Seen in the Connecticut Prison by Sheriff Bates He Denies That He is Henry More Smith—After His Release from Prison He Robbed a Passenger in the Boston Coach—Visits Upper Canada as a Smuggler—Turns up as a Preacher in the Southern States—Is Arrested in Maryland for Theft—Possibly Finished His Career in Toronto.
After I arrived in New Haven, where I was put in possession of these particulars concerning him, no person was known in the United States who could identify him to be the noted Henry More Smith but myself. I was consequently requested, for the gratification of the public, to go to Simsbury Mines to see him. I had the curiosity to see how he conducted himself at Newgate, and proceeded to Simsbury, about fifty miles, for the purpose. On my arrival at Simsbury, I enquired of Capt. Washburn, the keeper of the prison, how Newman conducted himself. He answered that he behaved very well; that he heard that he was a very bad fellow, but he had so many that were worse he did not think anything bad in Newman. I further enquired of the keeper what account Newman gave of himself, and what he acknowledged to have been his occupation. His answer to these enquiries were, that he professed to be a tailor, if anything, but he had not been accustomed to much hard work, as he had always been subject to fits; that his fits were frightful, and that in his agony and distress he would turn round on his head and shoulders like a top, and he was so bruised and chafed with his irons in his convulsive agonies, that he had taken the shackles off his legs, so that now he had only one on one leg. This was as convincing to me as possible that he was my old friend Smith.
The captain asked me if I had a wish to liberate him. I replied, my object was to ascertain whether he were a prisoner I had in my custody more than twelve months, and that if he were, he would know me immediately, but would not profess to know me. Accordingly, when he was brought into my presence in the captain’s room, he maintained a perfect indifference, and took no notice of me whatever. I said to him, “Newman, what have you been doing that has brought you here?” “Nothing,” said he, “I had an ear-ring with me that belonged to my wife, and a young lady claimed it and swore it belonged to her, and I had no friend to speak in favor of me, and they sent me to prison.” I then asked him whether he had ever seen me before. He looked earnestly upon me and said, “I do not know but I have seen you at New Haven, there were many men at court.” “Where did you come from?” His reply was, “I came from Canada.” “What countryman are you?” “A Frenchman, born in France.” He had been in London and Liverpool, but never at Brighton. “Was you ever at Kingston, New Brunswick?” He answered, “No, he did not know where that was,” with a countenance as unmoved as if he had spoken in all the confidence of truth.
He appeared rather more fleshy than when at Kingston; but still remained the same subtle, mysterious being. I understood that he was the first that had ever effected an exemption from labor in that prison by or on any pretence whatever. He kept himself clean and decent, and among the wretched victims who were daily brought from the horrid pit in chains and fetters to their daily labor of making nails, William Newman appeared quite a distinguished character. So obtuse was he that he could not be taught to make a nail, and yet so ingenious was he, that he made a jew’s harp to the greatest perfection, without being discovered at work and without its being known until he was playing on it.
It was in the city of New Haven that the author published the first edition of these Memoirs, being aware that here, where his character and unprecedented actions were perfectly known throughout the country, the publication of his doings at Kingston, and his career throughout the Provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia would not only be desirable and acceptable, but would also be received with less scrupulousness, when brought, as it were, in contact with facts of a similar nature publicly known and believed.
While these papers were being prepared for the press, a gentleman from Washington, Major McDaniel, on his return from Boston, boarded some time in the same house with me, that of Mr. Joseph Nichols, and having heard some details from me of his unprecedented character and actions in New Brunswick, and having also become acquainted with the facts relating to his imprisonment and escape, etc., in that place, could not repress his curiosity in going to see him, and requested me to accompany him at his own expense. He observed that it would be a high gratification to him, on his return to Washington, that he would not only have one of my books with him, but would also be able to say that he had personally seen the sheriff from New Brunswick that had written the book, and had seen the remarkable character in the prison of Newgate that had constituted the subject of the book, and also the prison of New Haven from which he escaped.
Accordingly we set out from Newgate, and my friend had the satisfaction of seeing the noted Henry More Smith, now William Newman. On our leaving him, I said to him, “Now, Smith, if you have anything you wish to communicate to your wife, I will let her know it.” He looked at me and said, “Sir, are you going to the Jerseys?” “Why do you think your wife is there?” “I hope so; I left her there,” was his reply, and that with as much firmness and seeming earnestness as if he had never before seen my face. After I had left him and returned to New Haven, and furnished the printer with this additional sketch, and had the Memoirs completed, one of the books was shown to him, which he perused with much attention and replied with seeming indifference that there never was such a character in existence, but that some gentleman travelling in the United States had run short of money, and had invented that book to defray his expenses!
Immediately after he had read the Memoirs of his own unparalleled life and actions, and pronounced the whole a fiction, as if to outdo anything before recited of him, or attributed to him, he added the following remarkable feat to the list, already so full of his singular and unprecedented actions. In the presence of a number of young persons, and when there was a fine fire burning on the hearth, he affected to be suddenly seized with a violent convulsive fit, falling down on the floor and bounding and writhing about as if in the most agonizing suffering. And what constituted the wonder of this masterpiece of affectation was, that in his spasmodic contortions his feet came in contact with the fire, and were literally beginning to be roasted, without his appearing to feel any pain from the burning. This circumstance confirmed the belief in the bystanders that the fit was a reality; and he did not miss his aim in showing off his spasmodic attack, which was indeed done to the life. He was consequently exempted from hard labor, and was permitted to employ himself in any trifling occupation he chose, or in making jew’s harps, pen-knives, knives of various descriptions, and rings, in the mechanism of which he displayed much original talent and characteristic ingenuity. Many persons, from mere curiosity, purchased among the rest may be instanced the case of two young men, who very much admired his small pen-knives, and proposed purchasing two of them on condition of his engraving his name on the handles of them. He immediately engraved, with perfect neatness, “Henry More Smith,” on one side of one of them, “William Newman,” on the other side, and on the other knife he engraved, “Mysterious Stranger.” These knives were kept by their owners as curiosities, and many persons were much gratified by seeing them. One of them was sometime after brought to Kingston, and I myself had the gratification of seeing the name of my old domestic engraved on the handle.
Under the indulgent treatment he received in Newgate, he became perfectly reconciled to his situation, manifesting no desire to leave it. “Contentment” he said, “is the brightest jewel in this life, and I was never more contented in my life.” Consequently he never attempted any means of escape.