strong, mild-mannered and unobtrusive. And he knew Italian. “Your name
from now on is Frank Baldo,” I said. “Forget you’re a detective. You
can get a job over in Long Island City, so as to carry out the bluff.
You are an anarchist. Join the Brescia Circle and any other affiliated
group, and report to me every day. The older members may be suspicious
of you, and they’ll probably follow you, so we had better arrange when
you are to telephone and I’ll let you know whenever and wherever I want
to see you.” We discussed every possible angle of the work in order
to anticipate and forestall whatever accident either of omission or
commission might occur to make Polignani’s position suspicious. He was
instructed to call me by telephone at certain hours, using a private
number, telephoning from a public pay-station in a store in which
there was not more than one booth, so that no one might follow him and
hear his conversation through the flimsy walls of a booth adjoining.
He was to deport himself in a retiring manner, and to throw himself
earnestly into the part he was to act. I felt sure that his quiet,
agreeable nature would disarm any suspicion of him as a newcomer, and
that complete concentration upon the spirit of the masquerade would
gradually draw out important information. First and foremost, he was
to be on the watch for evidence of the man who had committed the two
bomb outrages in October; secondly, he was to cover the activities and
intentions of the anarchists in general; thirdly, he was to keep his
eyes and ears open and his mouth shut, and to deal with any emergency
which might arise.
[Illustration:
_Copyright, by International News Service_
Carmine and Carbone in Court]
It often happens in fiction that a man journeys to a far country
and somewhere on the voyage sheds his identity like an old suit of
clothes to proceed through years of adventure as another individual;
in the movies it is no feat at all for a girl to disguise herself as a
man and hoodwink the rest of the actors through several hundred feet
of film; but it remained for a New York detective to discard his name
and his associations for six months, and without once stirring outside
his jurisdiction, without any disguise, and without miraculous power,
to add to the records--and consequently to the efficiency--of his
department a store of information of one of the most troublesome groups
of anarchists in the United States.
He bade his little family in the Bronx good-by, got employment at
manual labor in a Long Island City factory, and hired a cheap room at
1907 Third Avenue. Throughout November he attended meetings of the
Brescia Circle, listening to bitter speeches full of wild plans to
overthrow the government, and the organized church, and getting the lay
of the land. To such members as chose to speak to him he was courteous
and friendly, but they were not many. The more important members had a
way of gathering in corners and whispering to each other, and the new
member was not invited to join the charmed inner circle. So he held his
peace, and memorized names and faces, and presently his opportunity
came.
Polignani had noticed on November 30 a young Italian cobbler, named
Carbone, who seemed to have influence in the Circle, and he confirmed
this judgment on the next two Sunday evenings as he saw Carbone in
whispered conversation with Frank Mandese and one Campanielli. The
next Sunday night the same trio was in star-chamber session when a
good-natured wrestling match started in another part of the room, and
Carbone turned to watch it. Polignani was tossing various members to
the floor, and as he was smoothing his ruffled hair after a short
bout, Carbone tapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re a strong
fellow--I’m glad to see you a member of the Brescia Circle!” The
detective smiled, and the two fell into conversation, which continued
as they left the society’s rooms and strolled up Third Avenue.
“The trouble with those fellows,” said Carbone, “is that they talk too
much and don’t act enough. They don’t accomplish anything.”
“That’s right,” Polignani agreed.
“What they ought to do is throw a few bombs and show the police
something,” Carbone continued. “Wake them up! Look--” he held up the
stumps of five fingers of his right hand--“I got that making a bomb.
Some day I’ll show you how to make ’em.”
That arrangement suited Polignani perfectly. He had a lead, after
tedious “watchful waiting,” which had been punctuated by the explosion
of a mysterious bomb at the door of the Bronx County Court House on
November 11. He had listened to reams of oratory against the ruling
classes, law, order and the churches, had heard his fellow members
chided because the bombs at St. Patrick’s and St. Alphonsus’ had been
too weak, and had heard speakers advise any members who contemplated
the use of dynamite not to take too many people into their confidences.
Carbone was deliberately confiding in “Baldo,” and the detective made
up his mind to cultivate him.
This extract from his notebook will illustrate how the acquaintance
ripened:
“I did not see Carbone again until Sunday the 27th. On this day
he spoke to me of a friend named Frank and said that if all
anarchists were like his friend they would be all right. He
thinks nothing of making and throwing a bomb. On January 1st
about 1.45 P. M. Carbone met me as per appointment. We went to
where the meeting of the unemployed was being held and both
of us shook hands with Louise Berg, Mandese, and Bianco.... He
introduced me to his friend Frank....”
Enter the third conspirator, Frank Abarno, 25 years old, and a native
of San Velle, Italy. Almost on the heels of his introduction to the
promising new member, the new member began to take a new interest
in life, for on January 3 Carbone drew Polignani out of the meeting
after the speeches and said quietly, “Come on up to the 125th Street
Station. It’s warm up there, and we won’t be bothered. I’ll tell you
something about making bombs.” And on the way up Lexington Avenue
Carbone explained that he needed some caps about two inches long. All
the dynamite he wanted he could get from his uncle, a contractor “out
in the country.” “We’ll get some dynamite, and then you and Frank and
me will blow up some churches, see?”
“Sure,” the detective answered. “What church?”
“St. Patrick’s is the best. This time it’ll be a good one too--not like
before.”
“Did you hear what Mandese was saying the other night?” Polignani
asked. “He was scrapping with another fellow and the fellow says, ‘If
they wouldn’t give me no work I’d throw bombs.’ And Mandese said to
him, ‘The only kind of bombs you shoot are the kind you shoot with
your mouth,’ and he says, ‘What kind of bombs do you shoot then?’ And
Mandese says, ‘The kind that went off at Madison Square and the two
churches, see!’”
Carbone apparently did not care for the results of the previous
explosions, for he said:
“Well, they were no good. That bomb that killed Carron and Berg and
Hansen wasn’t made right. It was wound too tight--that’s why it went
off too soon. I can make a bomb from a brass ball off a bed-post that
will start something.”
A fortnight passed, and Carbone turned up at the Brescia meeting-place
in company with Abarno. They beckoned to Polignani and the three walked
down Third Avenue, Abarno mouthing anarchy, and suddenly suggesting
that he would like to go into St. Patrick’s, find Cardinal Farley
alone, and choke him to death. The gentle soul then remarked: “Carbone,
you make some bombs!”
“If I can get those caps I’ll make a bomb that will destroy the
Cathedral clear down to the ground, but if I can’t get the caps then
I’ll have to make the other kind.”
“Well, you make two bombs,” said Abarno. “We’ll set them off on the
outside of the church about six o’clock some morning and then we
can get away clean and get to work on time and nobody will know the
difference.”
Carbone asked Abarno to get him some sulphur, and turned to Polignani a
slip pencilled, “Collorate di Potase, 1 lb.” and “Andimonio.” “You get
that at a drug store, Baldo,” he said.
“Baldo” complied, and a few weeks later the materials were assembled.
Carbone instructed Polignani to call on Abarno for a booklet on bomb
manufacture, and about six in the evening of February 4 Abarno gave the
detective the pamphlet to read while he went out to get some spaghetti,
as the two had an appointment with Carbone at 7.30. Polignani was
hardly out of Abarno’s sight when he sprinted to a telephone and called
me. I met him at once, at headquarters, and turned the booklet over to
the photographer, who got to work immediately photographing the pages.
Our time was short, and before we had the job done I had to restore the
book to Polignani. On Lincoln’s Birthday Carbone gave the book to our
man again, to study, and this gave us time to finish the photographic
copying.
[Illustration:
ISTRUMENTI
Una bilancia usata L. 8.--
Un termometro ” 2.50
Misure ” 3.--
Matracci di vetro ” 6.--
Tre imbuti di vetro e tre bacchette di vetro ” 2.--
Lampada a spirito ” 1.--
Un mastello di legno di 30 o 35 litri ” 3.--
Spese varie e impreviste ” 20.50
---------
TOTALE L. 46.--
Raccomandiamo a coloro che si vogliono mettere a questi lavori,
di procurarsi prima di tutto il denaro necessario; altrimenti
arrischiano di doversi fermare a mezza strada, di tirar le cose
in lungo ed esporsi inutilmente.
Raccomandiamo agli stessi di non trascurare nessuna delle
precauzioni necessarie per non attirare l’attenzione della
polizia, di non mettersi in vista colla propaganda pubblica, di
non farsi vedere coi compagni conosciuti, e di non lavorare mai
nelle case soggette ad essere perquisite.
Sopratutto raccomandiamo non mettersi a fabbricare esplosivi
per il gusto di fabbricarli. Tutto ciò che si può avere bello e
fatto, è inutile, è stupido il volerlo fare da sè, quando non
si ha la pratica ed i mezzi che hanno quelli del mestiere. Nei
posti in cui si può avere la dinamite--e oggi la si può avere
quasi dappertutto--perchè mettersi a fabbricarla?
Bisogna poi che fra i diversi esplosivi, le diverse bombe,
ecc., ognuno scelga le cose che per lui sono più facili e più
pratiche ricordandosi sempre che: =E’ meglio una cosa piccola
fatta, che una grande restata in proposito.=
--13--
stessa: si legano bene con fil di ferro intorno alla rotaia,
si mette capsula e miccia, si copre con terra e la mina è
pronta. Questa produce una rottura di mezzo metro. Per avere
rotture più estese non v’è che preparare parecchie di queste
mine, a debita distanza e munirle di miccie di eguali qualità e
lunghezza; e raccogliere insieme i capi delle miccie, in modo
che dando fuego alle miccie lo scoppio è contemporaneo in tutti
i punti. Spesso è vantaggioso per far saltare gli scambii, cioè
i punti dove s’incrociano diverse linee. Per mettere fuori
d’uso una locomotiva o una macchina a vapore qualsiasi, basta
far scoppiare 3 o 4 petardi in un tubo intemo della caldaia.
BOMBE
Sono recipienti di metallo pieni di materia esplosiva, che
scoppiando si rompono in pezzi e feriscono i circostanti.
Possono avere qualunque forma, ma la sferica è più efficace.
Per farle scoppiare si può adoperare una capsula con miccia
che brucia rapidissimamente tanto da aver giusto il tempo
per accenderle e lanciarle. Si può anche applicarvi tutto
a l’intorno dei luminelli con capsule o altri apparati, in
modo che per l’urto della caduta il fulminato scoppi e faccia
scoppiare la carica della bomba, come in quelle all’Orsini.
La bomba fa tanto più effetto quanto più il metallo è
resistente, sempre che la carica abbia la forza di farla
scoppiare. Quindi il miglior metallo è il ferro o l’acciaio,
poi il rame, l’ottone, il bronzo, quindi la ghisa ed infine
lo zinco solo o legato con stagno; il piombo non serve. LO
SPESSORE DELLE PA-
--39--
Pages from the bomb-thrower’s textbook]
I realized when I saw the translation how Carbone knew so much about
making bombs.
“La Salute e’ in voi!” read the cover, or “Health is in you!” Evidently
a toast to the brotherhood for which it was prepared. It was a pamphlet
of some sixty pages, measuring about four by eight inches, and cleanly
printed in Italian. It was nothing less than a text-book on how to go
about making bombs--a sort of guide to anarchist etiquette. It would be
unwise to reproduce its instructions here in detail, as they were too
accurate for the general peace, but the index which follows will give
a conception of the thoroughness with which the anonymous writers in
far-off Italy covered their subject.
“Index--
First principles 1
Instruments 7
Manipulation 8
Explosive material 11
Powder 14
Nitroglycerine 14
Dynamite 20
Fulminate of mercury 23
Gun cotton 27
Preparation of fuses 31
Capsule and petard 34
Application of explosive materials 35
Bombs 39
Incendiary materials 44”
Yes, it was accurate--and very practical. To quote from its advice to
struggling anarchists:
“We recommend most earnestly that if you wish to engage in
this line of work, you procure, before all else, a sufficient
amount of money, otherwise you risk being put out in the middle
of the street, only to find your long work and trouble all in
vain. We recommend at the same time that you do not omit any
precaution necessary to avoid attracting the attention of the
police, and avoid mixing with the public, nor be seen with
known companions. And do not work at it in the house except
when necessary....
“The work should be done in a well ventilated room provided
with a good chimney place and furnished in such a way that you
can hide things if anyone enters, and this room ought to be on
the top floor of the house on account of the odors that are
always being produced....
“Above all we recommend that you never make explosives for
the mere pleasure of making them. All you do beyond enough is
useless and stupid--especially so when you have neither the
practice nor the proper means for making them. As to the place
to keep the dynamite, why make it until it is needed? Take
heed that among the various kinds of explosives, bombs, etc.,
always choose the one that will be most easily used and most
practical, remembering always that it is better to do a little
thing well than to leave a big thing half done....”
The little booklet contained a list of the necessary tools with their
estimated costs, and said of the chemicals to be used, “The materials
to be employed should be sufficiently pure. They may be had of dealers
in chemical and pharmaceutical products, and it is well not to buy all
the stuff from the same merchant, in order that he may not know what
you wish to make....” It explained the relative forces of explosives
in this way: “The relative force which the various explosives have
is as follows: Shot-gun powder has a force of 1; an equal amount of
‘Panclastite’ has the force of 6; of dynamite 7; of dry gun-cotton 9
(if with 50% of salts of nitre, 5); of nitroglycerine 9; of fulminate
of mercury 10 or 3½; of nitromannite 11.... All the other explosives of
which we speak, such as melenite, etc., have nitroglycerine for their
bases, therefore have no greater force than that of nitroglycerine.”
After an exposition of the method of making nitroglycerine--the mere
reading of which would make your hair bristle--the compilers conclude
“... it is not very dangerous to use when cold, notwithstanding
all that has been said. It would be a great work if some American
manufacturer would devise some means of congealing it so that it would
be less sensitive to shock, so that it might safely be carried on the
railways.” Of fulminating cotton they remark, “As it ignites with
instantaneous rapidity it is best to use a fuse that burns the most
quickly; for example, when for use in bombs made to throw at a person,
it will be enough to twist the cord, etc., etc.” Minute directions are
given for the home-laboratory manufacture of the explosives listed, and
the experimenter who cared to attempt their manufacture was warned in
the simplest and most emphatic terms of the caprices of the different
materials. He was told how to make cord-fuses that would burn at the
rate of 8 hours to the yard, and of 6 hours to the yard; paper fuses
which would reach the explosive two hours after a spark had touched the
corner of a sheet of prepared paper; thread fuses which would sparkle
fifteen seconds to the metre, or three minutes to the metre; and,
finally, an instantaneous fuse which “Because it will burn with all the
speed of electricity ... may be made to serve many important purposes:
to fire a mine under a passing train, under gatherings, or troops of
cavalry.”
If the bomber wished to blow up a wall, he was told how to compute
by simple mathematics the quantity of explosive required. A bridge
“will require twice the charge needed for a wall”--and the vulnerable
points of the bridge were indicated. Telephone and telegraph poles and
wires, street gratings, street railways, locomotives, steam-boilers,
all came in for their share of attention. “It is very easy to find
suitable receptacles for bombs,” the writer went on. “For example,
large inkwells, brass handles such as are used on letter-presses....
For certain purposes a bottle may be made to serve as a bomb--they
are suitable for throwing from a window.... Fragile glass bottles
when filled with this solution (an incendiary mixture) make handy
incendiary bombs to hurl among troops, official gatherings, etc.; also
to pour from windows upon troops, or to throw from a drinking glass or
pail....” I have wondered whether Gavrio Prinzip of Sarajevo ever saw
this book, and whether it may not have been translated into Italian
from the original German.
Mere possession of this wicked treatise would suggest that the owner
was up to no good, especially if the owner, as in this case, was known
to be a volatile member of an anarchistic circle who had already
declared his intentions of wrecking something. It was reasonable to
assume that there must be such a book of instruction in existence, that
the bombers had not been handling delicate explosives with no better
knowledge than word-of-mouth, hearsay chemistry, but I am free to
confess that my first sight of the pamphlet brought the plots of the
men we were watching very close to grim reality. I never knew just when
we would get an ambulance call and have to go and pick Polignani out of
the wreck of a premature explosion, and I never heard him report in on
the telephone that I didn’t experience a momentary apprehension of his
latest news. The detective himself was calm enough, and enthusiastic
over the fact that the trail was growing hotter all the time. The
question of evidence of the previous explosions was in the background
now, and the activities of the Brescia Circle as a political unit did
not concern us nearly as much as the activities of three of its members
with their “andimonio, collorate di potase” and their pamphlet, and
their hatred of the Catholic Church.
Polignani had seen this hatred demonstrated many times by Carbone.
They passed two Sisters of Charity one chilly evening near the Harlem
station, and the anarchist spat, and cursed them. So the detective
was not surprised by Abarno’s proposal on the night of St. Valentine’s
Day that the three conspirators plant their bombs in St. Patrick’s
Cathedral. “We’ll go over there some day soon and look for a good place
to set them. And then we’ll plant the bomb on some good holiday--say on
March 21, eh?”
“What’s that day?” Polignani inquired.
“The Commune!” Abarno answered.
Polignani bought the antimony and the chlorate of potash, and at a
subsequent meeting watched uneasily while Carbone tried to pulverize
the antimony with a hammer. It was too hard work, however, and “Baldo”
was directed to buy a small quantity of the pulverized substance. This
he did. The three had meanwhile been trying to pick out a good room in
an English-speaking lodging house in 29th Street, but finally gave it
up and hired a furnished room at 1341 Third Avenue. There they brought
their materials, consisting of twelve yards of copper wire, a trunk
full of odds and ends, tools, fuse cord, and various ingredients. To
this supply they wanted to add some hollow iron balls, but the hollow
iron ball market was sparse, and they finally substituted three tin
hand-soap cans. On February 27 Polignani and Abarno made a tour of
inspection of St. Patrick’s, and as they were descending the steps
Abarno remarked that when he had destroyed the Cathedral they would
turn their attention first to the Carnegie residence at 90th Street and
Fifth Avenue, and then to the Rockefeller home. “We won’t wait till
March 21,” he observed impatiently. “Let’s get this job done soon. Say
Tuesday morning.”
[Illustration: A postcard received by Commissioner Woods after the
arrest of the Anarchists
The message reads:
“MR. WOODS
My Dear Sir
Your police Espionage may go as far as you like for the
promotion of your Bankrupt Law & Order of Society. The
Anarchists of New York have but one Life to give for the Ideal
of Humanity and absolute Freedom of mankind the world over.
yours The Society for the Propagation of absolute Liberty and
Human Freedom....”
]
High noon of the following day saw the three plotters cheerfully at
work in the furnished room. Abarno and Carbone measured carefully the
proportions of sulphur, sugar, chlorate of potash and antimony; Carbone
filled the tins with the mixture, and led the fuses into the heart of
the mass, glancing up from time to time to the detective with real
pride, as if to say: “See, Baldo? That’s how an expert works!” “Baldo”
had contributed his share of the materials--a few lengths of iron rod.
Carbone bound these to the outside of the cans with cord, and added a
few bolts which he found in a bureau drawer, and a coat-hanger, twisted
out of shape. Round and round this shapeless tangle of metal he wove
copper wire, and so produced two heavy, compact bombs. Polignani had
grown almost gray when, after boring the fuse holes in the can-tops,
Carbone casually picked up a hammer and began to tattoo the cans.
The detective promptly took refuge behind the bed, near the floor.
“No use to hide there, Baldo!” This with a laugh from Carbone. “If
she goes off she’ll blow the whole house down. How’s that, Frank?” he
added, showing the finished product to Abarno.
“I’ll throw that one and you can throw the other, Carbone,” Abarno
said. “Now listen. We will meet here Tuesday morning at six o’clock
to the minute. We will get to the Cathedral just at 6.20. Then we’ll
light the bombs, and the fuses will burn slow for twenty minutes, so
as we can get over to the Madison Avenue car and then we can all get
to work on time, and we will have a good alibi all right. Then we’ll
get together Tuesday night and go some place and have a good time to
celebrate throwing a scare into Fifth Avenue, boys! Tuesday morning,
six o’clock sharp?”
Carbone and Polignani assented, and Abarno left.
Polignani kept in close touch with me from that moment forward. Ever
since the day when Carbone had sent him to the drug store for black
antimony, with instructions to bribe the drug clerk if he could not
easily obtain it, we had had a double check on the conspirators, for I
had assigned two men to shadow them constantly. The case was building
towards a climax. Polignani had shrewdly kept the slip on which
Carbone wrote the prescription for the explosives, and when Carbone
asked where it was he said, “I tore it up. I didn’t want it to be
found on me. It would get me into trouble.” The anarchist praised the
detective for his forethought. The two men from the Bomb Squad never
let Abarno and Carbone out of their sight, so that for a month we had
not only the direct evidence of Polignani of what the conspirators
said and did in his presence, but evidence from the two shadows which
accounted for their time more fully, probably, than they could have
recalled themselves. And so when Polignani--who did not know he was
being observed--told me of the final plans, I passed the information on
to the two shadows, and we formulated a counter-campaign for Tuesday
morning.
Shortly after sunrise on Tuesday, Polignani tumbled out of bed and into
his clothes. He ate a hasty and nervous breakfast at a cheap lunch-room
around the corner, and hurried to the sidewalk before 1341 Third
Avenue, arriving a few minutes after six. Abarno joined him at 6.30.
“Where’s Carbone--isn’t he here?” he said by way of greeting.
“No,” replied “Baldo.”
“Well, we can’t wait for him. We can’t lose any time. I got to be at
work at 7.30. Come up and get the bombs with me. We’ll probably meet
him on the way down the street. Or maybe he’s at the shoe-shop.”