Moriarty The Life and Times of a Criminal Genius

by Michael Charton

  We sat down at a large oak table in a boardroom. There were five Brahmins. Only Lowell introduced himself. They were all grim stern men dressed in black. They stared at me with pure hatred. No one shook hands with me. Lowell was the only one who spoke.

  "What is it you savages want from us?" he sputtered. He was shaking and so angry he could barely look at me. His face was red. I was enjoying the power I had over him.

  "Why have you come here?" he cried.

  "Why have I come here?"

  "That and why have your Irish hordes come to this great city, this shining beacon and ruined it with your pestilence?" I thought for a moment he would vomit on me, he was that stressed. "Your drunken slovenly ways, your vileness. Why?"

  I eyed him coldly. "We would not have to come to this city if the English hadn't bloody starved us out of Ireland."

  Lowell looked as though he would have apoplexy. "Control your language sir! The fact that you cannot control my language proves my point!"

  Again, I eyed him steely. I spoke to Lowell in a cold hard voice. "You will never like us and we will never like you. You are just another example of cold, vicious, heartless, Protestant bastards. We now have power, so you will agree to our demands. In exchange, you will be allowed to keep your riches and your inner sanctums, which we want no part of anyway. We control the docks, police, fire, trash collection and a host of other things. It would be a crying shame if your products rotted in your ships or the ships burned. Oh, those ships are so beautiful. That would be a tragedy. Your beautiful homes churches and your clubs. Would be a tragedy if something happened with no fire protection. Your people in their finery are being accosted regularly. Wouldn't it be a tragedy if they continued to accost them, and Constable Paddy Ryan of Station One was otherwise occupied?"

  My schemes in London acted as an excellent training ground for this. The Irish were a despised minority in London, but not in Boston, where the Irish were still despised by the upper classes but now a majority. I could use Boston as a base if London proved difficult.

  Meanwhile Lowell and Company were more miserable than before. Lowell sputtered again. "Again I ask you, Mr. Moriarty, sir, what do you want from us?" You could hear the sarcasm, though I enjoyed the fact he was addressing me as Mr. and Sir.

  "Not a lot," I said with a smile. I handed him an envelope. The letter inside had the demands I had already stated to them, and included keeping the abolitionists under wraps.

  Lowell stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. "This is blackmail," he sputtered like a dying steam engine. "Are you saying the proper Bostonians and guardians of this great city are to turn the smooth running of it over to ignorant rabble? We sir, and I use term sir to you in sarcasm if you know what that means, are the most civilized city in America. The savage hordes running it? Impossible! This meeting is over!"

  With that, they walked out. It was time to put some more pressure on the leaders of Boston.

  We called for another general strike. The Governor called out the militia again. It was now November 1860, and Abraham Lincoln had just been elected President. The Southern states had begun to secede from the Union. The previous President, a do nothing named James Buchanan, left it for the new President to solve. Storm clouds were brewing. With Christmas and the New Year on the horizon, I started my Ten Plagues for the City of Boston. If the Brahmins wanted to play Pharaoh, playing Moses would be just my forte. As with Moses and the Ten Plagues, the Brahmins hearts were still hard. I would make their hearts soft or break them. My training in upping the ante on Lord Fitzmaurice stood me in good stead for dealing with Boston Brahmins.

  The streets stank from more trash than usual even with the weather getting colder. The Brahmins could only be thankful it was not the July stink of rotting garbage. The militia had to act as police in the Brahmin neighborhoods. Calling out the militia had already been a strain, for, as I said, they were farm boys and needed for the harvest. Boston is also the state capital, so the Governor, being right in the city, was being affected by the turmoil as well. I carried out my threat, and some ships were destroyed in Boston Harbor. I took a page out of the Brahmins' own text with their Boston Tea Party. It was a beautiful sight as flames from many ships lit up the night sky of Boston. We would put up with a little hot ash in our neighborhoods to watch the show. It hurts when it is you on the receiving end, though. Cargoes were again offloaded selectively.

  I set up tutoring for poor Irish boys and girls in the Boston Public Library. Scores of children came and took books out. Many Brahmin librarians immediately quit, not understanding the word "public."

  The equivalent of the tenth plague was the cruelest. The Brahmin abolitionists would tutor Negroes they would show off to society. Once the preacher Henry Ward Beecher held a mock slave auction on Boston Common as an example of slave sales in the South. Brahmins would buy a slave and free him or help the Underground Railroad free the slaves. Our tenth plague then was odious but effective. We increased our campaign to kill Underground Railroad Captains throughout Eastern Massachusetts. I killed two men myself, one in Attleboro and one in Quincy, Massachusetts. My men found out who they were, and I was taken in teamsters' wagons to these places. The one in Quincy was a cold man who had the same last name as the town. There were ten of us in a wagon. Now, few would question ten men with Irish accents in a wagon. Just ten more micks going to do labor. They just figured I was the foreman.

  One of my lads slammed the knocker into the door as though he were breaking it down. These lads are not gentlemen at all. A maid answered the door. The maid was black as coal, dressed in a bonnet and simple frock with an apron. It looked as though she had been baking bread.

  "You animals needn't break the door down, I was coming," she said in a cold New England voice. "Mr. Quincy didn't say anything about the house needing any work."

  I looked at her coldly. "Our business with Mr. Quincy is of a different kind."

  "Surely you are not connected with the railroad," she snapped.

  "Young lady, this station is now closed," I said matching her frigidness with mine.

  My lads were more hot blooded. One grabbed her around the waist and lifted her. "Out of our way, nigger," he snarled.

  She screamed, "Mr. Quincy, I am being attacked!"

  A small thin man came out from another room. He was wearing a suit, a top hat, and carrying a walking stick. "Who are you savages? Put my maid down now!"

  "Oh, sir, you are in no position to give orders to anyone now," I said with a smile.

  He struck me in the forehead with his walking stick, drawing blood. "Out of my house, you savages!" He tried to roar but his voice came out as an amusing squeak. I felt the blood on my forehead, and now my blood was up, to use a phrase. I grabbed his stick and caned him to death with it. We then ransacked the house. We found papers about other stations on the Underground Railroad and ten runaway slaves in his cellar. Some of the lads returned to the North End and got more wagons and some rope.

  "You folks are going back South where it is warm and we will be warmly rewarded for finding you." They started to wail. "Shut up or I'll give youse somethin' to wail about!" One of the lads snapped.

  "Aren't we a cozy little group," I said still smiling. The escaped slaves were turned over to the law for a nice payday. It certainly helped, especially in Boston where the police were now in my pocket.

  The peak of the plagues was as follows: The Brahmins had paraded around a Negro who was attending Harvard because they, the Brahmins were paying. His name was Robert Lowell. The same Mr. Lowell who was my nemesis had adopted him, and the Negro had taken Lowell's name in gratitude. We decided he would be a guest of our hospitality in the North End. I had him watched in Cambridge going between his lodgings and the school. He was walking in Cambridge and when we learned his ways, we struck. I set out with my lads in a wagon and pulled the wagon up beside him splashing mud on his new trousers.

  "Oh, look what you careless monkeys have done. You have ruined my clothes!" he c
ried. The teamster looked at him and smiled. "I think you have it backward. You may be wearin' the fine clothes, but we have the power over you. We don't see none of your Brahmin friends here now." We roughly got out, grabbed him, and bound and gagged him. He tried to scream, but he was a small, effeminate man, and my lads had an easy time with him. We placed him at the bottom of the wagon and surrounded him. It was a hard, bouncing trip to the North End and he moaned all the way like a wretched child. We took him to a warehouse, and that is when we started working on him. We took the gag out of his mouth.

  "What are you going to do with me," he cried.

  "Nothing nice," I said with a faint smile. "You must think you are better than us, Robert."

  "How do you know my name? You Irish pigs should realize I have powerful friends! It is Mr. Lowell to you peasants anyway!"

  "Oh I ain't takin' this from no nigger," William bellowed as he balled up his fist and punched him in the stomach. Robert doubled over retching. "Now clean it up, nigger," he bellowed.

  "Now William," I said softly. "This is no way to treat our guest. I shall clean it up." I went and got a mop and bucket. My men could not believe their eyes as they watched me clean up the mess. I think they were too shocked to admonish me.

  "How do you know who I am?" Robert cried.

  "That is easy," I smiled. "Your Brahmin friends proudly parade you all over. It is not hard, even for ignorant micks like us. Many of us can read, too, you know."

  "My patrons will avenge me!" Robert sniffed.

  "How," I smiled. "They would not deign to come here. Where do you think you are, Robert, Beacon Hill? You are in the heart of the Irish North End. Your hero, Mr. Garrison, came once. I don't think he approved of us, our accommodations or Hanover Street. I think he was very happy to leave and head back west to Beacon Hill. Would you like to try a little experiment and see how far you get? We will take you outside and let you wander around the neighborhood. Let us see how you do. William, escort our visitor to the door and bring two lads to follow at a discreet distance."

  "Mr. Lowell" was led to the door and unceremoniously shoved out. It was a cold Boston twilight, and I suspect the cold he felt was deeper than the temperature. No sooner did he get out the door and start to walk down the street did the cries start, "Kill the nigger, get him out of our neighborhood!" Then the stones starting flying. At that point, William held up a hand and said, "We will take care of him." Robert was roughly taken back to the warehouse and shoved in the chair in front of me. I had my speech ready.

  "You see how it is, Robert? You are completely at our mercy. You barely got several doors away and a mob nearly formed. How do you think you will return to Beacon Hill? Answer me; do you think you will return to Beacon Hill?"

  "Yes, as God is my witness, I will live to repay your so-called hospitality in your squalid pig pen. You, I realize, are better educated than your men, but your book learning lacks breeding. You will never make it in society."

  "Oh, Robert, and you will make it in society? Do you think men such as the Cabots will let you marry their daughters? They look down the hill at you. They patronize you. They may have more feeling for you than for us, but they have you as a pet. At least with us we know they hate us and we hate them just as much."

  "What are you going to do with me?" Robert sobbed.

  "That is what you are about to find out, my lad. Lads, let me go think about this for some time."

  "Do you want us to rough him up, professor?" William said with a smile.

  "Yes, William, not fatally. He does need to have that arrogance knocked out of him." I went off to mull over his fate. In the past, I might have considered sparing him. After Donal, I was not going to make that mistake again. Moreover, the Brahmins needed to have the ultimate horror on their doorstep. With Robert being an adopted Lowell, I almost had my version of Pharaoh's son. I came back to where the lads were detaining Robert.

  I whispered in William's ear, "Take him home, but hang him in Louisburg Square. He will have the opportunity to go home. No one said in what condition." William smiled that crooked, evil smile he had. The lads had already soiled Robert's clothes and beaten him bloody.

  "Robert, you are going to deliver a message. The lads shall take you home now. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

  "Well, I am not sorry to say it has not been a pleasure for me!" he cried like an angry child.

  William slapped him. "That is no way to treat a man in his home."

  "All right, William, that will do. Take him back to Beacon Hill."

  They left for their journey. It was now the middle of the night. My lads followed instructions, being careful to avoid militia patrols who might ask what they were doing out at that hour. In theory, Boston was under martial law. Luckily, they saw no one in the deserted streets. When they arrived in Louisburg Square, William strangled Robert with his powerful arms as to not wake the neighborhood.

  The lads arrived in Louisburg Square and hanged the body from a gas streetlamp. The elite of Boston awoke to a hanged beaten man wearing the following placard:

  "He is firstborn male, free educated but, alas, for what purpose? He is dead." I must say I worded that placard rather well.

  The letter came to my offices two days later. I agreed to meet them in the library again.

  Lowell and Company were this time accompanied by the governor himself, Nathaniel Banks, who would later become a Civil War general. Lowell and the other Brahmins looked at the ragged Irish children with horror. Banks grew up poor in nearby Waltham and was a Democrat. He was the one apparently who informed the Brahmins that the militia could no longer help. Banks was more sympathetic to us than to the Brahmins. He did not like the violating of the law, but was not someone the Brahmins considered in their circle. This time, Governor Banks did the talking. The Brahmins were just relieved they would be left alone and we would not try to socialize with them or marry their daughters. Banks stayed behind to speak with me. Lowell and the other Brahmins staggered out as though they had been struck. Boston belonged to the Irish. I would use it as my base when the American Civil War broke out.

  • Chapter Eight

  • The American Civil War

  This was a grand opportunity for the Irish in America. The Union government formed the Irish Brigade, which consisted of several regiments to prevent the Irish heading south to fight for the Confederacy.

  You would have thought the Irish would not want to fight for the Confederacy; however, the Union government feared this for two reasons:

  The Irish would automatically fight on the side of a revolution.

  Fear of freed Negroes heading north to take laborers jobs.

  My new friendship with Nathaniel Banks paid off. I made Irish groups realize the British were going to join in helping the Confederacy, therefore the Confederates were no friends of the Irish. He was now an officer in the Union Army, having resigned as governor. He provided me with contacts in Washington. I would make sure the Irish Brigade received food, clothing, tents, weapons, and medical help. I took my cut and became a very wealthy man who was indeed blessed. As I had sworn back in Ireland and the East End, I would never be poor again.

  There was a problem in the 1863 Draft Riots. Luckily, troops brought in after the Battle of Gettysburg put the New York uprising down. I also made money collecting men as substitutes for the war. A wealthy man could pay $300 for a substitute to serve in his place. I charged a fee so I would find the man and help with the paperwork. I was also opposed to the riots because the Archbishop of New York John Hughes was. Archbishop Hughes was a poor man made good and a major supporter of Irish immigrants. If he supported something I would support it. I didn't need to help put the rebellion down, the army was doing a fine job.

  I had sergeants in the Irish Brigade working for me. They would look for men in their ranks who could work for me when needed. It is where I found some of my best snipers, whom I later placed under the charge of Col. Moran.

  In both Boston and New York I had p
eople meeting the ships with newly-arrived Irish. They would determine who could work for me.

  Irish leaders in Boston wanted me to become an American citizen and run for office. I was flattered but had too much work to do. I also had operatives in Montreal. I could now give back to the British with a well-placed assassination here and there. During the war the British thought their agents were being killed by Union agents. It was my men who killed Confederate agents who planned to raid Vermont from Canada.

  My actions before the war especially seemed to be contradictory. I was returning slaves before the war, yet helping the Union. As previously stated, I had no love for the southern planter class. If anything, they hated me as much as the English aristocracy or Boston Brahmins did. I helped return most captured slaves for two reasons:

  The Fugitive Slave Act was the law of the land, and it provided me with a legitimate cover.

  Freed slaves would come North and compete with Irish workers.

  Therefore, my calculations were strictly cold business. I did not hate all Negroes as many did. I had several quality Negro spies I recruited. The best was a runaway slave from Virginia named Marcellus Tyler.

  My boys in Boston captured him. In this case, I paid them not to return him South. My men did not like him and wanted to kill him, because they found him cocky and sure of himself. My reward would have been substantial as he escaped from the Tyler Plantation on the James River.

  I told my lads to leave the two of us alone. "Are you sure, Professor Sir? What if the nigger attacks you?"

  "Ah, William, you will be outside the room but within earshot. I will make Mr. Tyler here a proposition. I doubt he will refuse."

  The five men who were about to kill Marcellus were not sure about this, however they understood obeying orders. They knew, as others were to find out that to cross me was to see my hard cold eyes as their last sight before I killed them.