SHERIFF SMITH’S BRIBE--THE LITTLE JOKER
Mark Shinburn, under remarkable circumstances, escaped from Concord
prison, after his sudden leave-taking of the jail at Keene the day he
was convicted, and his recapture and final incarceration. The prison
bars at Concord held him only a few months, when his old partner in
crime, John Ryan of Buffalo, and Laurie Palmer, another crook, began
work on a plan to break him out of durance vile.
The manner of Shinburn’s escape is soon told. He was a man who did not
make many friends, but those that he had were friends indeed. One of
these was Matthews. Billy used to give his mother all his winnings from
the gambling house, so, eventually, he had quite a tidy sum.
One day in November, 1866, he took five thousand dollars of this sum
and started for New Hampshire. There he met one of the high officials
of Concord prison, and had a long talk with him. Some days later, as
Shinburn’s company was marching past the gate which gave ingress and
egress for teams to and from the prison yard, Shinburn dropped from
the line, pulled off a part of the gate that had previously been sawed
nearly in two, and jumped into a rig that was standing conveniently
outside of the gate.
The driver of the rig whipped up his team and was away at a fast gait
before the prison officials realized what had happened. When soon the
guards discovered what was occurring, they fired several shots, but the
team kept right on moving and was soon out of sight in the gathering
gloom. The drive was continued, with various stops for refreshments and
sleep, to Providence, Rhode Island, where Shinburn took a train and
landed safely in New York.
Matthews also returned to Gotham, but had five thousand dollars less
than when he went away.
Once in New York, Shinburn, being under the protecting wing of my ring
of police officials, and given money by me, was safe from capture.
Pursuit of offenders and escaped prisoners was not so persistent or
so well conducted in those days as it is now, when the telegraph, the
telephone, the camera, and the Bertillon system of measurements make it
all but impossible for one to avoid detection and capture.
If I were warden of a prison now, and an inmate thereof escaped, I
should not give myself the least worriment. I would know that, if he
again resorted to crime, I would be as sure to get him as the night is
to follow the day. If he lived an honest life after his escape, he
might avoid capture; and it would be far better for society that he
should. An honest man does not belong in prison, no matter what may
have been his past life.
At the time of Shinburn’s escape, the only means for recapture were a
search of the surrounding country and the sending of a description of
the escaped man to the police of various cities--a description that
would fit many people and often did not at all fit the one for whom it
was intended. Instead of a Bertillon system of measurements, by which
it is practically impossible to be mistaken, there was then only the
old plan of visual identification. This always gave a fine opportunity
for the Great Identifier, who constantly looked for a chance to get in
his deadly work.
“I’m scheming to make a strike through Western New York and Ontario,
Canada,” Shinburn said to me a few weeks later, “but I’m short of the
‘ready’ just now, having been in retirement for some time, as you know;
so, if you’ll back the game, I can’t see how we can lose.”
“I’m with you, Mark, provided there is a chance of making good. You’ve
been in the business long enough to know best what to do, so here’s
along with you.”
John Ryan and Laurie Palmer were counted in the venture, and the
prospect of a rich haul seemed exceedingly bright. The banks that were
secured entirely by key locks Shinburn was to tackle, and those being
guarded in part, or wholly, by combination locks were to be attacked
by Ryan, who had a fine kit of tools for that sort of work. We went to
Buffalo, where Shinburn and Palmer called on a gambler friend. Ryan
put up with a man acquaintance, while I went to a hotel. Making the
Bison City our headquarters, we struck out in different directions in
search of “lootable” banks, our main object being to find those using
key locks. It was like convicting an egotist of his own conceit to
find this class of bank, so we gave it up. About this time a friend of
Shinburn’s, whom he introduced as Mr. Ellis, a counterfeiter, suggested
that a bank at Brockport, seventeen miles west of Rochester, would be
a comparatively easy piece of loot, owing to the habits of the police
guard of the village, which consisted of a lone night watchman. Ellis
said this watchman invariably went off duty at eleven o’clock at night.
As to the vault of the bank, he declared it could be robbed, despite
the combination lock used on it and its heavy steel work in general, by
tunnelling from the top. Shinburn and Ryan decided to attempt the job,
agreeing to pay Ellis ten per cent of the treasure obtained.
A postponement was necessary the first night we went at the job,
because there happened to be a dance in the village, which in some
manner or other induced the night watchman to remain on duty
longer,--in fact, until three o’clock in the morning. Several evenings
later we journeyed there again, and it was a night to be remembered,
because of the great snow-storm and high winds that came with it. It
was a hummer--of the blizzard class. In many respects, though, it was
just our sort of weather, the kind that keeps people indoors. Scarcely
a dog was in the streets after eleven o’clock.
A few minutes after midnight, leaving Palmer on the outside as a
guard, Shinburn, Ryan, and I broke in the bank through the front door
and were soon examining the vault. We had decided to try wedges on
the vault door, so Ryan went to work. He had finely drawn untempered
steel ones, which were driven in the seam between the front edge of
the door and the jamb. For two hours we labored with these wedges, but
the best we could possibly do was to force an opening about half an
inch wide, which was insufficient to admit of throwing back the lock
bolt. When a space wide enough to do this was about made, the wedges
would rebound. Unable to release the bolt, we abandoned the job, being
hopeless of accomplishing it in that manner, and leaving behind us
plenty of evidence of our failure. The vault front was sadly defaced,
but defiantly impregnable, so far as we were concerned that night, with
the means at hand.
We went out in the storm, very much disappointed. Locating a hand-car,
we started by rail for Rochester, but the snow being too heavy on the
track, we ditched the car, and walking to the first village, hired
a team and drove there. The remainder of the journey to Buffalo was
accomplished by train.
My experience at Brockport and similar knowledge I had previously
obtained through the work of a Jack Hartley and his mob of would-be
safe-breakers at Carbondale, Pennsylvania, convinced me that success in
our line could only be attained by forcing open vaults by means vastly
different than any of those employed by either Ryan or Hartley or
burglars of their class.
“Putting up cash to break banks with tools Ryan has,” I said to
Shinburn, “is simply dumping it in the sea. As for me, I’m out of it.”
This broke the combination, so far as Ryan and Palmer were concerned,
the former remaining in Buffalo and the latter returning to New York.
Shinburn and I determined to make for the metropolis also, but he
recalled a tip from a friend at home, that there was a bank at Corning,
New York, which might be relieved of its cash. Shinburn’s friend was of
the opinion that the vault was secured by a key lock. So we concluded
to stop off there and investigate, but, doing so, Mark discovered that
the work entailed was not worth the risk. At two o’clock in the morning
we were in the Erie Railroad depot waiting for a New York train, when
a most unexpected thing happened. A mob of men and boys, led by a pair
of constables, ran in the depot, one of them a big-looking fellow,
yelling at the top of his voice, “Here they are!” The other constable
rushed at Shinburn, crying, “We want you men; surrender!”
The big lout who made the first outcry sprang at me, but slunk back in
a corner when I covered him with my pistol. Taking advantage of his
cowardice, I ran for the door, and had nearly succeeded in getting
out, when Shinburn, his pistol failing to work, was overcome. The mob,
turning their attention to me, were just in time to block my way, and
instantly I was mixed in with them. The cowardly wretch who had slunk
back when I was unhampered, now took advantage of my predicament, and
jumping on me, began pounding my face as though it were an anvil and
his fists were sledges. I did the best I could against so many, but
fell back, and as I did so the brute tried to bite my nose. Throwing
my head away from him, his teeth met on my lower lip. I made a cry
of surrender, but, despite this, he continued to bite at me like a
cur, until I was so wounded that I would carry a scar to the grave. I
presume I would have been mangled more had not the others dragged him
from me. In the midst of a howling mob, we were haled to a lockup and
thrown behind bars. Of course we believed we’d been discovered as the
Brockport attempted looters and were in for it from that source. We
were considerably relieved, for a short time, upon learning the true
cause of our arrest. It appeared that a produce merchant in Addison,
an adjoining town, had been robbed the preceding night of twenty-eight
hundred dollars. Two men had entered his store about nine o’clock,
and, felling him unconscious on the floor, appropriated the cash
and some valuable papers. Incidentally the burglars carried away a
railroad ticket good on some Western road. Of course we knew we weren’t
guilty of the job and felt easy on that score. What did trouble us
was the possibility that we might be recognized as fugitives from New
Hampshire. The Corning authorities notified the Addison constable of
our detention and asked that the merchant be brought over to identify
us as the burglars who assaulted him. He was too ill, was the word that
came back, and in consequence of it we were taken to him.
We cut desperate figures in the eyes of the countrymen as we, loaded
down with irons, were carted through the farming districts. The
merchant, upon looking at us through bandages which about covered all
but his eyes, said Shinburn didn’t look like either of the men who
attacked him, but I greatly resembled one of them. As I looked at the
man I wondered that he didn’t say I looked like both of them. This
identification played the mischief, however, for we were held for the
grand jury and transferred to the county jail at Bath in the charge of
Sheriff Smith.
The small affair we had had in the depot at Corning with the constables
was so magnified in the county papers that it soon became talked of
as a shooting affray that would rival a Texan bandit fight. It was
the sort of a sensation we feared would bring trouble down on us,
and it did; for a day or two after our arrest Detective Bob Watts of
Buffalo appeared in Bath and told Sheriff Smith he wanted to look us
over. He recognized Shinburn, having seen him a few years prior in
Buffalo, but didn’t mention the fact nor intimate that he had an eye on
the reward for his capture. Hurrying to Buffalo, he swore out a fake
warrant for burglary, and, rushing back to Bath, flashed the document
on the sheriff, claiming us as his prisoners, alleging also that his
claim took precedence over the Addison affair. We knew too well what
this meant for us, without being told,--that we were in for it unless
we could outwit him. New Hampshire would be our next destination if
Watts had his way. That it was getting to be mighty serious there was
no doubt. It was in our minds to break out of jail, but there didn’t
appear to be any one we could reach with the slightest inclination to
take a bribe. Finally I resolved I would not be deprived of my liberty
again on a charge of which I was not guilty. Once was enough! Having
carefully gone over every detail of the situation, it seemed to me that
I saw a glimmer of hope in the bogus warrant of Detective Watts. If
he could get a fake warrant in Buffalo, why couldn’t I get one in New
York? I determined to try, and acted with great promptness by sending
a messenger to the big city for such a document and for the sinews
of war. Getting the latter in a few days, I retained Lawyer Rumsey
of Bath, who afterwards was elevated to the Supreme Court bench. I
told him what I had done, and that he mustn’t hesitate at any expense
in our defence; and incidentally I expressed myself forcibly to the
effect that the Addison robbery ought to be thoroughly sifted; that
from what I had been able to gather the merchant complainant owed about
everybody in his town, and it occurred to me that he might have plotted
to escape his creditors. Further, that he had received, just prior to
the robbery, twenty-eight hundred dollars for produce which he had
shipped away, and for which he hadn’t yet paid the shipping bills. I
said it all looked exceedingly suspicious, and I urged Mr. Rumsey to
investigate the case on this line vigorously. The grand jury had been
sitting several days when the bit of pasteboard which the merchant
described as a railroad ticket, and alleged to have been taken by the
burglars, began to play a surprising part. My counsel had advised the
railroad company to be on the lookout for it, as there was grave
reason to doubt that a robbery had been committed. Presently there came
gratifying results, but too late to help us.
In the meantime affairs had been looking bluer and bluer. At the rising
of the jury our fate would be known. The last day of the sitting came,
and with it came Frank Houghtaling, chief clerk of City Judge Russell
of New York, with a warrant for our arrest charging about everything on
the calendar but murder. He served the paper on Sheriff Smith, alleging
that it must take precedence over the Addison robbery or any claim put
in by Detective Watts of Buffalo.
“I’ll take the prisoners back with me or know the reason why,” he said
to the sheriff. “We know these men, and they are as desperate a pair of
rascals as ever belonged behind prison bars. New York wants them and
must have them. We can put them away to a certainty, while you fellows
may not have a case against them here or in Buffalo. If they go at
large, why, the blame will be on your heads. So you see the strength of
my claim.”
It was the duty of the sheriff to determine which warrant would take
precedence. I was in doubt as to the outcome, but Mr. Rumsey said
Sheriff Smith would, as a favor to him, recognize the New York warrant.
We were waiting for the grand jury, along about one o’clock, when the
sheriff called me aside and said, “I have no further claim on you, but
there are two warrants for you boys, one from Buffalo and the other
from New York.”
I asked him which one he would recognize.
“As Detective Watts’s was first placed in my hands, I suppose I must
give him the preference. He is in town now and has asked me to turn you
fellers over to him so he can get away on this evening’s train.”
“Why this, sheriff?” I asked, trembling over the turn of affairs.
“Lawyer Rumsey assured me you would, as a favor to him, give the New
York warrant the preference.”
He put up a bluff at this and said, “Let me say that I’m running the
sheriff’s office of this county, and not Lawyer Rumsey.”
It was perfectly plain to me that he was fishing for money and that
Detective Watts had made some kind of a cash offer, otherwise he
would not have intimated to me that he’d ignore Mr. Rumsey’s request;
he would have stated straight from the shoulder what he would do. I
realized that prompt action must be had, or in the last deal of the
cards Shinburn and I would be swamped with trumps.
“Sheriff,” I said, taking the bull by the horns, “I want you to come to
some agreement with us. To Mr. Rumsey you said you’d turn us over to
the New York officer, who really has a right to us. We believe, too,
that we can get justice in that quarter, while from Buffalo we’ll get
none. You see we are innocent of the Addison affair; were arrested and
thrown in your jail without good reason, and it’s up to you to help us
out. I’ll make it an object to you, sheriff, to turn us over to the New
York officer.”
I watched him for any indication of wounded dignity, but, on the
contrary, I had my first impression confirmed. He would take money, I
felt certain, if given enough. I drove the nail still farther home,
and, as a clincher, produced a corpulent roll of greenbacks and fondled
it. His greedy little eyes gazed on it as though they would pierce the
very inside of the bills, to know how much I held.
“That’s the kind, sheriff,” I went on; “let’s get down to hard-pan.
What’s the price? What’s it worth? Watts isn’t a flea-bite to me.”
The sheriff fidgeted about considerably, but soon, to my satisfaction,
was putting up a strong argument as to what his services were worth.
Indeed, he seemed to be as accomplished in this line as were some of my
New York detective friends. Finally he flat-footedly came out and said
he’d accept a thousand dollars. I sent for Lawyer Rumsey and told him
of the deal. He called me apart and said I needn’t pay the money, for
things would come out all right without it. In fact, he expressed the
conviction that it would be a needless expenditure of money. So thought
Shinburn. Whether or not they were correct I do not know, but I have
always entertained a doubt of it. I wasn’t going to take the chance
of making an enforced trip to New Hampshire. I declared I’d pay the
bribe. It was to be given the sheriff when we were ready to start for
the depot, and while Mr. Rumsey had gone to attend to the details of
our release. I began to feel, as also did Shinburn, that it was looking
very much like New York. About eight o’clock in the evening Sheriff
Smith summoned us to his office, in charge of a turnkey. My lawyer was
there, and from the atmosphere of the place I got the impression that
something unusual, and perhaps not to our liking, was about to occur. I
hoped that the sheriff hadn’t reconsidered the agreement, after a talk
with Watts. My mind was soon settled as to what was in the air.
“Detective Watts is on a rampage,” began the sheriff, quietly, “and
says he’s bound to get you fellers, if he has to use force. He
evidently means what he says, for he’s got two more officers with him.
By hook or crook, he swears that he’ll take you back to Buffalo with
him to-night.”
“Well, sheriff,” I inquired nervously, not being able to draw anything
satisfactory from his words or manner up to this point, “what else have
you to say?” I verily believe he enjoyed the uncertainty I felt.
“If I turn you over to the New York officer here, Watts may attempt to
take you away. At the depot he may put up the plea that his warrant
antedates the one from New York.”
“Well, go on, sheriff,” I urged, getting more unnerved; “out with
it--what will you do?”
“This,” he replied, closing his lips firmly. “I suggest that I heavily
iron you men, hand and foot, and take you as far as Corning, where I’ll
turn you over to your New York man, unless you think that it would be
better for me to continue farther.”
I felt a thrill of relief flash through me. I had been completely
mystified, and I guess Shinburn was in no different frame of mind.
Seeing that we were not to be trumped out of sight in the last shuffle
of the cards, I was in a joyous mood instantly.
“You couldn’t have thought of anything better, sheriff,” I grinned, not
forgetting to pat him approvingly on the back. Then we got down to the
business that was much more pleasing to him than voluble praise--the
payment of the money we’d agreed upon. It was by far the strongest
argument I could have put up to him. It was more potent than a plea for
justice, and much more so than friendship, in obtaining our escape from
the clutches of the Buffalo police.
I handed Lawyer Rumsey a well-swelled fee, and slyly put in the
sheriff’s palm one thousand dollars in bills, which he crammed out
of sight, and gave orders for our irons to be brought in and put on.
For once we were glad to wear the things. In a few minutes, looking
very much like a pair of Western bandits, we were marched through the
village to the depot, followed by a crowd of curious men and boys.
Sheriff Smith, so far as the outsiders were concerned, thought us to be
about as desperate a couple as ever came under his control, for he had
two stalwart deputies with him, both of whom clung to us like unpaid
gas bills.
Detective Watts and his reënforcements and a big crowd were at the
depot ahead of us. Watts was angry clear through; verily, he looked as
if he would bite a tenpenny nail in pieces. Shinburn and I gave him
a glad smile, which he repaid with an angry glare. We got aboard the
train, the sheriff and one deputy at our heels. Watts and his men came
in the same car, and we were soon at Corning, where we had to wait
for a connecting train. In the meantime Sheriff Smith invited us to a
substantial meal with plenty of wine. When the latter was served, Smith
toasted us, remarking upon the pleasure it gave him to set before us a
sample of good country wine.
Of course I said something pleasant to the cunning fellow, but I must
confess that there came regretful meditation over the thousand I’d
paid him, a part of which was being spent in the wine I was sampling.
I consoled myself with the thought that liberty has its price, whether
purchased on the battle-field or close by the prison bars.
While we were dining, a Buffalo train pulled in and out again, taking
with it Bob Watts, the disconsolate one, and his followers. He
realized at last that the game was played; that he’d held the right
bower, forgetful of the fact that sometimes there is a joker in the
pack. Our train came along presently, and Sheriff Smith handed Frank
Houghtaling the New York warrant, and we were off. The handcuffs were
on our wrists and the shackles on our ankles as we clanked along to
seats selected for us by Houghtaling. Naturally we attracted much
attention and comment and drew not a few questions from the passengers.
An extremely inquisitive man wasn’t satisfied until he had asked Frank
to tell him what crime was charged against us.
“A very serious offence,” solemnly proclaimed our captor. “Indeed, sir,
they are accused of a very grave crime.”
“My sakes! What?” he questioned, in a voice that sounded hollow. “You
don’t mean murder?”
Houghtaling nodded his head in the affirmative, and looked extremely
wise.
While we, in a measure, enjoyed the situation, having the knowledge
that we were out of a predicament which held great danger for us, still
the irons were not to our liking, even under the conditions; so we
asked Frank if it wasn’t about time to liberate us.
“Wait until we’ve passed the next station,” he advised.
Half an hour later the irons were removed and stowed away in
Houghtaling’s satchel. The handcuffs he brought with him, but the
shackles belonged to Sheriff Smith. We were to send them to him by
express. A little later Shinburn and I were strolling about the car,
and once we visited the smoker. Of course this brought a lot of
questions from the passengers, the most curious ones wanting to know
what it all meant. To see a pair of desperate murderers thus roaming
at will, seemed, to a few timid ones, like flying in the face of
Providence. At last Houghtaling set these meddlesome people at rest by
saying: “I received a telegram at the last station, informing me that
I’d arrested the wrong men, and that I must at once release them. While
I believe them to be guilty, I must obey my superiors. However, I am
going to keep an eye on them.”
We reached New York in fine spirits, and Houghtaling immediately
arraigned us before Judge Russell in the latter’s private office.
Peter Mitchell, subsequently a civil justice, represented us, and upon
his statement to the judge that the warrant upon which we had been
apprehended, though charging many grave offences, really had no basis
for issue except that growing out of an ordinary family quarrel, we
were released on a nominal bail. The worst that could befall us under
this action was a civil trial. But we knew that the case was as good as
ended.
Detective Bob Watts, with his fake warrant, had been defeated. He might
now whistle for his reward from New Hampshire.
But our trip was not without its disappointment in another direction,
for Shinburn and I had a disagreement. He still insisted that it was
unnecessary to have paid Sheriff Smith the thousand-dollar bribe,
averring, testily, that it was money thrown away, and exhibited a
disinclination to shoulder his share of it. The end of it was a
decision to part company. I believed then, and I do to this day, that
we would have been turned over to Detective Watts had I trusted to
Lawyer Rumsey. I feel morally certain, too, that he overestimated his
power with the cunning sheriff.
In the meantime Mark and I made precious little money. I was convinced
that the crude methods used by the burglar craft, to master bank
vaults, were too antiquated to compete with the great improvement which
had been made in the construction of vaults and combination locks. In
my brief experience I had become thoroughly disgusted with the lack of
success in robbing banks, for fully ninety-nine per cent of failures
had been recorded in my mental bookkeeping. This I had good reason to
know, for hadn’t I supplied much of the funds which were behind these
ventures? I determined that no longer would I have anything to do
with the sort of bank robbery that necessitated lugging about three
hundred pounds of burglars’ tools. I believed there was some other and
more effective method of getting at the millions in vaults whose locks
must be mastered. No doubt, if the newspapers of that period had woven
the romance about the burglar that we read of to-day when one of the
profession exhibits exceptional genius, I would have been dubbed the
“Ethical Burglar,” for I began a diligent, systematic study into the
theoretical and practical aspects of the subject of bank looting. To do
this, I purchased combination locks from all the leading manufacturers
and plunged into the intricacies of their mechanism, and at the end of
many months of almost constant investigation I felt satisfied that I
had not thus applied myself in vain. I could pick every lock, work out
every known train of numbers, and had mastered the finest system in the
use of high explosives; and, what was of far greater importance than
all, I had evolved a tiny instrument scarcely more formidable than a
finely tempered piece of very small steel wire. But the possibilities
of this invention were greater than I knew, for it worked wonders
before the end of its usefulness came. It did away with cumbersome
burglars’ tools and made the necessity for the use of explosives of
rare occurrence. In fact, it made safe robbing an easier proposition
than it ever had been and ever will be again.
When once an entrance to a banking office was obtained, I reduced the
art of getting combination numbers to a matter of little concern, by
the use of this precious device. All I had to do was to take off the
dial knob of a lock, adjust the wire on the inside surface of the dial,
and replace the knob; returning later to the bank. The lock in the
meantime having been used by the bank people to open the vault or safe,
I had only to remove the knob and examine the marks made by the wire,
and I had the combination numbers. All that remained between me and the
right combination was to figure out the order in which the numbers were
used, and that was not difficult.
Another advantage that came to me through this schooling, was the
rare accomplishment of being able to watch the unlocking of a vault
door, though ten feet away from it, and, with scarcely a failure,
obtain the combination numbers. Rarely, indeed, would I require more
than one sitting. Thus I mastered the combination locks. Having this
control over them, and with the use of the little steel wire, which I
christened the “Little Joker,” I went into the safe-robbing business
with unlimited energy. The result of my long toil and the expenditure
of several hundreds of dollars, proved to be a veritable bonanza.
I was much amazed, when next I heard from Mark Shinburn, to learn that
he had been as thoroughly disgusted as I with the old-fashioned mode
of breaking bank vaults and had set about to devise better means. His
efforts, like mine, had opened up greater opportunities. Presently I
tapped on the rock as with a magic wand, and out came a golden stream.