I had just gone into the dining room to get something to eat, when a deputy sheriff rushed into the room and called my name, to which I answered. He said excitedly, "Come to the jail at once. That nigger of yours has cut his damned head nearly off."
The hotel was just opposite the jail and it took only a short time to get there. I found the jailor, on discovering what the prisoner had done, had pulled him out of the cell into the corridor, where he was lying on the iron floor, with his throat cut almost from ear to ear. In the cutting hehad not severed the jugular vein, but had cut the wind pipe. It was a tremendous gash. He could breathe fairly well, and could speak, but with difficulty.
Meanwhile the sheriff had summoned an old doctor, who arrived at the jail shortly. He looked at the prisoner and said, "Why, that nigger will die. I can't do a thing for him," and he positively refused to do anything. I pleaded with him to sew up the wound and save the life, as it was of great importance to the people of Dallas. It was all in vain. We finally succeeded in getting a young doctor of the town, who came and tenderly dressed the wound, and stated that with proper care the negro would live. I assisted the doctor all that I could, and stayed there with him from that time until we left Lampasas the next morning. I had my meals brought to the jail to me.
About the middle of the afternoon, after the wound was dressed, Perry began to feel better, and I presume, by reason of my kind treatment of him he told me that his young master, John Perry, had induced him to come to Dallas for the purpose of killing his partner, Mr. Temple; that he (his master) had paid his expenses and had been liberal in furnishing him with spending money, also that he was to give him five hundred dollars after he had killed Temple. He said he did not want to do it, and tried to get out of it after he had reached Dallas, but his master threatened to kill him unless he did so. He said he killed Temple because he feared his master would kill him. He said that on the Sunday night previous to the murder he was about to pounce upon another man of Temple's congregation. This man resembled Temple so much that he was about to kill him for Temple, and would have done so but for the fact that his master was in hiding across the street and rushed out and prevented his making a mistake. He also confessedthat he had received a telegram on the day that he had left San Angelo, telling him to go to Lampasas and call at the post-office for a letter, which was the letter mentioned above.
Whereupon, I wrote a telegram to Sheriff Cabel, which read as follows: "Negro has cut his throat and is dying. Give this message to the newspapers and have them get out an extra at once, without fail. Will wire you explanation two hours later."
I sent this message to the telegraph office by the plumber boy.
After I had decided to leave Dallas to arrest Perry, I wired a code message to one of my operatives, D. F. Harbaugh, to come to Dallas on the first train and call for a letter of instructions that I left for him at my hotel. This letter was to the effect that he should carefully shadow the white man, John Perry, as soon as he arrived at Dallas, and keep him under continuous surveillance until further orders.
Harbaugh arrived at Dallas on Saturday and began shadowing Perry according to instructions. As soon as Cabel received my first message he called up the newspapers and they got out an extra at once. The white John Perry got one of the first extras. He read the account of the colored man having killed himself, and at once left his office and started for his lodgings, about a mile away. On his way he stopped at every saloon en route (they numbered thirteen in all) and took a large drink at each place. By the time he reached home he had taken at least thirteen drinks.
Two hours after sending the first message, I sent Sheriff Cabel a second one, which read as follows:
"Negro doing well; will recover. Leave here onmorning train for Dallas. Treat this confidentially and meet me at Temple tomorrow morning. Arrest John Perry on charge of complicity in Temple murder. Have full confession of negro which justifies this action."
Sheriff Cabel did as directed, and met me at Temple the following morning, where we had to change cars for Dallas. We arrived in Dallas about 8:00 P. M. Tuesday, and during the long journey from Lampasas to Dallas the jolting of the cars, etc., caused the negro's wound to become inflamed, and he was suffering greatly when we reached Dallas. The sheriff had telegraphed ahead for a physician to await us at the jail. The negro was placed on a cot in the corridor where the doctor could redress his wound. While the doctor was so engaged the master, John Perry, who was a prisoner in one of the cells on the upper floor of the jail, could plainly see all that was going on below. He recognized the negro and immediately attempted to kill himself by butting his head against the steel bars of his cell. The sheriff and his assistants and myself were attracted by the actions of the white man, and at once rushed to the cell. Here we found that the white prisoner had almost beaten out his brains against the bars of his cell. Medical aid was called and a guard placed inside the cell with him to prevent any further personal violence.
The following day the papers were full of what had occurred, and owing to the high standing of Perry, the jail was flooded with sympathizers, among whom were many leading citizens. Telegrams from all parts of the state, from influential people, poured in, tendering the prisoner all sorts of aid, financially and otherwise. An able counsel volunteered to defend him, and society ladies began to send him luncheons and delicacies of all kinds.
The prisoner had offered as an excuse for trying to commit suicide that he felt so humiliated by being charged with murdering his partner. He declared that he was innocent and that he would be exonerated in court; which I have no doubt he would, as the main proof against him was the testimony of a negro, which does not usually go very far in court in the south when it cannot be strongly corroborated.
The colored prisoner continued to improve, and the white man seemed to get along nicely for about five days, when a young society woman sent him a luncheon, in which was a cut glass plate containing delicacies. While he was eating this lunch, and the guard was at the far end of the cell Perry suddenly struck the plate on the steel floor of the cell, breaking it into pieces. He picked up a large, triangular-shaped piece of glass, with edges as sharp as a razor, and plunged it into his throat, at the same time giving the piece of glass a twist, which severed the jugular vein, causing his death in a few minutes. Thus ended the existence of the white John Perry.
The colored man pleaded guilty at his trial, and was sentenced to the state prison for life, where, I presume, he is at the present time.
I omitted to state that after I had searched the colored John Perry at Lampasas, and had instructed the sheriff and jailor not to allow him to have a knife or anything of the kind with his meal, Perry had called the jailor and told him that he had gotten a sliver in his finger, and asked the jailor to lend him his knife to remove the sliver. The old jailor, having evidently forgotten my instructions, gave the prisoner his pocket knife, through the bars. As he stepped back from the bars Perry opened the knife and cut his throat before the jailor could get into the cell toprevent it. The skin on that darky's neck was as thick as ordinary sole leather and very tough. I held him while the doctor sewed up the wound, which was a hard job, but performed very nicely.
I arrived in Dallas on Wednesday night, made the foregoing investigation, located and arrested Perry, caused the arrest of the white John Perry, left Dallas and returned to St. Louis, arriving there on Friday evening of the following week, after having traveled nearly four thousand miles, which I believe to be the quickest time ever made in working up a case and capturing the guilty parties in a crime of this magnitude.
I can say that I have never doubted but that it was a case of remorse that caused the white John Perry to commit suicide, and not humiliation.
EAST ST. LOUIS IN THE EARLY EIGHTY'S—HOW I HELPED TOREFORM THE MUNICIPALITY—A SPECTACULAR RAIDON "SURE THING" GAMES AND"BIG MITT" JOINTS.
Dodge City, Kansas, and Corinne, Utah, have places in history for being tough towns in their infancy, but take it from me, Mr. Reader, that neither of these much-advertised burgs, in their palmiest days, were "in the running" for toughness with East St. Louis during the early '80s. The average St. Louisan, in those days, was entirely different in his make-up from the denizens of the cities further west, especially if he was in politics, his nature being more bloodthirsty than the bandit, or tough cowboy or buffalo skinner, who made the first named towns famous. It was a different sort ofcrookedness in East St. Louis. The little municipality was in the hands of crooks of the lowest degree. There was no crime to which they would not resort to gain a point of advantage over a rival. In other words, any crime was regarded as conventional, just so the man who committed it got the "mazuma." The principal city offices were held by gamblers and "sure-thing" men. The city councilmen were nearly all saloon or dive keepers, while the police department was recognized as the grandest collection of thugs, crooks and "strong-armers" that had ever been assembled together within the borders of one town. The fact that these alleged minions of the law were recognized as suspicious characters by the officers of other cities, and were shadowed whenever found out of their own bailiwick seemed to be regarded as a good point in their favor by those responsible for their being—the mayor and Board of Aldermen. Any crook, big or little, if he had the price for protection, could ply his chosen profession on the main streets of the town without molestation on the part of those sworn to enforce the law. A "peterman" (safe blower) was held in higher esteem over there in those days than a priest, a "porch-climber" regarded as an artist, and the monte and confidence men placed in the same class as are college professors and clergymen in other cities, while the men who received the bribes were all looked upon as good fellows and smart, wide-awake business men.
Neither were the merchants and tradesmen all straight in those days. It has been said of some of them that they would refuse to take money in exchange for their wares when there was any suspicion in their minds that the money had been earned honestly. Crooks of all classes congregated there, because they knew they were safe from arrest. If they were broke on their arrival, after being chased out of another town,they knew there would be no trouble in getting some dive-keeper or proprietor of a fence to "go to the front" for them at police headquarters and square things so they could "go to work." It was everyday talk that aldermen had "big mitt" men and "strong-armers" out working on percentage.
Furlong's Full Hand
Furlong's "Full Hand."
Cartoon published in a St. Louis newspaper at the timeof the East St. Louis gambling raid.
As in all such places, gambling flourished—that is, gambling of the crooked kind. The whirr of the roulette ball and the rattle of the dice in the "bird cage" could beheard on the street, when not drowned out by the voices of the cappers for "the old army game" (chuck-a-luck) or the paddle wheels or sweat board. Nobody had a chance to win, however, except the operators of the games, as they were all crooked.
Many of the merchants openly displayed in their shop windows the tools and devices used by the various "professions." The bully could buy brass knucks with which to knock the block off of his adversary; the hold-up man a sand bag to stun his victim, while he helped himself to his valuables; the card sharper could buy his "strippers" "bug" or "harness," while the safe blower could find any sort of "jimmy" or any quantity of "soup" he desired, or had the money to pay for. Then there were "fences" where a thief might dispose of anything of value he might "find" on his excursions to the neighboring towns, which were not infrequent. The return of one of these marauding parties from a tour was always followed by an orgy, at which wine flowed freely, and the ill-gotten money tossed about with a lavish hand.
East St. Louis was then a wide-open town, with the accent on the words "wide" and "open."
Finally the good people of the town awoke to their responsibilities, as they always do in cases of this kind. Headed by an ex-mayor, John B. Bowman, editor of a newspaper, a fight was begun on the crooked officials. And it was a fight, a bitter one. A number of aldermen who had been under suspicion of being partially responsible for the bad state of affairs, were beaten for re-election, and an attempt was made to get possession of the city funds in the city treasury, which was in the hands of Thos. J. Canty, gang city clerk, who had usurped the office of treasurer. After much delay, he having resorted to the courts toprevent his being ousted, he was finally ordered to turn over the funds to the treasurer on the morning of May 21, 1884. The night before the date set for the transfer, the vault in the City Hall, in which Canty claimed to have kept the funds, was robbed, an entrance having been effected by digging a hole through the brick wall which enclosed the safe.
A few months before the robbery, Mike Coleman, alias Charlie Clark, a noted "peterman" of that city, had come down to St. Louis from Jefferson City, where he had been doing time for a safe-blowing job in Monroe County, Missouri. I had known Coleman for years and had been instrumental in "settling" him on more than one occasion. He called upon me at my office, which, at that time, was in the Allen Building, Broadway and Market Streets. "I am through with crime, Mr. Furlong," he said, "and I have secured a good job with the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company as a cutter, at a salary which will permit me to take care of my wife and child, and I want to know if you will allow me to live in St. Louis—that is, not tip me off to the St. Louis police, none of whom know me."
I told him I was truly glad to hear of his reformation, and that I would not tell any one of his presence here as long as he continued to work and behave himself. He seemed pleased to hear this, and told me he would not only live straight in the future, but would "put me next" to any one he knew to be crooked should they attempt to do any work in St. Louis. He further voluntarily promised that he would report to me at my office every Saturday afternoon. I then introduced him to my chief clerk, Edward Dawson, and told him to report to Mr. Dawson in case I did not happen to be in the office when he called.
We shook hands and he took his departure. Hereported to the office every Saturday promptly for about three months, at which time I was called south on a train robbery case, and was absent from St. Louis for several weeks. During my absence an epidemic of safe robberies occurred in St. Louis. As many as three "boxes" were opened in a single night. One night the "petermen" would operate in north or south St. Louis, the next night they would be down in the business district, or out in the west end. The work of the gang caused a panic at police headquarters. Chief Harrigan had his men working night and day, and the detective force was augmented by patrolmen in plain clothes, but still the bursting of "boxes" continued nightly. During my absence from the city I was enabled to get the St. Louis papers once in a while. These papers were full of the accounts of the robberies. From the description in the papers of the way the work had been done, I was satisfied that Coleman was either doing the work or directing it. Nearly all of the places robbed had been entered from above. I knew this skylight stunt was one of Coleman's specialties. He never broke a door or forced a window to get to a box. His method was to reach a fire escape and make his way to the roof of a building. He would then descend to the floor on which the safe was located, and after detecting and fixing a side or back door, through which the "get-away" was to be made in case of an interruption on the part of a watchman or officer on the beat, would go to work.
I returned to St. Louis one night, and in discussing the robberies with Mr. Dawson, I learned that Coleman had not reported at the office during my absence. The next morning I called on the foreman of the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company, by whom Coleman had been employed, and who was the only man in St. Louis besides Dawson andmyself who knew the ex-convict's record. The foreman told me that Mike had left his position about a month before, without making any explanation. He had simply drawn his week's wages and had failed to show up again. On learning these facts, I was more than ever convinced that Coleman had gone wrong again. I was very busy in my office that day looking after matters that had accumulated during my absence, and did not leave for home until after 5:30 P. M. On my way to the car I passed a doorway, in which was standing a man whom I recognized as Pat Lawler, the best detective on the city force, and with whom I was on very friendly terms. On approaching Lawler I found him to be asleep. After I had awakened him he told me he and his partner and several other men in the department had been on continuous duty for over 36 hours, trying to get a "line" on the men who were "blowing up the town" as he expressed it. He then told me that the men in the department were still at sea, having no clue as to who was doing the work. "I am going to bed and get some rest, at any rate," said Lawler, "and I do not care what 'the big finger' (Chief of Police) says about it."
I then told Lawler I believed I knew who was doing the work, or at least directing it, and told him that if he and his partner would meet me at Twelfth and Olive Streets at 5:30 the next morning I would help them find the man I suspected. After telling me that he and his partner would be at the rendezvous at the appointed time, Lawler and I parted company.
Coleman, under the alias of Charlie Clark, was living at that time on the second floor of a house fronting on Biddle Street, between Ninth and Tenth Streets. The entrance to this flat was made from the alley in the rear. I knew Coleman's wife, or the woman he claimed to be his wife. She hadformerly been the wife of Tom Gosling, a noted crook, who was at that time in the Missouri penitentiary, doing a ten year stretch. Her first name was Annie, and she had a son about 6 or 7 years of age.
Mike Coleman
Mike Coleman, aliasChas. Clark.
Daring burglar and "peterman" employed to blow theCity Hall vault, East St. Louis.
Lawler and his partner were at the corner of Twelfth and Olive Streets promptly at 5:30 the next morning, according to appointment. I then told them all about Coleman, and we proceeded to the latter's flat. On reaching the head of the stairway, I knocked at the door. Mrs. Coleman, garbed only in a night robe, came to the door and opened it a few inches. I stuck my foot in the door to keep her from closing it.
"I want to see Charlie," I explained to her.
"He is not here, Mr. Furlong," she replied, after recognizing me and permitting us to enter. "I do not know where he is," she continued. She then told me that Charlie had gone to drinking and had quit his job about a week before, and she did not know where he was or what he was doing. I knew she was not telling me the truth, as Charlie had quit his job at least a month previous, and did not drink at all. In fact, he never had been known to drink to excess. While we were talking I noticed a large-sized picture of Coleman hanging on the wall. This I told the officers to take, and commanded her to dress.
"What are you going to do, Mr. Furlong?" she asked.
"I am going to take you down to police headquarters for lying to me," I replied.
Both she and her boy began to cry and make a scene, but she finally began dressing. While this was going on I heard a slight noise in the front room.
"Who is in there?" I asked, jumping to the door.
"A couple of friends of Charlie's from Hannibal," she replied.
Lawler and I entered this room and found a couple of men in bed. After placing them under arrest we recognized them as a couple of crooks, both of whom were heavily armed. Under the bed was a gunny sack, which, on investigation, we found to contain a safe-blowing outfit, including a sectional jimmy, a pair of "come-a-longs" (tool used to pull the knob or "ears" off of a safe), a new hammer and other tools. These men had evidently returned to the room late and being tired threw the sack under the bed and went to sleep.
Just as we were about to take our departure from the room with the prisoners a mail carrier arrived with aletter for Mrs. Clark. I took charge of the letter and saw it had been mailed at Springfield, Mo. I handed it to Mrs. Clark and she opened it and read its contents. The letter was from her husband, and stated he was in Springfield, and for her to answer it at once as he was only going to remain in Springfield a couple of days, and he wanted to hear from her before leaving there. We then took our prisoners, including Mrs. Clark, to the Four Courts. Some small pictures of Clark were taken from the large one we had found in his home, and Chief of Detectives Burke, armed with one of these pictures, left at once for Springfield to try and effect his capture. In this Burke was successful, as Clark appeared at the post-office to get his mail and was recognized and placed under arrest. Clark was brought back to St. Louis. He would not talk to the St. Louis officers, although the latter used every art known to them to make the prisoner "cough up." Clark told Chief of Police Harrigan he knew nothing that would do them any good, but that he had some information that was very valuable for me, and asked that I be called. At that time the relations between the chief and myself were some strained, to express it mildly, but the Chief finally sent for me. "This thief has some information for you," said Harrigan to me on my arrival at his office. "I do not believe he is much of a thief, either, as I know all the good ones," continued the chief. After shaking hands with Clark he told me the city officers could not connect him with any of the jobs pulled off here, as he had nothing to do with them, but declined to talk further in the presence of the chief, we being in the latter's office at the time. As Harrigan did not seem inclined to let me interview Clark privately I left, and returned to my office.
Later in the day Clark employed a lawyer, and sent him to me to tell me that if I would get him across the river he would tell me all about that job, meaning the looting of the City Hall vault. I referred Clark's lawyer to Prosecuting Attorney Holder of St. Clair County, Illinois, and later the latter made a demand on the St. Louis police for the possession of Clark. The St. Louis officers, thinking that they might secure at least a part of the reward which had been offered for the apprehension of the men who committed the East St. Louis crime, took Clark over the river, where he was locked up. I then called on him and he told me all about the vault robbery.
According to his story, which was later verified by his two assistants, Clark was employed to do the job by Thos. A. Canty, acting city treasurer, to hide an alleged shortage in Canty's accounts. The latter was, it was claimed $60,000 short, having lost the money at poker. The money had to be turned over the next day, and Canty could not do it, because he could not raise that amount. Clark had been introduced to Canty by Patrick Eagan, who was at that time running a saloon in East St. Louis, and was one of the city's aldermen. Eagan was regarded as a friend of crooks of the higher class, such as confidence men, safe blowers and "big mitt" men. Coleman claimed he was told by Canty that ten thousand dollars would be left on the top of the safe, which was the amount he was to receive for doing the work. Coleman was also introduced to Lieutenant Duffy, acting night chief of police of the East St. Louis department, who was to act as lookout while the work was being done. The ten thousand dollars was to be divided equally between Duffy, Eagan and Coleman. A few days before the time set for doing the jobCanty became ill and was taken to Hot Springs. This did not interfere with the plans, however, D. J. Canty, according to the testimony, taking his brother's place in making the final arrangements for the entering of the vault. Coleman did the real work, assisted by Eagan, while Duffy, in full uniform, stood guard on the outside. A box, in which was supposed to be $10,000, was found on top of the safe, as had been promised by Canty. This box was taken by the three men to Duffy's home and its contents poured out on the kitchen table, but instead of $10,000 there was only $3,000. This money was divided equally among the three men, after which all went downtown again. It was then about 2:30 A. M. Duffy, not wishing to carry so much money around with him, placed his part in the safe of a saloonkeeper friend, who was also an alderman. The lieutenant in his testimony at the trial of the Cantys, two years afterwards, declared that his $1,000 decreased to $700 during the night. In other words, some one had touched the roll for $300.
I told Prosecuting Attorney Holder and the Citizens' Committee about Coleman's confession, and was employed to secure corroborating evidence, which was done. Eagan and Duffy were arrested, convicted and sentenced to five years each in the penitentiary. They appealed the case, but at the next term of court withdrew their appeals, after a conference with Prosecuting Attorney Holder, and entered pleas of guilty, and received two years each. The Canty brothers were arrested, but notwithstanding the fact that Coleman, Duffy and Eagan testified for the state, and there was much corroborating evidence, the jury failed to agree, standing seven for conviction to five for acquittal.At the time it was alleged that money had been expended very freely to clear the brothers.
Coleman was not prosecuted. He left the city for the west, and the next I heard of him he was conducting a saloon on Geary Street, San Francisco. Later he and Henry Schultz, another noted peterman, formed an alliance and opened a half dozen "boxes" in the country surrounding the Golden Gate metropolis. They were finally settled for one of their jobs by Capt. Leas, of Frisco. Later Coleman was released, but was soon afterwards killed at Houston, Texas, while attempting to rob a bank. He was acting as lookout, while his pals were at work on the vault. The first explosion attracted the attention of the police, who opened fire on Coleman and his death was instantaneous; thus his long career of crime ended.
Chief of Detectives Burke, of the St. Louis Police Department, afterwards claimed the reward for capturing the vault robbers, and I believe secured a part of the money, but he was really not entitled to a cent, as he had done none of the real work on the case.
The next sensation in East St. Louis was the assassination of Ex-Mayor John B. Bowman, which occurred about 6:30 o'clock on the evening of November 20, 1885. The assassin did his work well. It can be described in a sentence—a shot was fired, and the corpse of the leader of the reformers was found lying near the gate leading to his residence, alone with the secret. I was employed by the son of the dead man to try and unravel the mystery, being given complete charge of the case. I had known Bowman for years, and was acquainted with his past life, which had been a very turbulent one. He had always been a fighter, one of the kind who never knew when they were whipped. He settled in East St. Louis in the latter part of the '60s, andacquired a large amount of property. He was one of the few men who recognized the fact that East St. Louis would later become a great industrial center. Because of his large interests he took an active part in municipal affairs, which, of course, brought him in contact with the politicians. Bowman knew all about politics, even what is called the "practical" side of the game, but he was a poor diplomat—one of the kind of men who always called a spade a spade, consequently he was often in trouble with those who opposed him or his plans. He was often deserted by men whom he had practically made politically, because of his radical views on some question at issue. This was the beginning of a bitter war on the person so offending, by Bowman. He never forgave a man who had deserted him or his cause.
On taking charge of the case the day after the diabolical crime had been committed, I was not surprised to learn that several of the dead man's enemies were busy preparing alibis. Another thing that impressed me as a little peculiar was that the police department was making no effort to find the perpetrator of the crime. After considerable hard work by both myself and my men, I succeeded in finding a couple of parties who claimed that they had seen the fatal shot fired. They were Christian A. Schmidt and William Banks. These men were returning from the country, where they had been to secure some tobacco which had been stolen from a freight car and hidden in a hay stack. As they neared the Bowman home they saw a flash from across the street, and saw Bowman fall. They recognized George W. Voice, a member of the police force, as the man who did the shooting. Later some more evidence was obtained, which, it was thought, would corroborate the statements of Schmidtand Banks. This corroborative evidence implicated another police officer named Patrick O'Neil. Voice was arrested at once and taken to Belleville and locked up. Later O'Neil called on Voice at the jail, and he, too, was placed behind the bars, he having been indicted as an accessory that day. These arrests caused a great sensation, not only in St. Clair County, but on the other side of the river as well.
At the preliminary hearing of Voice, Schmidt and Banks went on the stand and told their story in a straightforward manner, and the defendant was returned to jail without bail. The friends of the prisoners then began harrassing the state's witnesses. The cases against the men were continued from time to time until April 3, 1887, when the prosecuting attorney dismissed the charges against the accused because he could not obtain service upon the state's witnesses, they having left the county because of the threats made against them.
The outcome of the case caused great rejoicing among the crooks and plug-uglies in East St. Louis, and they began again to show their hands.
The Wabash Railroad, at that time one of the Missouri Pacific properties, had rather large interests over on the east side of the river. It was a nightly occurrence for our cars to be broken open and looted. It was no trouble for us to locate the thief, or thieves, who did the work, but it was another thing to have them arrested by the officers who were receiving pay for protecting them. My activity in trying to cause the arrest and conviction of these car robbers, and in the other cases mentioned, earned for me the ill will of the police department. While they never attempted to harm me, the police would pick up my men and lock them up on trumped up charges, convict them in thepolice court, which was of the "kangaroo" type, and put them to work on the streets with a ball and chain attached to prevent them fromrunning away. After the police over there had turned a few tricks of this kind, I decided to put a stop to it by "reforming" the police department. To do this I had to shut off the source of revenue from which the officials were being corrupted, for I knew, even at that date in life, that it took bribe money to create such a condition of affairs. The men higher up, in this case, were the proprietors of the gambling houses. They were paying $1,000 per week for protection. This was a nice little "bit" to be split up by a few aldermen and city officials and the heads of the police department.
I called on Prosecuting Attorney Holder at Belleville, and asked his co-operation in bringing about a change in the state of affairs. I was not very well acquainted with Mr. Holder at that time, but I knew he was honest and a man who would do his duty. After I had entered his office and introduced myself, a dialogue something like this, as I remember it, took place:
"Do you know that the gamblers of East St. Louis are putting up $1,000 per week for protection?" I asked.
"I have heard they were putting up money," he replied, "but I have no real evidence as to how much."
"Are you and the sheriff getting your part of it?" I continued.
The question had hardly left my lips before I saw the prosecuting attorney was beginning to make arrangements to throw me out of his office. Before he had time to begin the work, however, I explained that I was joking, and we both had a good laugh. Getting down to business again, Mr. Holder told me that he would "go after the gamblers with hammer and tongs" if he had the evidence.
"I will get you that evidence, and pay the expenses out of my own pocket," I replied.
The prosecuting attorney then assured me that the sheriff could be relied upon to do his part. I already knew this, for I had investigated both men's character before I had decided to make the move that I had. The sheriff was called upon, and he, too, promised to aid me in every manner possible. After asking both officials to keep the matter a secret until I had worked out the plans fully, I returned to St. Louis.
I sent a number of my men across the river, and it did not take long to get all the evidence needed. After arranging this evidence, I took it to Prosecuting Attorney Holder and secured the necessary warrants. Sheriff Ropiequet was called over to St. Louis and plans for raiding the houses simultaneously were made. I secured and paid for out of my own pocket an engine and two coaches from the Cairo Short Line Railway, and had them in readiness to take my men and the people we were to arrest from East St. Louis to the county seat at Belleville, after the raid. While there were over thirty open gambling establishments in East St. Louis, I knew I could not raid all of them at one time, so I decided to raid the four largest, the ones whose owners were the most active in bringing about the crooked state of affairs. On the afternoon preceding the raid, I sent four trusted men, all armed, over the big bridge, with instructions to separate on the other side, one going to each of the four houses to be raided. These men were instructed to stay in the houses until the raids were made, to prevent the gamblers from locking their vaults and thus hiding their tools and other evidence. I then hired a big moving van, in which I placed eighteen of my men. Sheriff Ropiequet and I occupied the seat, I doing the driving.We had a number of fishing poles in the wagon to give the outfit the appearance of a fishing party. On reaching the other side I divided the men into four squads, placing a captain in charge of each. The squad I was to lead stayed in the wagon. After giving the other squads time to reach their houses I drove the van to Colonel Claude Cave's famous resort. I handed the lines to the sheriff and ran up the stairs, followed by my men. We gained an entrance without any trouble and found the games running in full blast. The gamblers were taken completely by surprise, but submitted quietly to arrest. The spectators and players were not molested, but many of them became panic-stricken when it dawned upon them that a raid was being made, and sought to make their escape by jumping from the windows to the alley in the rear of the building, many of them actually making their escape in that manner. The gambling paraphernalia was taken down to the wagon, while the gamblers and their employes were marched to the waiting train. The wagon was then driven to the other houses, which had been raided at the same time by the other squads of my men, and the gambling tools found there hauled to the train. In making the raid every kind of gambling device known to the profession was captured, including faro boxes and layouts, dice, roulette wheels, sweat boards, keno balls and cards, and something like four bushels of poker and faro chips. All of this stuff was burned on the public square in Belleville after the conviction of the gamblers. Most of the men arrested pleaded guilty, and those who did not were convicted and the county was made some $22,000 richer by the fines.
The raid created a great sensation in East St. Louis. It was the biggest stunt of the kind that had ever been pulled off over there, and I received much praise from thelaw-loving people of the city for doing the job. As I had anticipated, it ended open bribery in East St. Louis, and later to the ousting of the crooked officials, for at the next election the good people triumphed and succeeded in electing men who would do their duty.
The new Mayor was Col. M. M. Stevens, and as he had the co-operation of an honest Board of Aldermen, it did not take him long to finish the cleaning of the police department I had begun. My men were then enabled to go about their work of arresting car thieves without being interfered with by the police.
If my memory serves me right, Mayor Stevens served six or seven terms, and did much to make East St. Louis the city it is today. But this work was not accomplished without much hard labor on his part and on the part of those who assisted him, for the gamblers and crooks did not give up without a struggle. Mayor Stevens, however, made it as law-abiding a place during his administration as any other city in the country of its size.
No man deserves more credit for the ending of gang rule in East St. Louis at that time, however, than does J. W. Kirk, editor of the Signal. This paper fearlessly exposed all of the gang's methods, and to this fact was really due the awakening of the public conscience over there.
THE THIEVES ARE TAKEN AFTER A FOUR MONTHS CHASE, AND ALLPLEAD GUILTY—THE MESSENGER DUPED.
The Rohan Pacific Express robbery occurred near Rohan, Indiana, on what was then a part of the Wabash Railroad. The Pacific Express Company had one of their cars attachedto the Wabash train, which was running between Detroit, Michigan, and Indianapolis, Indiana. It left Detroit in the evening and should have arrived at Indianapolis at about two o'clock the following morning.
One night in October, 1883, the train stopped at Rohan, a small, local station, and the train was boarded by two men. They entered by the front door of the express car, and overpowered Bert Lumas, the express messenger, stuffing a large roll, consisting of two handkerchiefs, into his mouth. After tying another handkerchief around his face, and then tying his hands behind his back, he was leashed with a rope to the express company's safe. They took the keys to the safe from the messenger, after overpowering him, and looted the safe of its contents. There were, besides much jewelry and other valuables, about $4,100.00 in the safe. They left the car at a point between Rohan and Peru, Indiana.
When the train halted at Peru station the expressman rapped on the car door, and receiving no reply, he and others forced entrance into the car door, where they found Lumas lying on his back with his arms and shoulders tied to the safe, and unconscious. They found indications of a struggle. There were three or four bullet holes in the side and roof of the car, the shots evidently having been fired from within. They discovered the safe open and the contents gone. Medical aid was summoned, and the doctor, after considerable trouble, succeeded in restoring Lumas to consciousness. He bore no marks of violence other than what he had suffered from the gag that had been forced into his mouth. This gag had almost cost him his life, as the ball was so large that it had prevented him from breathing hardly at all. When restored to consciousness he stated that as the train was leaving Rohan he was busy writing out his report, and while thus engaged he was pounced upon by two powerful men who were wearing masks. Theyfelled him to the floor, gagged him and bound him as he had been found, and took his keys and robbed the safe. While they were doing this he became unconscious from the effect of the gag. He said that they had taken his pistol, which was lying on a table in front of him, and fired two or more shots at him, but none of the shots took effect. I was Chief Special Agent for the Wabash Railroad, which was a part of the Gould System. The case was reported to me by wire the following morning. I went to Rohan at once, and was unable to obtain any information. It seemed that the robbers had not been seen by any one in or near Rohan. They had probably been in hiding and boarded the train unobserved, just as it was leaving the station. I then went to Detroit, where I saw and interviewed Lumas, the express messenger. Lumas was a young man about twenty-six years of age, fine looking, about six feet tall, and weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds. He was born and raised in Vermont. He had an older brother, who was a passenger conductor on the main line of the Wabash Railroad, who had been in the service of the company for many years, and afterwards remained in the service about thirty years, or until his death. They had a widowed mother, who resided in Vermont. Bert, the messenger, had always lived with his mother until he took service with the Pacific Express. His standing with that company was first-class.
While I was making my investigation at Detroit, I met Mr. Brazee, superintendent for the Pacific Express Company of the Wabash division, with headquarters at Decatur, Illinois. Mr. Brazee told me of Lumas' good standing with the company, and spoke of him in the highest terms. I told Mr. Brazee that I was inclined to believe that Lumas might have been connected with the robbery. He vigorously discredited the idea. "Why," he said, "Lumas, you should remember, wasalmost dead when he was found in his car at Peru. The robbers, doubtless, tried to kill him, and would have succeeded had it not been for the timely assistance rendered by the doctors, and, of course, if he had been connected with the robbery in any way the robbers would not have tried to kill him."
I knew Mr. Brazee personally, and I knew him to be a kind-hearted man and a thorough gentleman, and I appreciated very much the stand he had taken for one of his subordinates. I interviewed Mr. Fuller, the general superintendent of the Pacific Express Company, and all the other officers who would have been likely to know anything about Lumas. They all spoke of him in the highest terms, and of his brother they spoke equally as well. I did not know that Lumas was connected with the robbery in any way, and they speaking of him in such high terms, I did not deem it advisable for me to inform the express authorities that I believed the express messenger was implicated, so I decided to put a shadow on Lumas' movements on each end of his route. I placed two of my operatives on the work; one at Indianapolis, and one at Detroit. The operative at Detroit was told to take up Lumas when he left his train at Detroit, and not to lose sight of him until he left on his train for Indianapolis. The operative at Indianapolis was likewise instructed; thus Lumas was kept under observation at each end of the road. This was kept up continually for about four months. The operative at Detroit had discovered that Lumas was drinking heavily while in that city, and that he was a habitual frequenter of saloons and places of ill repute. Our operative at Indianapolis reported that Lumas, while there, would leave his train and go direct to his rooming house, retire almost immediately and remain there until time to leave for Detroit. I explained this to myself in this way: He needed the sleep and rest after hiscarousing in Detroit. My operative secured a room adjoining the room occupied by Lumas at Indianapolis, and the other one in Detroit was just as fortunate, and in a short time my Detroit man made the acquaintance of Lumas, became his chum, and was with him almost continually in Detroit, and in that way became acquainted with most of Lumas' friends.
At this time there was a private detective in Detroit, whose name was Pat O'Neal. O'Neal was a widower and lived with a widow sister who kept a rooming house, and Lumas and my operative both roomed with this widow. O'Neal did not know either of them personally, but doubtless learned from his sister that Lumas was employed by some express company, and that my operative was, as he represented himself, connected with some advertising concern of the east. There was also a noted thief known as Jim O'Neal, who was no relation to Pat O'Neal, but one being a thief and the other a detective, they knew each other.
One night, while my man in company with Lumas was sitting at a table in a beer garden in Detroit, they were approached by a man about medium size and plainly dressed. He appeared to be about forty years of age, five foot eight inches tall, and weighed about 145 or 150 pounds. He was light complexioned, sandy haired and smooth shaven. He evidently knew Lumas well, for he sat down at their table, and after they had had several drinks they engaged in a conversation in an undertone, evidently not intended for the operative's ears. However, the operative managed to hear a good deal of what was said. The stranger was evidently trying to convince Lumas that everything would be all right. Lumas was heard to say, "I have not been treated right, and this is why I have been drinking so much of late." The other man was heard to caution him about drinking so much, and to keep quiet, telling him that "everything would be all rightlater on." After hearing this conversation, my operative located the intruder and found that his name was Denny Downer, a barkeeper at a prominent saloon on Griswold Street, Detroit.
While the above conversation was going on between Lumas and Downer, Jim O'Neal, the thief, was seated at a table very close to our party, with some of his friends. O'Neal knew Lumas to be an express messenger, and knew that he lived at the house of Pat O'Neal's sister, and hearing a part of the conversation he concluded that possibly Lumas was implicated in the robbery of his car, and when he met his namesake, Pat, the private detective, he told the conversation he had overheard between Lumas and Downer, whom Jim O'Neal did not know.
On the evening of the following day I received a report telling me of the happening, and on the next day I received a report from the operative, telling me that he had located the intruder and learned what his name was. On receipt of this report I at once decided that Denny Downer, whom I had known for years as a thief, was undoubtedly one of the parties who had participated in the Rohan robbery. I had known Downer in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. In fact, I was in criminal court in Pittsburg on one occasion when Downer was convicted of burglary, and received a sentence of five years. I knew his criminal record. The description I had received tallied perfectly with that of Denny Downer, of Pittsburg memory, therefore I felt sure of my man.
I decided to go to Indianapolis and take with me all of the daily reports received from my two operatives. I notified Mr. Brazee of my intention, and requested him to accompany me to Indianapolis, telling him that I expected important developments there. He wired that he would join me at Decatur, Illinois, and go with me to Indianapolis. On arrival there we secured adjoining rooms at the Spencer House, whichis just across the street from the Union Station, Indianapolis. We arrived there in the evening, and Lumas' train was to arrive at two o'clock the next morning. I instructed my operative at Indianapolis to be at the Union Station when Lumas' train arrived and to bring him from his car over to my room just as soon as he arrived. I had had one of my operatives meet him at his train several times before and take him to see different parties for the purpose of identifying them as one of the express robbers, but Lumas, on each of these occasions, failed to identify them, and he had always declared that he could not identify any person, nor give any accurate description of the men who had attacked him in his car at Rohan. I never expected him to identify any one, but he had been told by the express company to go with me or any of my men any time that we might need him for the purpose of identification, so I knew the operative would have no trouble in getting him to come to the hotel.
On this particular morning I learned from the dispatcher that Lumas' train would arrive on time, and I prepared my room for his reception. I set a table in the middle of the room and spread the daily reports of my two operatives over the top of this table. They filled it completely. I told the operative to tell Lumas that he had a party that he wanted him to see, in my room.
Mr. Brazee was occupying a room next to and opening into mine, and I arranged to leave the door partly open, and he was to sit alongside of the door in such a manner that he could hear everything that was said. He considered the whole thing would be a failure, as he firmly believed in Lumas' innocence, as did all the other officers of the express company.
The train arrived, and the operative got Lumas, who grumbled a little about going to a room at that hour of the morning, but nevertheless he came over. The operative rappedat my door, and I bade him enter. I was sitting at the table containing the reports when he opened the door and came in accompanied by Lumas. I asked Lumas to be seated, and told the operative to retire to the hall until I might need him.
I began by saying, "Lumas, I want to call your attention to these reports that are spread out on this table. They are the daily reports of my operatives who have shadowed you and those associated with you, for the past four months. These reports set forth everything you have done in those four months, and every one you have associated with. I can tell you how many cigars you have smoked, how many drinks you have taken, whom you have talked with, and what you talked about. I find that your mother is a fine old lady and stands high in the community where she resides, in Vermont. I find that you have respectable connections, and that you were well raised. I know all about your brother and his high standing on the Wabash Road, and that your character heretofore has been good. Also that the officers of the Pacific Express Company have had the highest regard for you and your integrity, and for these reasons I have taken it upon myself to give you the opportunity of telling the whole truth about this express robbery, but I want you to understand distinctly that if you do not tell the truth, if you say one word that is not the truth, I shall stop you and turn you over to the officers of the law. But, if you do tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, I will do all that I can to secure the extension of leniency to you for your part in the crime. I can also say that if you tell the whole truth, that Mr. Brazee and the other officers will be as lenient with you as the law will allow. So now I want you to answer my questions truthfully or not at all. Now, sir, I want you to tell me how much money you received from the proceeds of that robbery."
He said, unhesitatingly, "Mr. Furlong, I only received ten dollars."
Long before I asked this question I could see moisture in Lumas' eyes, and he finally began to cry. When he stated that he had received but ten dollars, I said to him, "Now, Lumas, wait a moment until I call in Mr. Brazee, who is your friend."
Mr. Brazee had heard every word, and I went to the door and asked him to come into my room. As he entered I also noticed moisture in his eyes. I asked Mr. Brazee to write down what Lumas said, and he complied.
"Lumas," I said, "who were the two men who robbed your car?"
He replied, "Denny Downer and a friend of his whom he called Little Al. I never did know his real name." Lumas went on and stated that he had met Denny Downer in a saloon in Detroit and that Downer had evidently known that he was an express messenger; that as he had gotten well acquainted with him and had got to drinking considerable, Downer had induced him to let him know when he would be carrying a large sum of money, or what they called a "big run," and that Downer had explained that he would have a party with him and would board his car at an out-of-the-way station and bind him, without injuring him, and shoot a few bullets through the side of the car so as to make it appear that he had made a fight, and that they would divide the spoils and nobody would even suspect him (Lumas) by reason of his good standing with the company. He finally agreed to enter the plot, and learned that there was to be a safe containing a sum of money, nearly four thousand one hundred dollars, and some other valuables, on the day of the robbery, shipped over on his train. This might not be considered a big prize, but it was above the average. He notified Downer, and heand Little Al took a train from Detroit and reached Rohan a little ahead of his train. After the robbery, and he had returned to Detroit, Downer sent him a letter containing ten dollars, with the understanding that he would give him more later on, but that he had never received any more. He had become sorry that he had gone into the plot, and had begun drinking. He further stated that he was now positive they had tried to kill him by strangling him with the gag.
Mr. Brazee and the express company officials were all surprised at Lumas' confession. I turned Lumas over to my operative, and took the first train for Detroit, where I arrested Denny Downer. On being arrested Downer acknowledged his connection with the robbery, and told me that Little Al was Al Perry of Boston, Mass., a noted porch climber and thief.
I lodged Downer and Perry in the county jail at Wabash, Indiana, where in the course of time both were put on trial, pleaded guilty, and were sentenced to six years in the penitentiary at Michigan City, Indiana.
Their sentences were made lighter by reason of their having pleaded guilty. Lumas also pleaded guilty and was used as a witness before the Grand Jury against Downer and Perry, and it having developed that Lumas, who was much younger than the other two, being inexperienced in crime, was persuaded by them to do this thing, sentence on him was suspended.
After the robbery the express company offered a reward for the arrest and conviction of each of the robbers, and after they had been arrested and convicted Pat O'Neal, the private detective, filed a claim against the express company to recover the reward. He had nothing whatever to do with the obtaining of the information which led to the arrest and conviction ofthese two men, and, therefore, his claim for the reward was nothing more than an attempt to obtain money under false pretense.
A CROOKED YARDMASTER'S CRIME—BOLD ATTEMPT TO THROWHIS CAPTOR OVERBOARD FROM A STEAMER.—HISCONVICTION, SENTENCE AND A LATER ESCAPADE.
Lawrence Poyneer was a young man about twenty-eight years of age in 1881. He was a railroad man and was employed as yardmaster by the Texas & Pacific Railroad Company at New Orleans, La., where he had performed the duties of his position in a satisfactory manner for about two years. He finally went crooked and formed a conspiracy with the proprietor of a cotton pickery in New Orleans to defraud his employers. There are a large number of cotton pickeries in that city. Their business is to buy up damaged cotton, such as has been through a fire and has been water-soaked, or otherwise damaged. They pick this cotton over very carefully, eliminating the parts that have been damaged by fire, or some like cause, and sell the salvage for a good price. In other words, these cotton pickeries conduct a business similar to that of junk dealers in other cities.
Poyneer ran a car load of cotton into one of these pickeries and sold it much below its market value. It was promptly unloaded by the pickery men, who destroyed the marks on the bales. The empty car was located after some time and trouble, by me, but it took a long time to locate the cotton.
After I had ascertained what had become of the cotton and who had bought it, I set about to find Poyneer, who had stolen it. I learned that he had left the service of the company of his own accord, about three weeks after the cotton in question was missed. I tracked him from New Orleans to Palmyra, New York, where his parents resided. In Palmyra I succeeded in obtaining a good photograph and a good description of him. He was almost a giant in stature, being nearly six feet, six inches in height, splendidly built, weighed two hundred twenty-five pounds, and wore a number eight shoe. He was a fine looking fellow and an expert railroad train service man.
From Palmyra I traced him to Buffalo, New York, from there to St. Paul, Minn., from St. Paul I traced him to Portland, Oregon, and from Portland to Wallah-Wallah, Washington. From Wallah-Wallah back to Ladales, Washington, which is about midway between Portland and Wallah-Wallah, and on the Columbia River. Here I found him in the service of the Northern Pacific Railroad Co., engaged in painting box cars. I obtained the necessary requisition papers from the Governors of Louisiana and Oregon, and arrested him at Ladales, took him to Portland (the head of navigation on the Willamette River), where I took passage for myself and prisoner on the steamship Columbia for San Francisco.
There was no one on the steamer, not even the officers, who knew that Poyneer was a prisoner. He had promised me that he would go with me quietly and I did not place him in irons. I could not have hand-cuffed him with any ordinary hand-cuffs for the reason of the enormous size of his wrists.