Irene Robinson goes home, 1871
Traditionally, individuals born female who lived as males provided authorities with a tale of desperate pursuit of a seducing rascal. Irene Robinson’s seducer hadn’t seduced quite yet; instead, authorities heard a tale of a teenager avoiding an unwanted marriage. Robinson’s adventures in various locations entertained Americans, especially once a New York tabloid interviewed Robinson.
Irene Robinson. Evening Post [New York, New York] 18 September 1871; p. 2.
Irene Robinson, a young woman who has for two years represented herself as a male, under the name of William Franks, last night confessed her sex at the Sixteenth Precinct station-house, and asked to be sent to her home in Peo[ri]a, Illinois.
Robinson’s appearance before a judge added a romantic twist to the story, as Robinson told of escaping an unwanted marriage and working various jobs before deciding to go back to Peoria.
“Remarkable Adventures of a Young Woman in Male Attire.” Evening Post [New York, New York] 19 September 1871; p. 2.
The case of Irene Robinson, the young woman who for two years past has dressed in male attire, and who on Sunday night confessed her sex to the police, and asked to be sent to her home in Peoria, Ill., was considered by Judge Shandley yesterday. Her history is remarkable. It appears that her father and mother live in Peoria, where she had a happy home until a schoolmaster of that place asked her hand in marriage. According to her own story, she disliked the man, who was far older than herself. Her parents, however, favored his suit, and at last she determined to leave home to escape her unwelcome suitor. In November, 1869, she dressed herself in some clothing belonging to her brother, and, stealing quietly from the house, took the train for Chicago. there, under the name of William Frank, she drove a team, carted lumber, hired herself to a sand contractor, and made fence-posts. But she could not keep her sex a secret. Women invariably discovered her, and she could rarely stay for a month in one place. From Chicago she went to Toledo, from Toledo to Sandusky, from Sandusky to Buffalo; there she drove a two-horse team for two months, hauling wood; but, as usual, the wife of her employer became suspicious, and the so-called William Frank went to Rochester, where she became help in a livery stable. Her next trade was laying railroad ties in Clyde, after which she journeyed to Savannah, where she earned her living by splitting wood. She was apparently doomed to discovery, and like the Wandering Jew, was obliged to keep moving. She paid short visits to Rochester, Syracuse, Troy, Mount Vernon, and finally found her way to this city in a canal-boat. The captain’s wife soon found out that William Frank was a girl, and hastened to inform the police, to whom Irene made full confession.
The indomitable girl is of medium stature, with dark, curly hair, closely cut, clear dark eyes, and a bright, pleasant face, with nothing bold or unfeminine in its expression. The wanderer was handed over to the care of the Commissioners of Charities and Corrections, and is now on her way back to Peoria, clad in the garments of her sex.
A young bride! A detestable bridegroom! Parents forcing the marriage! Years of toil and travels! What magistrate could resist such a tale? The Sun couldn’t resist it either, giving Robinson most of a column:
“A Young Girl’s Disguise: The Extraordinary career of Irene Robinson.” Sun [New York, New York] 19 September 1871; p. 3.
How She Got Rid of a Disagreeable Lover—The Escape before the Wedding—Seeking Employment in Man’s Clothes.
Two years ago there lived in the suburbs of Peoria, Ill., a family named Robinson, consisting of husband, wife, one son, and several daughters. The son and all but one of the daughters were married. The youngest daughter, Irene, a pretty girl of 17, was sought by John Stiger, a schoolmaster in Peoria. Stiger’s suit was favored by the old folks, who wished to compel Irene to marry him. Irene’s dislike of the man was undisguised. He was 42 years of age, tall, shambling, and uncouth. Notwithstanding, a day was named for the marriage.
One night in November, 1869, the wedding day being near at hand, Irene dressed herself in her brother’s clothes, and at 2 o’clock in the morning stole down stairs, unbarred the door and struck off for Haynesville. She took a train for Chicago, and there sought employment from a lumber dealer as a driver. The man was loth to give her work. He looked at
HER WHITE FACE AND DELICATE HANDS,
and told her she wouldn’t do for him.
”How do you keep your hands so white?” asked the lumberman.
”Oh, I’ve been working for a tailor,” was the response.
The man was otherwise favorably impressed with young William Frank (that was the name the girl took), and finally hired her at $1 a day. William drove a team, handled lumber, and did a man’s work, though as she said to a Sun reporter:
”It was mighty tough for a while. I used to get splinters in my hands and have lots of trouble, but I finally got used to it.”
William worked for the lumberman about two weeks, and then went to driving a cart for a contrctor who was filling up the streets. Her soft hands were growing brown and hard, and excited less comment. She got along better; but after a stay of three weeks with the sand contractor,
HER SEX WAS SUSPECTED,
and she went to work in the suburbs making fence-posts. Here her sex was again discovered, and one night she quietly made off to Toledo, paying her fare with money she had saved from her labor. In Toledo she worked for one Hawes, building a board fence. She received $1.25 a day, and stayed two months, then her sex was suspected by one of her fellow workmen, and she was again obliged to move on.
This time she reached Sandusky, where she drove a team of one Botfield, who was filling up roads. She had been one month quietly at work, when a girl who boarded in the same house suspected that young William Franks was not what his name implied. William quietly slipped away, and made for a new country. This time she stopped in Buffalo. Here for two months she drove a two horse team for Mr. Eyter, hauling wood. He paid her $1.25 a day, from which she saved money. She did her work satisfactorily, and everything was going on pleasantly when, as usual, a woman
MADE THE OLD DISCOVERY.
As usual the woman told her husband. William began to be the object of unpleasant attention, and again moved on; this time to Rochester, where she worked in Mr. Brewer’s livery stable. She took to the horses, and things went on agreeable, for three months; but she was again discovered by a woman.
”These women,” said Irene to the Sun reporter, “are quicker[’]n lightning, and all there was to do was to go. I used to keep away from them all I could. I would get my meals and get out of the house as soon as I could, but it was no use, they would see through it. And then the women would tell their husbands, the husbands would tell others, and whenever folks began to look at me sharp, I used to quietly get away and go somewhere else.”
From Rochester William went to Clyde, where she was employed by a railroad contractor named Looks. For three months she worked with a gang of men laying railroad ties. It was the old story; her sex was suspected, and she again pulled up stakes and hired out to Tom Johnson, in Savannah, splitting wood. This was late in the fall of 1870.
SHE SWUNG AN AXE
all the following winter. For four months, until the spring of the present year, she escaped detection. Then Tom Johnson’s wife began to be inquisitive, and William made up her bundles again, and went back to Rochester, where she remained but a short time. She next started for Syracuse, where she worked in one of the salt works. From Syracuse she went to Troy, and thence to Mount Vernon, where she arrived in April. There she went to work for William Thompson hauling wood. The other hands suspected her, and she soon went to work for Samuel Johnson. The same fate followed her, and she engaged herself to William Brewer, a gardener, for whom she worked some time digging tomatoes, picking cucumbers for pickles, and getting along finely until the wife of her employer suspected that
THE YOUNG CUCUMBER PICKER
was not so much of a boy as was indicated by the clothes he wore. William was off early in September for Syracuse, where he slept in the station house while waiting for work, finally engaging as a driver on the canal. Thence she went to Troy, and on Friday night she arrived at the pier foot of West twenty-second street.
Late on Saturday night the canal-boat captain’s wife had
THE USUAL SUSPICION,
which culminated in handing the young driver over to the police. William was taken to the Twentieth street police station early on Sunday morning, where she was received by Capt. Killales, who after listening to portions of her remarkable story sent her below, and saw her provided with comfortable blankets.
Yesterday morning the Captain laid the case before Inspector Walling. Clothing more suitable to her sex than that which she wore at the time of her arrest is preparing, and she was yesterday forwarded to her home in the Prairie State.
A VISIT TO THE YOUNG ADVENTURER.
A Sun reporter, who visited the police station on Sunday night, was invited by Capt. Killales to call upon the remarkable girl. Passing down stairs to the cell corridor, the Captain rattled at a door, threw back the lock, and called:
”William!”
”Holloa,” responded a voice, which was slightly sleepy, but pleasant withal; and William threw off the blankets, arose from his bed, stepped out into the corridor, and seated himself in a chair provided by the Captain. William, or Irene rather, is a pretty girl, of about the medium height, and well formed. Her brown hair is cropped, and curls loosely about her head. Her dark eyes are pleasant woman’s eyes. She has even, white teeth, and her cheeks are brown with constant exposure, as, also, her small hands. She wore dark brown pantaloons, a colored flannel overshirt, and a black and red checked undershirt showed its edge above the outer garment. She impresses one on sight as a modest girl and this impression is confirmed by her pleasant conversation. She told the reporter not to write to her folks for she did not want to go back.
”SHE COULDN’T HAVE STIGER ANYHOW.[“]
Her contact with the world has not given her very favorable views of mankind, and she is in no haste to be married. She said that she didn’t want her folks to know, “because, you know, in the country things spread and are talked about so much, and everybody within miles of Peoria would talk about it.” After some further conversation, Irene went inside her cell, threw herself on her bed, called back to the Captain and the reporter a pleasant good night, and went to sleep.
Yesterday Justice Shandley committed the girl to the care of the Commissioners of Public Charities and Correction.
What happened next with Robinson doesn’t appear in any newspaper. Did Robinson actually make it back to Peoria? Was the story even remotely true? (I’ve been unlucky in finding Irene or the John Stiger described.) True or not, it’s still a pretty good tale told by a pretty good storyteller.
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