A Legendary Constable Solves a Perfectly Executed Bank Heist

New York City's streets, which were once dark and crime ridden, were transformed thanks to Jacob Hays. Public Domain

While American delegates secretly met in Philadelphia in May of 1787 to discuss the need for a new constitution, 11 British ships sailed toward Australia to begin a new colony. Its “First Fleet” was composed of 1,400 people, including men, women, and children, ranging from members of the military and government to convicted criminals. The New South Wales penal colony was about to begin.

An artist's depiction of the first fleet of ships entering Port Jackson, a port in New South Wales (now Australia), in 1788. Public Domain

Fifteen years before these events, Jacob Hays was born in Bedford, New York, to an innkeeper. A decade after these aforementioned events, he found himself in New York City, appointed as marshal by Aaron Burr. Hays’s deftness for policing and his ability to study the criminal world made him the most famous officer in New York, if not the country. When several escaped convicts from the penal colony made their way to America, they presented Hays with a moment that would cap his illustrious career.

Manhattan’s First Detective

After four years as marshal, Hays was named constable of the Fifth Ward. The following year, in 1802, he was named high constable of Manhattan.

Manhattan, at the time, had a population barely above 60,000, and most of those New Yorkers lived in the city’s southern tip. But the borough was growing fast, and without a formal police department (the New York Police Department would not be established until 1845), residents relied on the at-times unreliable Night Watch.

The Night Watch was composed of local tradesmen who moonlighted as members of the quasi-police force. Often, these members were dismissed for drunkenness, sleeping while on duty, or other reasons that proved their ineffectiveness or lack of seriousness.

Hays, however, had proven effective and serious. By the 1820s, he'd already busted several major counterfeiting rings. His reputation led a group of watchmen in White Plains to name their Night Watch the “Jacob Hays Club.” Parents threatened their misbehaving children with the ultimate discipline: “Old Hays will get you!” Hays, known as “the terror of rascals of every grade,” had become New York City’s first real detective.

Manhattan had garnered a reputation as a smelly borough with trash and waste tossed along the streets and river. Horses, the main method of transport, didn’t help. Neither did the pigs, which were typically owned by the borough’s poorest. Pig Riots, as they were known, broke out in 1821, 1825, 1826, 1830, and 1832, whenever bills were passed to ban and remove pigs.

By the 1820s, cities were becoming brightened by gas lighting, which replaced the whale oil lamps. Gotham, a term bestowed upon New York City by Washington Irving in 1807, however, was dark. In 1831, the darkness of night would provide several criminals with a golden opportunity.

The First Bank Heist

While Hays was building a reputation of “the strictest integrity,” a collection of professional pickpockets and burglars were setting their sights on the City Bank of New York, located on Wall Street. The merchants’ bank was constructed in 1812 and was a gold mine, if only one could penetrate its multi-door security.

Wall Street as it was in 1798, depicting the City Bank of New York, where the criminals stole hundreds of thousands of dollars. Public Domain

This collection of criminals included James Honeyman, William John Murray, William Parkinson, Jack Henderson, Harry White, Jack Simpson, Mike Clahousi, and Tom Phillips―all of whom had escaped the Australian penal colony (some reports suggest Honeyman and Murray met in the colony, others that they were never there). For certain, Murray had escaped from Scotland’s Glasgow Prison after robbing Glasgow Bank and (whether from the colony or Scotland) made his way to America under the alias John Ellis. Honeyman had been a successful thief in New York (and possibly one in England). Murray and Honeyman coordinated a plan to take the bank. In their midst, however, was an informant.

This view of Botany Bay, Australia, was what criminals saw after making the treacherous journey to the British penal colonies. Public Domain

The City Bank of New York possessed seven doors the thieves had to unlock in order to reach the vault. Some reports suggest the robbery took several nights as each door required fabricating a new key. Wax impressions were made of each of the seven locks, and Murray and White created and furnished the keys. What is known is that during this week in history, on the night and early morning hours of March 19 to 20, 1831, what is known (though debatably) as America’s first bank heist was successfully conducted.

Armed with a crowbar, picks, a dark lantern, skeleton keys, and their newly fashioned bank door keys, the men (though some reports suggest it was only Honeyman, Murray, and Parkinson), made their way to the Wall Street bank. Other reports say Parkinson, who was also Honeyman’s brother-in-law, stayed on the outside in the dark of night to alert those inside of possible trouble.

Over the course of several hours, Honeyman and Murray opened each door and the vault. Suddenly disaster struck. One of the vault doors accidentally closed behind Honeyman locking him inside. For approximately two hours, Murray worked frantically to reopen the vault. Finally, the master thief reopened the vault, saving Honeyman and the heist. The hours lost, however, brought them closer to their ultimate undoing: daylight.

The thieves were surrounded by millions of dollars in bank notes. Instead of attempting the impossible and taking everything, Honeyman and Murray decided to be selective. Their takings were the following: $105,726 in notes from various city banks; $44,000 from Lansingburg Bank; $26,012 for the Morris Canal project; $19,350 in deposits belonging to the misters Allens; $2,500 from Rutland Bank of Vermont; $3,000 from Orange County Bank; $2,000 from Newburg Bank; $2,000 from Morris Bank of New Jersey; and $37,412 in various deposits, including Spanish doubloons. The money totaling $242,000 (more than $8 million today) was placed inside a large leather trunk. Just as dawn was to break, the thieves closed the vaults, locked doors, and left the bank without a trace―except for the missing money.

Hays and Son on the Scene

When the bank’s teller opened the bank Monday morning, there was no cause for alarm. It was only when he opened the vault and noticed nearly a quarter of a million dollars unaccounted for that the alarm was raised. Hays was brought upon the scene. He knew the criminals of Manhattan and who was capable of such an undertaking. He immediately sent his son Benjamin, the only one of his 11 children who had taken an interest in policing and detective work, to Philadelphia. He was to contact the high constable there and keep an eye out for any suspicious newcomers. He was then to go to Baltimore and do the same.

Drawing silhouettes was a common pastime in the early 19th century, especially prior to the invention of the camera. This silhouette depicts Jacob Hays. Public Domain

By March 21, word of the robbery had spread throughout New York City. The next day, it was in the newspapers along with the promise of a $5,000 reward to whoever could help find the thieves. By the time Benjamin reached Philadelphia, the high constable, a Mr. McLean was fully aware of the heist; he had already been tipped off to an impending heist.

Harry White, who had helped Murray fabricate the keys, was a local “stool pigeon” and informed on the group. McLean informed Benjamin of White’s admission. Benjamin hurried back to Manhattan. There was no need to go to Baltimore. The culprits were now known.

A few days later, Hays met a local boarding house owner. The man had become suspicious when one of his new tenants had arrived with two large trunks, and over the course of several days never left his room during the day, ate only in his room, received visitors at night, and only left at night. One of his maids had confirmed his suspicions when she peeked through the room’s keyhole and saw two men sifting through a large pile of cash. The men were Honeyman and Murray.

The morning of the robbery, Honeyman, Murray, and Parkinson had decided to split the money in small portions―Murray received $30,000, and Parkinson received the $37,000 in various deposits, including the Spanish doubloons, and the $2,500 Rutland notes. Honeyman planned to take the rest to Montreal where the thieves would congregate and split the rest accordingly. The thieves would never make it to Montreal.

The Drama Concludes

Hays, along with his son and another policeman, accompanied his witness back to the boarding house located on the corner of Broome and Elm streets where they awaited the arrival of Honeyman.

When Honeyman walked in, the mastermind behind the biggest heist thus far in American history was apprehended. Murray, however, fled to Philadelphia and remained at large.

Parkinson, not the brightest thief, tried to exchange his large bills for smaller ones at the same bank he had helped rob. The teller, recognizing the bills, quietly alerted the manager, who alerted the authorities. Parkinson was arrested. The rest of his money was discovered under the false bottom of his tool chest. Hays agreed to let Parkinson go if he told him where Murray was hiding. Parkinson complied. By this time, almost all of the money had now been recovered.

Murray was caught in April 1831, but refused to disclose the whereabouts of this loot until a year later. With stipulations for his wife and children and in exchange for a commuted sentence, he told Hays where he had hid the money. Honeyman and Murray were sentenced to five years hard labor at Sing Sing.

Before Murray’s arrest and confession to the whereabouts of the money, unfounded rumors began to swirl that Hays had actually pocketed some of the money. Those rumors were quashed when Murray’s money was found.

Hays maintained the title of High Constable of Manhattan even after the establishment of the NYPD. After nearly a half century as constable, he officially retired in 1849. He died the following year leaving behind a formidable legacy for New York and American policemen and detectives.

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