of the old cashier was never ascertained. Detectives from Boston and Portland were em- ployed to work up the case. It was a huge task. A rumor got abroad that Barron had not been murdered, but had committed suicide after having misappropriated the funds of the bank. His accounts were examined, and for a time his widow lived con- fronting the unjust suspicions. But the expert accountants soon discovered that Barron, instead of being a thief, was a hero. Fi- nally suspicion centred on a well-known gang of bank burglars, among whom were “ Worcester Sam,” “ Johnny ” Dobbs, “ Jimmy ” Hope, “ Abe ” Coakley and George Leonidas Leslie, alias George Howard. The Boston detectives called on the police of New VINDICATED. 247 York for assistance, and Richard King and George Dilks of the Central Office were put upon the case. They watched Coakley’s house attentively, and after some further investigation were so convinced that the above-named rascals were implicated in the murder that they felt ready to make arrests. The matter was finally allowed to drop because of insufficient evidence, and the murderers of Cashier Barron were never brought to justice. The peculiar circumstances surrounding the robbery of the Ocean National Bank, at Fulton and Greenwich streets, New York, on June 27, 1869, gives the burglary another interest aside from that which springs from the cleverness of the thieves’ work. There was stolen altogether in money and securities $768,879.74, but there was left in the bank vaults, or scattered outside on the floor, $1,806,958. The burglary occurred between Saturday night and Monday morning. The news came to headquarters on Monday, and detectives Elder, Kelso and Farley were dispatched at once to the building. They arrived at the bank shortly after nine o’clock, and found a very confused state of things. Outside the bank the streets were crowded with persons who had learned the fact of the robbery, and it required the efforts of several policemen to keep the throng from pushing through the doors. Within, the confusion was of a different sort, and greater. Of the persons connected *with the bank there had already arrived the colored janitor, Peter Grant; W. H. Dunn, a messenger; Joseph D. Martin, the porter; Edward Dunn, another messenger; Mr. Lyon, the receiving teller; Mr. Clark, the paying teller; C. S. Stevenson, the cashier; Mr. Morgan, a director, and Theodore M. Davis, an attorney of the bank. Sergeant Phillips, of the Twenty-seventh Precinct, had been notified and was in command. The bank offices included the large business room, the presi- dent’s private room, and the vault. Around the latter was as- sembled a very excited and nervous group. The outer door of the vault was open, and smoke issued from the aperture. The floor was covered with papers, books and old clothing left by the burglars, all thoroughly soaked with water. Bags holding nickel coin were smouldering. The detectives examined the outer vault door. It showed no sign of having been violently tampered with. The lock worked as usual. The vault was in three compartments, with a door to each. INTERIOR OF BANK VAULT. keys to this hung on the door, so that having forced the main door it had only been necessary for the burglars to use the keys which they found. The third door, or that leading to the inner vault, was of inch-and-a-quarter iron, and had a different lock from either of the others, a combination Butterworth, No. 3. In this inner vault were two safes, supposed to be burglar proof, and holding the cash and securities of the bank. 24S THE OCEAN BANK. The outside wall was built of large blocks of granite, which were lined on either side by heavy plates of boiler iron. The first door, which so surprised the detectives, was of iron, very strongly put together, and held tight by bolts and a combination lock. The second was also of iron, and was secured by a Yale lock. The • SCATTERED WEALTH. 249 Through all this iron and stone the burglars had worked their way. The evidences of their toil and its results were everywhere visible. In some mysterious way they had unlocked the outside door and found the keys which took them through the second ; but through the third there was no such easy passage. Here they had to use their jimmies and wedges, and when they got to the safes they brought into service all sorts of ingenious tools. There was a strong smell of powder in this inner vault when the detec- tives entered. The floor was covered with powder cans, fuses, drills, blow-pipes, bits, wedges, jack-screws, and steel and copper sledges. More wonderful, though, than all the burglars’ tools was the wealth which lay scattered over the floor, left by the thieves. Here were bags of gold and nickel coins, bundles of checks, bonds, notes, books, papers and fractional currency, all mixed up in a hopeless confusion, and all soaked with water. Inside the safes were bags of gold untouched; in one box was $160,000 in gold and gold certificates, yet the burglars didn’t seem to care for it. More signs of the burglars’ depredations were noticeable out- side the vault. The floor of the business room, behind the coun- ter, was littered with depositors’ boxes and their contents. The thieves had gone through them, but had taken very little. At the windows the small diamond-shaped apertures above the iron shut- ters were covered with black muslin and silk. In the floor of the president’s room had been bored a hole, two feet long and twenty inches wide. It was directly in front of his desk, and had appar- ently been worked at several days previous to the robbery. In the basement, below the bank offices, were found a bundle of United States bonds, a lot of silverware, hundreds of dollars in notes and mutilated fractional currency, half-eaten sandwiches, a dark-lantern, tools and old clothing. The basement windows were fastened and the doors locked. Our detectives looked at all this, and, it cannot be denied, they were mystified. The work had been done very systematically and intelligently, and yet it seemed as if the robbers had cherished just a little contempt for “filthy lucre,” so much had they left scattered on the floor. It could not have been that they were frightened away, for they had stopped to close doors and windows after them. Indeed, there seemed no way of accounting for the state of things which we found. When the officers of the bank 250 A MYSTERIOUS TRUNK. had made an investigation into their iosses they found that $768,- 879.74 had been carried away, and that $1,806,958 was left. As soon as they had recovered their senses they requested Theodore M. Davis, who had been the bank’s attorney at one time or another, and who happened in the bank on the morning that the robbery was discovered, to undertake an investigation into the burglary. He accordingly established headquarters at once in the president’s room, and called in the detectives. Subsequent search on the part of the detectives only added to the mystery. Strange as had been the conduct of the thieves on the night of the burglary, stranger was it afterward. Early on Tuesday morning, only twenty-four hours after the robbery, Pa- trolman Donahue, of the Sixth Precinct, brought to the station- house a small trunk bound around with a cord, and having at- tached to it a piece of paper on which was written, “ For Capt. Jourdan, of Sixth Ward.” The patrolman reported that while on his beat, two men, John Hilton, of No. 8 Franklin Street, and John Gowan, of No. 202 Catharine Street, had pointed out to him the trunk, which was then in front of No. 2 Elizabeth Street. As they called his attention to it, they remarked : “ Perhaps there’s a dead baby in it.” There was no baby in it, however. It contained nothing less than a portion of the property which had been stolen from the Ocean Bank. There were a few hundred dollars in cash, and the remainder, amounting to more than $275,000, was in securities. Among the checks was one of the cashier of the Exchange Bank, payable to the order of D. R. Martin, the president of the Ocean Bank, for $75,000. Another was drawn by President Martin for $20,000, payable to himself, and still another was drawn by the cashier, C. S. Stevenson, for $4000, payable to himself. The two latter had been paid on the Saturday before the robbery. The policy of the bank, as expressed and carried out by Mr. Davis, was to get possession, not of the thieves, but of the stolen property. For this reason the police thereafter worked against great odds. They did the best they could, however, and what they found is herewith given. The entire mystery of the case was not solved and probably never will be. Until February 8, of the year of the robbery, the Globe Insur- ance Company had occupied the basement of the building in which the Ocean Bank was situated. The general manager was “ they’ve done it.” 2 S l Edgar E. Holly, an intimate friend of President Martin. One morning in May, 1868, Mr. Holly discovered some wax, such as is used by burglars, around the keyhole of the front basement door. A few weeks later he found the lock badly out of order, and on several occasions saw suspicious persons in the neighbor- hood of the building. Each time his suspicions were aroused, and he told President Martin that he feared a burglary of the bank was threatened. The president laughed, and boasted the strength of the vaults. Later on, the porter of the bank reported that on one or two occasions he had seen strangers inside the railing near the vault. Once also he had seen a suspicious- looking man in the president’s room, who had jumped out of the window into Fulton Street as soon as he was discovered. Other warnings came. Sergeant Phillips reported the presence of suspicious characters in the neighborhood of the bank, and two months before the rob- bery Detective Keneally told the bank officers that an attempt on the Ocean Bank was probable. In spite of all these warnings the president did not heed. He had implicit trust in the strength of the vaults, and declined to have the bank watched. On the morn- ing of the robbery, when Mr. Holly entered the bank, he said to the president, significantly : “ Well, they’ve done it, haven’t they ? ” Whereupon Mr. Mar- tin, who was greatly agitated, whispered to Holly : “ For God’s sake and mine, never speak of any conversation that has passed between me and you in relation to the robbery of this bank.” It was in William J. Sharkey’s handsomely fitted billiard parlors in Broadway that the robbery of the Ocean Bank was schemed. Sharkey was a notorious character. The son of a prominent church member, he became early in life a pickpocket. From this occupation he drifted intoother criminal pursuits, until, in 1869, he was one of the biggest rascals in New York, and at the same time had such a political influence that he was the companion of judges, legislators and office-holders. Into the crime which he had now in mind he enticed William McKay, called sometimes “ Canada Mac,” a great sporting man, but known to the police as a burglar. The first plan agreed upon by these conspirators was to employ a sneak thief to do the burglary. For this purpose, Charles King, an expert English thief, was brought over to this 252 PREPARATIONS. country. He it was whom, in 1868, the janitor of the Ocean Bank Building saw leap out of a window in the president’s room. For a whole year Sharkey and McKay were planning the rob- bery, but their efforts met with no success. Then they changed their tactics. There was a man whom McKay knew, called William O’Kell. This individual was a broker, and did business under the Stuyvesant Bank, on Broadway, above Grand Street. He had previously assisted thieves in disposing of their stolen property. Sharkey and McKay arranged with O’Kell that he should lease the basement under the Ocean Bank Building, re- cently vacated by the Globe Insurance Company, and sublet the rear part of it to McKay, who was to be known by the name of Lewis K. Cole. This was done early in June, 1869, and unbeknown to everybody save themselves the work of getting at the Ocean Bank’s vaults went on. About this time also they enlisted in their plans two well-known thieves, Max Shinburn and George Miles White. To the basement they brought their tools and lanterns. In some way they got information regarding what was in the bank, what the combination for unfastening the outside door of the vault was, and where they were to find the keys to the second door. To such a degree was their task lightened. To effect an entrance to the president’s room they bored the hole which was found afterwards in the floor under his desk. At last everything was completed. Sunday night was chosen for the burglary, because the janitor was in the habit of being away at that time. One by one the thieves crawled up through the hole, and then they began their operations. Sharkey pointed out what securities they should take and what they should leave. They obeyed his commands, mysterious as the latter were, and stole the amount which has already been mentioned. They carried the plunder to a wholesale liquor house near by and di- vided it. Within twenty-four hours, however, after the robbery was discovered negotiations had been opened between the burg- lars and the bank officers, which resulted in the former return- ing the securities found in the little trunk on Elizabeth Street, and making off with the remainder. Some time during the month of March, 1874, a man named J. J. Gilmore became the lessee of what was known as the Gilmore Building, corner of Eighth Avenue and Fourteenth Street, at a rental of $7000 a year. This Gilmore Building adjoined the “click, click, click!” 2 53 premises occupied by the New York Savings Bank, the entrance to which was on Eighth Avenue, near the corner. Previous to Gilmore’s tenancy, the Gilmore Building had been occupied by John Arthur as a billiard hall, saloon and restaurant. Under Arthur’s management even, the place was never kept in decent shape, but when Gilmore came into possession it was allowed to go to “ rack and ruin,” and it was a subject for wonder among those who resided in the locality as to how he made a living. Rumors were circulated among a certain class that Gilmore was none other than J. J. Clare, a noted bank burglar, but these sus- picions never came to the ears of the officers of the bank, and they therefore took no particular notice of their neighbors. And so matters went along until shortly before midnight of Friday, June 27, when Patrolman Keller, of the Sixteenth Precinct, passed the building. A peculiar “ click, click, click ” was borne to his ears, seemingly emanating from the bank premises. What could it mean ? Then the noise ceased, only to be resumed in a minute or so. “ Click, click, click!” There it was again. From whence did it come ? Suddenly there flashed to his brain the thought that there was something wrong going on in the bank. “ Click, click, click,” once more. This time there could be no doubt about it. He at once ran to the corner, and despatched Officer Sinclair, whom he found there, to the Twentieth Street Police Station for assistance. This soon arrived in the person of Captain Cherry, accompanied by three or four patrolmen. They listened, and could plainly hear the same noise which had attracted Keller’s attention in the first instance. He also was convinced that all was not right in the bank. By his directions, the officers under him attempted to force an entrance into the Gilmore Building at the Eighth Avenue entrance. The door was a stout one and re- sisted their utmost efforts. Dashing up the front steps, Captain Cherry gave the bell-handle a vigorous pull, and a resounding peal followed. In response, a window on the second floor was opened and a head appeared. “ What do you want ? Who are you ? ” it asked. Captain Cherry shouted that they were police officers and wished to be admitted immediately. “ All right,” replied the head, which at once disappeared, and the window was closed. 1 A minute or more elapsed, during which the sound of hurrying 254 WHAT CAPTAIN CHERRY SAW. footsteps was heard in the basement. Impatient at the delay, the captain was about to ring the bell again, when three men were seen to jump out of a rear window and run in the direction of Ninth Avenue. The officers followed, and after a short, sharp run, managed to capture them. Two of the prisoners, Wm. Morgan and John Simpson, were well known as “crooks,” but the other, who gave his name as Charles Sanborn, was a perfect stranger. Meanwhile, Captain Cherry had not been idle, but had suc- ceeded in entering the Gilmore Building by prying open a window. Once inside, further research was not difficult. A trap-door in the restaurant floor led to the basement, where he found ample evi- dence that Officer Keller had heard the “click, click, click ” just in time. In the southerly wall of the building a hole about four feet square had been made. Four courses of brick had been removed, exposing to view the granite slabs of which the outer casing of the vault of the New York Savings Bank was constructed. No attempt had been made to blast the slabs, but in one of them the captain noticed a clearly-drilled, polished hole, one inch in diameter and two deep. He at once saw that no hand-drill had been used. Groping around in the dungeon-like basement he soon came across a diminutive upright boiler, attached to which was a portion of the machinery necessary to the working of a drill. The whole floor of the basement was covered with the bricks taken from the breach, but the only tool found was a heavy iron mallet, tipped with lead so as to deaden the sound. Nothing else was discovered, but it was evident that much time and labor had been expended in the “enterprise,” which was brought to such an untimely conclusion. Gilmore, the lessee of the building, managed to escape, and what became of him or his companions I have never ascertained. Dan Noble, alias Daniel Dyson, was originally a pickpocket, but after some years’ practice in that direction graduated as a bank sneak of the highest grade. His most brilliant exploit was his “snatching” of $100,000 from the Royal Insurance Company’s office on Broadway in broad daylight. He is also said to have been concerned in the famous Lord bond robbery, when $1,000,000 were stolen. Being sentenced to five years’ imprisonment at Auburn for burglary at Elmira, New York, he there made the acquaintance of Jimmy Hope and James Brady, and escaped with them. Subsequently he went to England, where he associated, 2 55 A “TOP SAWYER.” largely with “sporting swells.” He visited France on one occa- sion, but the surroundings were uncongenial and he returned to England, where he was sentenced to twenty years’ imprisonment for forgery. His health broke down, and in 1878 he died in prison, after serving about half his term. Max, or Mark Shinburn, who was one of the confederates in the Ocean Bank burglary, was an aristocratic criminal. It was his habit to remark with great earnestness to his companions that as soon as he got wealthy he was going back to the Fatherland and become a nobleman. He was the one economical criminal I ever encountered. Instead of dissipating his booty among male and female companions, he bought letters of credit and made them payable to friends in Prussia. He was never the inmate of a prison for any length of time, and only had to do with the “ safest ” kind of robbery. On the 8th or 9th of February, 1869, while I was inspector, John F. Young, at that time captain of the detec- tive force, received information from General Frank Spinola to the effect that certain men had offered to sell him some stolen 256 GEN. SPINOLA’S PLAN. bonds. A plan was accordingly set on foot to entrap the parties. General Spinola hired a room at No. 60 Broadway, and fitted it up with the necessary furniture, desks, chairs, safe, etc. A formid- able and imposing-looking package of counterfeit bills was ob- tained from United States Marshal Robert Murray, and given to General Spinola so as to enable him to show the holders of the stolen bonds, who had been notified by him meanwhile that he was ready to negotiate, that he was going to pay cash. On February 10 they put in an appearance. The general received them in the most polite and agreeable manner, giving them to understand that he was willing to buy the bonds if a price could be agreed upon. Opening the safe he took out the package of counterfeit money, and remarked : “ You see I’m ready to trade, and will pay cash down for the bonds.” After some further conversation an arrangement was made by which they were to call the next day with the bonds. Captain Young was notified by General Spinola to this effect, and at the time agreed, the captain, together with detectives James Irving and Edsell, concealed themselves near the office and were to put in an appearance upon a certain signal. The two men came, bringing the bonds, and the signal was given.* The officers rushed into the room and arrested them. Upon being questioned they gave their names as James Weaver and James McCabe, but the former' was recognized as no less an individual than Max Shinburn, while the latter was known as “ Canada Mac.” They were taken to police headquarters, where $99,500 in bonds, stolen from the First National Bank of Mary- land, was found on them. Within the past month, in looking over some of the minutes of this capture, I have had occasion to exam- ine the returns of arrests made by the Detective Bureau at that time, but after a careful search I failed to find any record of the occur- rence at headquarters. The fact of the arrest was kept a secret at the time, as the two prisoners, it was said, agreed to return to Mary- land without waiting for the formality of extradition papers. The two were thereupon delivered into the custody of a private detective agency, having its office in Baltimore. The officers of this agency conveyed Shinburn and Canada Mac to Jersey City, en route for Baltimore. 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