I have already alluded in these sketches, I think, to a celebrated English burglar who at one time made quite a stir here in Now York. I mean the person called “Bristol Bill.” I dare say he is comparatively forgotten now, for people in New York forget everybody pretty soon; but at one time he and his gang and his pals filled quite a space in the newspapers.
Like all persons in his line of business, Bristol Bill had a lot of aliases. For some years was known by the high-soundin’ title of “Colonel” Warburton, but his real name, I am told, was William Darlington.
He was a smart chap. and came of good stock in the old country. One of his relatives was a well-to-do merchant, and Bill’s mother put him as a clerk in the countin’ house of his relative and tried to make a merchant out of him; but Bill didn’t care about trade. He was too fond of adventure to sit cooped up a desk all day, and besides he had a great knack for mechanical work; was very handy with his hands, and wanted some position where he could exercise his gifts in this respect, so he left the countin’ house in a year or two and became a locksmith. Here his natural mechanical talent had full play, and pretty soon Bill boasted that he could fit a key to a lock, or open a lock with a key, quicker than any man of his age in England. But this bein’ expert with keys has two sides to it. The man who can contrive to make a key work all right, or open a lock, can make this lock and key open all wrong, too, if he chooses. Lock-makers can easily become lock-breakers, and that was the case with Bill. Several “cross” men got acquainted with young Bill and noticed how smart he was about locks and keys, and determined to make him useful to them in their operations.
Among these “cross’’ men was a fellow, Harry Todd, who called himself at different times Johnny Williams and Sleepy Jack, from his general lazy look, although he wasn’t really a bit lazy. This Todd saw a “big thing” in Bill’s cleverness, and coaxed him to go with him to America and try his fortune. Bill, always fond of adventure, accepted the proposition, and the two men landed in New York and went right straight to old Bob Sutton’s place, in Roosevelt street.
Old Sutton was a character in his way, and was known to all the English sports and thieves in America. He had some respectable customers, but the majority were hard cases, so that the New York detectives were all the time watchin’ his place.
Old Bob Sutton had a daughter, who thought herself a good deal more charmin’ than she really was, and she fell in love with Bristol Bill, although he didn’t fall in love with her. Whenever Bill dined at Sutton’s the girl always gave him the best in the house, and
Made him some Yorkshire puddin’ with her own hands, and Bill was very fond of Yorkshire puddin’.
It was this Yorkshire puddin’ that got Bill into a scrape. There had been a big robbery committed on Broad street, and Bob Sutton’s place was searched. If Bill had been wise he would have stayed away from Sutton’s till the hue and cry was over, but one Sunday Miss Sutton had promised to have some Yorkshire puddin’ ready for Bill, and there at the time appointed was Bill, all ready for the Yorkshire puddin , and then there were two detectives all ready for Bill, who pounced upon him before he got through with his puddin’, which was very mean in the detectives. They could have arrested him just as well after his puddin’ as before it.
But Bill got out of his scrape this time. Although he had been in on the robbery, he took things so coolly, lied so confoundedly, showed so much brain and nerve, that the officers let him go.
In course of time Bristol Bill met One-Eyed Thompson and formed a kind of partnership with him, and through this One-eyed Thompson he got acquainted with One-armed Drury. Bristol Bill used to call himself “the other arm and eye” of Drury and Thompson.
This man called “One-armed Drury was famous in his day. He had been a “cross” in England, and the “cops’’ were after him, but he escaped to America, and made money here fast for a while. He pretended to be quite respectable and high-toned around New York, and settled near Astoria, where he started a bank, bein’ the while engaged in all sorts of thievin’ operations, aided by Bristol Bill mid others, who got pay from Drury regularly, just as if they were clerks on a salary.
After a while a coolness arose about a woman, who cared more for Bill than she did for Drury, and Drury got even with Bill by stoppin’ payin’ his “salary” or “regulars.” Then Bill got even by blabbin’ on Drury, and there was the deuce to pay generally, as there generally is about a woman. A lawyer, called Tom Warner, got mixed up in the row, and created quite a sensation in New York before he got through with the case, though not in any way that he had intended.
This Warner had some law business in Philadelphia one day, so he left his place of business here en route for the city of pretty girls and Quakers. A little while later in the afternoon a one-armed negro rang the bell at Warner’s place, and handed in to the person who answered the bell a box, sayin’ that he had positive orders to have the box given to Mr. Tom Warner. The one-armed negro didn’t wait to be told that Mr. Warner wasn’t in, but left the box and started off on the double quick, as if he was afraid that the box would explode. It did explode a few minutes afterward and blew the whole side of Warner’s place away in Duane street, causin’ tremendous excitement. Warner didn’t know anythin’ about all this, and when he came back from Philadelphia he found bis place ruined, himself arrested. He didn’t mind the arrest much, for under the circumstances he could easily prove an alibi, and he was mighty glad, too, that he had an alibi to prove, for he had no doubt that the infernal machine had been meant to blow him into kingdom come, and if he had been in New York at the time it might have done so; but, as it was, although the folks in the house were frightened half to death, nobody was killed.
Warner proved his, alibi, and then set to work to find out to whom he was indebted for this little mark of attention. Among others he thought that Bristol Bill might have had something to do with it, and he got Matsell, superintendent of the New York police, to arrest and then to examine Bristol Bill. Matsell really thought that Bristol Bill had put up the job, and told him so. “Bill Darlington,” said Matsell. “We have got you dead to rights, there’s nothin’ left you but to confess.”
“Confess what?” said Bill.
“That you sent this infernal machine to kill Tom Warner, and to make a sure thing of it you meant to blow up his house and his whole family.”
“You really believe I did and meant all this?” said Bill, drawin’ himself up.
“Don’t put on airs,” said Matsell, “you haven’t got any foundation for all this sudden high tone; frills are out of place on yon—own up.”
“Never,” said Bill, lookin’ Matsell full in the face; “never will I confess what I would be utterly incapable of. I am a thief, you know, but I am a man, I know! Not a cowardly, sneakin’ murderer, takin’ my chances to blow up innocent women and children in order to vent my spite on one man. Look at me, Matsell, now, and tell me if you believe I had any hand in this thing.” Matsell, who was a mighty good judge of human nature, looked at Bristol Bill a moment, and then took Bill’s hand and said, “No, I do not. But will you prove that you have had nothin’ to do with this thing by helpin’ me to ferret out the murderer?”
“I will,” said Bristol Bill, and he kept his word. Day and night Bill gave his time to the service of the police force.
Bill had a grudge against One-armed Drury, and he had a chance now to gratify this grudge and serve the ends of justice into the bargain. From the first he suspected that Drury had his finger in the pie, and before long he made this suspicion a certainty. But all the same he pretended not to suspect Drurv, and takin’ it for granted that Drury had nothin’ to do with it, he wormed himself into Drury’s confidence, pretendin’ the old feud between ’em was healed, until Drurv committed himself. Then, havin’ got his man, he had him arrested and defied Drury, who in his desperation threatened terrible things, but didn’t get a chance to carry any of ’em out.
Tom Warner afterwards, it is said, went to Australia, and bought a beef cattle farm out there, and was very much liked. Once he had occasion to go “into the bush,” as it was called, and there he was murdered—murdered by an outcast who had once been a New York rough, and whom Tom Warner had himself defended in court, and had saved him from being punished for a crime of which he was undoubtedly guilty. Such is life.
But pretty soon Bill got into another scrape with one of his pals, Christian Meadows, a counterfeiter. He was sentenced for ten years to the State prison, and this broke Bill’s heart, and drove him clean out of his head. He seemed to think that his ill-luck was all due to the District Attorney, although that officer in prosecutin’ him only did his sworn duty, and he swore to be revenged on him before he left the court room. So, after the judge had pronounced sentence on him, Bristol Bill asked permission to say a few words to the District Attorney on the business of his case. Permission was granted, and the District Attorney advanced towards Bill to hear what he had to say.
Bill, right in the crowded court room, sprung like a tiger on the District Attorney, and hacked at his throat with a big pen-knife he held open in his hand. Of course the officers and others rushed to protect the District Attorney and to pull Bristol Bill away. But Bill didn’t stop until he had succeeded in accomplishin’ two things—first, cuttin’ the District Attorney’s throat, not dangerously, but quite painfully, which was just what he had intended—and, second, gettin’ a second sentence, with an extra ten years added, which he hadn’t intended at all.
Bill served twelve years in the Vermont State prison, and had a fearful time of it. The keepers showed him no mercy; he was punished for the slightest thing. He tried to escape several times—once he did get off in disguise, but was caught, and given a round of “the dark cell” and the “shower-bath.”
Finally, be wound up his career up north by doin’ two things—each of them seldom done by criminals —he turned State’s evidence and then reformed. The last was all right, but I can’t indorse the former. At any rate, Bob Lucas, the burglar he informed on, was an infernal scoundrel who was a pest to the community. So Bristol Bill did the community a service by puttin’ him where he belonged.
As for Bristol Bill himself, he went on a grand wind-up spree, then took the pledge, and kept it; went right out to the southwest, became a farmer, and led an honest life under a false name, which was the only false thing about him.
[Editor’s notes: Bristol Bill Darlington served eight years of his sentence at the Vermont State Prison before being released. In the early 1860s, there are reports that he was arrested in Marietta, Ohio with a set of burglar’s tools; and later in Galt, Ontario for an attempted bank robbery. He was sentenced to a term at the Provincial prison.]
