Later, I visited what had been my own room, finding it much as I had left it twenty years before. Many of my old school books were here, but my most precious though worthless possessions I had carefully placed elsewhere; and now I took them, dust laden, from their places of concealment. First, a complicated contrivance that when finished was to have solved the problem of perpetual motion, then a piece of a wind-mill so arranged as to make a noise when in operation sufficient to scare the crows from the corn field; going further I came to some small boxes containing almost everything from a tooth, the first I remember of having extracted, to a small bunch of very tenderly-worded notes and a picture of my little twelve-year-old sweetheart. These experiences were repeated next day when I drove to the old farm my grandfather had owned during his life-time. Here mother had lived as a child, a girl, and a young woman, and accompanying me she no doubt saw many things as dear to her. I, too, had lived here for a time, and could not leave the place until I had found my “marks” denoting my height at various times—the first of which was less than three feet. I also explored the yards and barns. Here many changes had taken place; even my initials that had been deeply cut in one of the large elm trees that grow so slowly had become obliterated. This touched me deeply, seeming so much in keeping with what had in reality occurred to the name itself; and feeling that I must find one unchanging remembrance, I went to a huge boulder upon a hill near by, having to cross the brook with much difficulty that in earlier years had offered no impediment to the progress of my unclad feet.
Reaching the rock I raised my voice, uttering the same words I had used as a child, and listened for the echoing answer. It did not come; it, too, was dead, owing, no doubt, to the woods upon the surrounding hills having disappeared meantime. Returning I found my brother had come in answer to my request that he should visit me. He was accompanied by several sturdy boys whom I had never seen, and in whose faces I could see my brother and myself of years ago; but when, in conversation, they spoke to and of their father as “Arthur,” his given name, I could but wonder if he thought of what would have been our portion had we ever addressed our parents in like manner. The day before I came away father told me of what disposition he had made, when he thought me dead, of the portion of his property that would have belonged to me if I had lived, and told me that he would rearrange it. This I begged him not to do, and a good occasion having thus been brought about, I had him bring from his trunk of private papers the several promissory notes that he had guaranteed for me years previous, and later had paid, and after adding the interest, I insisted upon his taking the money so represented. The next day, after a leave-taking nearly as pathetic and hard to bear as my meeting had been, I left them. I have seen neither of them since, nor do I ever expect to do so. Each prison mail delivery I receive with trembling hands, expecting it to be an announcement of their death, caused by this great sorrow and shame so cruelly forced upon them.
The morning following my return to Burlington I visited the post-office and received my mail. It had been handed to me and I had stepped to a small desk to open some of it when, glancing toward the delivery window, I saw what seemed to me to be the entire office force staring with all wonder at me. I knew instantly that I was in danger, and this was made more sure to me by the manner in which they at once sought to dispel this feeling by dispersing from the window. I at once resumed my reading, for I felt that it would be hazardous to have them know I was aware of their acts. As soon as I could do so safely I went to Mrs. Pitezel’s house and told her I had been hastily called to Boston and New York; that she should remain in Burlington until I should return or send for her prior to her going to the children. At this time (when I knew that momentarily there was a possibility of officers coming to the house for me) she reminded me that the supply of coal was nearly exhausted and, not wishing to go upon the street to order more, I accompanied her to the basement and, after removing some of the decayed boards from the floor of the coal bin, I shoveled together a considerable quantity of coal that had accumulated there. It was this circumstance that later, when she was suffering so acutely in Toronto, she distorted into the statement that she believed I was then preparing to take her life. The dispatches I had received in my Burlington mail left no doubt in my mind that detectives were following my movements, although I could not determine then how they had undermined my apparently safe plans. Later I found that, by making absolutely erroneous statements to the Post-Office Department at Washington, they had been given the right to examine all of a certain line of mail matter, thus accomplishing their purpose.
Having made these arrangements with Mrs. Pitezel, I left Burlington Tuesday morning, November 13th, and reached Boston the same evening at the Adams House. The next day I secured some rooms in a quiet street for my wife and myself, and proceeded at once to arrange for Mrs. Pitezel’s departure for Europe. But that evening while writing some letters at the Parker House, a careless shadower, in his earnestness to learn their address, allowed me to know that I was being watched. As in Burlington, I tried not to have it known that I had observed it, but from that moment I knew I was in their hands. After leaving the hotel and entering several crowded stores to ascertain the number and vigilance of my followers, I adopted the only feasible plan I considered was left open to me. I wrote Mrs. Pitezel a letter, asking her to meet me upon a certain day at Lowell, Mass., intending to see her and instruct her as to taking the trip alone. After throwing off my followers, I sent this letter to Burlington by express, including tickets and full directions for their journey. I then returned to my rooms, intending to tell my wife of my threatened trouble and the causes that had led up to it. I could not do it.
We had been married less than a year, and during that time I had endeavored to shield her from all annoying influences, and to cause her such great unhappiness now, until I absolutely knew it was upon me, was impossible. The next day I was continually shadowed, and finally returned to my room, and while my wife was absent made a small opening in the now famous trunk.[8]
I then went to a relative, living in a suburb, intending to ask him to aid me in making my escape, by means of the trunk, if absolutely necessary. Here again my courage failed me, when I had visited him, lest it should involve him in some difficulty, and I returned to my room resolved to meet whatever was in store for me.
Saturday p. m., November 17th, I left the house intending to send two letters, if possible. I had proceeded hardly a block when I was surrounded by four greatly excited men, two of whom said, “We want you, you are under arrest, and it will be useless for you to try to escape, as there are four of us.” I said, “I shall make no effort to escape.” We were near the police headquarters, where I was at once taken into Inspector Watts’ private office. I knew that no time would be lost in sending to my room to search my belongings, and I therefore asked that my wife be called to me, preferring to tell her myself of what was in store for her. The request was granted, and in a few minutes she was ushered into the room.
Of this scene I also cannot write. No one was present save Inspector Watts, and I can never forget or fail to appreciate his efforts to make it as easy for her—for us both, for that matter—as was possible. Before she had left me I told her what had brought about my arrest and also my right name. Only true-hearted, loving wives, who have been made to suffer in the same way, can know what the blow meant to her. They also alone can understand her feelings expressed to me in a letter months afterwards, from which, sacred though it is to me, I quote these words, “Our idols once shattered, though cherishing the broken fragments as best we may, can never be the same.” After she had returned to our rooms I had a long conversation with Inspector Watts, a representative of the Insurance Company and a Pinkerton detective. I found I had been arrested upon the charge of stealing horses in Texas; that I was to be held upon this charge until requisition and other papers could be obtained from Pennsylvania in order to have me tried in that State upon the charge of conspiring to defraud the Insurance Company in Philadelphia. I at once waived the necessity of requisition papers, and told them I was ready to go with them.
I was then closely questioned regarding the whereabouts of the Pitezel family, and knowing that Mrs. Pitezel would in a few days be in Lowell with no one to plan and care for her, and fearing lest she should see an account of my arrest and become alarmed thereby, I thought it best to tell them where she was, asking them to meet her upon her arrival. They thought it best to go to Burlington, and it was there arranged that they should escort her to Boston, but it was agreed not to place her under arrest. I told them that Pitezel and the other children were in the South, not wishing to deviate from Mrs. Pitezel’s understanding of his condition until I could see her. In my interview with Mr. Perry, the company’s representative, it was agreed that in consideration of my aiding them in clearing up the case, that I could depend upon the company’s influence and aid in selecting a suitable location for a home for my wife in Philadelphia. That my name, then only known to a few persons, should be withheld, allowing me to appear before the public as H. H. Holmes, thus shielding my relatives from disgrace. That I should, upon reaching Philadelphia, see and talk with Mrs. Pitezel, and plan for her future, and that my wife should visit me upon my arrival there. No one of these promises was kept save to obtain a boarding place for my wife, and that principally that they could use their best endeavors to so prejudice her against me that she would not care to visit me.
Upon the following Monday evening I started for Philadelphia in company with Detective Crawford, being chained to him, in fact. Upon this trip my wife came into the car in which I was traveling to visit me for a few minutes, and while there saw Mrs. Pitezel and her two children for the first time in her life—they being then in the same car. Nor had she even known of the existence of such a family until my arrest in Boston. She had known of Pitezel in Fort Worth as a man working for me by the name of Lyman.