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THE STORY OF A STRANGE CAREER
THE STORY OF
A STRANGE CAREER
BEING
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A CONVICT
_AN AUTHENTIC DOCUMENT_
EDITED BY
STANLEY WATERLOO
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1902
COPYRIGHT, 1902
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published August, 1902_
INTRODUCTION
The story that follows this introduction is literally true. There died
lately, in a Western State prison, a man of the class known as habitual
criminals. He was, at the time of his death, serving out a sentence for
burglary. For thirty years he had been under the weight of prison
discipline, save for short periods of freedom between the end of one
term and the beginning of another.
Because of this man's exceptional qualities, as contrasted with those of
the multitude of criminals, he was induced, semi-officially, in a
friendly way, to write the story of his life. He accepted the
proposition made to him, though, consistent with his quality, not quite
fulfilling his pledge, omitting, as he did, certain hard details of the
later part of his criminal career. This was but natural, and, perhaps,
it is the one incident which shows that the man realized, in some
measure, the truth as to his own character.
The account which makes this book was written in 1897 and 1898, when its
author was in the free world. It has been thought best, out of regard
for an estimable family, to omit from the printed work the real name of
the writer. Another name has been substituted for the actual one, but,
with the exception of a few necessary technical corrections, and changes
of names of people and of one vessel--the one in which the first voyage
was made--the manuscript appears almost as it left the hands of its
author.
As a true tale, as a study of sociology, as a picture of one human life
somehow bent and twisted from the normal, this work, it seems to the
editor, is one of the most surprising of productions. Its frank
unconsciousness, its striking revelations, its absence from all pose,
combine to make it unique among the writings of men. The Confessions of
Rousseau appear, in phases, almost artificial compared with the simple
but startling revelation which is here given.
It was not hopelessness, nor recklessness, nor penitence, which made
this man write down unflinchingly what he remembered of the story of his
life. A cheerful reminiscent vein runs throughout all he tells. His
sense of humour is ever present. Nowhere appears a hint of the tragedy
of his experience. Of that he was not conscious. He was as free from
remorse and self-upbraiding as a wild animal or a tree.
The story, one would imagine, should appeal to those who think. From the
beginning can be seen, in the character of the runaway sailor and
one-time officer of the navy, traits which indicate his absolute
failure, eventually, as a man. He drifts. He is irresponsible. He
escapes from one dilemma only to get into another. He is thriftless, and
takes no thought for the morrow. He has no regard for the truth, nor any
for the rights of property. He lies and steals simply because lying and
stealing are the obvious things for him to do. He does not think of
doing anything else. The manner in which the story is told is
characteristic, and should open the eyes of sentimentalists as to the
real attitude of habitual criminals. Never, from first to last, is there
an expression of genuine shame or the least contrition. There are, it is
true, occasional sentences in which the man calls himself a fool, and
betrays a glimmering of appreciation of the general want of sense and
wisdom in his course, but there is no ring of sincere repentance nor of
sorrow over a wasted life. This extraordinary character is simply of the
opinion that he has not been clever enough. He never suspects that he
has not been good enough to live a normal life among normal people. The
truth is, he had no clear ideas of right and wrong.
Released from prison, and glad to be free, he always declared that now
he was determined to "keep out of trouble." With him "trouble" meant
"prison," and nothing else. Inevitably, surely, certainly, he was drawn
into ways of crime. As water seeks its level, so he gravitated towards
"trouble." To plan and execute an enterprise of robbery was the form of
activity most natural to him. He was hindered by no scruples, schooled
by no experience, tormented by no necessity. When arrested, and not
before, he considered that he was "in trouble." He fretted over his
punishment, but not over his offence.
And yet this was a human being, one not without good traits. He was not,
physically, a coward; on the contrary, he was simply and naturally
fearless. He was kind of heart, gentle to children, and tender to
animals. Under discipline, he was patient and obedient, a model
prisoner, the wardens say. What he could not do was to stand alone and
be a man in the world.
Looking outward, this man was a shrewd and appreciative observer. His
descriptions of natural scenes are vivid. There are few better stories
of the life of a prisoner of war than his, and his characterizations of
men and events are singularly apt. His eyes looked on the seamy side of
life, and saw with clearness when fixed on any one or anything but
himself. The conditions under which common sailors live have rarely
been more vividly described. One can only wonder, while reading his
plain story, told without heat or passion, how any man could follow such
a life as he describes.
The work is without precedent in character. It is fascinating as a life
story and as a study of human nature. It is a contribution to
unconscious literature.
STANLEY WATERLOO.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--MY FIRST VOYAGE 1
II.--WHALING IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC 16
III.--A SAILOR ASHORE 32
IV.--I TAKE TO THE SEA AGAIN 46
V.--ON THE BRIG GRENFALLS 57
VI.--THE "FLYING DUTCHMAN" 68
VII.--IN HER MAJESTY'S SERVICE 85
VIII.--THE CAT-O'-NINE-TAILS 101
IX.--THE ESCAPE 115
X.--THE SPORT OF THE WAVES 126
XI.--A GLIMPSE OF THE MEDITERRANEAN 142
XII.--IN AMERICAN WATERS 153
XIII.--MY THIRD VOYAGE 164
XIV.--PRETTY JENNIE BELL 181
XV.--GOOD-BYE TO ENGLAND 198
XVI.--WHAT MONEY CAN DO 207
XVII.--THE NEW YORK DRAFT RIOTS 215
XVIII.--ACTING ENSIGN IN THE UNITED STATES NAVY 226
XIX.--AFTER BLOCKADE-RUNNERS 239
XX.--A PRISONER OF WAR 252
XXI.--IN THE PRISON 264
XXII.--PRISON LIFE AND PRISON FARE 274
XXIII.--DISAPPOINTMENT AND MORE WAITING 288
XXIV.--A CRACKER BEAUTY 297
XXV.--LIBBY PRISON 311
XXVI.--A FREE MAN AGAIN 323
XXVII.--FORT FISHER 336
XXVIII.--THE ISLAND OF HAITI 348
XXIX.--I LEAVE THE SEA AND GO WEST 357
THE STORY OF A STRANGE CAREER
CHAPTER I
MY FIRST VOYAGE
On my mother's side I am of an old New York family. My great-grandfather
served as colonel in the war of 1812. My father was born in Dublin,
being a younger son of an Irish gentleman. He was educated to be a
druggist, his father paying a large bonus to have him apprenticed to a
celebrated firm in that business. His elder brother was ordained as a
clergyman in the Church of England, and is now a high dignitary in the
Church, if living. At the age of twenty, my father came to New York and
started in business. My mother, then about fourteen or fifteen years
old, became acquainted with him, and they were shortly afterward
married, the match being a runaway one. I was born when mother was but
sixteen years old. My parents lived comfortably; they sent me to
boarding-schools at North Cornwall, Conn., Ballston Spa, N. Y., and the
Military School at Danbury, Conn., and finally to one of the New York
colleges. At that time I was very desirous to be a sailor, and have been
sorry for it ever since. My parents objected, but afterwards consented.
My father had many customers among the ship-owners and sea captains. At
that time New York ship-owners had several vessels in the China trade,
and sought to get well-taught American boys to educate them in
seamanship and navigation, the idea being to make them officers of their
ships as soon as they became competent. Seven boys were selected, I
being one of them.
Father furnished me with a complete outfit for sea, and a set of
navigation instruments and books. One thing I thought lacking--that was
a pipe and tobacco. The sea-chest was sent to father's store. My younger
brother, Charlie, was anxious to know what sailors wore at sea, so he
examined the contents of the chest, and found a paper of cheap tobacco
and a two-cent pipe.
Charles--"Oh, father, George smokes!"
Father--"Why, George, do you use tobacco?"
George--"No, father, I never have done so yet; but I always hear that
sailors smoke at sea."
Father--"Well, George, throw that stuff away and come with me."
He then took me to a cigar-store, and bought me twelve half-pound papers
of fine Turkish tobacco, some pipes, and a box containing one hundred
fine cigars. What was the result? I never used a pipeful of that
tobacco, nor a cigar, and not until years afterward, when I was
forty-eight years old and in Joliet Prison, did I acquire the tobacco
habit, first by chewing it and then by smoking pipes made out of tool
handles on holidays--our only opportunity in that "hell-hole."
My father's friends had a full-rigged ship ready for sea at that time;
there were the captain, first, second, and third mates, and a crew of
about sixteen men of all nationalities. We seven boys were shipped on
board as apprentices, at the rate of four dollars a month. The voyage
was to be to Batavia, Island of Java, for a part cargo of coffee; from
there to Shanghai, China, for the balance of the cargo, the new crop of
tea, which would be ready for us by the time of our arrival.
The ship--we'll call her the Prospero--was to go out in ballast, as they
had no cargo to send out. Three passengers were to go with us--a man,
his sister, and her child. The sister was the wife of a pilot and opium
smuggler in the Chinese waters. Ten kegs, containing five thousand
Mexican dollars each, were also sent on board to be delivered to the
branch firm in China. The fifty thousand dollars were placed in the male
passengers' state-room, under his berth.
The ship was moved out from the dock, and anchored in the East River.
Next morning, early, a large tugboat came alongside the ship. On board
the tugboat was a large party, invited by the firm to have a pleasure
trip while towing the ship out to sea. My father and mother were with
the party, many of their friends, the captain's wife, and our
passengers' friends among the number. It was a merry party. We weighed
anchor. They gave us three cheers, and, wishing us a happy voyage,
turned back for New York. We had commenced our voyage to the Indian
Ocean.
No one had any idea how abruptly that voyage was to end, nor of the
misery that was to follow. In less than two months this despatch was
sent all over the country:
"CHARLESTON, S. C., _August, 1856_.
"The ship Prospero has arrived here, its captain having been
murdered at sea. The first mate and two boys are under arrest by
the United States officers, accused of having committed the
murder."[A]
[A] Our passengers took passage from Charleston in another ship for
China. They never reached their destination. The vessel caught
fire at sea and all aboard perished. Not a soul was ever heard
from.
Now comes the story of the mysterious murder. It has never been solved
to this day, although many years have passed since it occurred.
The ship had been headed to the south-east, so as to get into the
trade-winds near the coast of Africa. When near the Cape Verde Islands
the captain was found dead in his bed, having been killed by being
struck in the head with a ship's axe, having his throat cut, and being
stabbed in the heart several times with a double-edged knife. The cabin
steward went into the captain's state-room at eight o'clock to wake him
for breakfast, and at once notified the first mate of the murder. The
mate first went to the state-room, and then came on deck and ordered all
the crew into the state-room. This is what we saw: the captain dead in
bed, the only clothing on him being an undershirt, while the blood had
stained all the bedding, had spurted up on the partitions around the
berth for three or four feet, and also on the floor. Beside the body lay
a small axe and a white handkerchief stained with blood, marked in one
corner with the letter "L" embroidered in red silk, which letter had
been partly picked out with a pen or knife, but was still discernible.
The mate then informed us that he was acting captain of the ship. In our
presence he wound up the two chronometers, which are always kept in the
captain's room, for on them are dependent the daily calculations of the
correct longitude.
We were finally ordered upon deck. The crew conversed together, and
agreed among themselves that the ship should return to New York. The
mate insisted upon continuing the voyage, and also asked the crew if
they would allow him to place anyone under arrest whom he believed to be
the murderer. They assented, and he ordered Henry Leroy to be put in
irons.
The boy Leroy's hands were put behind his back, and he was handcuffed,
then rusty iron chains were fastened to them and around his ankles. He
was placed in the second mate's cabin on deck and the door was locked.
He was kept there until we reached Charleston. The weather was extremely
warm. When taken out, he was completely covered with iron rust, which
had stuck to his body with the perspiration, and he was not allowed to
wash himself.
Shortly after Leroy was put in irons, he called for the second mate, and
had a long conversation with him. The result was that I was handcuffed,
hands behind my back, was taken on the quarter-deck, made to sit down
with my back to a stanchion, and lashed to it by the passing of a rope
several times around my body and once around my neck. I remained in that
position for forty-eight hours, and was then put into the first mate's
cabin with my hands fastened behind my back.
The mate still insisted on continuing the voyage, the crew upon
returning. Then he proposed going back to Fayal, Western Islands, and
leaving Leroy and me there, to be sent to New York by the American
Consul, for trial. The crew would not agree to that. Nothing would
satisfy them but to return home. So the ship was put about and headed
for New York. We never got there, but fetched up at Bulls Bay, about
forty miles north of Charleston, S. C.
The ship was anchored close to shore and the sails furled. Shortly
afterward a steamer was sighted coming down the coast. Signals of
distress were hoisted, and the steamer headed for us. The mate had one
of our boats lowered, and, with a boat's crew of four men, went aboard
the steamer. He wished to go to Charleston himself for a tugboat, also
to telegraph to New York, but the men with him would not let him go, so
he sent an order to Charleston for a tug, and a letter to the captain of
the revenue cutter, explaining the situation.
The knife was never found; no blood stains could be found on any
clothing or person aboard the ship. The axe had always hung in brackets
over the captain's bed, that being the only trace that was left. The man
who did the deed must have been covered with blood. No noise had been
heard, although a number of persons were sleeping close by, and one half
of the crew were awake and on duty continually. The corpse was placed
in a water-cask, which was filled with brine and salt from the beef
barrels. After the inquest, it was shipped to New York for burial. Next
will be related the evidence against Leroy and myself.
Henry Leroy was born in Poughkeepsie, N. Y., his parents being quite
wealthy. The elder brother was lieutenant commander in the U.S. Navy
during the War of the Rebellion. Henry was the "black sheep" of the
family, and was sent to sea in order to tame him down. The captain was
instructed to be severe with him. He was very flighty, had a wild look
in his eyes, and was very quarrelsome. In less than three weeks he had
had four fights with the boys, the last one with me. There being no
cargo on board, the boys had quarters fixed up for them between decks.
Henry was in one watch and I in the other.
One night, at twelve o'clock, Henry came below and I was to go on watch.
It was then we had the fight. There being only a thin partition between
our place and the cabin, the noise woke the captain. The next morning
the captain tied Henry to a dry-goods box and gave him a severe flogging
with a rope's end. Henry afterward told some of the crew that he would
be revenged for that flogging; that was the evidence against him.
Now for myself: All the boys would tell Henry all kinds of nonsense and
he would believe it. I at one time proposed to him that we should kill
everybody on board the ship; that we two should sail the ship to the
coast of Africa, take the fifty thousand dollars in silver (weighing
over four thousand pounds) and go home with it. Much to my surprise, he
was willing to do so. Two or three times afterwards I amused myself with
that yarn. That story, with some additions of his own, was the evidence
against me. Some of his schoolmates afterwards stated under oath that it
was impossible for him to tell the truth. A tugboat was sent to
Charleston, and the ship was towed to that port. The United States
Marshal came on board, and Henry and I were taken up to the city in the
revenue cutter and put in the police station until the inquest was held.
In a couple of days after our arrival the inquest was held on board the
ship. Leroy and I were present. The captain's body was laid on deck and
we were made to stand near it and look at the terrible sight while some
of the jurors felt of our pulses, to see if we were unusually excited.
Leroy testified that I had confessed to the murder at twelve o'clock the
night it occurred, and that I had told him of it when the watches were
changed. At my trial it was proved that I had not spoken to him from the
evening before the murder until we were on the revenue cutter.
The coroner's jury ordered that we three be held for trial. So the mate
was handcuffed and the three of us were taken to the Charleston jail,
where we remained for about six months. As soon as the news reached New
York, my father and Leroy's brother got letters of introduction to the
most prominent men in Charleston and started for that city. In the
meantime we had our examination before the United States Court
Commissioner and were held over to the Federal grand jury without bail.
The ship's crew were detained in jail as witnesses. It was a picnic for
them, as they were each to receive one dollar and a half a day,
comfortable quarters, the freedom of a large yard for exercise, and
their food, with no work. On the ship it was hard labour with only
twelve dollars a month for the voyage.
When my father and Mr. Leroy arrived they were welcomed by some of the
leading citizens, and in a short time made many friends. They at once
retained the four best lawyers in the city. We three prisoners were kept
separate, but, as Henry and myself boarded with the jailer's family, we
were together at meal hours. I made many friends, while Henry seemed to
be disliked by everybody. The mate was kept in a cell by himself all the
time. A leading Freemason came from New York to Charleston and retained
a competent law firm for his defence. The Freemasons were the only
friends he had, and they stood by him well.
No indictment was found against Leroy by the grand jury. He was released
and put under bonds as a witness.
My trial came first. It lasted nearly a month and created much
excitement North and South. Leroy's testimony was all there was against
me. In the cross-examination he was badly rattled, and told so many lies
that everybody got disgusted with him. He was proved to be a liar by
some of his old schoolmates. The jury acquitted me without leaving their
seats. They all shook hands with me, and I was congratulated by
everybody. I was put under bonds as a witness.
The first mate's trial then took place. Circumstances looked bad for
him. His cruelty to Leroy and myself made a bad impression on the jury.
When I showed how I had been tied with ropes for two days, with my hands
fastened behind my back for seventeen nights and days in the roasting
hot weather, it actually made some of the jury grit their teeth. The
jury retired, and were out quite a number of hours. Finally, they
brought in a verdict of "Not guilty," but for a long time they stood ten
for guilty and two for acquittal. After that, he never could get a
mate's position on any ship in the United States, so he went to
Australia and, when last heard from, was captain of an English ship.
The Prospero, on one of her voyages, was dismasted by a typhoon in the
China Sea, was towed into one of the treaty ports in China and used as a
coal hulk.
I went back to New York with father and mother, was gladly received by
all my friends, and remained there until I took a notion in my thick
head to go on a whaling voyage to the Pacific Ocean.