'
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- S31" 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* 572~578-
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 rHE 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.
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Phil. G. Cusacks. “ V. G”
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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.
27
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.
29
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’SV 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 wrork 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 years 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'
52
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
64
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.
8o
“ 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
84
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.
91
“ 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 wras 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.
96
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
98
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.
io5
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
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THE HALL BEDROOM.
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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