If it had not, the consequences might have been very different
indeed. The news of the temporary victory at Fort Erie had a
wonderful effect, and by the 7th of June not less than 30,000 men
had assembled in and around Buffalo. The defeat of their comrades,
however, and the tardy issue of Andrew Johnson’s proclamation
enforcing the Neutrality Laws, left them no opening, and so the whole
affair fizzled out in the most undignified manner. Undignified indeed
it was for all parties concerned. The prisoners were, without a
single exception, released on their own recognisances, and sent home
by the United States authorities; while the arms seized by the United
States Government, through General Meade, commanding in Buffalo, were
returned to the Fenian organisation, only to be used for the same
purpose some four years later.
VI.
Meantime the conditions of peace, in purely American matters, had set
in, and the army was reduced to a nominal footing. I took advantage
of the state of affairs to settle down to a civilian style of life.
The first question that called for thought and care was my future
vocation in life. The father of a family, it became necessary for
me to look out for some means of obtaining a settled income. Acting
under the advice of an old comrade, now a Senator of Illinois,
I finally determined to study medicine, and set to work in this
direction without delay.
While so engaged, I paid my first visit to Europe in the autumn
or “fall” of 1867, and once more met my father and mother in the
flesh. My letters regarding Fenian matters were naturally a topic of
interesting conversation between us, and my father with much pride
showed me the written acknowledgments he had received for his action
in the matter. Poor old father! Never was Briton prouder than he of
the service he had been enabled to do his country—services unpaid
and as purely patriotic as ever Englishman rendered. No payment was
ever made—none was asked or expected—for whatever little good I had
been enabled to accomplish up to this time. Matters, however, were
now to develop in a new and unexpected way. Mr. Rebow expressed a
desire to see me, and, accompanied by my father, I visited him at his
seat, Wyvenhoe Park. He subsequently visited me on several occasions
at my father’s house, and had many chats on the all-absorbing topic
of Fenianism. Learning from me that the organisation was still
prosperous and meant mischief—my friend O’Neill having succeeded
Colonel Roberts as president—he gained my consent to enter into
personal communication with the English Government. In a few days
I received through him an official communication requesting me to
attend at 50 Harley Street. To Harley Street I went, and there met
two officials, by whom a proposition was made that I should become
a paid agent of the Government, and that on my return to the United
States I should ally myself to the Fenian organisation, in order to
play the _rôle_ of spy in the rebel ranks. I knew that this proposal
was coming. I had thought over the whole matter carefully, and I
had come to the conclusion that I would consent, which I did. My
adventurous nature prompted me to sympathy with the idea; my British
instincts made me a willing worker from a sense of right, and my past
success promised good things for the future.
I returned, therefore, to the States in the Government service;
and, taking advantage of an early meeting with O’Neill in New York,
I proffered him my services as a military man in case of active
warfare. O’Neill, delighted at the idea, promised me a position in
the near future, and I returned to my home in the West, pledged to
help the cause there meantime.[1]
And now a few words as to O’Neill. Taking the prominent part he
did in Fenian affairs at this time, he certainly proved a very
interesting personality. General O’Neill, Irish by birth, was born
on the 8th of March 1834, in the town of Drumgallon, parish of
Clontifret, Co. Monaghan. He emigrated when young with his family to
the United States, and settled at Elizabeth, New Jersey. Enlisting in
the 2nd U.S. Cavalry as a private soldier in 1857, he was engaged
in fighting Indians in the Far West for some three years. Upon
the breaking out of the War of the Rebellion, he was commissioned
as lieutenant in the 5th Indiana Cavalry. From this he received
promotion in the 15th U.S. Coloured Infantry, with which regiment
he continued to the end of the war. Resigning his command at the
conclusion of hostilities, he commenced business as a United States
Claim Agent in Nashville, Tennessee, where, it will be remembered, I
was stationed with my regiment for a long time after the cessation of
active operations.
When freed from the discipline of his military service,
O’Neill—ardent Fenian that he was—threw himself heart and soul
into the Irish rebel movement in the States. He raised and commanded
the Tennessee contingent in the movement upon Canada in 1866, taking
command of the entire expedition by reason of his seniority of rank
and his proved knowledge of military tactics. I have already quoted
his report of the termination of this “invasion.”
At the Cleveland Convention of September 1867, he was elected a
senator of the Fenian Brotherhood; and on the 31st of December 1867,
owing to the resignation of Colonel W. R. Roberts, he was elected
President of the Brotherhood.
In personal appearance O’Neill was a very fine-looking man. Nature
had dealt kindly with him. Within a couple of inches of six feet in
height, possessing a fine physique and a distinctive Celtic face, he
combined an undoubted military bearing with a rich sonorous voice,
which lent to his presence a certain persuasive charm. He had one
fault, however—a fault which developed to the extremest point when
he attained the presidency of the Fenian Brotherhood. This was his
egotism. He was the most egotistical soul I ever met in the whole
course of my life. In his belief, the Irish cause lived, moved, and
had its being in John O’Neill; and this absurd self-love contributed
to many disasters, which a more even-headed leader would never have
brought about.
VII.
On my return to my Western home, I lost no time in commencing my
double life. I organised a Fenian “circle” or camp in Lockport,
Illinois, and took the position of “centre” or commander of it, thus
becoming the medium for receiving all official reports and documents
issued by O’Neill, the contents of which documents were, of course,
communicated by me to the Home Government. I went to work with a
will, and was soon in the very thick of the conspiracy, organised
a military company for the Irish Republican Army, and eventually
attended the Springfield Convention in the position of a delegate.
While so engaged, I entered the Chicago Medical College, and
commenced my medical studies in earnest. I was much assisted in
this direction by the kindly help of an old friend, Dr. Bacon, who
had been attached to my regiment in war times as surgeon. He was
then surgeon to the Illinois State Penitentiary, and through him I
obtained the position created at this time of Hospital Steward, or,
in other words, Resident Medical Officer in that institution. There
was a comfortable salary attached to the office, which I found to be
in every sense a useful post. Although, as matters turned out, I was
only to spend some few months there, I gained even in this short time
a vast amount of experience in almost every branch of medical study.
Life, indeed, in the Illinois Penitentiary gave me experience in many
ways. It brought me for the first time into direct contact with many
of the evils which then affected official administration. Things,
of course, are different now, though it must be confessed still
anything but perfect; but when compared with the usages of olden
times, the shortcomings of the present system are of no account
whatever. At the time of which I speak, money could accomplish
everything, from the obtaining of luxuries in prison to the purchase
of pardon and freedom itself. Everything connected with the prison
administration was rotten to the core. Corruption was in every place.
The penitentiary contained some fifteen hundred prisoners, and the
whole management of affairs affecting these men was vested in three
Commissioners, as they were styled, whose proceedings were of the
most flagrant and jobbing character. So great did the scandals of
their doings become at one period, that one of the three had to
abscond; but so demoralised was the condition of affairs that no
attempt was made to arrest and bring him back. These three men had
no object save that of gaining money. They were the proprietors of a
general shop inside the prison, from which the prisoners purchased
luxuries at usurious rates; and the work of the prisoners themselves
was let out to contractors, who paid heavily for the privilege of
remaining undisturbed in their monopoly. Everything was turned to
money. In one case I knew of a prisoner, failing to win his cause
on appeal, and having thereby to undergo a period of seven years’
imprisonment, being offered his release for a sum of 10,000 dollars,
which offer he refused, stating in the most business-like way that
he would only give 7000. This was not considered satisfactory, and so
the negotiations fell through.
No popular idea of prison life now indulged in at all fits in
with the actual condition of affairs five-and-twenty years ago.
Money was useful for the purpose of commerce in the Commissioners’
interest, and therefore was allowed free circulation amongst those
confined. Those who could afford it, and whose cases were not finally
decided—appeals were constantly being heard—were allowed to board
at the Governor’s table, to wear their own clothes, and in every
way conduct themselves as if in a private house. In those days the
prisoners were not shaved—they wore their hair and whiskers as they
pleased. Those who could not afford to live the lives of gentlemen
had the store to go to for petty luxuries; and so, no matter how
matters turned, the Commissioners were the gainers. The Governor, or
Warden, as he was called, was their nominee, dependent upon them for
office; and everything was governed by their wishes and desires.
In such a vast assembly of criminals there were many whose characters
and careers formed subjects for very interesting study to me. I was
fortunate in being connected with the prison at a time when some more
than usually clever and facile scoundrels were temporarily resident
there. Towering head and shoulders over the whole crowd was that king
of forgers, Colonel Cross, perhaps the most daring, successful, and
expert penman of our time. About forty years of age at this period,
a man of fine commanding presence, splendid diction, and gentlemanly
demeanour, Cross attracted me from the first day I was brought into
contact with him. The son of one of the most prominent Episcopalian
clergymen in the United States, he was possessed of a wide classical
education, and discoursed with intelligence and wondrous fluency on
theology, medicine, and every kind of science.
He was no ordinary criminal. Even in prison he commanded admiration
from his fellows, and I was often amazed to see how respectful were
the salutations accorded him as he moved about. He boasted, I learned
afterwards with truth, that he had never robbed a poor man; and,
strange being that he was, he had borne almost all the cost of the
education of his brother’s children. Indeed, at the time I met him,
he was educating in the most expensive manner a poor little girl
whom, in a moment of generous caprice, he had adopted as his daughter.
When I was first brought into contact with him, Cross had his
case before the courts on appeal, and, pending the decision, he
was living in the most expensive way in prison, boarding at the
Governor’s table, dressing in the most fashionable way, and smoking
the best of cigars. Having no work to do, he interested himself in
the affairs of his fellow-prisoners; and so clever and capable was
he, and so great a knowledge of law did he possess, that he succeeded
in preparing the cases of many of them for appeal in such a way as to
allow of their regaining their liberty.
I had not been in the prison very long before he appealed to me to
take him as my assistant in the hospital; and attracted by the man
as I was, I acceded to his request, to discover subsequently that I
had a most valuable attendant, whose knowledge of medicine was both
extensive and practical.
VIII.
The career of Cross would supply material for a most exciting
novel. He always went in for “big things,” as he phrased it.
Nothing troubled him more than the fact that he was then undergoing
punishment for a small affair which he contemptuously referred to
as being too paltry altogether for association with him. Perhaps
the “biggest thing” he ever did was the forgery of a cheque for
£80,000 in Liverpool, and his escape with the booty. Like many
other talented criminals, if he had but turned his ability to
proper account, he would undoubtedly have won a place and name in
the foremost ranks of honest men to-day. He planned his enterprises
with the most consummate care, and worked them out for months before
reaching the final stage. An illustration of his method was very well
afforded by his forgery on the Park National Bank of New York.
Determining to commit a forgery on this bank, he set to work to
obtain the needful introduction and guarantee for his accomplice,
who should eventually present the forged cheque. He, by the way,
never presented a forged cheque himself—this was always the work
of an accomplice. In order, therefore, to obtain the introduction
to the bank, he opened some business with a certain firm of brokers
in Wall Street who happened to “deposit” at the particular bank in
question. In this way he ran up an account for a respectable sum,
to obtain the repayment for which he one day went to the office in
Wall Street accompanied by one Simmons, the accomplice in the future
forgery. The cheque—a draft for twelve hundred dollars—was duly
drawn, when Cross asked his friend Simmons to go to the bank to cash
it, requesting in a free-and-easy way that the broker might send one
of his clerks with him to identify Simmons, he being a stranger.
No suspicion was indulged in—there was no ground for such, and
the request was willingly complied with. Simmons, coached by Cross
beforehand, had a hundred-dollar bill in his pocket, the use for
which will be apparent in a moment. When the clerk and he reached
the bank, the necessary introduction took place; and in reply to
the usual question how he wished the money, Simmons replied, “In
hundred-dollar bills.” As the clerk counted the notes, Simmons drew
his bill out of his pocket, and mixing all up as he stood aside
to check his payment, he recalled the clerk’s attention by the
announcement that he had given him thirteen instead of twelve bills.
The clerk indignantly protested he had made no mistake. Simmons,
playing the _rôle_ of honest man, became distressed, the manager was
appealed to, one of the notes eventually received back, and Simmons
retired, the recipient of most fulsome thanks, his character and
reputation fully established in the minds of the banking officials.
Of course the clerk was one hundred dollars to the good at the end
of the day, but Simmons’ claim to honesty in no way suffered by the
fact, as no one for a moment thought of a plot.
Content to lose the hundred-dollar bill, in the promise of things
to come, Cross continued his legitimate traffic with the brokers,
Simmons, on the most friendly terms at the bank, cashing the cheques,
which increased in amount as the time passed. Months had passed,
and nothing of an illegal nature had been attempted, when at the
end of the fifth month a genuine cheque for thirty dollars was by
Cross changed to 30,000, and cashed by Simmons without the slightest
hesitation or suspicion at the bank, both Cross and he escaping with
the booty.
Many and varied as were Cross’s tricks with his pen, none was more
daring or successful than that which led to his escape from Sing-Sing
Prison, that famous home of criminals in New York. Obtaining through
outside agency a printed and properly headed sheet of note-paper
and envelope from the Governor of the States’ Office at Albany, he
actually forged the order for his own release, had it posted formally
from Albany, and, on its receipt, obtained his freedom without
provoking the slightest suspicion or inquiry.
I am glad to say that Colonel Cross still lives, and is now working
out an honest existence under another name in the north-west of
America.
My life at the Illinois Penitentiary was crowded with incidents,
and little leisure was left me. Where real sickness did not exist,
shamming and malingering in their most ingenious phases were
resorted to. I was amazed at the talent brought to bear upon their
attempts to escape work by those with whom I had to deal. Some of
the methods adopted were simply marvellous in their conception and
execution. A more quick-witted lot of men it has never been my fate
to meet. Every twist and turn of daily life was subordinated to the
needs of the trickster, and not one single daily incident seemed to
be without its possibility of application, either to assist in the
attempt to shirk work or to escape from imprisonment altogether.
Nothing in this way impressed me more than the case of a man known as
Joe Devine, an eminent hotel sneak thief, some two-and-thirty years
of age, and of very distinguished appearance.
It happened that one afternoon about five o’clock a negro prisoner
died of consumption. It was the practice to bury the dead immediately
the coffin was made ready; but, owing to the fact that the coffin in
this case was not ready till after the prison gates had been locked
for the night, the burial had to be postponed till the following
morning.
Under the circumstances, I arranged that the coffin with the body
enclosed should remain for the night in the prison bath-room. This
Joe Devine of whom I speak happened to be in charge of the bath-room
at this period, and it therefore became his duty to see that proper
arrangements were made for the disposal of the coffin for the night.
Early the next morning, as was customary, Devine and some of his
fellow-prisoners were allowed out of their cells some little time
before the others, in order to prepare the bath-room and other places
for their use. With assistance Devine unscrewed the coffin, took the
dead negro out, and concealed himself in his place, not, however,
before he had worn down the thread of the screws in the lid, so that
they could be thrust out with a heavy push from the inside. The time
for the funeral arrived in due course, and the coffin was removed
in a little cart accompanied by two prisoners whose time was nearly
expired, and who were therefore trusted outside the gates of the
prison (being known by the name of “trusties”), together with the
clergyman of the jail.
Nothing happened till the grave was reached, when Devine, presumably
concluding that it would be dangerous to remain longer where he was,
burst the lid of the coffin and jumped out, immediately starting off
at a run. The clergyman and “trusties” being too horrified to offer
any resistance, he escaped without molestation. The first I heard of
the matter was on the return of the clergyman and the “trusties” with
the news that the man had come to life; but, as they explained in
their horrified way, he was white, not a nigger! The roll was called,
and Devine was missing; so we concluded he was the white man in
question. We then set to work to find the corpse of the poor negro.
For two hours the prisoners searched up and down without any result.
Eventually, however, the body was discovered underneath a pile of
towels in one of the box-seats of the bath-room, the corpse being
doubled up in two, the head and feet meeting, in order to permit of
its being concealed in its narrow hiding-place.
Another escape equally effective, for the moment at least, was that
of a man known as Bill Forester, a notorious bank robber, and one
of the suspected murderers of Nathan the Jew, whose death in New
York created a profound interest at the time. Forester, fortunately
for himself, selected as his medium of exit one of the many boxes
employed by Mack & Co., contractors for shoe-making, who employed
some four hundred of the convicts. Surrounded and hedged in between
boots and shoes, in one of the large boxes used for their transport,
Forester passed through the prison gates in one of Mack’s vans,
and not till he had got a distance of a mile and a half from the
jail did he venture to emerge from his hiding-place. His liberty,
however, proved to be only of a temporary character, for, caught
in another State a little later, the enterprising burglar was again
arrested, and carried back to the Penitentiary to complete his term
of imprisonment.
His method had many imitations. None was more novel or disastrous
than that employed by a fellow-convict whose name I cannot at the
moment recall. This poor fellow hit upon the ingenious idea of
getting out of durance vile inside a load of horse-manure, and when
the load was half-way packed, he lay at full length with a breathing
space arranged, while the remainder of the loading was completed. His
intention, of course, was to be freed from his uncomfortable position
within an hour, when the manure would be discharged at the quay
adjoining the prison. To his horror, however, he discovered, when the
cart reached the quay, that a gang of fellow-convicts were engaged
unloading a boat under the charge of armed wardens or sentries. To
attempt escape meant instant death, and there he lay for hours with
the heavy weight of the upper portion of the cart’s load pressing
upon him. Six o’clock came and with it the return of the men and
sentries to prison. Through the long weary hours of the night the
poor fellow lay, unable now to move from the consequences of his
continued prostration in the manure; and when the morning arrived he
was found but too willing a captive. He was immediately placed under
my charge, but his recovery proved by no means a rapid affair.
IX.
In the midst of all these exciting incidents of prison life, I
received a telegram from O’Neill in New York, as follows: “Come
at once, you are needed for work.” To comply was to surrender my
pleasant and interesting position, and to lose for the moment all
chance of pursuing my medical study. On the other hand, however, the
opportunity of doing good service to my native land presented itself.
I did not hesitate. Communicating immediately with the “Warden” or
Governor, I resigned my position, much to his disgust. He sought an
explanation. I could give none. He offered an increased salary. I was
unable to explain why even this could not tempt me, and so I left in
a way which was misunderstood, and under circumstances which, by the
very reason for their existence, could not be appreciated.