by Simon Baatz
The federal government also acted, sending a battalion of immigration inspectors to Sherbrooke. No one could predict if the judge would grant Boudreau’s petition and release Thaw from jail; but the board of inquiry would be prepared to hold a hearing on Thaw’s status at the earliest opportunity, just as soon as he was available.
Jerome also had marshaled his resources in anticipation of Thaw’s release from jail and subsequent deportation. Deputy sheriffs from Dutchess County, along with several attendants from the Matteawan asylum, waited across the border in Vermont, ready to seize Thaw. The immigration hearing would last only a few hours, Jerome predicted, and his men would then take hold of Thaw at the border crossing, driving in a fast car to New York State to forestall any chance that the prisoner might claim refuge in Vermont.27
Even Harry Thaw now seemed resigned to his expulsion from Canada, packing his possessions into a large steamer trunk, posing in his cell for the newspaper photographers, and wishing his guards good cheer.
Matthew Hutchinson delivered his decision on Wednesday, September 3. He believed that the prisoner was being held illegally on an erroneous warrant, and he would therefore grant the writ of habeas corpus for his release. “The jailer,” Hutchinson proclaimed, “has no authority to hold Harry K. Thaw in custody. He is hereby liberated and discharged from his present detention.”28
E. Blake Robertson, the deputy superintendent of immigration, moved to the front of the courtroom, placing his right hand on Thaw’s shoulder. “You are under arrest,” he said, as two Dominion constables, distinctive in their blue uniforms, took hold of Thaw, one on either side, shepherding him toward a side entrance. Four more policemen suddenly appeared to escort Thaw to a waiting automobile, and within minutes a convoy of four cars had left Sherbrooke, driving south to Coaticook, a small town a few miles from the United States border.29
Immigration inspectors for the Dominion of Canada pose with Harry Thaw in this 1913 photograph. Thaw had entered Canada illegally on August 17, 1913. His attorneys were confident that he would be able to remain in Canada, but the Bureau of Immigration was determined to deport Thaw at the first opportunity. (Library of Congress, LC-DIG-ds-10591)
The Bureau of Immigration now took custody of Thaw, confining him to rooms above the Coaticook railroad station on Rue Lovell, and on September 4, the board of inquiry began its interrogation of the prisoner. There was little doubt that Thaw had entered Canada illegally, and it seemed probable that the board of inquiry would find additional grounds for his deportation on account of his previous status as an insane patient at Matteawan. Théophile Maréchal, a representative of the federal government, arrived later that week from Ottawa to press the board of inquiry to deport Thaw immediately. “Canada will have no more of Thaw,” Maréchal stated. “The Government does not want him here. He is undoubtedly an undesirable alien…. He cannot override the immigration laws of the Dominion, and under them we will deport him.”30
Even Thaw’s lawyers in Canada seemed resigned to his fate. The board of inquiry would announce its decision later that afternoon, on Friday, September 5, and no one believed that Thaw would be able to stay in Canada. “It is only a matter of hours,” William Shurtleff predicted, “when Harry Thaw will have to go back to the United States.”31
That morning, as the immigration inspectors met with Thaw in their offices, a small group of newspapermen whiled away their time playing poker on the sidewalk outside, using a large suitcase as an impromptu card table. One reporter beckoned to Jerome, standing a few feet away, suggesting that he try his luck. It was all good fun—everyone knew that Jerome liked to roll the dice—and the district attorney accepted some cards, putting several pennies on the table as a wager.
Jerome lingered for only a few minutes, playing a couple of hands before making his way along Rue Lovell to his hotel. But a passer-by, Wilford Aldrich, a mill hand, walking on the other side of the street, had spotted Jerome placing his bets, and later that morning a constable, John Andrews, approached Jerome as he sat sunning himself on the porch of his hotel.
“You are under arrest,” Andrews announced, “for gambling on the highway.” Andrews drew back his shoulders, standing erect before the district attorney, his right hand clutching a warrant for Jerome’s arrest. “I am a constable of Coaticook,” he continued, “and as a representative of His Majesty’s law I order you to come with me.”
A small crowd, attracted by the presence of the constable, had gathered in front of the hotel, and as Jerome started to descend the steps, some catcalls rang out.
“Walk along quickly,” Andrews commanded.32
Jerome, the interloper from New York, the persecutor of Harry Thaw, was the most despised man in Coaticook, and the constable was delighted that he could play his part in the drama. Jerome seemed to take the arrest in his stride, calmly following the directions of the constable, ignoring the jeers of the crowd, as they walked together toward the town hall.
It was too improbable, too ludicrous, that Jerome, who had fought so tenaciously as district attorney against the gambling dens in Manhattan, should now sit in a jail cell for illicit gaming. Hector Verret, an attorney in Canada for the New York authorities, obtained bail for Jerome later in the day, winning his release that afternoon, but the episode, a source of great entertainment for Thaw and his supporters, had embarrassed the Canadian government. Jerome remained unruffled, saying only that he suspected that the Coaticook police had detained him in order to hinder his efforts to capture Harry Thaw.
The arrest of Jerome was only a sideshow to the main event. At half past three, Blake Robertson emerged to announce that the Canadian government would deport Thaw immediately on both counts against him: that he had entered Canada illegally, and that he had been insane when he crossed the Canadian border.
Thaw’s attorneys in Coaticook had been conspicuous by their apparent acquiescence in the proceedings of the board of inquiry, and even Thaw had been uncharacteristically taciturn, refusing invitations by New York reporters to comment on his approaching deportation. His cause appeared hopeless, and it seemed to casual observers that even his attorneys had deserted him, leaving him defenseless against the authorities.
But appearances were deceptive. Two of the best lawyers in Canada, Napoléon Laflamme and James Greenshields, both King’s Counsel, had spent that morning in Montreal arguing Thaw’s case before the Court of Appeals, asking the court to grant Thaw a writ of prohibition against an adverse decision by the board of inquiry. Now, just at that moment when the immigration authorities announced that they would send Thaw back to the United States, Greenshields arrived in Coaticook on a special train, triumphantly waving the writ from the Court of Appeals. The Bureau of Immigration could not deport Thaw, not yet, Greenshields announced: Thaw’s attorneys had secured him an appearance in Montreal on September 15, before the Court of King’s Bench.
Greenshields threatened that Thaw’s attorneys would seek to challenge the 1910 legislation that allowed the government to restrict immigration. “We can keep the fight in the highest courts for an indefinite period,” he predicted, “and perhaps knock out certain paragraphs of the present law.”33
Théophile Maréchal, the federal representative, indignant that the courts had foolishly granted Thaw a reprieve, railed angrily at the decision before leaving Coaticook to travel to Montreal to meet with Charles Doherty, the minister of justice in the Conservative government. “Thaw will gain some respite,” Maréchal said as he boarded the train, “but his case will not be allowed to lag. If a man in his position can upset our laws we are no longer safe.”34
The news that Thaw’s lawyers had halted his deportation spread quickly through Coaticook. The immigration inspectors had confined Thaw to a set of rooms above the railroad station, and crowds of sightseers from Coaticook and the surrounding villages began to gather to cheer their hero. Thaw, who had access to a balcony overlooking Rue Lovell, reciprocated their enthusiasm, appearing on the balcony to wave to the crowds and to ackn
owledge their hurrahs. Thaw had brought prosperity to the town, and on Saturday, September 6, the citizens of Coaticook held a parade to honor their benefactor. The Coaticook Fife and Drum Corps stepped out proudly at the head of the demonstration, playing “The British Grenadiers” and other popular marching songs, while several dozen townsfolk paraded behind with signs in support of the prisoner.35
Three days later a train carrying a regional dramatic society stopped briefly at Coaticook. The company was destined for Sherbrooke to stage performances of The Pink Lady, a musical comedy that had had a successful run in New York. The actors, including a dozen chorus girls, took advantage of the interruption in their journey to serenade Thaw, laughingly telling him that they expected him to come see the show when he eventually won his freedom.36
Harry Thaw had never felt more confident that he would remain safe in Canada. His lawyers had advised him that they would continue to appeal his case through the courts, even taking their appeals to the Privy Council in England. The federal government had greatly expanded its power to exclude immigrants on the basis of vague and arbitrary clauses contained within the immigration laws of 1906 and 1910, and Thaw’s appeals, according to his lawyer James Greenshields, would challenge the constitutionality of this legislation. The government had provided boards of inquiry with the authority to exclude immigrants while simultaneously ensuring that the courts could not review decisions of the boards; and Thaw’s appeals would challenge this provision also. “Thaw’s chances of ultimate freedom,” Greenshields remarked, “are better now than they have been at any time since he was first arrested. The Immigration act is full of holes and is a disgrace to Canada.”37
Nothing could have occasioned more alarm within the Conservative government than the remarks attributed to Greenshields. The Conservatives had won the 1911 federal election by appealing to national pride and by promising to restrict Asian immigration into western Canada. Neither the prime minister, Robert Borden, nor the minister of justice, Charles Doherty, could afford to tolerate Harry Thaw’s challenge to the immigration laws. A weak response would imperil the electoral prospects of the Conservatives. But what could be done? Thaw’s attorneys had threatened to continue their appeals indefinitely, and no one doubted that the Thaw family would be willing to spend their millions in support. Could the federal government somehow thwart Thaw’s challenge, or would the legal process continue, perhaps for many more years?
Harry Thaw lay in bed half-asleep, listening to the early morning birdsong outside his window. He could hear the murmur of voices below as the commuters, quietly chatting among themselves, waited on the station platform for the first train to Sherbrooke. He expected to take the train to Montreal, later that day, for the hearing before the Court of King’s Bench, and he congratulated himself that, once again, he had evaded the net that had tightened around him.
The door to his bedroom suddenly opened with a loud crash. He recognized the familiar figure of Blake Robertson, the deputy superintendent of immigration, and watched, still half-asleep, as Robertson started to walk toward him. Four policemen, distinctive in their blue jackets and steel-tipped helmets, crowded into the room, waiting expectantly as Robertson pulled back the bedclothes.
“Thaw, get up!” Robertson shouted. “I have an order to deport you immediately.” He held a piece of paper in his right hand, thrusting it impatiently into Thaw’s face. “Here is an order signed by the Minister of Justice commanding deportation to the United States. You must come at once—there is an automobile waiting down stairs.”
“But you can’t take me,” Thaw protested as he got out of bed. He stood in his bare feet, his eyes wide in surprise as he gazed at the piece of paper that Robertson held out before him. “I am to go to Montreal.”
“Hurry up! Don’t talk,” Robertson snapped, returning the paper to his pocket as he reached out to seize his prisoner. “Get up and get dressed. You will be taken to the border in a motor car.”38
The two men stood only inches apart; yet somehow Thaw managed to move a few paces to his left, grabbing a water tumbler that stood on his bedside table. He stepped quickly away, skipping around the bed as he threw the tumbler at Robertson’s head. It missed its intended target, smashing through a window and sending a shower of glass onto the station platform below.
“I’ll see you all in hell!” Thaw shouted to his tormentors. “My lawyers will take care of this.”
Already he had reached a second window, taking hold of the casement to call down to the startled commuters below.
“They are kidnapping me! Don’t let them get me!”
But two policemen had seized him, one man pulling him away from the window, the other man clasping his hand over Thaw’s mouth. They dragged him back into the center of the room, stripping him of his pajamas, pulling on his shirt and trousers, fastening his shoes, tightly holding his wrists as they pushed and pulled Thaw toward the door, carrying him along a narrow hallway, down the stairs, and to a waiting car.
The commuters watched in amazement as the four policemen carried Thaw in midair, his legs and arms thrashing helplessly as his captors pushed him into the limousine. Thaw continued to appeal for assistance, shouting against his abduction, but the spectators stood motionless, not daring to interfere, silently watching the car as it drove away in a cloud of dust.
The car headed directly south, crossing the unguarded border twenty minutes later, stopping inside the United States on a deserted backcountry road one mile from the village of Norton’s Mills. Robertson, a grin on his face, turned to address Thaw.
“You may get out here,” he said, nodding to one of the policemen to push Thaw out of the car.
“Where are we?” Thaw asked, looking around.
“You are in the United States,” Robertson replied, “and you are a free man so far as Canada is concerned. Do not return to Canada.”39
The car door slammed shut behind him as Thaw stumbled into the road and watched the limousine drive away, back to Canada. He waited, standing in the middle of the road in the morning sunshine, expecting to flag down a passing car; but there was no traffic at such an early hour. It was not yet nine o’clock, and he suddenly realized that he had had nothing to eat that morning. He searched his pockets, hoping to find his wallet, but he found only a few dollar bills. There was no collar to his shirt, and he had left Canada without a necktie; his trousers, missing a belt to hold them in place, sagged awkwardly around his waist.
Not a single car had passed in either direction in ten minutes; and then, with a sudden jolt, Harry Thaw realized the peril of his position. He was now back in the United States, in either Vermont or New Hampshire. Jerome had threatened to seize him at the border, saying that he would take Thaw back to New York in a fast car. Jerome would learn that he had left Canada and his men would soon be scouring the backcountry roads, searching for him. He had to get away as quickly as possible; but how?
9
FINAL VERDICT
September 11, 1913–July 16, 1915
HE SPOTTED THE MOTORCAR IN THE FAR DISTANCE, ITS ENGINE rattling as it struggled up a steep hill. The car disappeared from view and then, just as suddenly, it reappeared, turning a corner, heading directly toward him. Harry Thaw recognized Frank Elser, a correspondent for the Associated Press, and he waved, watching as the car came to a halt. Elser jumped out to shake Thaw’s hand, telling him that the reporters had all left Canada, scattering across northern Vermont in search of him.
Elser could not help Thaw in evading capture, he said, and he could neither give him money nor provide him with directions; but, he added slyly, almost as an afterthought, he would have no objection if Thaw commandeered the car on his own initiative.
Harry Thaw gladly accepted the suggestion, ordering the chauffeur to drive east, toward New Hampshire. There was no sign of Jerome, no indication that the New Yorkers even knew that he had left Canada, but Vermont is contiguous on its western border with the state of New York, and Thaw had no desire to give Jerome any
opportunity to find him.
They paused for breakfast at a farmhouse near Averill, a village in eastern Vermont, before crossing the Connecticut River into New Hampshire. From time to time Thaw, hoping to speak to his attorneys in Montreal, would stop the car at a wayside inn, asking to use the telephone; but already the wires were busy with the news of his departure from Canada, and the operator could never make the connection.
It was eleven o’clock when they saw, on the road to Stewartstown Hollow, a black sedan driving toward them. The car slowed as it approached, its occupants carefully scrutinizing Thaw, and suddenly one of the passengers motioned for them to pull alongside.
“Stop! I’m the Sheriff of Coos county,” the man called out, stepping from the car. Holman Drew introduced himself, saying that an alarm had gone out across the state that morning.
“I want you, Harry Thaw,” Drew commanded. “You must come along with us.”
“You can’t touch me,” Thaw replied defiantly. “I’m a free man and you have no warrant for me.”
He did not need a warrant, Drew replied. He moved toward Thaw, his hand almost touching the revolver in his holster, and he paused, waiting for his deputies to surround Thaw, nodding to one man to step to the front of the car to prevent its departure.
“You better come with us to Colebrook,” he said.
“Give me a square deal, Sheriff,” Thaw pleaded. His resistance had suddenly crumbled and he acquiesced to the sheriff’s demand. “They did me dirt in Canada,” he complained, walking toward the sedan, a deputy sheriff trailing close behind, “and I hope for better treatment in New Hampshire.”
