Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison 44 – Bidwell · Verses Across
Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison 44A Battered Hulk Stranded on a Shore to Which No Tide Returns
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison 44
A Battered Hulk Stranded on a Shore to Which No Tide Returns
BidwellEnglish
I am glad to say that during the almost lifetime I passed at Chatham there were only a scant half dozen Americans who came down to keep me company. One, Stoneman by name, interested me. He was a man of great nerve and quick apprehension, and very truthful, therefore I found his stories of his adventures most interesting, besides the fact that his history was another proof of the truth that wrongdoing never pays. Stoneman was of good parentage, and had entered the army in 1861, making a good record up to and including the battle of Gettysburg. There, owing to a quarrel with his captain, he deserted, and became a bounty jumper, making a large amount of money, but when the war ended, finding his occupation gone, he entered upon a life of crime, starting out first as a very successful express robber. The last robbery he engaged in in that line was on the New Haven road near Norwalk. His share amounted to some thousands, but he was literally bowled out, and by a singular circumstance. One of his confederates by the name of Riley had been arrested, and was confined at Norwalk. He engaged as counsel for his chum a well-known criminal lawyer of New York by the name of Stuart, and arranged with him to go up to Norwalk to see Riley the following day. Although Stoneman had plenty of money, he told Stuart he had none, but Riley had. Then he gave Riley's wife $2,500, and told her to be present at the interview between the lawyer and her husband. At the interview Riley told him he would give him $2,500 if he cleared him or $1,000 if he got him off with a sentence of two years or less. Stuart was hungry as a shark to finger the money, and writing out a receipt for the full amount inserted the conditions agreed upon. Putting the money in his pocket he started back to New York with Mrs. Riley. Stoneman was on the train waiting for them, and as soon as they started he joined them. It happened the train was crowded, and they had to stand. It seems some pickpocket saw Stuart pull out the money, and determined to get it from him. On the arrival of the train in New York he succeeded in doing so. Stoneman had hurried out of the station, and, of course, knew nothing of the loss.
So soon as Stuart discovered his loss he blamed him for it, and, being in a fury, he flew to Police Headquarters, secured the services of a friendly detective, and, going to the hotel that he knew Stoneman frequented, had him arrested on a charge of robbing him. The end of it all was that Stuart and the detectives got all his money, and then, knowing him to be a daring man, one that would neither forget nor fear to avenge his wrong, to get him out of the way they betrayed him to the Connecticut police as one of the express robbers. He was sent to Norwalk to stand his trial, was convicted and sentenced to five years, and sent to Weathersfield. Being a good mechanic, he was put in the blacksmith shop, and there, with an eye to the future, he did what is frequently done by professional gentlemen in our prisons, made a complete and most finely tempered set of burglar tools. They were too bulky to be smuggled out by friendly warders, so he secreted them in the shop where he worked and ruled. Many of the prisoners in Weathersfield are expert workmen, and from the machine shops there a high class of work is turned out. Among other workshops, there is one for the manufacture of silver-plated ware. Stoneman had made chums with one of the prisoners who held a confidential position in the silverware manufactory. As Stoneman's sentence was the first to expire, he gave him points, and it was plotted between them that the prison itself should be burglarized by Stoneman on a certain night after his release. The confidential man was to leave the way clear to the safe where the silver bars used in the business were stored. He in due time was liberated, with the customary injunctions from the warden and officers "not to come back any more." He did come back, but in a way entirely unanticipated by them.
He, of course, knew the whole routine of the place, the stations of the guards, and that the wall after 8 p.m. was left entirely unguarded. The second night after his liberation found him beneath the wall with no other implements than a light ladder of the right height. In a minute he was on top, had pulled his ladder up and lowered it inside.
Once inside, every inch of the place was familiar to him, and he had a clear field. The shops, although inside of the boundary walls, were quite separate from the main building, where the men, closely guarded, were confined. He entered the familiar room where he so long had worked, and easily placed his hands on his (to him) precious kit of tools, and carried his jimmies, wedges, sledges, bits, braces, drills, etc., to the wall, and then landed them safe outside. Then he returned and entered the room where the plunder he sought lay. Thanks to his friend, the way was easy, and his art was not required to secure it. There were 600 ounces in silver bars, a pretty good load in avoirdupois, but he only made one journey of it, mounted the wall and speedily was over.
Stoneman was a long-headed fellow. He had taken, without the owner's leave, one of the many boats on the banks of the near-by river. He carried his plunder and tools down to the boat, and pulled across the river, two miles down, to where quite a stream empties into the Connecticut. He pulled some distance up it; then putting everything into bags he sank them in the creek. Then drifting back into the Connecticut River again he threw his ladder over and turned the boat adrift. At 7 o'clock the next morning he was in New York.
In due time, in the idiom of the professionals, he "raised his plant," and the burglar's kit manufactured in the Connecticut State Prison did what Stoneman considered yeoman service. With all his art and cunning, justice would not be cajoled by him, but weighed him in her balance, to a good purpose too. His success in his particular line was great, but he paid dearly for it all. Many times he escaped detection, but not always. Not to escape, but to be brought to the bar, means a fearful gap in the life of a criminal. He was, as I say, famous in certain circles for his success in his lawless course, yet in the twenty years between 1865 and 1886 he passed sixteen years in captivity. In that year he went to England with a confederate, and a few hours later in London they snatched a parcel of money from a bank messenger in Lombard street. Both were caught in the act, and sentenced at the Old Bailey to twenty years each. To-day Stoneman is toiling under brutal task-masters, and it is all but certain he will perish at his task, friendless, alone, unpitied. Better so even, for should he ever be freed it will not be until the twentieth century is well on its way to the have beens of time, then only to find himself a battered hulk stranded on a shore from which the tide has ebbed forever.
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Literature · Crime, Thrillers & Mystery
Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison 45
