The Crime of the Century Part 1

The Crime of the Century.

by Henry M. Hunt.

PREFACE

This volume is not intended as an addition to the criminal literature of the country. It has not been published solely for the pleasure of those who delight in devouring morbid tales of crime and criminals. It rather owes its existence to a general demand from all parts of the United States, from the Canadas, from Great Britain, and from many points on the continent of Europe, for a complete, concise, and accurate story of one of the greatest of modern crimes and the events connected therewith.

The reports of the public press, while of the most searching and elaborate character, have nevertheless been of necessity so disjointed, fragmentary and confusing, covering a period of over seven months, each day and week replete with new discoveries and new sensations, as to make it well-nigh impossible for even the most careful reader, with unlimited time at his disposal, to grasp or comprehend anything more than the barest outline of this remarkable case. The object of this volume therefore, is to present in consecutive form and as a complete narrative all the facts which have been brought to light from the day of the disappearance of Dr. Cronin, to the close of the trial of those accused of his murder. Many circ.u.mstances have combined to make the task a difficult and laborious one, but the results are submitted in the belief that as the only effort of its kind, it will prove not only a story of thrilling interest to the general reader, but also valuable, by its accuracy and continuity, as an historical work.

THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER I.

A CRIME THAT SHOCKED THE CIVILIZED WORLD--THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER--A SUDDEN SUMMONS--THE INSTINCTS OF HUMANITY TRIUMPH OVER PERSONAL CONSIDERATIONS--LAST MOMENTS AT HOME--PARTING WORDS WITH A FRIEND-- DR. CRONIN'S EVENTFUL LIFE--HOW HE WORKED HIS WAY UPWARD ON THE LADDER OF HONOR AND FAME.

Little introduction to this volume is needed. It is the story--told in plain unvarnished words, so that everyone who reads may understand--of a crime that has shocked the people of the United States, and astounded the civilized world. Back of that crime was a conspiracy so wide in its ramifications, so cunningly contrived, so successfully executed, as to rival the diabolical plots and outgrowing tragedies that have been placed at the doors of the secret societies of France, Italy and Spain, by the historians of the Dark Ages. In the United States, as an event of national importance, the crime may be said to rank with the a.s.sa.s.sinations of Presidents Lincoln and Garfield. In the case of the former, as of the latter, the perpetrator of the crime was a half crazed enthusiast, who imagined that he had a mission to perform in taking the life of the Chief Magistrate of the Republic. An effort was made, it is true, to demonstrate the fact that the a.s.sa.s.sin of Abraham Lincoln was but the tool of a band of conspirators, but, despite the fact that five of his alleged accomplices suffered an ignominious death upon the scaffold upon conviction for complicity in the appalling crime, the question as to the actual existence of a conspiracy has remained to this day a mooted one. In the case of President Garfield there was not even a suggestion that the a.s.sa.s.sin acted upon other than his own insane impulse. So far as concerns the Haymarket horror in Chicago, the point as to whether the throwing of the bomb that echoed around the world was the outcome of a conspiracy, or the act of an individual who had inbibed anarchistic principles and doctrines until reason had been dethroned, and a desire for vengeance upon the supposed enemies of the proletaire had generated into an uncontrollable determination, is still unsettled in the minds of many people eminently well versed in the law; as well as in those of a goodly proportion of the ma.s.ses. So far, however, as the tragic fate of Dr Cronin is concerned, no such doubt may be said to exist. That he fell a victim to a plot, remarkable in its conception and execution; conceived in shrewdness and forethought, and executed by the aid of far-reaching and elaborate machinery; and with remorseless precision, is beyond peradventure. But it serves no purpose to antic.i.p.ate. The following chapters tell their own story of the manner and methods by which the murder of a law-abiding American citizen, prominent in his profession and of national reputation, was decreed and carried out. It was the first crime of its character in the history of the United States. It will probably be the last.

THE DISAPPEARANCE.

The locality was Chicago. The date Sat.u.r.day, May 4th, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine. The time eight o'clock of the evening. Philip Patrick Henry Cronin--for this was the full name of the physician--was closeted with a patient in the most s.p.a.cious of the front suite of rooms attached to a handsomely furnished flat directly over the Windsor Theatre on North Clark Street. The tenants of the flat, T. T. Conklin, a well-known saloon keeper, and his wife, were among his most intimate and confidential friends, and with them the physician, who was a confirmed bachelor, had resided so long that he was regarded, to all intents and purposes, as one of the family. They nursed him in sickness, studied his every requirement when in health, and in a great measure, shared with him his personal and political knowledge. It was a happy, congenial family in every sense of the term. Dr. Cronin was on the point of dismissing the patient, for an important meeting of the Celto-American Society, which published a paper of which he was the political editor, necessitated his hurrying away to the other side of the city, when the door-bell rang violently. Mrs. Conklin responded. A man pale and breathless, stood on the landing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DR. CRONIN'S APARTMENTS IN WINDSOR THEATRE BUILDING.]

"Is Dr. Cronin in?" he demanded, in a hurried, nervous manner.

"Yes," was the reply, "but he is busy with a patient."

"Well," responded the stranger with increasing nervousness. "I want to see him. It is a matter of life or death."

Some fragments of the conversation had penetrated to the office where the physician was giving a final injunction to his patient. He threw open the door and came out into the vestibule.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Doctor" said the strange visitor as he presented a card, "one of the workmen at P. O'Sullivan's ice house at Lake View, has met with an accident and been terribly injured about here" (indicating the abdomen by a wave of his hand). "Unless a doctor sees him at once," he went on in his hurried, nervous, manner, "he will die. O'Sullivan is out of town, but he has spoken so often of you and said that you should be called in case of an accident that I thought I'd better come to you."

Dr. Cronin glanced at the card. It was a fac-simile of this.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

For a moment he twirled it between his finger and thumb. Then he looked at his watch. It was near the hour for the meeting, in the proceedings of which he was liable to take a prominent part. But the humane instincts of the profession quickly overcame all other considerations.

"One moment" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "and I will be with you."

"I have a buggy and fast horse down stairs" called out the stranger.

Dr. Cronin darted into his office. Hastily gathering up his surgical instruments, he packed them into their case. A package of lint and absorbent cotton was pushed down into his pocket. Then he reappeared and with the remark "I am ready," made for the stairs. The unknown went down in advance and the doctor followed. At the curb, with a white horse in the shafts, was the buggy that was to take the physician on his supposed errand of mercy. As he reached the street, he came _vis-a-vis_ with Frank T. Scanlan, Jr., a prominent young Irish-American, who had previously arranged to call for and accompany him to the meeting.

"Are you ready" the latter asked.

"No," was Dr. Cronin's reply. "I'm called away on an accident case."

The stranger was already in the buggy. "There's no time to lose," he called out, and the e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n caused Scanlan to turn his head in that direction. He was startled for a moment by the look of fiendish rage with which the fellow was regarding him. Before he could say a word, however, Dr. Cronin had taken his seat in the vehicle. A whip cut through the air and descended on the animal's back, and as it started off the physician called out to his friend, who still stood on the sidewalk:

"I may get down town in an hour, but don't wait for me. I really don't know how long this case may occupy me."

Man proposes, but G.o.d disposes. It was the physician's last farewell to his home and his friends. The white horse sped into the darkness and each revolution of the wheels of the vehicle carried one of its occupants nearer his doom.

THE STORY OF HIS LIFE.

It is necessary to digress a moment at this point in order that something may be said regarding the previous history of the man whose name was soon to be on millions of tongues. Born on August 7th, 1846, on Erin's soil, near the town of Mallow, in the famed county of Cork, he was brought to the United States when yet a babe in his mother's arms.

For five years thereafter he was numbered among the population of New York City. Thence the family moved to Baltimore, and thence again to the province of Ontario. When ten years of age he was placed in the care of the Christian Brothers at the Academy of St. Catherines. He graduated with honors in 1863, and, a boy of seventeen, started out to battle with the world. His first wages were earned at Petroleum City, Pa., where he taught school. From here he went to t.i.tusville and thence to Clearfield, in the same state, where in 1866 he held a good position in a store. But he was restless and ambitious.

There was no charm--from his point of view--in the plodding life of a country school teacher or store keeper. He wanted to make his way in the world and he realized that in order to accomplish this it would be necessary to take the historic advice of Horace Greeley and "go west."

Accordingly, late in the fall of 1867 he bade farewell to the many friends and acquaintances he had made in the oil regions and departed for Missouri. He first located in a country town, but after a short stay removed again to St. Louis. Here he secured a position in the store of Michael Dougherty, a grocer. Those who came in contact with him at that time remembered him in after years as a young man of pleasing presence, fine attainments and a remarkably good musician. He was especially a fine tenor singer, and soon after his arrival he became a member of the choir of the Catholic Church of St. John's. The numerous services and consequent rehearsals, however, conflicted materially with his work at the store, and as a result he secured another position as superintendent of omnibuses for a local transfer concern. Meanwhile he had been industriously engaged in the study of pharmacy, and so well did he combine this craving after knowledge with commendable prudence and economy, that after awhile he was enabled to become a full fledged druggist with a store of his own on Garrison street, adjacent to Easton avenue. Even then, however, he was not satisfied. He aimed still higher, and immediately begun the study of medicine at the Missouri College.

From this inst.i.tution he graduated in 1878, and, relinquishing the drug business, entered upon the practice of his newly chosen profession.

Meanwhile he had identified himself with the local militia, and held the rank of captain at the time of the strike in 1877. Shortly after his graduation he was appointed a commissioner to the Paris exposition. The next twelve months were pa.s.sed abroad, a goodly portion of that period being spent in Dublin and other parts of Ireland. Returning home, he accepted the professorship of _materia medica_ and therapeutics in the St. Louis College of Physicians and Surgeons. Even with the onerous duties of this responsible position he found time and opportunity to study for two years--'80 and '81, at the Jesuit University, and received as his reward the degrees of A. M., and Ph. D. In 1882, by the advice of friends, he left St. Louis for Chicago, and almost immediately upon his arrival in the Garden City was appointed one of the staff of physicians at the Cook County Hospital. From this he drifted into private practice, and gradually became identified with a large number of political and secret societies. Among the latter were the Royal League, the Legion of Honor, Ancient Order of Hibernians, Ancient Order of United Workmen, and Independent Order of Foresters. He was at one time or another a Deputy Grand Regent of the Royal Arcanum, Past Commander of the Knights of Pythias and Chief Ranger of the Catholic Order of Foresters. Of many of these societies, as well as of the Plasterers' Union, he was the medical examiner. His practice necessarily was a lucrative one. He took an active interest in various Irish movements calculated to elevate his race and to promote the cause of Irish independence, and, at the time of his taking off, he was president of the Celto-American Club of Chicago.

Dr. Cronin never married. When rallied on one occasion on his apparent determination to live and die a bachelor, he tersely rejoined that "he had no desire to make widows." His only surviving immediate relatives were a sister, Mrs. Carroll, living at St. Catherines, Ont., and a brother John, who, just before the tragedy, had removed from p.a.w.nee Rock, Kan., to Arkansas. He also had two nieces who were Mother Superiors in Canadian convents. In appearance he was a fine looking man, five feet ten and one-half inches tall, weighing 180 pounds and well proportioned. His hair was black and his luxuriant mustache was generally worn long and wavy at the ends. Personally he was courteous and warm-hearted. At the same time his impulses were quick and strong, and, while he would go to any extreme to serve a friend, he would follow up an enemy with relentless determination and vindictiveness. Wherever he went he enjoyed great popularity, and he could always boast of an extensive acquaintance and a host of close friends. He always retained the fine tenor voice of his youth and almost his last public appearance in Chicago was at the Washington centennial celebration at the Cavalry Armory, on which occasion he sang a specially composed "Hymn to Washington," with such telling effect as not only to elicit an encore but to rouse the vast audience to unwonted enthusiasm.

CHAPTER II.

DR. CRONIN FAILS TO RETURN HOME--ANXIETY OF HIS FRIENDS--THE EARLY MORNING RIDE TO THE ICE HOUSE--O'SULLIVAN'S SURPRISE AND IGNORANCE--THE MYSTERIOUS WAGON AND ITS OCCUPANTS--A b.l.o.o.d.y TRUNK IS FOUND--THE SEARCH COMMENCED--"IT IS HIS HAIR."

Dr. Cronin did not join his friends at the meeting of the Celto-American Society that memorable Sat.u.r.day night. Nor, although the Conklins waited for him until long past midnight, were the familiar footsteps heard upon the stairs. The Sabbath dawned, and the first streaks of grey penetrated through the curtains into his apartments, but he was still absent.

Naturally the Conklins became alarmed. During all the years that the physician had lived with them he had been a model of punctuality in his habits. It was the first occasion that he had remained so long from home without reason. If his business affairs happened to keep him away even an hour longer than usual it was his invariable practice to in some way contrive to advise his friends, so that they might notify any patients that came in his absence. Moreover, he was not a drinking man and such a thing as staying out all night with boon companions was foreign to his practice. Yet, eight hours had sped by, the morning had broken, and he had not returned. No wonder, then, that the family was alarmed, or that Mr. Conklin, without waiting for breakfast, determined to procure a buggy and drive to P. O'Sullivan's residence, which adjoined his ice house, at the corner of Seminary Avenue and Lake View. A startling surprise awaited him at the end of his six mile ride. O'Sullivan, when aroused from bed, was, to all appearances, considerably surprised when asked if the doctor was in the house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: P. O'SULLIVAN, THE ICE MAN.]

"This is all news to me," he said, with an apparent air of frankness. "I have not been out of town and I know nothing of the man in a buggy."

"Was there not an accident in your ice house?" he was asked. "No," was the reply. "I have only four men in my employ and none of them have been injured."