On a Field Azure a Silver Star

The early fall of the year 1863 found me in the city of Boston, bent upon the execution of a mission most important to my future financial and professional prospects. Furnished with carte blanche to an unlimited amount in the way of necessary expenditure, and provided with every accessory in the way of credentials and assistance from my generous employers. I was vain enough to believe that my skill and adroitness would eventually result in the recovery of over $50,000 in money and bonds stolen from the Mercantile Bank three days before my arrival. 

I had received a telegram from Mr. Dawes, the president of the bank, directing my immediate presence at the scene of action. I was not able to leave New York, however, until the third day after the commission of the robbery, and I found Mr. Dawes somewhat annoyed and very impatient when I at length reached the bank and reported myself ready for action. He motioned me to a seat, and without any preliminary remarks plunged into the business on hand. 

The bank had been entered between the hours of six ᴘ.ᴍ. and six ᴀ.ᴍ., evidently by a regular cracksman. The outer door leading into the hall had an ordinary triple bolt-lock, the catch operating on three steel bolts running at different sections of the door into closely fitting grooves. The lock had been tampered with but had not yielded. The sawing in two of the bolts was assayed, as the marks indicated, but had been abandoned as a bad job. Then the iron casing into which they ran had been drilled near the bolts and a saw inserted in the holes. The bolts had thus been reached, wrenched back, and an entrance effected. 

I traced the robber from this door to the inner vault-room door, a thick oak door studded with beads, and heavily locked. This had been forced by a chisel applied so as to loosen the hinges, and the robber—for it was apparent there was but one—… Read More