CHAPTER X
WANDERING STARS AND BUZZARDS OF THE TOMBS
What a field for the study of human nature the careful observer finds in the Tombs Prison! I do not know of any other place on this continent where such a display of types may be found as here; not only every nation, language and color on the face of the earth, but the variety is kaleidoscopic and leaves on you a deep impress. The moment you see a real crook his personality stamps you at once for good or evil—rather for evil; nor can you help yielding to such impressions. But then the face is the expression of the individual and reveals to some extent the character of the inner man. Although there are many exceptions to the general rule, these are few and far between. I find that backsliders in crime after a few years show a vitiated and debased brutality in their physiognomy.
During the ten years that I have been connected with the Tombs Prison, I have met a great many brilliant men who were at heart dyed-in-the-wool crooks and bent on a criminal career. I do not care to call a man a criminal if I can help it, but how can one avoid it when called upon to describe a modern social anarchist but use such terms as will best describe the one who lives on crime.
It is a most difficult thing to know just what to do with such people; but unless they are reached by the milk of human kindness and the love of God there is little hope for them. I have found by observation and experience that the average recidivist is insane on criminal matters, and is besides a notorious liar! Nor is it best to believe a word of what he says, unless it is supported by some other testimony. The fact is, he will not tell the truth even though in the end it might do him vastly more good than a lie. And any man who denies the truthfulness of total depravity needs only visit a prison and hear the confessions of crooks and then seek their corroboration, and it will not be long before he will be compelled to abandon his foolish denials.
I find that in youthful degenerates the face holds a pleasant expression sometimes for years, but then the long confinement behind the bars reveals a white pallor and dull sunken eyes that cannot be mistaken; on these crime seems to have written itself indelibly!
Young sixteen-year-old Stewart, who was sentenced to twenty years in Sing Sing for killing a boy his own age on Randall’s Island, whose facial lineaments I often watched and studied, had a most attractive physiognomy. No one could have believed from his looks that he was a criminal, but how long he can retain these looks is a matter of conjecture.
Our prisons are full of young buzzards who need to be watched continually. These boys are cunning, sly and treacherous. When you see them coming be sure and give them a wide berth. Do not believe what they tell you, even if they swear on a monument of Bibles. Most of them are in the business to lie and they know how to attend to their own business!
The Untruthful Crook
Nor can you rely on any of their promises. If they speak to you sweet words you will find that they have the poison of asps under the tongue. They are born buzzards and can no more change their ravenous nature than a leopard his spots.
One of the earliest buzzard freaks I knew was a boy named Dietz, who was several times in the Tombs for misdemeanors before he was finally sent to Elmira for a felony. I found Dietz to be one of the most expert and finished liars ever I met. It was no trouble for him to lie in three languages! It seems that he could hardly make a statement of any kind, without crowding into it a few lies. He had a way of his own by which he could palm off on an unsuspecting missionary a harrowing tale of persecution that would bring tears to the eyes and his tales were so well arranged that all would believe them.
For daring criminality he could give points to Western bandits and shame them in the end. A car load of such characters dumped on a peaceful city of fifty thousand people would disrupt it in a week. Dietz gloated on blood and thunder yarns of the wild and woolly West, most of the time and was unhappy unless he was draping demons from the cesspool of his soul.
When I meet a chronic liar I readily conclude—no matter what his age may be, that the bottom has dropped out of his character. The liar is the best evidence of total depravity, and this particular characteristic of the individual cannot long be hid.
The second time Dietz was an inmate of the Boys’ Prison I remember how I raced all over the city on a wild goose chase on one of his lies, not knowing at the time that his story was a fabrication from A to Z. I found out by mere accident that his brother, who was a clerk in a large shipping firm in the city, had aided him out of his first scrape, but refused the second time to have anything more to do with him. He knew this and took pains to conceal the fact that after many chances to do the square thing his brother considered him “no good.” His wanton deeds and prodigality he considered virtues and when he recited them to those who would listen to him he was in smiles.
The third time he was in the Boys’ Prison was for a felony. He came in under an assumed name. He did not call upon me for help this time as I knew his record too well. But he had some women to work for him till they found out that his stories were only lies from start to finish, after which they gave him up. He was finally sent to Elmira Reformatory, but what became of him afterwards I have never learned.
It seems as natural for criminals to tell lies as to breathe, when in most cases the truth would serve to better purpose. Some time ago a young Russian named C—— was before Judge Cowing for stealing a diamond pin. The crime was committed in the Thalia Theatre on the Bowery. While his pedigree was taken in General Sessions he was asked if he had ever been arrested before and, as usual, his reply was a lie. When he was sentenced to Elmira Reformatory he replied to the Court, “Judge, would rather go to hell than to Elmira.” After he came back to the Tombs I asked him why he hated to go to Elmira so much. He then told me that he had been there already while Superintendent Brockway was in charge. I then made an investigation and found the lawyer that had defended him at his first trial, who after he had been in the Reformatory two years and a half had secured a pardon for him so that he might return to Russia, which he did. He joined the Russian Army, but is said to have deserted soon after the breaking out of the war in the Far East. In less than two months after reaching New York he committed another crime and sought to cover it with a lie.
This man’s career shows him to be nothing less than a human buzzard. Criminality is written on his countenance, which, to say the least, is forbidding. After he was sent to Elmira Reformatory he was soon after transferred to Auburn Prison, where he will have an opportunity to serve his full sentence of five years.
Another criminal of the Buzzard species was Chump of Harlem. He was only twenty-six years of age, the son of a sergeant of police. He is so indolent that he prefers to beg or steal rather than earn an honest living. Those that know him best call him “a gin-mill sucker,” as he spends most of his time there for the “drinks” he can pick up for nothing. He was arrested in midwinter for stealing a forty-dollar chair from a furniture store in the upper part of the city. Like most of his kind, Chump said he was innocent and that it was the first time he was ever arrested. As he gave a fictitious name and wrong address it was impossible to trace his record. Under the impression that he was a first offender, he was allowed a plea of petit larceny. When he came up before Recorder Goff he found his match. Some person must have given the Court an “inkling” of Chump’s record. When he stood at the bar of General Sessions the Recorder had him sworn on the Bible so that he might tell the truth. Then the tug of war began. “Chump,” said the Recorder, “Tell the truth, were you ever convicted before?” Chump hesitated. There was a painful silence in the room. “Now tell me,” said Judge Goff, “How many times were you sent away in your life? Were you ever in the penitentiary?” said the Recorder. “Yes,” said Chump, “once.” “Is that all,” said the Recorder; “Now tell the truth.” “No,” said he, “Twice.” “Any other times?” He hesitated again. It seems that this young vagabond had no less than six convictions standing against him prior to this time. While he was under the Recorder’s scrutiny he must have suffered torture of conscience. But his real character was brought out which showed him to be an A1 degenerate and a notorious liar. Before he started for the penitentiary I asked him why he had lied by saying that he had never been up before. He coolly replied, “Well, you know if I had told the truth nobody would have done anything for me.”
Dark Records
In the following sketch I have selected crooks of maturer years. They are types of modern brainy criminals. I have said nothing of Orrin Skinner, the well read Illinois lawyer who became a jailbird in early life and afterwards died in Auburn prison, nor of Rue Ralley, the scholarly criminal who was master of several languages; nor of other well known crooks who got away with millions of dollars from several New York banks. I have said nothing of “Jimmie” Hope, who robbed the Bleecker Street Bank of three million dollars, and was called the Prince of Safe Crackers and who at one time was said to be worth a big fortune, the “pickings” of several bank burglaries; nor of the young crook who went boldly to a Broadway Bank at the noon hour and with only an empty soap box under his feet, leaned over the cashier’s cage and got away with $10,000. But the city is full of such bold crooks who simply wait their chances.
It must be an awful insult to the Almighty, after he had so liberally endowed such people, some of them with the intellect of a Webster or a Gladstone, for them to use their powers only to do evil and refuse to do good. But this is precisely what a habitual criminal makes up his mind to do when he continues in wrongdoing against the wishes of his best friends.
A middle-aged criminal who has made a dark record as a thief and liar since he was ten years old was taken to the prison desk in my presence to give his pedigree, as is the custom with all who are committed by the Magistrate to await trial. When asked his name, age and business, he replied, “I am forty-five years of age. I have no home but the Penitentiary and a ten-cent Bowery lodging house which I use when I am not in prison. I am a thief by profession and have followed that business nearly all my life. As I positively refuse to work I mean to be a thief till I die, and will compel the State to support me.”
There are hundreds of this class possessing the same delusion in all our cities, who do nothing but steal for a living and then cover their evil conduct by lies. They are insanely depraved and should be locked up permanently, as they are of no use to anybody. They are social parasites and enemies of the race.
And yet I am forced to say that some of the brightest and brainiest of men that I ever knew in their sober moments, were crooks. I have tried to study them to see how and where they differ from other men—and that is no ordinary task. Whether I succeeded or not remains to be seen. In some cases, after many patient interviews I was able to draw them out of the dark and gloomy past, where I could read their character in its true light. Although many of this class are exceedingly interesting as conversationalists and unusually intelligent on the great questions of the day, I find they are never willing to disclose their identity or reveal their inner life. A crook never gives his right name when placed under arrest—always an alias. His deeds are done in darkness.
One of the most forbidding faces ever I saw in my life was that of Terry R—— who died in the New York Penitentiary a few years ago. He was a hardened character. During his life he had eleven convictions for crime recorded against him, extending over twenty-five years. I carefully observed that during his last years he became sullen, revengeful, despondent and suspicious of everybody. Terry was a living example of that terse old Scripture passage, “The way of the transgressor is hard.”
Speaking of lies, which are the ordinary stock in trade of all criminals, reminds me of Frank McKenna’s experience. Some years ago he was sent to the House of Refuge for a year. That was before the principle of the indefinite sentence was applied to such institutions. A few days after his discharge he committed a crime similar to the one for which he had been originally sent away, viz., holding up a child on the street and taking away her wallet. For this second offense he was in due season indicted; when he was taken to Part I, General Sessions, Recorder Smyth asked if he had ever been in the House of Refuge; he replied in the negative. “Well, then,” said the Recorder, “I will send you there for a year.” On the day following he was taken to the House of Refuge but they refused to receive him as he had been an inmate of the institution and was only discharged a few weeks before. When he came before Recorder Smyth the following Tuesday, he asked him if he really meant to have told him a lie on the preceding Friday, when he sentenced him; without a moment’s hesitation he said “Yes.” “Then,” said the genial Recorder, “for this lie which you have told me, I will give you four years imprisonment and for the crime charged against you in the indictment one year.” Since then McKenna has served several sentences for crime. He is a bad crook.
Before he left the Penitentiary the last time, a well known missionary became interested in him. This gentleman secured for him a suit of clothes and gave him a few dollars to pay for meals and lodgings for a few days. Since then he has entirely disappeared as if the earth had swallowed him. But where he has gone no one knows.
Another well known character, whose career goes back some years, was Captain Jack of the Cuban Army. The Captain was a native of Virginia, was a well educated young man inclined to adventure; he had been in Cuba several years fighting the Spaniards under Gomez. After the blowing up of the Maine and the United States had occupied Havana, Jack returned to New York on one of the transports. He had in his possession four or five hundred dollars besides a railroad ticket to his home in the South. While wandering along West Street, waiting for the departure of the Pennsylvania train, he was inveigled into a disorderly house where he lost all his money and valuables. When the Captain came to himself and missed his property he made a demand on the saloon keeper for its return. The saloon occupied the front of the building and the disorderly house the rear. When he asked for his money there was some loud talk in the place and as a result Captain Jack was “fired.” As soon as he reached the sidewalk he was arrested and taken to the Church Street Station House. In the Centre Street Police Court next day after hearing the policeman’s version of the trouble, the Magistrate fined him five dollars. Up till this time Captain Jack had nothing to say by way of explanation of his side of the case. When he returned to the Tombs he told me his story as he was mourning over his loss. He was grieved over the shameful treatment he received, as he was only put under arrest when he demanded the return of his property. I went over to the Police Court and laid the facts in the case before Judge Flammer who had sentenced Jack, but had not known anything of his loss. At the suggestion of the Magistrate I communicated with the Second Precinct police and asked why Captain Jack was arrested while the thieves that stole his money went scot free. Captain Westervelt put Detective Mooney on the case, but nothing came of it. The police kept Jack in a down town hotel for a few days and then raised money among themselves to buy a railroad ticket and sent him home to Virginia. The following year Jack came to New York and was in trouble again. This time he was charged with “beating” the Broadway Central people out of a board bill. For this offense he was sent to the Penitentiary for three months. In size the Captain is diminutive, voluble of speech, full of weird tales of adventure in Cuba and is not at all too gifted with telling the truth. He returned to Cuba where he was promised a position by his old comrade, General Gomez—as he called him. But of these things I have no personal knowledge and would be unwilling to believe one-fourth of what was said of his past or future.
It looks sometimes like an awful waste of time to do anything—even of a humanitarian character for the average crook who tries to interest you in his welfare with a pack of lies. But I have never refused these people when I thought I could do them any good. I have worked for them in every possible way that I might win their confidence and thus lead them into a better life. I have learned by experience not to believe all a crook says or even a hundredth part of it. It don’t do to allow yourself to be caught napping by these gentry who think they have everything to gain and nothing to lose by a lie.
Kahn, The Black-Hearted Syrian
In the lower part of New York near the Battery, in the vicinity of Washington and Greenwich Streets, there is and has been for several years what is known as the Syrian colony. The few immigrants that come from Damascus, Beyrout and other parts of the Turkish Empire all seem to gather here. As it is contrary to the Koran for any of them to use liquor of any kind, or sell it, these Mohammedans are seldom in prison, yet they are lacking in saintly character as much as the Latin and Slavic nations of Europe. At the time of which I write there was a hotel or boarding house in the Syrian colony, kept by a widow named Lazarus. She spoke the English language very imperfectly. But she had in her employment an experienced hotel manager who attended to all her affairs whose name was Abirams. He had been in the country a number of years and could speak the English tongue fairly well. Everybody liked Abirams as he kept the house clean and sought to make it respectable. On one occasion a countryman named Kahn came with a young girl and tried to hire a room in the hotel for immoral purposes. Abirams positively refused to receive him or the woman. Words passed between them. Then he left the place swearing vengeance.
It was afterwards learned that Kahn was a criminal of the deepest dye and would do anything to ruin an innocent man. Twice he had been saved from the gallows by turning King’s evidence in his own country. Since he came to America he was known to have sent many of his countrymen to prison for long terms on perjured evidence. He would do anything to save his own neck.
In an hour afterwards Kahn returned to the hotel with a police officer and charged Abirams with robbery. The prisoner was at once put under arrest and then locked up over night. In the morning he appeared in the Tombs Police Court. Kahn was on hand and presented before the Magistrate a sworn affidavit that Abirams had robbed him of money and a watch in the Syrian hotel the previous night. The woman was also present as a corroborative witness. Without further examination the prisoner was committed to await the action of the grand jury. For five or six weeks the poor Syrian, Abirams, neglected and forsaken by his countrymen, lay in prison on a false charge founded only on malice and perjury. I made an investigation of the case and secured affidavits of Abirams’ previous good character, showing him to be an exceptionally good man. I visited the Syrian colony personally and soon had ample reason to believe that Abirams was innocent of the charge placed against him by Kahn. After a few weeks the woman in the case disappeared for fear of arrest, then Kahn was given to understand that if he went before the grand jury and perjured himself, he would receive a long term of imprisonment. Indeed, he had offered to withdraw the charge for a money consideration, but he, too, became afraid of arrest and then fled to parts unknown.
In the meantime I visited the District Attorney’s office where I sought to interest Mr. Henry W. Unger, Col. Gardiner’s chief assistant, in behalf of the poor Syrian. Mr. Unger, always courteous and gentlemanly, gave me much encouragement—eternal blessings on his head—he has always tried to temper justice with mercy by giving the friendless a helping hand, and doing it kindly, and will certainly not lose his reward.
It was afterwards learned by indisputable evidence that Kahn was a tough character and had done the same thing before—that is, he sent innocent men to prison who angered him, and was ready to perjure himself again if we had not made an investigation and showed him up as a notorious liar and blackmailer.
It is needless to say that Abirams was honorably discharged and returned to the colony a wiser man. The notorious Kahn was so scared that he kept out of New York for many months afterwards.
A Crook Whose Specialty Was Knock-Out Drops
On October 9th, 1903, a gentleman of the crooked profession named Walter Wilson, alias George Hill, alias Herman Fentner, alias Mr. Hawkshaw et al., was sentenced to thirty-three years imprisonment in the Court of General Sessions. There were eighteen indictments pending against him but he pleaded guilty only to four, with the above results. Wilson has had a criminal record extending over twenty years. His specialty in crime is said to be in the scientific use of knock-out drops, which in the medical profession is known as chloral, and at this he was an adept.
For some years he has worked in the Tenderloin, giving his entire attention to all kinds of robberies, including panel work in which he seems to be expert. He has labored assiduously for several years with women of the street and made a large amount of money, only to lose it as fast as it came to him. How many persons have received his “drops” and with fatal results God only knows.
Wilson is a most interesting character, is intelligent, wide awake, and has the ability and genuine reserve force in sufficient quantities to command an army or govern a republic or quell an insurrection. He is a “crack” criminal of the twentieth century type and while in the panel business usually went for big game. He is alert, daring and muscular and would have been a dangerous character to meet in a lonely road. He has the brains of a leader and could handle men. His gray piercing eyes and the facial expression show that he would allow nothing to stand in his way if put to the test. His weakness seems to be that when he has plenty of money and is full of “booze” he becomes garrulous and says too much.
Wilson began crime shortly after he was twenty years of age; his first sentence was less than a year on the Island for the robbery of a diamond pin; he claims to have “done time” on this occasion innocently; he had taken the blame for Nellie’s sake, his common law wife, who afterwards went back on him. Away back in the early nineties he stole a trunk of clothing from Hazel Thorne, the actress. For this he was sent to Sing Sing for four years.
For several years past he has spent his summers at the races at Gravesend and Saratoga. While in the latter village he nearly got away with a bag of jewelry valued at $1,500.00, but as he returned the “stuff” the lady refused to prosecute him.
How many more times this man has been in prison under old and new aliases we have no means of knowing at the present moment, but that he has been in prison a number of times we have no doubt whatever. During all these years he seems to have had an intense dislike to honest labor. Like most other “gentlemen” of the crooked profession, he preferred to live like a “dude” on his ill-gotten gains rather than be a man and work like other men.
As soon as Wilson had secured his freedom after serving his first sentence he made up his mind to be a man and do the right thing. He says:
“I accepted employment with a man uptown for five dollars a week and board. I was willing to do anything to outlive my past life—if that could be done.
“One day some of my old companions who had known me in the Penitentiary came to me while at work and threatened to expose me unless I gave them ten dollars. I refused at first and was willing to fight them to the bitter end. I would not be blackmailed. As they kept it up for several days, I gave them money rather than lose my job. Then they came again, and told others who made the same demand on me. After this I refused every appeal and told them to go and do their worst; as a result I lost my job. I searched the city for honest work for weeks, but could find none. Then I became a gambler. I went to the races all around New York, where I made money easy. I confess as a gambler I have had a checkered career, and even now do not wish to tell all the escapades through which I passed. But they were not of the best quality and many of them were deeds of darkness.
“Some months ago I returned to the city. I wanted money badly and resorted to crime, as I did not want to work. This is straight—I did not want to work,” and he said it with an emphasis.
“I located in the Tenderloin and worked in partnership with a woman of the street. We played the panel game between us and made lots of money. We succeeded in robbing men of means who fell into our net. Every week when I divided the graft, we had a big roll of bills each.”
Perhaps I ought to say that panel thievery is the old game of robbery in which injured innocence takes part. It is still practised in many parts of the city—especially the Tenderloin, but not as much as in former years. The three parties in such a crime are (1) a woman—elegantly dressed, with plenty of borrowed jewelry, but dissolute, (2) her so called profligate husband, and (3) her victim. The woman goes to the street—Fifth Avenue—and inveigles some young blood, a banker or rich merchant to her apartments. Then the so-called husband shows up unexpectedly. Then there is trouble but it is averted by a heavy cash payment, after which the victim goes free a wiser man.
The same thing is continued night after night for years. Not one victim in a hundred ever squeals—he is willing to pay any amount of money rather than do so. Sometimes the so-called husband shows himself to be an adept in the use of knock-out drops administered in wine. After the victim becomes senseless he is robbed of all he has and left on the premises. After a few days rest in Long Branch or Saratoga they return again to the city where the same thing is carried on nightly. This is what is called the Panel Game. Within recent years the Courts have been very severe with such people and justly so, as they are a most dangerous class.
Wilson continued: “After a while I became reckless and careless and got caught red-handed. I have found once more that the way of the transgressor is hard. But now I am done with that life. Ever since my return to the city I have been living in hell. I knew I was doing wrong.
“I wish they had sent me to the electric chair—I would be better off in the end.
“Just think of it—thirty-three years in prison, and yet it is all my own fault.
“When I come out, if I live out my sentence, I will be an old man—sixty years of age. Such a sentence is simply a civil death.”
A Young Man Whose Craze Was In Slashing Ladies’ Dresses
In one of my early experiences with criminals it was my fortune, or misfortune, to have met a young man named Max Krebs who was a rank destructionist. He was a German by birth, and had only been in this country about a year. He must have been shipped away from the Fatherland by his own people as a degenerate or the black sheep of the family. He was a good looking young man, well dressed, light hair, brown eyes, and a florid complexion. He was fairly well educated, pleasant in manners and must have come from a respectable home.
I am satisfied now that his people must have been well to do for they sent him regular monthly allowances to pay his board and to keep him in clothing. But he was a degenerate and clearly insane when in a crowd of ladies. Whenever the opportunity came to him he sought to cut their dresses with a pen knife or sometimes a small pair of shears. He knew his business so well that hundreds of elegant silk and satin dresses were cut and destroyed on the street but were not discovered till the owners returned home. In giving their testimony these ladies always remembered that they saw a young man who looked like a Teuton “crowd up” against them on the street. And while they could not identify him positively, the defendant looked very much like the dress slasher. On several occasions Max missed imprisonment by the skin of his teeth simply because he could not be identified.
In December, 1898, he was arrested on Fourteenth Street, near Fifth Avenue, charged with cutting ladies’ dresses; the technical charge was malicious mischief. The crime was committed around the holidays when the streets in the shopping district were densely crowded. Many complaints had been made to the police that such a man was at large—whose only business was to ruin female attire. He was the victim of some insane delusion, although he never showed it in his speech. I questioned Max many times and tried to look him straight in the eye but he could not stand that—his eyes were not honest and, alas, like many another young degenerate he could not be depended on. As a first-class liar Max would have carried off the prize anywhere, and this was his main stock in trade in securing sympathy from Christian people and at the same time deceiving them. From first to last I entertained grave doubts respecting this boy as I was not sure what was the best thing to do in his case. I simply gave him the benefit of the doubt.
In the early part of January, 1899, Max called me to his cell in the Boys’ Prison and told me confidentially a sad tale of police persecution as the cause of his incarceration. He positively affirmed that he was innocent of the charge placed against him and he had not cut any dresses, oh, not he. I questioned him several times, but could not shake his testimony. He maintained his accusers were mistaken. As the complainant who was a lady, weakened on his identification I thought she might be mistaken, so I aided him all I could and became interested in his case. I went to the German Consulate and pleaded for him and afterwards to the Legal Aid Society. A kind hearted lawyer named Granger was assigned as his counsel, who took hold of his case with a will. He called to see him at the Tombs and tried to find the trouble, as the charge was a most unusual one for a boy of nineteen. He afterwards told me that he thought the boy was guilty but was deranged and his trouble he thought was caused by self-abuse. But deranged he was, for every opportunity he had he used in slashing ladies’ dresses. It was his mania.
On January 12th the case went to trial. The main issue turned on the identity of the prisoner. The ladies that took the stand could not positively swear that Krebs was the one that cut their dresses. And as he had such a good face both judge and prosecuting attorney felt kindly towards him, and the jury gave him the benefit of the doubt and he was discharged. But there was really no defence. He was simply saved by the skin of his teeth.
A few days after the trial one of the jurors wrote me asking for Krebs’ address, saying he took such a deep interest in him as to believe in his innocence and he was willing to give him a position. I sent it to him but whether he gave Krebs a position or not I cannot tell, as I never heard from him afterwards, but one thing I know, this young man was a notorious liar and as I understand, had been exiled from Germany because of his audacious criminality as a dress slasher.
This case shows how easy one may be deceived. All the labor and sympathy expended on him was wasted. As far as crookedness was concerned this young degenerate could (to use a slang phrase) give clubs and spades to men twice his years and in the end beat them.
The worst thing that could have been done for Max Krebs that day was to save him from prison. He ought to have been sent to Elmira Reformatory and placed under the care of Superintendent Brockway and watched and then made to toe the mark.
After a few weeks New York became too hot for him; then he was compelled to beat a hasty retreat to Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington in succession, where he continued his old insane delusion, viz.: cutting ladies’ dresses for the fun of it! He was finally arrested in Washington, D. C., caught in the very act!
When he was brought to trial there must have been fifty charges against him. In Washington his offence only called for a fine and if it amounted to $100 he could plead the Debtors’ Act and go scot free. What became of Max and his insane delusions I do not know as I afterwards lost all track of him.