From Boniface to Bank Burglar; Or, The Price of Persecution: How a Successful Business Man, Through the Miscarriage of Justice, Became a Notorious Bank LooterWhite, George M. (George Miles)
History
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
White, George M. (George Miles)
Bank robberies -- United States; Criminals -- Biography; White, George M. (George Miles)
By rail from Salem to Troy, thence to New York, was a matter of only
a few hours, and as I whirled along I had ample time to meditate over
my lot; but the more I thought of what I had gone through, the more I
seemed to be forced down to by-paths into which I had never dreamt of
setting foot. After a time I compelled myself by sheer force to think
of other things--what I would do, whether I would go farther west
or remain in New York, and whether it would be wise to immediately
ask for employment in some big dry-goods store there. I knew I could
do passably well as a clerk in that line, for the experience in my
father’s store and in my own later would stand me in hand.
At Albany I managed to get a newspaper, but saw nothing in it about
my escape. A few hours later I was in New York. It was a dreary day,
but after all there was a sense of freedom about me. I was no longer
in a grewsome cell at Keene. I was away from those months of horror.
Reflecting over what I had done, I felt certain that a reward would be
offered for my capture. In plain terms I realized that I was a fugitive
from justice. As the word “justice” came to me I seemed to fill up with
hatred. What a travesty my experience had proved the word to be. I
shuddered at the possession of such thoughts, for hitherto I had been
a firm believer in the righteous adjustment of all things; had been a
sincere believer in the law. Again I stifled these ugly feelings that
surged up within me.
Starting out for lodgings, I soon found them and sat down to lay out my
plans. Again despite all my best efforts to the contrary, the terrible
experiences dating from the second day of June would come to the fore,
and I seemed to hear evil voices urging me to forsake all that was
good and plunge into the swift-flowing current of vice. But, as on
other occasions when I’d battled with evil, I could see the faces of my
father and mother looming up in this train of thought, like a shaft of
silver light athwart a threatening cloud, and I could hear, it seemed,
the earnest solicitation of my loyal friends to be courageous though
the worst come, and that they would stand by me until the last. When
these good thoughts gained the ascendency, again I resolved to profit
by it, and straightway set about to seek honest employment in which I
could make a fresh start, endeavor to fight down my persecutors, and
rebuild my fortune.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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