Bertram the burglar

EDMUND PEARSON

A gentleman's attempt to bring back romance to the ancient and dishonorable art now known as burgling

The burglar's profession has been commercialized and robbed of romance. Today, if your wife's pearl necklace is stolen. you do not send for the police. They would merely hector the elevator boy, the chauffeur and the cook. Instead, you call up an insurance company, and two days later a mysterious little man saunters in with the necklace. Simple as that! And only costs a few thousand dollars a year.

In 1860, 70, or '80, a burglar had some pride. He wore a black mask, and came tiptoeing up-stairs at 2:30 A.M. In one hand, he carried a revolver; in another hand, a darklantern smelling of whale-oil; in another hand, a bottle of ether and a sponge. Sometimes you heard him creeping about; usually it was when you came out of the ether that vou learned he had called. You found that he had taken, and carried away in a sack, eleven tea-spoons, the ice-water pitcher, the baby's porringer, your second-best watch, your shirt-studs and black jet cuff-buttons, your gold cravat pin fa tiger's head, with ruby eyes) the wax calla-lily under glass, from the parlour table, a copy of the Rev. Dr. Lord's lectures, and the ambrotype portraits of Uncle Henry and Cousin Susy.

In my native city, where Bossy Gillis (like Bryan Duff in the poem) "no longer rules as lord upon the hill," there was, long ago, a picturesque burglar who did things in the hest tradition. And he added little touches of his own, such as setting out the chess-men on the open pages of the family Bible, to show he had been there. One night he ran whang into a charge of buck-shot, and when they bore his lifeless form into the police-station. everyone was amazed to discover that he was an African citizen, wearing a pink silk undershirt. Swank of that kind, in the underworld, was a novelty in the '60's.

Twenty-four years ago there was an attempt to revive the old customs. Springfield, Massachusetts, was the scene of the revival, and for two summers the city experienced some bizarre sensations.

Householders, coming indoors from their verandas, and ascending to their bed-rooms, would find a tall, masked man, studiously collecting trinkets from the dressing-tables, or peering into purses and wallets. He would point a revolver at the intimidated family, and uggest that they help him find something valuable. Sometimes, on a lean evening, he had to he content with, say, the lady's rings, a two-dollar bill, and a tearful assurance that there wasn't any more. Once, however, he eased $40 out of two women; and again, when he had been found lurking in the bath-room. he pursued his discoverer, a maiden lady, to the front door, and with his revolver induced her to ransom her life and liberty for $60.

Altogether, from beginning to end, he accumulated a considerable amount of plunder. Along with this he took many pieces of cheap jewelry and other rubbish, and this fact was enlarged upon, at a later date, when a determined effort was made to show that he was just a roguish fellow, who needed only to be humoured. Of course, he was not an expert burglar, on the grand, modern scale. He was something much more dangerous than that.

He revived the ancient tradition of hiding under the bed. There he would uncomfortably linger, for an hour or more, patiently waiting for the lady, on the upper side of the mattress, to get to sleep. Restraining the tendency to sneeze, which must come from such close association with the lint which gathers under a bed, he would at last betray his presence. Then there would he agitation on the part of the lady, checked by threats with the revolver, and after the transfer of any convenient jewelry or money, he would bid the victim good-night, and vanish. His conduct toward one or two of his hostesses was far from chivalrous, but these facts were mercifully hushed up, on the day of reckoning, so that he should not be prejudiced before the jury, who were considering a still graver crime.

Once or twice, he thrust his black mask and his gun into an evening party of whist, and once he adroitly shot out the lights in order to get away. Once, on Christmas Eve, and after an appeal from the mother of a family, he tenderly refrained from stealing the children's Christmas presents. Probably he said that nothing would prevail upon him to harm "the kiddies." I think he was just the kind of person to say "kiddies." Once he conversed, at length, with two maid servants, one of whom he surprised as she sat, simply attired in her night-dress, reading a magazine. Then, thinking of business, he descended to the floor beneath, and stole the pocket-book of the master of the house. From another man. he declined a gold-piece—after he had noticed that the owner had taken an identifying glance at the date of it.

But he did not confine his persecutions to women and timid householders. One night, in the open, he held up a motorman, Mike Gilhooley—no less—shot him in the leg, and robbed him of his money—about a dollar. The robber's biographer and champion mentions the fact that it was a small sum, as if that made the affair rather a treat to the motorman. The calibre of the bullet removed from Mr. Gilhooley's leg was .38, so that may have compensated him for any disappointment he felt at not having handed over whole week's pay.

One night, the burglar hastily slid down a ladder to escape from a house, ran across a garden and dropped a locket: his own locket. with his initials B.G.S., and portraits of his mother and sister. This was found, but, by a tragic error, no use was then made of the information.

Mr. B.G.S. realized that he had left a dangerous clue behind him, and for six months refrained from his raids. Then, on a night in March, 1910, he ventured out once more; took his revolver; adjusted a black handkerchief over part of his face; removed his shoes; and entered the home of a Mrs. Dow, who sat, trying to do a picture puzzle, with her two daughters and a guest, Miss Martha Blackstone. These women were somewhat alarmed when the burglarious figure entered the room and demanded their money. Two of them screamed and tried to escape, whereupon the burglar shot Miss Blackstone through the heart, and with another shot wounded Miss Harriet Dow in the head. Then he departed.

It was afterwards argued, by those who felt the warmest sympathy for the burglar, but only irritation toward his victim, that Miss Blackstone was inconsiderate to have screamed. It seemed that he never liked peopie to scream while he was robbing them. If Miss Blackstone had understood this, everything might have been different and much pleasanter. I have never heard, by the way. that Mr. Gilhooley screamed. He simply tried to run away.

The clue of the locket now enabled the police to arrest Mr. Bertram G. Spencer, a married man of twenty-nine, who had been supplementing his fair earnings by day, with these forays by night. He promptly made a complete confession of the robberies and murder, and this was corroborated by identification by some of his victims, and by his possession of the revolver, the mask, and a satchel of loot.

Bertram, henceforth, was not a popular character in Springfield, where the life of Miss Blackstone, a worthy school-teacher, was regarded, bv conservative opinion, as rather the more valuable of the two. As a conspicuous and brutal killer, however, he of course enlisted the warm support of a minority, who for more than two years adopted every device to preserve him in safety.

The only possible plea was insanity: that he did all these things, such as carrying the revolver, putting on the mask, and robbing these houses, because of an "irresistible impulse." Spencer fell into the plan with enthusiasm, and began to wag his head, roll his eyes and scream curses at all his "enemies." The first doctor who saw him at it—a humble, general practitioner—promptly told him to "stop faking," and he instantly obeyed.

One or two of the heap-big, pukka alienists from Boston, nevertheless, fell for these maneuvers, and the result was a trial which could not, under the present law in Massachusetts, be repeated. Alienist disputed alienist, and the prisoner roared and frothed and yelled his abuse.

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The jury heard an account of nearly a year passed by Spencer, after his arrest, in a State Hospital, under observation. They learned that his playacting, there, had gradually subsided, as the electric-chair had seemed to have become a remote possibility. They saw his mimicry commence again, when the law held him responsible for his act. And, in the end, the jury refused to be bamboozled.

That he was "mentally defective" was as much as his alienists could say for him. It had not been noticed by his employers, nor by his superiors in the Navy. Everyone agreed that he sometimes had a nasty temper. But it is almost as annoying to find a "mental defective" under your bed, to be robbed by him of your pocketbook, or to have him put a bullet into your thorax, as if it were done by the most high-powered psychiatrist who ever sat up all night reading of Dr. Brill.