Come with me, if you will, to a tiny, quiet New England village,
nestling among the picturesquely rugged hills of New Hampshire. This
little hamlet has for over a century been known as Gilmanton Academy.
So called in honor of an institution of learning of that name, founded
there by a few sturdy, self-denying and God-fearing men, over a hundred
years ago, who, could they now leave their silent resting places in the
church-yard near by, and again wander for an hour through these quiet
streets, would, with the exception of new faces, see little change.
Here, in the year 1861, I, Herman W. Mudgett, the author of these
pages, was born. That the first years of my life were different from
those of any other ordinary country-bred boy, I have no reason to
think. That I was well trained by loving and religious parents, I know,
and any deviations in my after life from the straight and narrow way
of rectitude are not attributable to the want of a tender mother’s
prayers or a father’s control, emphasized, when necessary, by the
liberal use of the rod wielded by no sparing hand.
On my fifth birthday I was given my first suit of boy’s clothing, and
soon after was sent to the village school-house where the school was
“kept.” I had daily to pass the office of one village doctor, the door
of which was seldom if ever barred. Partly from its being associated
in my mind as the source of all the nauseous mixtures that had been my
childish terror (for this was before the day of children’s medicines),
and partly because of vague rumors I had heard regarding its contents,
this place was one of peculiar abhorrence to me, and this becoming
known to two of my older schoolmates, they one day bore me struggling
and shrieking beyond its awful portals; nor did they desist until I had
been brought face to face with one of its grinning skeletons, which,
with arms outstretched, seemed ready in its turn to seize me. It was a
wicked and dangerous thing to do to a child of tender years and health,
but it proved an heroic method of treatment, destined ultimately to
cure me of my fears, and to inculcate in me, first, a strong feeling
of curiosity, and, later, a desire to learn, which resulted years
afterwards in my adopting medicine as a profession.
When I was about eight years old, an unusual occurrence took place in
our village—the arrival of an itinerant photographer. He was a man
apparently suffering from some slight lameness, and gladly accepted
my offer to act as his errand boy, and in payment for my services he
was to execute for me a likeness of myself. One morning upon going to
his office I found the door still locked. It was immediately opened,
however, by the artist, sufficiently for him to hand to me a small
wooden block broken in two pieces. He instructed me to take them to
our village wagon maker and have him make a new one, which I was to
return to him. I did this, and upon entering the office again, I found
the artist partially clothed and sitting near the door, which he at
once locked. He then proceeded to remove the greater portion of one
of his legs, and not having known until then what was the cause of
his lameness, in fact, not ever having seen or even known that such
a thing as artificial limbs existed, my consternation can better be
imagined than described. Had he next proceeded to remove his head in
the same mysterious way I should not have been further surprised. He
must have noticed my discomfiture, for as soon as his mending process
had sufficiently progressed, he quickly placed me in a dim light, and
standing upon his whole leg, and meantime waving the other at me, he
took my picture, which in a few days he gave to me. I kept it for many
years, and the thin terror-stricken face of that bare footed, home-spun
clad boy I can yet see.
In those days in our quiet village, so remote from the outside
world, that even a locomotive whistle could scarcely be heard,
daily newspapers were rare and almost unknown, our usual source of
information being the weekly papers and a few periodicals; and in one
of these I saw a glowing offer, emphasized by a fine illustration of a
gold watch and chain, a few of which would be sold at a comparatively
trifling sum. Surely this was for me the one opportunity of my life,
and although my entire wealth at that time consisted mostly of pennies
and other small coins, almost every one having for me its own peculiar
history, all of which I converted into more transferable shape by
exchanging them with our shoemaker, who was also my confidant in the
matter, was hardly more than sufficient to buy the watch.
I was far more concerned lest, before my order should reach the distant
city, all would be sold, than troubled over the depleted condition of
my purse. Then came anxious days of waiting and later the arrival of
the watch, and after going alone to my room to wind it and deciding
which pocket was most suitable for its reception, and still later going
to the several stores and some houses, bargaining beforehand with a
little friend that, in consideration of his accompanying me and at each
place asking in an unconcerned manner what time it was, that he should
wear it the greater part of the day, although I was to be present that
no harm befell my treasure; but before it came time for him to wear it
the wheels had ceased to turn, the gold had lost its lustre, and the
whole affair had turned into an occasion of ridicule for my companions
and of self-reproach to myself.
My first falsehood and my first imprisonment occurred synchronously,
and were occasioned as follows:—
One morning as I was driving our small herd of cows, which had a few
days previously been increased by the addition of several others
belonging to a neighbor, to their usual feeding ground, outside the
limits of the village, an inquisitive neighbor met me and asked, “Whose
be they?” I replied very proudly, “Ours.” “What, all of them?” “Yes,
_all_, everyone, and that best one is mine, my own.” An hour later upon
returning to my home I found father waiting to receive me. He demanded
why I had told Richard the lie about the cows, but before I could
answer him my mind was most effectually taken up by the production of
an implement, to which I was no stranger, and by its vigorous use.
After this I was consigned to an upper room and strictly enjoined to
speak to no one, and for the ensuing day I should have no food. My
absence was soon noticed by my playmates and the cause ascertained,
and not long after upon looking out of the window I saw my little
friend perched upon the fence nearby, looking almost as disconsolate as
I, and later in the day, after sundry pantomime communications he came
with a liberal supply of food, which, with the aid of the ever present
ball of cord, which you can find in almost every boy’s pocket, I was
soon enjoying. Accompanying the food was a note written in his scrawly
hand encouraging me to “never mind,” and that upon the following
Saturday we would go down and let Richard’s cows into his cornfield.
But this was not done, for late at night when the shadows in my room
had assumed strange and fearful shapes, my mother came and taking me
into her own room, knelt down and earnestly plead with me and for me,
and it was many days before I forgot that lesson. This little note,
however, with two others form a unique collection. The second was a
joint production of my friend and myself, addressed to an unpopular
school teacher one vacation upon our hearing that some slight financial
calamity had overtaken him. This was done with the belief that a new
teacher was to take his place during the coming year, but in this we
were mistaken. I had abundant evidence during the first day of the
following term that he had received our letter, when he changed my seat
from one I had long occupied, and which was very favorably located for
looking into the street, to the opposite side of the room. My seatmate
was a very disagreeable and unpopular girl.
The third note was also a joint production, written upon brown paper
and tacked upon the barn door of a village farmer, who had, as we
thought, misused us. It was not a lengthy note, the words being “Who
will pull your weeds next year?” This note was occasioned by the farmer
engaging us for a stipulated price to rid a field of a large weed that
is common there, and a great hindrance to the healthy growth of other
products. The weeds were tall and strong, and the pittance we were to
receive was ridiculously small for the amount of work. But when we had
finished and held out our tiny, blistered hands for our pay, it was not
forthcoming. We went again and again for it, and being convinced it
was useless to go more, we returned quietly with two large baskets to
where we had piled the weeds, to be dried preparatory to their being
burned, and very soon thereafter the seeds from all that we had pulled
were sown broadcast over the field again. It is, perhaps, a small
matter to speak of here, but it so well illustrates the principle that
many times in my after life influenced me to make my conscience become
blind, that I thought well to write of it.
My first business ventures consisted of a pair of twin calves that I
raised, and later to bring home, on a stormy winter day, a tiny lamb
given to me by a farmer, which, in time, together with a few others
purchased later, expanded into a flock of about forty sheep. Both
ventures were failures, however, from a financial point of view, but
the failures were nothing compared with the collapse of the innumerable
air castles which had depended upon the result of these speculations.
One day I found a purse containing about $40; an immense sum at that
time to me. In the purse were other papers showing me plainly who the
owner was. I know that I hesitated, but only for a moment; and having
made up my mind could not too soon return it to its owner, and because
I had hesitated was adverse to receiving the reward offered me.
When I was about nineteen years of age (the preceding years having
been filled in for the most part with six to nine months each year of
preparatory studies and the balance of the time devoted to work and
teaching) I was prepared to enter the Dartmouth College, but instead
of doing so, I decided to commence a medical course at once, and, with
this object in view, I matriculated at the University of Vermont, at
Burlington, where I remained one college year, deciding, before it
had expired, to complete my course at some larger college, and the
following September found me at Ann Arbor, Mich. After having paid
my college fees, bought my books and other articles necessary for my
second year in college, I found myself hundreds of miles away from
friends and relatives, and with about $60 in money with nine months of
hard study before me, allowing but little time for outside work if I
wished to keep up in my studies with the other members of my class.
About this time I first became acquainted with a Canadian, a
fellow-student, and from then until the time of his death he was one of
the very few intimate friends I have ever allowed myself.
The limits of this book will not allow me to write the many quaint and
some ghastly experiences of our medical education were I otherwise
disposed to do so. Suffice it to say, that they stopped far short of
desecration of country graveyards, as has been repeatedly charged, as
it is a well-known fact that in the State of Michigan all the material
necessary for dissection work is legitimately supplied by the State.
At the end of my junior year I entered into an agreement with a fluent
representative of a Chicago firm to spend my vacation in the northwest
portion of Illinois representing his firm as a book agent. In this
venture I committed the first really dishonest act of my life.
The firm as well as the book itself, from the sale of which I had
been assured I could earn hundreds of dollars during my vacation, was
a fraud, and after the most strenuous efforts, having succeeding in
selling a sufficient number to defray my expenses and pay my return
fare to Ann Arbor, I came back without making a settlement with the
firm there, and for the remainder of my vacation earned what money I
could in and about the college city.
I could hardly count my Western trip a failure, however, for I had seen
Chicago.
The remainder of my medical course differed very little from the first
two years; filled perhaps more completely with hard work and study,
and almost wholly devoid of pleasure and recreation. At last, however,
in June, 1884, our examinations were passed, our suspense was ended
and I left Ann Arbor with my diploma, a good theoretical knowledge of
medicine, but with no practical knowledge of life and of business.
After taking a vacation of less than one week in my old New Hampshire
home, I went to Portland, Maine, and engaged with a large business firm
of that city to represent them in Northern New York in the sale of
their products; my prime object being to find some favorable location
in this way where I could become a practitioner. Such an opening was
not easily found, however, and I accepted a winter school to teach at
Mooers Forks, N. J., and later opened an office in that village. Here
I stayed for one year doing good and conscientious work, for which I
received plenty of gratitude but little or no money, and in the fall of
1885 starvation was staring me in the face, and finally I was forced to
sell first one and then the last of my two horses, and having done this
I resolved to go elsewhere before all of my means were again exhausted.
During my long years there in New York I had abundant time to work out
the details of a scheme that my University friend, before referred
to, and myself had talked over during our hungry college days as a
possible last resort in case our medical practice proved a failure; and
from certain letters I had received from him, I judged that he, too,
had not found all his hardships at an end upon receiving his diploma.
I therefore went to where he was located, and found that though his
experience had been less disheartening than my own, it had from a
pecuniary standpoint been far from successful. During this visit we
carefully planned the following method of obtaining money:—
At some future date a man whom my friend knew and could trust, who then
carried considerable life insurance, was to increase the same so that
the total amount carried should be $40,000; and as he was a man of
moderate circumstances he was to have it understood that some sudden
danger he had escaped (a runaway accident) had impelled him to more
fully protect his family in the future. Later he should become addicted
to drink, and while temporarily insane from its use should, as it would
appear afterwards, kill his wife and child.
In reality they were to go to the extreme West and await his arrival
there at a later date. Suddenly the husband was to disappear, and
some months later a body badly decomposed and dressed in the clothing
he was known to wear was to be found, and with it a statement to the
effect that while in a drunken rage he had killed his family and had
shipped their dismembered bodies to two separate and distant warehouses
to conceal the crime, first having partially preserved the remains by
placing them in strong brine. That he did not care to live longer, and
that his property and insurance should pass to a relative whom he was
to designate in this letter.
At the proper time he was to join his family in the West, and remain
there permanently, the relative collecting the insurance, a part of
which was to be sent to him, a part to be retained by the relative,
and the remainder to be divided between us. This scheme called for a
considerable amount of material, no less than three bodies in fact.
This difficulty was easily overcome, however, so long as it was
supposed that they were needed for experimental purposes, but no doctor
could call for three bodies at one time without exciting suspicion, and
so it was arranged that I was to go to Chicago for the winter, and some
time during the intervening months we should both contribute toward
the necessary supply. I reached Chicago in November, 1885, but finding
it difficult to obtain satisfactory employment, I went to Minneapolis,
where I spent the winter in a drug store as a clerk. Meantime, my
friend had promptly obtained his portion and placed it in the storage
in Delaware, from which place it was shipped to me later in Chicago. I
remained in Minneapolis until May, 1886, when I returned to Chicago. My
own life I had insured meantime for $20,000, which, at a later date,
I intended to realize upon. I had prior to this time made arrangements
to furnish my portion of the material. After reaching Chicago, certain
sudden changes in my plans called me hastily to New York City, and I
decided to take a part of the material there and leave the balance in
a Chicago warehouse. This necessitated the repacking of the same, and
to accomplish this I went to a hotel (May, 1886), where I registered
under an assumed name, and occupied a room and had the package, which
had been shipped from Detroit, taken there, and carefully removing the
carpet from one portion of the room I divided the material into two
packages. In doing this the floor became discolored.
Later, one of these packages was placed in the Fidelity Storage
Warehouse in Chicago, and the other I took with me to New York and
placed it in a safe place. Upon my trip from Chicago to New York I
read two accounts of the detection of crime connected with this class
of work, and for the first time I realized how well organized and well
prepared the leading insurance companies were to detect and punish
this kind of fraud, and this, together with a letter I received upon
reaching my destination, and the sudden death of my friend, caused all
to be abandoned.
Soon after leaving New York I came to Philadelphia, where I sought
employment in some drug store where I could hope to become either a
partner or an owner. Not finding such an opportunity at once I took
a situation as a keeper in the Norristown Asylum. This was my first
experience with insane persons, and so terrible was it that for
years afterwards, even now sometimes, I see their faces in my sleep.
Fortunately within a few days after entering the Asylum I received word
that I could obtain different employment in a drug store on Columbia
avenue, which I at once accepted. About July 1st, one afternoon, a
child entered the store and exclaimed, “I want a doctor! The medicine
we got here this morning has killed my brother (or sister).” I could
remember of no sale that morning corresponding to the one she hastily
described, but I made sure that a physician was at once sent to the
house, and having done this I hastily wrote a note to my employer,
stating the nature of the trouble, and left the city immediately for
Chicago, and it was not until nine years later that I knew the result
of the case.
Later, when it became necessary to disprove the alarming statements
that were made relative to various persons having been killed at 701
Sixty-third street, I placed in the proper authorities’ hands a full
collection of documentary evidence, consisting of railroad and storage
warehouse receipts, letters, references and dates sufficient to show
the truthfulness of my statements.
Upon reaching Chicago I found I could obtain no employment as a
druggist until I had passed an examination at Springfield, Ill., and
when I went there for that purpose I gave my name as H. H. Holmes, and
under this name I have since done most of my business. Later, in July,
1886, I went to 701 Sixty-third street, Chicago, where I found a small
store owned by a physician, who, owing to ill-health, wished to sell
badly. A little later I bought it, paying for it for the most part with
money secured by mortgaging the stock and fixtures, agreeing to repay
this loan at the rate of $100 per month. My trade was good, and for
the first time in my life I was established in a business that was
satisfactory to me.
But very soon my landlord, seeing that I was prospering well, made me
aware that my rent would be increased, and to protect myself I was
forced to purchase at a great expense the vacant property opposite the
location I then occupied, and to erect a building thereon. Here my real
troubles commenced. The expense incurred was wholly beyond the earning
capacity of my business, and for the next few years I was obliged to
plunge deeply in debt in every direction; and, worse than this, when
these debts became due, if unable to meet them to resort to all means
of procuring a stay or evading them altogether. At last there came
a day when Thomas Fallon, a constable, together with a lawyer named
Sanforth, both of Chicago, came to my store to attach the same to
satisfy the claim of some impatient creditor. And during the appraisal
of the goods they came and asked me the contents of two small barrels.
I gave them some misleading answer, and bringing out other goods to
attract their attention, they were passed for the time being. They
were the two packages I had arranged more than a year before at a
certain hotel, and which had been removed from the storehouses in
Chicago and New York, first to my former store, and later to the new
one.
As soon as possible after this attachment took place, I resolved to
permanently dispose of both these packages, and to do so, I opened the
smaller of them and commenced its destruction by burning in a large
furnace, then in the basement. The experience was so unpleasant, owing
to the terrible odor produced, that I did not think it safe to destroy
more of it in the same way, and therefore buried the remainder of that
package, as well as the fragments that were partially burned, in the
places where they have lately been found.
The other package was removed, unopened, from the building, and so
disposed of that it is hardly probable it will ever be found, and I do
not feel called upon to bring it forth, as it would only serve to add
more newspaper notoriety to the case.
If, however, my life is ever jeopardized, or my other statements
discredited owing to want of additional proof in this matter, I shall
at once cause it to be produced, and my so doing will result in showing
that the portions therein contained are parts of the two bodies already
found, and more important still that the package thus brought to light
has necessarily occupied its present location for nearly seven years.
This will be corroborated by documentary evidence, freight, express
and warehouse receipts, letters, etc., already in the hands of the
authorities, together with evidence from workmen, if still alive and to
be found.
Early in 1888, needing some extra carpenters, there came to me, in
response to an advertisement, a tall, thin, muscular man, whom, at the
time, I took to be a farmer from the Western plains.
[Illustration: BENJAMIN F. PITEZEL.]
He assured me, however, that he was a carpenter, able to do as much and
as good work as anyone else, that his name was Benjamin F. Pitezel,
that he had a large family, was badly in need of work for their support
and begged me to give him a trial. This I did, but soon found him to be
a dreamer.
Coming to him at his work I would find him with a set of figures and
perhaps a diagram illustrative of their use, or busy making a model
of some complicated contrivance. This proceeded so far that for my
own protection I had to cause him to work by contract instead of by
the day, although I found him fully as improvident of his own time as
he had been of mine. Little by little I grew to like his quiet ways,
and to depend upon him to take charge of the work at times when I was
obliged to be absent, and one day I said to him, “Ben, with all your
mechanical ingenuity you should have been a rich man before now. How
is it?” His answer was that heretofore the world had not seemed to be
inclined to be kind to him. This seemed so aptly to describe my own
case, that I talked with him further from time to time, and a summary
of what I learned was as follows:—
He, like myself, had been a country-bred boy, knowing few pleasures,
but, unfortunately, receiving few school advantages. At a comparatively
early age he had married and commenced life as a farmer in Illinois
or Indiana. Later he had moved to Kansas, and, later still, had been
forced to leave that State owing to some legal trouble with a bank
there, to which he had given a worthless mortgage to secure a loan in
money. After leaving Kansas he had wandered through the Western States,
principally in the gold regions, and finally had settled in Chicago
with his family, which, while he traveled, had remained in Kansas. Very
soon after reaching Chicago he had commenced working for me, and from
that time until September 2, 1894, when he died, he was continually in
my employ, working as a carpenter and builder, and as a real estate
dealer and as a wholesale lumber merchant, buying and shipping lumber
from the South and West to Chicago and St. Louis, where I also sold the
same products.
I think it was in 1889 that I was one day waited upon by two gentlemen
who wished to sell me a gas machine, by using which I could be forever
independent of the regular city gas company. So great were the
inducements held out that I later met them at their office in La Salle
street, and before leaving them had bought one of the machines, which a
few days later was arranged in the basement of my building, and I had
notified the city company that thereafter I should cease to be one of
their patrons. For two days the new machine performed wonders, and I
recommended it to many of my customers and friends. The third evening
when I was very busy my store was suddenly enveloped in darkness. I
was obliged to turn away my customers and close for the want of light,
and from then until morning I wrestled with my gas machine; and when
Pitezel came to his day’s work he found me still perspiring, and, I
fear, swearing over it.
The machine was to him as a new toy to a child, although he soon
assured me that as a gas producer it was an absolute failure. That
afternoon I instructed him to temporarily connect it with the city
gas to provide light for the evening, and next day I would go to
the company and make a new application to again become a permanent
customer. As he finished making the connection he remarked that he
thought that it would be a good permanent arrangement without going to
the gas company. His quiet remark resulted in my having him, next day,
lead the gas from the city main to the machine underground in such a
way that it would not be known without a close inspection, and this
I did, not to defraud the city, but “to get even” with the company
who had defrauded me. A few evenings thereafter the president of this
company called upon me, and, after quietly studying my new light for a
time, spoke to me of it.
I then told him that I had bought his machine for the purpose of trying
a new gas that for years I had been experimenting with. Several other
visits followed, and although I was apparently averse to disposing of
my new discovery, I finally did so, taking in return first a contract
so skillfully worded that there could later be no claims brought
against me, and, second, a check for a large sum of money. Had matters
stopped here as I had at first intended, all would have been well, but
I neglected disconnecting from the city supply from day to day, until
finally an inspector, more energetic than his fellow-workers, became
aware of it, and this resulted in my very willingly choosing to pay a
five hundred dollar gas bill in preference to being openly written up
and perhaps prosecuted.
There have occurred other deals of a somewhat similar nature, and
generally inspired by the same motive, but this one suffices as an
example of those that occurred later. Sometime previous to this I
had had occasion to employ an attorney to transact some business in
which certain papers had to be signed in my New Hampshire name, and
to do this work I employed one I did not know in order that my real
name should not be confounded with the name of Holmes, under which I
had been known and had done all my work since commencing business in
Chicago.
About a year after consulting this attorney, I was called into court
as a witness on some trivial case, and while giving my testimony under
the name of Holmes, I saw him sitting in the court room apparently
much mystified. Instead of denouncing me to the court, as he might
easily have done, he spoke to me alone, and, later, feeling he had done
me a most kind favor I gave to him the greater part of my legal work;
but though he attended to this conscientiously for me as an attorney,
he at no time encouraged me to acts that were wrong, nor was he a party
to them, and the late newspaper comments reflecting upon his integrity
are most unjust and uncalled for.
Aside from this one incident I know of no time during the nine years
prior to my arrest that my two names conflicted the one with the other,
or caused me trouble or annoyance.
In 1890 I added a jewelry store to my business, and placed Julius
L. Connor in charge of that and my drug business, his wife, Julia
Connor, assisting him as cashier for a time, who, after the sale of
the store, lived in the building and supported herself and child by
taking boarders. That she is a woman of quick temper and perhaps not
always of a good disposition may be true, but that any of her friends
and relatives will believe her to be an immoral woman, or one who
would be a party to a criminal act, I do not think. She lived for her
child, and her one fear was that she should lose her, and as soon as
the daughter is of sufficient age to protect herself, I feel that her
whereabouts will be made known. I last saw her about January 1, 1892,
when a settlement of her rent was made. At this time she had announced
not only to me, but to her neighbors and friends, that she was going
away.
At this interview she told me that, while she had given her destination
as Iowa, she was going elsewhere to avoid the chance of her daughter
being taken from her, giving the Iowa destination to mislead her
husband. I corresponded with her upon business matters later, and the
so-called secreted letters lately found could only have been obtained
from my Chicago letter files, in which hundreds of my business letters
were stored away in alphabetical order.
In 1890 I opened an office on Dearborn street, Chicago, and organized
“The Warner Glass-Bending Co.,” the principal value of which consisted
in certain not very clearly-defined ideas I possessed upon the subject
of bending glass for mechanical purposes. This was a stock company, in
which I had interested, among others, Osmer W. Fay, a most reputable
and honest man (a retired minister), of whom I will speak later in this
history. Suffice it to say here that, when I found that he had invested
the principal part of his savings in my company, knowing that it would
not be a successful business venture to others, save myself, I returned
to him his investment with interest. At this time Pitezel was in the
same office with me, selling an invention he had lately patented, known
as “Pitezel’s Automatic Coal Bin.” I later established him in an office
by himself, where he opened a patent exchange similar to the one he was
conducting in Philadelphia at the time of his death.
At about this time, Patrick Quinlan, a whole-souled Irishman, had left
his farm in Michigan to come to the city to work during the winter
months, and commenced his service with me. He soon became almost
indispensable, owing to his careful management and supervision of
help and general faithfulness, and for several years he worked for
me continually, though during that time he did no illegal act nor
committed any wrong so far as I know.
Early in 1891 I became interested in one of the most seductive and
misleading inventions that has ever been placed before the American
public; a device known as the “A B C Copier,” which had been brought to
this country from Europe by a prominent official of the World’s Fair.
He had been swindled in its purchase, and, knowing this, was very
willing to dispose of one-half interest in the invention to me for
$9,000 worth of “securities.” A company was immediately formed, and by
using his name freely as the president of same, we were able to make
over $50,000 worth of contracts for future delivery before our offices
had been open sixty days, numbering among our customers many large
insurance companies and prominent wholesale houses.
However, I was glad to sell my interests, clearing about $22,000 in
cash upon the entire deal. It was at this time, while employing quite
a large office force, that Mr. J. L. Connor asked me to give his
sister Gertrude some work to do. Instead of doing so at once I told
him I would aid him in furnishing her with the means to take a short
course in a business college, and if later she proved proficient, I
would give her employment. Shortly after her commencing to attend
this business college, she received an offer of marriage from a young
clerk in Chicago. She spoke to us of it, and asked us to learn, if
we could, of the antecedents of the young man and of his prospects.
Our investigation resulted in learning that he had a wife living in
Chicago. Gertrude was inclined to disbelieve this statement, and not
expressing herself as being willing to break the engagement, Mr. Connor
thought best to send her to her home in Iowa. A statement from the
physician who attended her at the time of her death, long after this,
speaks for itself, effectually disproving one of the most persistent
and disagreeable charges that have been brought against me. I have had
many young ladies in my employ, most of whom are still living in and
about Chicago, whose parents and friends know only too well that far
from being their seducer I have done much to materially help them in
their narrow lives, owing to the enormous competitions in Chicago for
positions.
At about this time I sent Pitezel South upon an extended lumber
purchasing trip, and upon his return to Chicago he encountered some
severe domestic troubles, the full details of which he did not tell me
until long afterwards. But at the time they resulted in a neighborhood
quarrel and some arrests, and thereafter he grew more morose, and drank
more freely than he had done heretofore, but managed to do so during my
absence or after working hours, as he knew me to be wholly intolerant
of drunkenness in my employees.
It was about January 1, 1893, when I first met Minnie R. Williams at
the intelligence office of Mr. William Campbell on Dearborn street,
Chicago, whom she had engaged to provide her with a position as
stenographer.
[Illustration: EMELINE CIGRAND.]
I found her to be a bright, intelligent woman, an interesting
conversationalist and one who I could see had seen much of the world.
When she had been working in my office for a few weeks, knowing that
she had a history, I asked her one stormy winter afternoon to tell
it to me. After considerable hesitation she did so, in nearly the
following words:—
“My earliest remembrance is of a poor home in the South. My father
was a drunkard and my poor mother was not strong. One terrible day
my father was brought to us dead, and very soon after this mother’s
strength seemed to leave her utterly, and she soon followed him,
leaving me, a tiny child, together with a still younger sister and
a baby brother, to the tender mercies of the world. An aunt in
Mississippi took my sister to live with her, and another relative cared
for brother, and an uncle, a physician, adopted me.
“During the short time he lived he was a loving and tender father to
me, and at his death willed to me all of his possessions. A guardian
was appointed to care for me, but I was not again happy until years
later, when Mr. Massie was appointed to take his place, and since then
I have looked upon him and his wife as my parents.
“When I was 17 years old I was sent to Boston to finish my education
at the Conservatory of Music. At first, after leaving my warm Southern
home, I nearly died from homesickness, and you will not wonder that
having met at some place of entertainment in Boston a young gentleman,
and having found that he was an honest clerk, occupying a position
where he could hope for advancement, I allowed him to address me, and
later became engaged to him.
“Soon after the engagement he introduced me to a gentleman who is
prominently known throughout the New England States. He is much older
than myself.
“From the first time I met him he seemed to exert a powerful influence
over me. I loved his wife, and my visits to her made a pleasant break
in the tedium of my school work, but as soon as he came home, or I
was in his company, I was ill at ease, my mind being filled with an
indefinable presentiment of evil. I avoided meeting him alone upon
all occasions when it was possible for me to do so, but he would
often insist upon accompanying me to my home, and this, owing to their
continued courtesies to me, I could not well refuse. All too soon there
came a day when I could no longer look into the eyes of either my lover
or of those of my betrayer, and for more than a year thereafter I was
wholly under the influence of my seducer; so much so, that any and all
good resolutions I would make during his absence would vanish upon
meeting him again, and my life became one of mental torture to me, for
by nature I was a pure-minded girl.
“Our meetings for the most part took place at a hotel near his place of
business, a portion of which was available for meetings of this kind,
so long as the parties were known to the manager.
“During the year I broke my engagement with my lover, and by so doing
apparently deserved his reproaches for heartlessness, although if he
could have known it my motive was of an entirely different nature. As
though my burden had not at this time been sufficiently heavy for me to
bear, about the end of this year I became aware that another and still
more terrible calamity was in store for me.
“For days I sat in my room until it seemed I should go mad, and fearing
lest I should utterly lose my reason I decided to kill myself, but no
one realizes how dear life is until, thinking it worthless, they have
tried to destroy it.
“I could not do it, and there was nothing left for me to do but to go
quietly away in a strange place, under a different name, and bear my
shame.
“I went to New York, engaged board under the name of Adele Covell, in a
quiet portion of the city.
“Physically, I had never been strong, and now followed days and weeks
of serious illness until, to save my reason, the life of my unborn
child was sacrificed. As soon as I was able I returned to my Texas
home, accounting as best I could for my terribly haggard appearance.
“Later, feeling that there was left little that I could do, and being
wholly reckless of my future, I prepared for the stage, and for three
years I was almost continually before the public. Becoming somewhat
ambitious I organized a company, and for a time traveled through the
New England towns and small cities under the name of Geraldine Wande.
“This venture cost me between five and ten thousand dollars, and in
1891 I went to Denver, Colorado, as a member of a theatrical company
then playing a prominent engagement. There I staid until the burning of
the theatre, which caused my engagement to end, and not being able to
find another suitable opening, I decided to prepare myself for office
work.
“Unfortunately, while in Denver, I attracted the attention of a young
man engaged to be married to a lady whom I knew and liked, and rather
than to cause them trouble I decided to go elsewhere, though against
the wishes of the young man, who, if I had allowed it, would have
married me. At about this time my brother, whom I had never seen much
of, was killed, or rather died, as the result of a railroad accident
at Leadville, Colorado, leaving sister Nannie, who is now teaching in
Nudlothean, Texas, and to me, about $400 each, payable about one year
after his death.
“I went to Leadville to attend his funeral, and later came here to
Chicago, where, until I obtained my position with you, I have been at
times really in need of money, as owing to my unfortunate theatrical
venture all my ready money has been used, and I now have left only one
piece of good real estate in Fort Worth, Texas, valued at $6,000 but
encumbered for $1,700.
“A piece of land adjoining my property, of which Mr. Massey has
recently written me, can be sold by him for $2,500, besides paying a
heavy mortgage standing against it.
“I have also one small, unimproved lot near Dallas, Texas, worth about
$200.”
During the spring of 1893 I was, if possible, more busy than ever
before.
Among other work, preparing my building to rent to a prospective
tenant, who would use the entire five stories and forty rooms, at a
good rental, if I could get it completed in time for World’s Fair
purposes.
This left me with little time to attend to my office duties, which
gradually Miss Williams took more and more into her own hands, showing
a remarkable aptitude for the work. During the first weeks she boarded
at a distance, but later, from about the 1st of March until the 15th
of May, 1893, she occupied rooms in the same building and adjoining my
offices.
Here occasionally meals were served from the restaurant near at hand,
and if any bones have really been found in the stove there I think it
will later be learned, by microscopical examination, that they are the
remnants of such meals. Certain it is that no human being was ever
cremated there during my occupancy of the room, my own experience years
ago being quite sufficient to show me the danger of such proceedings on
account of the awful odor, if I had no other motive to deter me from
such a course.
About the first of April I dictated quite a number of urgent letters
to parties who were owing me, requesting them to make immediate
settlement of their accounts, as I was much in need of the money at
this time. Some days later Minnie brought me a draft for about $2,500
and asked me to use it until she should need it, explaining that this
was the proceeds of the Texas sale she had previously spoken to me
about. I could make good use of the money at that time, but declined
to take it until I had explained to her, at some length, more of my
business affairs than she had before known. And, finally, I caused to
be transferred to her, by warranty deed, a house and lot at Wilmette,
Ill., valued at about $7,500, in order that she should be well
protected against loss in case of my death.
This money was returned to her about May 10, 1893, from money obtained
for this purpose from Isaac R. Hitt & Co., Chicago, who paid it to
Miss Williams personally. At about this time she expressed a wish that
I should aid her in converting her remaining Southern property into
either cash or improved Northern property. This was hard to do, and I
finally advised her to execute a worthless deed (by having some one
other than herself sign same) to a fictitious person and offer the
property for sale at a very low cash figure, and years later, if she
chose to do so, to demand an additional sum in exchange for the good
deed.
This was done, forging the name upon the deed so made, which deeds
are still in existence. When matters had progressed thus far in
our various transactions, Miss Williams was taken seriously ill for
several days at the house where we were stopping at the time. She
suffered from the same form of acute mania that she had been troubled
with in New York years before. She was under restraint at this hotel
a few days about May 22d, but owing to careful nursing and good
medical attendance, she soon became so much better that she could plan
intelligently with me what steps were best to be taken for her safety.
It was decided that she should go to the Presbyterian Hospital, near
the Clybourne avenue car limits in Chicago, to stay until I could
determine if she were in further danger. She entered this institution
about May 23, 1893, as a private patient, and her ailment being such
that it was prudent for her to pass for a married woman, she was
enrolled upon the records there as Mrs. Williams.
The greatest drawback to her improvement here was the fact that she
knew she was in an asylum with other insane persons, and she soon
begged me to take her to some private apartments where she could
receive special attention. To accomplish this, I hired a house at 1220
Wrightwood avenue, and early in June accompanied Miss Williams there,
and during my absences she was in care of a young woman hired for this
purpose.
Here she rapidly improved, and during the following months exhibited
only once any maniacal symptoms, when, owing to some trivial
disagreement with her attendants, she so frightened her that she
left at once. At this time Miss Williams first spoke of inviting her
sister to spend the summer and fall months with us, and in response
to a letter Nannie came from Texas. I met her at the train and
found her to be a remarkably quiet and gentle woman—apparently not
very strong—certainly of a most kindly disposition. The sisters had
never lived together for any considerable length of time, and they
anticipated much pleasure in the society of each other. Minnie had
asked that it should appear to her sister that we were married, and
also that nothing should be said of her recent illness, which she now,
day by day, seemed to be overcoming.
[Illustration: NANNIE WILLIAMS.]
I cannot imagine a happier, quieter life than they passed there during
the month of June and the first part of July, 1893. I was extremely
busy in the city, but was at the house whenever I could conveniently
arrange it. Minnie had so far recovered as to attend to several
business matters and to aid me in my writing. Among other things,
arrangements were made to convert her own and her sister’s interests in
her brother’s estate into money, and to commence certain preliminary
proceedings that would ultimately cause her betrayer in Boston to pay
her a considerable sum, and, to make this easier, it was thought wise
that she obtain some evidence in support of her claim by wiring to him
for a small amount of money.
This was done, and to this telegram he promptly responded by sending
to her, by wire, $100. At the time it came to the Western Union
office she was not feeling well enough to go there for it, and I
executed the proper papers, signing her name in her stead, and next
day, to more fully protect her attorney in the matter, she executed a
supplementary receipt in her own name. Later in the year it was her
intention to return to Boston and go further with the matter. Late
in June, upon returning one day from my business in the city, I met
and was introduced by Miss Williams to a Mr. Edward Hatch, whom she
had formerly known during her theatrical life (he was at that time
attending the Columbian Exposition at Chicago). A few evenings later he
accompanied Minnie, Nannie and myself to the Exposition.
Early in July it became necessary for Miss Williams to leave the city
for a day, and before doing so she asked that I come home early and not
allow Nannie to remain alone during the evening and night. I went with
Miss Williams to the cars, and later accompanied her sister as far as
the business portion of the city, upon her way to spend the day at the
Exposition. That evening I returned to the house at about 6 o’clock,
and soon after Nannie also returned. During the previous weeks of Miss
Williams’ illness, I had been unable to be away from the house at
night, and wishing to go out that evening I asked Nannie if she would
mind staying in the rooms alone, explaining to her that there were two
other families in the house. She replied that she would have no fear,
and that being so tired from her day’s exertions among the crowds, she
felt sure that she would sleep all night.
This being arranged I went away, agreeing to call on my way to the
city next morning, and asking her if her sister returned before I did
to refrain from telling her I had staid elsewhere, giving to Nannie as
my reason for this that her sister would feel annoyed at my leaving
her alone. Next morning I reached the house at about 8.30 o’clock, and
shortly before Miss Williams returned.
Being in haste to reach the city I welcomed her, and almost immediately
bade them both good-bye, and taking my bicycle from the hall started
down the street. At this time both sisters were standing within the
doorway of the house.
Quite early in the afternoon, upon returning, I was surprised to notice
the shades at the windows closely drawn. Entering the hall and passing
from thence into the parlor, I was greeted by Miss Williams screaming
to me:—
“Is that you? My God! I thought you would never come. Nannie is dead!”
She was seated upon the floor holding her sister’s head in her arms,
rocking back and forth and moaning, much as a mother would over a
child that was dying or dead. I did not believe it at first—I made
no effort to do so—looking upon it as one of the jokes which, when
well, she so liked to indulge in, but a moment later I noticed the
disordered condition of the room, and as my eyes became accustomed to
the darkness, Miss Williams’ terrified face, which good actress though
she was, I knew she could not so successfully counterfeit.
[Illustration: Showing room where Nannie Williams was killed.]
I was alarmed and instantly was upon my knees beside them, to find
to my horror that Nannie had probably been dead for hours. By this
time Miss Williams seemed almost as lifeless as her sister, and half
leading, half carrying her, I took her to her room and did all I could
to restore her, but it was hours before she was in a condition that
would allow of her giving me an intelligent account of what had taken
place during my absence.
In the meantime I had carried Nannie to my own room, where she lay,
looking more like one asleep than dead. The only mark of violence
discernible being a slight discoloration upon one of her temples, from
which a small quantity of blood had apparently flowed.