From Boniface to Bank Burglar; Or, The Price of Persecution / How a Successful Business Man, Through the Miscarriage of Justice, Became a Notorious Bank Looter

by George M. White

Side-tracked again as I was, yet Billy remained stanch, while I was still filled with determination to make the enterprise a success. After a few weeks’ rest, I began to scheme once more. We saw that the inside routine of the bank was about the same, the combinations to the vault and safes remaining unchanged. The only noticeable move made by the officials was the purchase of a building adjoining the bank on the Second Street side. I suspected that President Noblit had done this to defeat any tunnelling scheme that might be undertaken. This, with the diligent new outside watchman, constituted about the only difference in the outside conditions of the bank from those existing at the second attempt.

“Three times and out” was an expression I had often heard when a boy, and it seemed to me in this bank-breaking enterprise in which I was having so hard a time, that the saying should have been, “Three times and win.” At any rate I resolved to make the third attempt to enter the door at which I had so long been knocking for millions. Ay, time had become reckoned into months since I began the plotting. Much thought, patience, pride, besides trusted associates, had been expended in my efforts. I had reached a point where it seemed to be out of the question for me to surrender, as long as I was free of arrest. And the game most assuredly was worth fighting for. A goodly sum of money already had been put in the enterprise, but I realized that more must be used in the next attack. Weary of combating obstacles on the outside, in the form of interfering night watchmen, besotted tools, and the like, I was determined to strike from another quarter. I would work from the roof of the bank. To further this plan, the leasing of a store or an office was necessary. Not long after this decision I had hired a second-story loft in a building at the rear of the bank, devoted to the wool business. The loft, the roof of which was on a level with the bank’s, appeared to possess just the vantage of which I was in quest. Within a few days a very busy lot of wholesale dealers in tobacco took possession of the loft, and it is needless to explain that these active men were myself and followers. Having established the business, I proceeded to provide a safe working road from the tobacco house to the scuttle of the Corn Exchange Bank. Of course this was done at night, when honest folk were, or should have been, in bed. The scuttle on my building was easily manipulated; and after a night or two of investigation I had succeeded in getting a clear passage from the bank scuttle down through the various floors, to the iron door which separated me from the banking office. This door was a pretty difficult proposition to solve. It was ponderous and strongly bolted and barred on the inside. To cut through it alone would have been a tough job, but with two watchmen in the bank’s office it was out of the question. An entrance would have to be obtained by quieter means. It might be possible to corrupt one of the inside watchmen, but that would mean weeks, perhaps months, of valuable time. No; Billy must come into play once more. I would demonstrate how faithful to duty the inside watchmen were. If they were watchful to the extreme, why, what I had in mind would be useless in forwarding the enterprise.

Meeting Billy, I said: “Now, lad, I want you to leave the iron door leading from the office to the upper floors unlocked when you quit the bank at six P.M. I want to test the night watchmen. If they fail to discover your neglect, why, well and good for us.”

The next evening Billy carefully left the door unfastened, and at the midnight following I made an inspection. Good—the watchmen had not locked it! There was hope of getting to the vault by this means. But I would not depend upon one instance of oversight on the part of the watchmen; three opportunities must be given them to prove their negligence. If they thus condemned themselves, it would show to me that they trusted to Billy alone as the caretaker of that door. For the next two days the experiment was kept up. Upon making the nightly visits, I found the door as Billy would leave it. This seemed to be the best kind of proof that I might depend on getting at the vault through the iron door.

With this favorable outlook I decided to “turn off the trick” the next Saturday night, only forty-eight hours away. Billy was cautioned not to fail me. His task would be to leave the door unfastened, without fail. Incidentally, he was to take a look at the scuttle of the bank. About that, however, I was not much concerned, for it had been left unlocked every night since I began the work. Not over cautious were those inside watchmen. In every other respect, so far as I could determine, I had the plot well in hand. For the third time I had my team at the beck. In order to make the “get-away” quicker, I provided a relay of horses which would take the “dust” to New York, where it would never be in the possession of the Corn Exchange Bank again. I felt confident that a third disappointment wasn’t due. Surely perseverance such as had been shown would finally be rewarded, even though the recipient was a burglar.

Again a night for action came and found me ready. My associates were well drilled. Billy the faithful one—to me—had obeyed, implicitly, his instructions.

“The very last thing I did,” he assured me, that evening, “was to examine the scuttle of the bank and the iron door to the office, and both were left unfastened. All you’ve got to do is walk in on the watchmen.”

A more favorable night for the loot couldn’t have been selected, had I been the creator of the weather. It was as black as could be. In fact it was as black as a black cat would look in a dark cellar, and the moon, thanks to her queenly favor, wasn’t to put in an early appearance that night. That our working across the roofs to the bank might not be detected, I had provided thick woollen blankets, which were laid, and soon there was a pathway as soft and yielding to the foot as you please. It would have made a fine stepping for a dainty bride from church to carriage.

In the neighborhood of two o’clock Sunday morning, I sent one of my associates over the roofs to the scuttle of the bank, with a small kit of tools in case we should need them. As to the hour for making the strike, I thought I would wait until half-past four, instead of earlier. The watchman who was accustomed to shirk his duty usually left at that hour of late. And it seemed to me that we might meet with better success by delaying, for there would be but one watchman to overcome. My bogus policemen would be quite capable of dealing with two watchmen, but there was less chance of failure, however, in handling one. I hoped to be in the vault and have its contents over the roof and in my loft at five o’clock, and soon after that on the road.

A few minutes before four o’clock I joined my associates, and we went down in the bank building. A cold sweat broke over me as I tried the iron door. It would not budge. The watchman hadn’t gone yet, but I felt certain that something was wrong. Was another failure to be scored? Good heavens! We lay low for half an hour, and then I heard the departure of one of the watchmen. Then I went at the door again, cautiously, that I might not alarm the watchman. I couldn’t move it. It was locked and barred! Had Billy failed me? No; of that I felt certain. He was true blue. But fastened the door was, and hope of getting into the bank through it was dead, for the present. So angry was I at the outset, that I was tempted to smash at the door, regardless of consequences! Of course, that would have been madness and would have meant discovery and state prison. Calmness came and good judgment with it. There was nothing to do but retreat, and that we did, taking our tools and gathering up the soft footway we’d made for only a failure. Back we went to the loft. Heavens! but the third failure was disappointing. My heart about failed me. Three times the iron door had been left unfastened; and as many times, when I didn’t want to use it, I had found it seemingly yearning to be used. At the critical moment it had failed.