Transcriber's Note: The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
Geo. S. McWatters
Photographed by Brady.
KNOTS UNTIED:
OR,
WAYS AND BY-WAYS
IN THE
HIDDEN LIFE
OF
AMERICAN DETECTIVES.
BY
Officer GEORGE S. McWATTERS,
LATE OF THE METROPOLITAN POLICE,
NEW YORK.
A NARRATIVE OF MARVELLOUS EXPERIENCES AMONG ALL CLASSES
OF SOCIETY,—CRIMINALS IN HIGH LIFE, SWINDLERS, BANK
ROBBERS, THIEVES, LOTTERY AGENTS, GAMBLERS,
NECROMANCERS, COUNTERFEITERS, BURGLARS,
Etc., Etc., Etc.
HARTFORD:
J. B. BURR AND HYDE.
1871.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
J. B. BURR AND HYDE,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Electrotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,
No. 19 Spring Lane.
PREFACE.
I am aware that the preface of a book is usually the last portion of it which is read—if read it is—and, therefore, of little import; and I have, consequently, deliberated somewhat whether I would encumber the following tales with a prefix or not, but perhaps it is due to the reader to say (what, however, is apparent enough in some of the tales themselves) that the experiences and observations therein narrated, are not all personally mine; that some of them have, at different times, been detailed to me by old and tried personal friends, of deep knowledge of the world, and of extreme sagacity, and that I have presented them here, together with my own, in special instances, as being equally illustrative with mine of subtle human nature.
What is specifically my own in these tales, and what little I am indebted for to my good friends, I leave to such as may be curious, to determine for themselves. It must now suffice them (for in the experiment of "book-making" I have nearly lost my best patience—amidst its multiplicity of perplexities; its "proof-reading," the awful blunders of the printers, the "bungling" of the mails, the calls for "more copy" at inopportune moments, etc., etc.)—it must suffice them, I repeat, simply to know, that whatever experiences here recited are not my own, are equally authentic with mine, and, in my judgment, add to the merits of "Knots Untied" (if merits it has) rather than detract therefrom. So, since it cannot be that the reader will peruse my book for my sake, but for the book's sake and for his own, let him thank me for whatever "clearer light" I have accepted from others for his benefit.
It was only at the instance—I might properly say by the repeated importunity—of certain partial friends of mine, that I was first induced to put into readable form some of the notes of my experiences and observations, particularly those running through a period of a dozen years of official life, preceded by a dozen more of a quasi-official character. I would remark here, that no chronological order has been observed in the collation of the tales composing "Knots Untied."
Having, from my early days, been interested with various sociological problems, it has been my wont to fix in memoranda, of one form or another, such data as I conceived worthy, as simple statistics or eccentric facts, bearing upon the great general question of human suffering and crime, and their causes, and the means of their depiction, and final extinction also (as I firmly believe) in "the good time coming," when Science shall have ripened the paltry and distracted civilization of the present into that enlightenment in which alone the race should be contented to live,—in which only, in truth, they can be fully content with existence,—and which the now subject classes could, if they were wise enough to know their rights and their power, command in concert, for themselves, and the ruling classes as well.
And these partial friends of mine have thought I might do some good, and that I ought to, however little it may prove, to the cause of human happiness,—in the intent thereby of enlarging the security of the innocent from the machinations of the depraved,—by the detail of certain wily "offences against the law and good order of society," while demonstrating therein how sure of final discovery and punishment are the criminally vicious, however crafty and subtle, in these days, when the art of police detection has become almost an exact science.
Authors are sometimes sensitive (I believe), about the reception which they, "by their works," may meet with at the hands of the public; and not seldom do they, in more or less ingenious ways, attempt to cajole their readers, through well-studied prefaces, into a prejudicedly favorable mood regarding the body of their books. Perhaps mine is a singularly good fortune, in that my partial and importuning friends before alluded to, have given me consoling courage to "go forward" and publish what they are so kind as to be pleased with, by the assurance that they will take upon themselves, and patiently bear, all the severe criticism, the curses, the wanton blows, etc., which may be aimed at me by "hypercritical critics," or by vexed and wrathful readers; while I shall be left to enjoy, unalloyed, all the "blessings" with which the rest of the public may be pleased to favor me.
I regarded this as so excellent an expression of human[e] goodness upon the part of these my friends, that I consented to honor it, by submission to their will. Hence these tales, in their printed form,—designed at first to beguile an hour for particular friends in the reading, as the same had beguiled many long hours for me in the writing,—and not primarily intended to be put into the form of a book. If any good to the world accrues from their publication, through the instruction which they may afford to some, perhaps; or by their possibly enlarging the scope of the reader's charity for the erring, or in any way, I shall be gratified; and so (it is but fair in me to add this, for they are human, and sensitive to the joys which "a good done" brings)—and so, to repeat, will also be my aforesaid partial, good friends.
George S. McWatters.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTION.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES.
OFFICER GEORGE S. McWATTERS.
PERSONAL DESCRIPTION—ALWAYS TEMPERATE—IN WONDERFUL PRESERVATION—"A GOOD FACE TO LOOK INTO"—NEITHER SCOTCH, IRISH, NOR ENGLISH IN APPEARANCE.
WHERE HE WAS BORN AND REARED.
NO MATTER WHERE A MAN IS BORN—KILMARNOCK, SCOTLAND—NORTH OF IRELAND—AMBITIOUS BOYHOOD—"THE BEAUTIFUL LAND BEYOND THE WESTERN WATERS"—INTENSELY DEMOCRATIC—BECOMES A MECHANIC.
REMOVES TO LONDON.
FOLLOWS HIS TRADE IN LONDON—MARRIES THERE—HIS INTERESTING FAMILY—MISS CHARLOTTE, HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER—HER MARRIAGE—SIGNOR ERRANI.
MIGRATES TO THE UNITED STATES.
OFFICER McWATTERS' GREAT SYMPATHY FOR CHATTEL AND WAGES-SLAVES—HIS COUNTLESS DEEDS OF BENEVOLENCE LEAVE HIM NO TIME TO GET RICH—ANECDOTE OF PROFESSOR AGASSIZ.
SETTLES IN PHILADELPHIA, AND STUDIES LAW.
A YEAR (1848-9) IN A LAW OFFICE—REVELS IN THE STUDY OF BLACKSTONE, KENT, CHITTY, ETC.—A BEAUTIFUL DREAM.
A HEART TOO SOFT FOR A LAWYER.
THE BEAUTIFUL DREAM OVERSHADOWED—POOR ORPHANS AND POOR DEBTORS TOUCH HIS HEART WITH THEIR SUFFERINGS—DISTRAINING GOODS FOR RENT—A TOUCHING STORY—McWATTERS' BENEVOLENT DEVICE—HE QUITS THE LAW IN DISGUST.
DEPARTS FOR CALIFORNIA.
THE "GOLD FEVER"—IN THE NEW ELDORADO—THE RECKLESS WARFARE OF GREED AND CRIME—MEN LOST THEIR CONSCIENCES THERE—RETURN.
BACK IN NEW YORK.
ASSOCIATED WITH LAURA KEENE, AS HER AGENT—FIRST CALLED UPON TO ENACT THE PART OF A DETECTIVE—HIS SUCCESS, AND WHAT IT LED TO.
MR. McWATTERS AS AGENT AND LECTURER.
BECOMES EXHIBITING LECTURER, ACCOMPANYING A GRAND PANORAMA—IN THE CHIEF CITIES AND TOWNS—THE COUNTESS OF LANDSFELDT, OR "LOLA MONTEZ."
ANECDOTE OF LOLA MONTEZ AND LAURA KEENE.
AN AMUSING STORY—LOLA BECOMES PIOUS, AND SELLS HER THEATRICAL WARDROBE—LAURA PURCHASES A PART—A SPLENDID SILK DRESS PATTERN PROVES TO BE FURNITURE CLOTH—ATTACKS AND RETORTS—THE GOODS FINALLY BURNED UP.
MR. McWATTERS SOLVING SOCIAL PROBLEMS.
HIS GREAT INTEREST IN SOCIOLOGICAL QUESTIONS—HOW SHALL THE GRIEVOUS BURDENS WHICH FALL UPON THE LABORING CLASSES BE MADE LIGHTER?
OUR SUBJECT AND THE PUBLIC PRESS.
REMARKABLE RECORD—PUSILLANIMOUS HIGHWAYMEN—TWO KNIGHTS OF THE ROAD FRIGHTENED BY A SPECTACLE-CASE.
McWATTERS ENTERS THE METROPOLITAN POLICE FORCE.
DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF THEREIN IN MANY WAYS DURING A PERIOD OF TWELVE YEARS—OFFICER MCWATTERS UBIQUITOUS—THE STARVING PEOPLE OF KANSAS (1861) ELICIT HIS SYMPATHIES—A FORCIBLE PUBLIC SPEAKER.
PERSONAL INCIDENTS.
RESCUES CHILDREN AND MEN FROM WATERY GRAVES—ALWAYS AT HIS POST OF DUTY—RECEIVES THE WARMEST PRAISE OF HIS CHIEF OFFICER, SUPERINTENDENT KENNEDY—THE LATE SUPERINTENDENT JOURDAN.
OFFICER McWATTERS DURING THE LATE CIVIL WAR.
HIS FORESIGHT—UNDERSTOOD THE MISERIES OF THE SUBJECT-CLASSES—HIS APPRECIATION OF REPUBLICAN INSTITUTIONS—PREVENTED BY UNTOWARD CIRCUMSTANCES FROM GOING TO THE FRONT—NOT OF THE "NOBLE HOME GUARD."
FIRST SEIZURE OF GUNS AT THE NORTH.
OFFICER MCWATTERS INTERCEPTS DAHLGREN GUNS ON THEIR WAY TO THE REBELS, MAY 11, 1861—HONORABLE MENTION BY THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE—FERNANDO WOOD'S INFAMOUS APOLOGY TO TOOMBS—WOOD AND MCWATTERS COMPARED—THE GRATITUDE OF REPUBLICS.
OFFICER McWATTERS' SERVICES THROUGH THE PUBLIC PRESS.
ABLE AND SPIRITED LETTERS TO THE PRESS—NOBLE WORDS ADDRESSED TO THE WORKINGMEN OF THE NATION.
KINDLY AND WISE PROVIDENCE.
PRIVATE APPEAL FOR LEMONS FOR THE FAMISHING SOLDIERS, MAY, 1863—IT DID A BRAVE WORK—EVENTUALLY INSPECTOR CARPENTER REVEALS THAT IT WAS ONE OF OFFICER MCWATTERS' BENEVOLENT DEEDS—OTHER EFFECTIVE MODES OF AIDING SICK AND WOUNDED SOLDIERS AND THEIR FAMILIES.
"RIOT WEEK," JULY, 1863.—OFFICER McWATTERS IN THE
THICK OF THE FIGHT.
THE STATE OF THE PUBLIC PULSE OF THE NORTH WHEN THE RIOT BROKE OUT—THE NUMBER KILLED THAT WEEK IN NEW YORK ESTIMATED AT OVER FOURTEEN HUNDRED!—McWATTERS AND HIS FELLOW-OFFICERS FIGHT THEIR WAY THROUGH THE MOB INTO THE TRIBUNE OFFICE—McWATTERS FELLED TO THE GROUND; SPRINGS TO HIS FEET, AND DEALS DESTRUCTIVE BLOWS UPON HIS ASSAILANTS.
OFFICER McWATTERS AND HIS LITERARY ASSOCIATES.
COUNTLESS CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE PUBLIC PRESS—HIS UNPRETENTIOUS CAREER—"PFAFF'S," A FAMOUS RESORT FOR AUTHORS AND ARTISTS—AN INTERESTING SKETCH OF THE PLACE, AND THE HOST OF McWATTERS' AUTHOR FRIENDS WHO MEET THERE; AN ILLUSTRIOUS ARRAY—OF THE DEAD OF THIS GOODLY HOST—A MOST INTERESTING RETROSPECTION—McWATTERS' AUTHORS' LIBRARY.
OFFICER McWATTERS AS THE GOOD SAMARITAN.
AS A PHILANTHROPIST OFFICER McWATTERS HAS MOST DISTINGUISHED HIMSELF—HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH SOCIOLOGICAL SCIENCES DEMONSTRATES TO HIM THE FOLLY OF FRAGMENTARY REFORMS; YET HE CONTINUES HIS WONDERFUL INDIVIDUAL CHARITIES—PATCHWORK CHARITY—HIS VITALITY OF BENEVOLENCE—McWATTERS IN THE RANKS OF THE HOWARDS OF THE WORLD.
McWATTERS AND THE SOLDIERS.
THE POOR VETERAN SOLDIER'S BEST FRIEND—McWATTERS' GENEROUS ENTHUSIASM IN BEHALF OF THE POOR SOLDIERS AND THEIR FAMILIES—HIS GREAT PASSION—THE POETRY OF HIS CURRENT LIFE.
LADIES UNION RELIEF ASSOCIATION.
A GRAND CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION—DISTINGUISHED LADIES OF NEW YORK AT ITS HEAD—ITS SCOPE OF SELF-IMPOSED DUTIES OF BENEVOLENCE—ASSISTED BY AN ADVISORY BOARD OF THE LEADING MEN OF THE CITY; OFFICER McWATTERS THE CHIEF AND MOST ACTIVE MAN THEREOF—SUPERINTENDENT KENNEDY SECONDS OFFICER McWATTERS' BENEVOLENT WORK—REV. DR. BELLOWS' WARM INDORSEMENT OF McWATTERS' GOOD DEEDS—THE LATE SUPERINTENDENT JOURDAN CRUELLY INTERFERES WITH McWATTERS' LABORS OF LOVE—DEATH CALLS FOR MR. JOURDAN: WHERE THEY PUT HIM, AND WHO FOLLOWED HIS HEARSE—OFFICER McWATTERS RESIGNS, AND LEAVES THE POLICE FORCE, IN ORDER THAT HE MAY CONTINUE HIS HUMANITARY WORK—COPY OF HIS LETTER OF RESIGNATION—APPOINTED TO A POST IN THE CUSTOM HOUSE—COMPLIMENTARY NOTICES BY VARIOUS JOURNALS ON THE OCCASION OF McWATTERS' RESIGNATION.
THE SWINDLING BOUNTY CLAIM AGENTS.
OFFICER McWATTERS' RELENTLESS OPPOSITION TO THE SWINDLERS—THEIR INFAMOUS MODES OF OPERATION EXPLAINED—McWATTERS' PLAN OF WARFARE—HE ROUTS THEIR FORCES AND WINS A GREAT VICTORY—SERIOUSLY THREATENED BY THE SWINDLERS—McWATTERS APPEALS TO CONGRESS, AND GETS A NEW ACT PASSED—CHIEF MEMBERS OF CONGRESS WHO GAVE HIM THEIR AID—PAYMENTS UNDER THE NEW LAW—THE GRATITUDE OF THE POOR SOLDIERS AND THEIR FAMILIES—"HOW A POOR MAN FEELS!"—THE NATIONAL CEMETERIES AND THE DEAD VETERANS—McWATTERS' FURTHER WORK FOR THE SOLDIERS.
HONORABLE TESTIMONIALS TO OFFICER McWATTERS.
PRESENTATION OF A GOLD WATCH BY THE LADIES' UNION RELIEF ASSOCIATION—COMMENTS THEREON BY THE PUBLIC PRESS—OFFICER McWATTERS' GREAT POPULARITY—A RESUMÉ OF SOME OF OFFICER McWATTERS' GOOD DEEDS, BY THE SUN, TIMES, TRIBUNE, ETC.
THE BELLEVUE HOSPITAL INIQUITY.
THE RASCALITY EXPOSED IN A MASTERLY WAY—THE HORRORS OF THE HOSPITAL PICTURED—THE WAR CARRIED ON THROUGH THE PAPERS—OFFICER McWATTERS DIRECTS THE BATTLE—THE SCAMPS BROUGHT TO TERMS, AND THE SICK POOR AT THE HOSPITAL NO LONGER TREATED LIKE DOGS—THE CITIZENS' ASSOCIATION, AND ITS CONNECTION WITH THE FIGHT—BENEFICENT RESULTS.
CONCLUSION.
OFFICER McWATTERS IN HIS CONTINUING LABORS OF LOVE—HIS FAMOUS LETTER IN BEHALF OF THE POOR VETERAN SOLDIER ORGAN GRINDERS—ELOQUENT WORDS OF SOCIAL STATESMANSHIP THEREIN—A GREAT MORAL DUTY—WHEN IT CAN BE PROPERLY DONE—LABOR MUST BE PROTECTED—PARTING TRIBUTE TO OFFICER GEORGE S. McWATTERS, THE TRUE MAN, THE STERLING PATRIOT, AND PRACTICAL PHILANTHROPIST.
THE ORGAN GRINDERS.
A WORD IN THEIR BEHALF—LETTER FROM OFFICER McWATTERS (REFERRED TO IN BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES)—A SAD STORY.
TEN DOLLARS A MONTH: A STORY OF GRIEF AND JOY.
("Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn")
McWATTERS—PATRICK O'BRIEN AND HIS SUFFERING FAMILY—LADIES' UNION RELIEF ASSOCIATION—A STORM OF GRIEF QUELLED BY THE VOICE OF TRUE CHARITY.
MACK AND THE VETERAN.
A TOUCHING TALE—THE POETRY AND PATHOS OF BARE FEET.
LOST IN THE STREETS.
OPERATIONS OF THE BUREAU FOR THE RECOVERY OF LOST PERSONS—MISSING MEN AND WOMEN—TROUBLES ABOUT LOST PEOPLE—WHERE AND HOW PEOPLE ARE LOST—LOST CHILDREN—THE DENS OF MIDNIGHT—THE HORROR OF A BREAKING DAWN—MISERY, SHAME, AND DEATH—FINIS.
AMONG THE SHARKS.
ADVENTURES OF A FALL RIVER WANDERER—HIS VALUABLE EXPERIENCE IN NEW YORK—CATCHING A FLAT.
A SMART YOUNG MAN.
AN AFTER-DINNER COLLOQUY, AND ITS RESULT—A FUNNY AFFAIR.
A SUSPECTED CALIFORNIA MURDERER.
ARRESTED—CHARGED WITH KILLING FOUR MEN: A GERMAN FOR HIS MONEY, AND TWO SHERIFFS AND A DRIVER WHO WERE CONVEYING HIM TO PRISON.
EXTENSIVE COUNTERFEITING.
SEIZURE OF FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS IN SPURIOUS POSTAL CURRENCY—ARREST OF THE COUNTERFEITER—HIS CONFESSION.
CHARLES LEGATE—A FORGER—STUDYING HIM UP—FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS HIS "PRIZE"—DESCRIPTION OF LEGATE—NO TWO PERSONS EVER AGREE IN DESCRIBING ANOTHER—A MARK HIT UPON—START FOR ST. LOUIS—MUSINGS—CURIOUS INCIDENTS OF MY JOURNEY—A GENEALOGICAL "DODGE"—ON LEGATE'S TRACK AT LAST—ST. LOUIS REACHED—OF MY STAY THERE—LEAVE FOR NEW ORLEANS PER STEAMER—A GENIAL CROWD OF MEN AND WOMEN ON BOARD—CHARACTERISTICS OF A MISSISSIPPI "VOYAGE"—NAPOLEON, ARKANSAS—SOME CHARACTERS COME ON BOARD THERE—A GAMBLING SCENE ON BOARD—ONE JACOBS TAKES A PART—A PRIVATE CONFERENCE WITH JACOBS'S NEGRO SERVANT—A TERRIFIC FIGHT ON BOARD AMONG THE GAMBLERS—JACOBS SET UPON, AND MAKES A BRAVE DEFENCE—HOW I DISCOVERED "JACOBS" TO BE PROBABLY LEGATE, IN THE MELEE—HE IS BADLY BRUISED—HIS LIFE DESPAIRED OF—WE ARRIVE IN NEW ORLEANS—JACOBS'S IDENTIFICATION AS LEGATE—LEGATE PROVES TO BE VERY RICH—CURIOUS VISIT TO AN ITALIAN ARTIST'S STUDIO—A NOVEL MEDICINE ADMINISTERED TO SIGNORE CANCEMI—HE GETS WELL AT ONCE.
LOTTERY TICKET, No. 1710.
A DIGNIFIED REAL ESTATE HOLDER, VERY WEALTHY, LOSES SEVEN THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE DOLLARS—OUR FIRST COUNCIL AT THE HOWARD HOUSE—VISIT TO HIS HOUSE TO EXAMINE HIS SAFE AND SERVANTS—A LOTTERY TICKET, NO. 1710, FOUND IN THE SAFE—HOW CAME THIS MYSTERIOUS PAPER THERE?—CONCLUSIONS THEREON—VISIT TO BALTIMORE, AND PLANS LAID IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE LOTTERY AGENT TO CATCH THE THIEF—THE TICKET "DRAWS"—THE NEW YORK AGENCY "MANAGED"—TRAP TO IDENTIFY THE THIEF—THE SECURITY AND "SOLITUDE" OF A GREAT CITY—A NEW YORK BANKER—MR. LATIMER VISITS A GAMBLING HOUSE IN DISGUISE—IDENTIFIES THE SUSPECTED YOUNG MAN—THE AGENT AT BALTIMORE WAXES GLEEFUL—HIS PLAN OF OPERATIONS OVERRULED—MEETING OF "INTERESTED PARTIES" AT THE OFFICE IN BALTIMORE—A LITTLE GAME PLAYED UPON THE NEW YORK AGENT—MR. WORDEN, THE THIEF, IDENTIFIES THE TICKET, AND FALLS INTO THE TRAP OF A PRE-ARRANGED "DRAFT"—DISCLOSES SOME OF THE IDENTICAL MONEY STOLEN—WE ARREST HIM—EXCITING SCRAMBLE—THE MONEY RECOVERED—WORDEN'S AFTER LIFE.
PAYNE AND THE COUNTERFEITERS.
AN IDLE TIME—A CALL FROM MY OLD "CHIEF"—THE CASE IN HAND OUTLINED—I DISCOVER AN OLD ENEMY IN THE LIST OF COUNTERFEITERS, AND LAY MY PLANS—TAKE BOARD IN NINETEENTH STREET, AND OPEN A LAW OFFICE IN JAUNCEY COURT—MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MRS. PAYNE, LEWELLYN'S MOTHER, AND FINALLY GET ACQUAINTED WITH HIM—HE VISITS MY LAW OFFICE—I AM INGRATIATED IN HIS FAVOR—I TRACK HIM INTO MY ENEMY'S COMPANY, AND FEEL SURE OF SUCCESS—LEWELLYN FINALLY CONFESSES TO ME HIS TERRIBLE SITUATION—CERTAIN PLANS LAID—I MAKE "COLLINS'S" ACQUAINTANCE—VISIT A GAMBLING SALOON WITH HIM—A HEAVY WAGER—$15,000 AT HAZARD, PAYNE'S ALL—THE COUNTERFEITING GAMBLERS CAUGHT TOGETHER—SEVERE STRUGGLE—PAYNE SAVED AT LAST, AND HIS MONEY TOO—A REFORMED SON AND A HAPPY MOTHER—TWO "BIRDS" SENT TO THE PENITENTIARY.
THE GENEALOGICAL SWINDLERS.
PRIDE OF ANCESTRY IN THE UNITED STATES—IT IS SOMETIMES MORE PROFITABLE TO OTHERS THAN TO THOSE WHO INDULGE IT—"PROPERTY IN CHANCERY"—A WESTERN MERCHANT, HIS STORY, AND HOW HE TOLD IT—A FAMILY MEETING AT NEW HAVEN, AND WHAT A MEMBER LEARNED THERE—THE GREAT "LORD, KING, & GRAHAM" SWINDLE—THE WAY IN WHICH THE FRAUD WAS ACCOMPLISHED—A CUNNING LETTER FROM "WILLIS KING," OF THE FIRM OF LORD, KING, & GRAHAM, TO ONE OF HIS RELATIVES—THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THIS NOTED FIRM—THE SEARCH—THE TRAP LAID—THE SHARPERS CAUGHT, AND FOUND TO BE EDUCATED YOUNG MEN OF THE HIGHEST SOCIAL STATUS—THEY ARE MADE TO DISGORGE—A PARADOX, WITH A MORAL IN IT.
HATTIE NEWBERRY, THE VERMONT BEAUTY.
"SOCIETY, FOR THE MOST PART, CREATES THE CRIMES WHICH IT PUNISHES"—A BEAUTIFUL GIRL ON THE CARS FROM RUTLAND, VERMONT, ON THE WAY TO BELLOWS' FALLS, BESET BY NEW YORK ROGUES—A DETECTIVE RECOGNIZES IN HER THE FORMER PLAYMATE OF HIS OWN DAUGHTER—HE ENCOUNTERS THE ROGUES AT BELLOWS' FALLS, AND KNOCKS ONE OF THEM DOWN IN THE LADIES' ROOM—THEY ALL TAKE THE NEXT TRAIN, AND MOVE SOUTHWARD, ON THEIR WAY TO NEW YORK—INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY—A THIRD VILLAIN GETS ABOARD AT HARTFORD, CONN.—WHY HATTIE WAS GOING TO NEW YORK—AN OLD TALE—THE DETECTIVE GIVES HATTIE MUCH GOOD ADVICE—A SKILFUL MANŒUVRE, ON ARRIVING IN NEW YORK, TO PUT THE ROGUES OFF THE TRACK—A PAINFUL DISCOVERY AT LAST—A DEEP, DEVILISH PLOT OF THE VILLAINS DRIVES HATTIE TO DESPAIR, AND SHE IS RESCUED FROM A SUICIDE'S GRAVE—THE ROGUES PROVE TO BE THE MOST HEARTLESS OF VILLAINS, AND ARE CAUGHT, AND DULY PUNISHED—HATTIE RETURNS EVENTUALLY TO VERMONT, AFTER HAVING MARRIED HER OLD LOVER—THIS TALE IS ONE OF THE SADDEST, AS WELL AS THE MOST INTERESTING OF EXPERIENCES, THROUGHOUT.
ABOUT BOGUS LOTTERIES.
HOW THEY ARE "GOT UP"—THEIR MODE OF OPERATIONS DETAILED—HOW THEY MANAGE THE "DRAWN NUMBERS" BEFOREHAND—THE GREAT SHREWDNESS OF THE OPERATORS—THE SOCIAL RESPECTABILITY OF THESE—THE GREAT FIRM OF "G. W. HUNTINGTON & CO."—THE IMMENSE CIRCULATION OF THEIR JOURNAL.—THEIR VICTIM, A MAINE FARMER, WHO BELIEVED HE HAD "DRAWN" FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, AND COUNSELLOR WHEATON, HIS LAWYER, A STORY TO THE POINT—WHO INVEST IN LOTTERIES? CHILDREN, WIDOWS, CLERGYMEN, BANK CASHIERS, ETC.—HOW THE FIRM OF "G. W. H. & CO." WAS CAPTURED—NO. 23 WILLIAMS STREET, NEW YORK—THEIR PRETENDED BANKING HOUSE—HOW A BOGUS LOTTERY COMPANY SWINDLED ITS OWN AGENTS—A QUEER TALE.
THE DETECTIVE OFFICER'S CHIEF "INCUBUS"—AT WINTER GARDEN THEATRE—"HARRY DUBOIS"—AN EXPERT ROGUE EXAMINES HIS PROSPECTIVE VICTIMS—SOME SOUTHERNERS—HARRY "INTRODUCES" HIMSELF IN HIS OWN PECULIAR AND ADROIT WAY—HARRY AND HIS FRIEND ARE INVITED TO THE SOUTHERNER'S PRIVATE BOX—HARRY "BORROWS" MR. CLEMENS' DIAMOND RING, AND ADROITLY ESCAPES—MY DILEMMA—VISIT TO HARRY'S OLD BOARDING MISTRESS—HIS WHEREABOUTS DISCOVERED—ACTIVE WORK—A RAPID DRIVE TO PINE STREET—A FORTUNATE LIGHT IN THE OFFICE OF THE LATE HON. SIMEON DRAPER—A SUDDEN VISIT FOR A "SICK MAN" TO HARRY'S ROOM—HOW ENTRANCE WAS EFFECTED—THE RING SECURED—HUNT FOR MR. CLEMENS—A SLIGHTLY MYSTERIOUS LETTER—A HAPPY INTERVIEW.
THE MYSTERY AT 89 —— STREET, NEW YORK.
"KLEPTOMANIA"—THE TENDENCY TO SUPERSTITION—AN OLD KNICKERBOCKER FAMILY—A VERY "PROPER" OLD GENTLEMAN, A MR. GARRETSON—HE CALLS ON ME AT MY OFFICE, AND FINDS A CURIOUS-LOOKING ROOM—HIS STORY OF WONDERS—"EVERYTHING" STOLEN—TALK ABOUT DISEMBODIED SPIRITS—THE MYSTERY DEEPENS—PROBABLE CONJECTURE BAFFLED—VISIT TO MR. GARRETSON'S HOUSE—MRS. GARRETSON A BEAUTIFUL AND CULTIVATED OLD LADY—WE SEARCH THE HOUSE—AN ATTIC FULL OF OLD SOUVENIRS—WE LINGER AMONG THEM—MR. GARRETSON'S DAUGHTER IS CONVINCED THAT DISEMBODIED SPIRITS ARE THEIR TORMENTORS—SHE PUTS AN UNANSWERABLE QUESTION—A DANGEROUS DOG AND THE SPIRITS—TEDIOUS AND UNAVAILING WATCHING FOR SEVERAL DAYS AND NIGHTS—THE "SPIRITS" AGAIN AT WORK—RE-CALLED—THE MYSTERY GROWS MORE WONDERFUL—THE "SPIRIT" DISCOVERED, AND THE MYSTERY UNRAVELLED—THE FAMILY SENT AWAY—THE ATTIC RE-VISITED WITH MR. G., AND ITS TREASURES REVEALED—A RE-DISCOVERY OF THE "SPIRITS"—THE FAMILY REVIEW THEIR LONG-LOST TREASURES FOUND—REFLECTIONS ON THE CAUSES OF THE MYSTERY—A PROBLEM FOR THE DOCTORS.
A SORCERESS' TRICK; HOW SHE WAS CAUGHT.
CLASSIFICATION OF MEN—THE SUPERSTITIOUS ELEMENT IN MAN—THE OLD CULTS CONTINUED IN THE NEW—FIRE WORSHIP—THE SORCERERS—MY LEGAL FRIEND'S STORY A LAUGHABLE ONE INDEED—THE DESPONDENT OLD MAID, THOUGH ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED—AN AUNT ARRIVES IN "THE NICK OF TIME"—THEY HUNT UP A FORTUNE-TELLER—MRS. SEYMOUR, THE SORCERESS, AND HER PRETTY LITTLE "ORATORY"—THE "PRIE-DIEU"—THE OLD MAID MARRIES—MRS. SEYMOUR'S PLAN FOR INSURING THE AFFECTION OF HUSBANDS—HER POWERS AS A CHARMER—THE SACRED BOX AND ITS FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS CONTENTS—MRS. SEYMOUR IS LOST SIGHT OF—SEARCH FOR HER IN BROOKLYN AND AT BOSTON—THE CHARMED BOX OPENED BY MR. AND MRS. ——, AND THE CONTENTS FOUND TO HAVE CHANGED FORM MATERIALLY—MY LEGAL FRIEND AND I LOOK AFTER MATTERS—A PORTION OF THE TRANSFORMED VALUABLES FOUND—A MRS. BRADLEY, A "MEDIUM" IN BOSTON, PROVES TO BE THE IDENTICAL MRS. SEYMOUR—THE HIGH-TONED DEVOTEES OF BOSTON—SUDDEN PROCEEDINGS TAKEN—MRS. SEYMOUR AND HER HUSBAND COME TO TERMS—RESULTS—RESPECTABLE VICTIMS OF THE SORCERERS NUMEROUS—DUPES IN THE "ATHENS OF AMERICA."
DISHONEST CLERK AND FATAL SLIP OF PAPER.
IN AN UGLY MOOD WITH MYSELF—A VISIT FROM A CINCINNATIAN—A LOSS DETAILED—THE FATE OF A BANKING HOUSE RESTING ON "COLLATERALS" STOLEN, WHICH MUST BE RECOVERED—A LAWYER FIGURES IN THE MATTER AND IS BAFFLED—THE THIEVES SPECULATING FOR A SETTLEMENT—THE SCHEME LAID FOR THEIR DETECTION—A BUSINESS VISIT TO THE BANKING-HOUSE—THE CHIEF CLERK SENT TO CHICAGO ON BUSINESS—A SEARCH REVEALING LOVE LETTERS AND A LOVELY LITERARY LADY—ON TRACK OF MYSTERIOUS "PAPERS"—THE FATAL SLIP OF PAPER—THE WAY THE STOLEN BONDS WERE RECOVERED—THE CHIEF CLERK, AND HOW HE WAS "ENLIGHTENED"—A NOVEL AND QUIET ARREST IN A CARRIAGE—THE CLERK'S CONFEDERATE CAUGHT—THE PROPERTY RESTORED—THE SCAMPS DECAMP—THE INNOCENT LITERARY LADY'S EYES OPENED.
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR LESSON.
CHARLES PURVIS: TAKING HIM IN CHARGE AT A DISTANCE—HANGERS ON AT THE ST. NICHOLAS AND OTHER HOTEL ENTRANCES—A COLLOQUY, SPICED WITH REMINISCENCES OF "OLD SAM COLT," OF THE "REVOLVER," IN HIS GAY DAYS; A PARTY AT THE "OLD CITY HOTEL," HARTFORD, CONN., AND OTHER THINGS—TRINITY COLLEGE BOYS—"GEORGE ELLSWORTH"—PURVIS AND HE START ON A WALK—"WHERE CAN THEY BE GOING?"—GOING TO SEE ELLSWORTH'S "FRIEND"—AN EXCHANGE OF COATS—A SURVEY TAKEN—A FIRST-CLASS GAMBLING SALOON—A NEW MAN IN THE GAME—PURVIS DRUGGED—HIS "FRIENDS" TAKE HIM "HOME," BUT WHERE?—PURVIS IS RETURNED TO HIS HOTEL IN A STATE OF STUPEFACTION; IS AROUSED; MISSES A THOUSAND DOLLARS—PLANS LAID TO CATCH HIS LATE FRIENDS—WILLIAMS FOUND BY ACCIDENT, AND QUIETLY CAGED—THE OLD IRISH WOMAN'S APPEAL—WILLIAMS "EXPLAINS," AFTER PROPER INDUCEMENT—MOST OF THE MONEY RECOVERED—SUPPLEMENTS.
THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING.
THE ANTIQUITY OF THAT SHEEP'S SKIN AND ITS PIOUS USEFULNESS—A LARGE LOSS OF SILKS, SATINS, LACES, AND OTHER GOODS—A CONSULTATION—A LONG STUDY—THE VARIOUS CHARACTERS OF SEVERAL CLERKS, WHAT THEY DID, AND HOW THEY KILLED "SPARE TIME"—INFLUENCE OF THE CITY ON MORALS—NEW YORK CENTRAL PARK—A MOST WONDERFUL SERIES OF THEFTS—THE MATTER, INEXPLICABLE AT FIRST, GROWS MORE SUBTLE—A GLEAM OF LIGHT AT LAST—A BRIGHT ITALIAN BOY PLAYS A PART—A LADY FOLLOWED—MORE LIGHT—AN EXTEMPORIZED SERVANT OF THE CROTON WATER BOARD GETS INSIDE A CERTAIN HOUSE—SARAH CROGAN AND I—HOW A HOUSE IN NINETEENTH STREET DELIVERED UP ITS TREASURES—"WILLIAM BRUCE," ALIAS CHARLES PHILLIPS—A VERY STRANGE DENOUEMENT—A MEEK MAN TRANSFORMED; HIS RAGE—A DELIVERY UP, WITH ACCOMPANYING JEWELS—A "WIDOW" NOT A WIDOW REMOVES—WHAT SARAH CROGAN THOUGHT.
A FORCED MARRIAGE SCHEME DEFEATED.
GOSHEN, CONN.—A LADY STRANGER THERE—A PILGRIMAGE TO GOSHEN, VIA THE FAR-FAMED MOUNTAIN TOWN OF LITCHFIELD—THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW—AN UNPLEASANT REMINISCENCE OF DR. IVES, LATE BISHOP OF NORTH CAROLINA—MORE ABOUT THE WIDOW—SHE LEAVES FOR NEW YORK—AT THE "MANSION HOUSE," LITCHFIELD—A MARKED CHARACTER ENCOUNTERED THERE—MR. "C. B. LE ROY" STUDIED AND WEIGHED—THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW AND LE ROY MEET—HER FACE DISCLOSES CONFLICTING EMOTIONS—MR. LE ROY AND THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW, MRS. STEVENS, TAKE A WALK DOWN SOUTH STREET, IN THE "PARADISE OF LOAFERS"—SYMPATHIES SILENTLY EXCHANGED—WE ALL START FOR THE "STATION"—THE STAGE-COACH "TURNS OVER"—THE AFFRIGHTED LE ROY REVEALS HIS MANNERS—A PECULIAR SCENE IN THE CARS—AT BRIDGEPORT I PRESENT MYSELF TO MRS. STEVENS—AT NEW YORK AGAIN—A TALE OF COMPLICATIONS—MRS. STEVENS IN DEEP TROUBLE—A FRIEND OF HERS SEEKS ME—REVELATIONS—A FEARFUL STORY—A SECRET MARRIAGE AND UNHAPPY CONSEQUENCES—THE WRETCH LE ROY WANTS THE WIDOW'S MONEY—A TRAP SET FOR LE ROY—HE FALLS INTO IT—WEDDING SCENE DISARRANGED—THE WIDOW SAVED, AND THE INTENDED FORCED MARRIAGE DEFEATED.
THE MARKED BILLS.
A LITTLE KEY BEARING A MONOGRAM SHAPES THE DESTINY OF AN INTELLIGENT MAN—HOW THIS MAN CAME TO BE INVOLVED IN THE MATTER OF WHICH THIS TALE DISCOURSES—MY PARTNER AND I—FAR-OFF MYSTERIES MAY SOLVE NEARER ONES—A CONSULTATION—A COMMITTEE "SEEK LIGHT," AND FIND CONSOLATION—BURGLARIES AND HIGHWAY ROBBERIES BY THE WHOLESALE—MY PARTNER LEAVES FOR EUROPE—A TOWN IN OHIO INFESTED—A "DOCTOR HUDSON" APPEARS IN THE TOWN—HE MAKES A PROFESSIONAL VISIT TO ONE MR. PERKINS—A COLLOQUY; SEEKING LIGHT—A CALLOUS HAND, AND A CLEW TO MYSTERIES—"DOCTOR HUDSON" EXTENDS HIS ACQUAINTANCESHIP—HE MAKES A NIGHT'S VISIT OUT OF TOWN, AND GETS WAYLAID AND ROBBED, BUT MANAGES TO CREATE THE FATAL EVIDENCE HE WANTS OF THE ROBBERS' IDENTITY—A COUNCIL OF PRINCIPAL CITIZENS—"DOCTOR HUDSON" MAKES A DISCLOSURE—A SCHEME LAID—A "MILITARY INVESTMENT" OF A DOMESTIC FORTRESS; AN EXCITING HOUR—BREAKING INTO A HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT AND SURPRISING A SLEEPER—THE THIEF LEAVES TOWN TO GO TO CINCINNATI TO STUDY MEDICINE WITH "DOCTOR HUDSON"—A SUICIDE—PURITANIC MERCILESSNESS—THE MUSIC TEACHER'S INGENIOUS LETTER TO HIS LADY LOVE.
THE COOL-BLOODED GOLD ROBBER.
A SUDDEN CALL—GREAT CONSTERNATION AT THE —— BANK IN WALL STREET—TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS IN GOLD STOLEN—A HARD, INSOLUBLE CASE—"TRY," THE SOUL OF SUCCESS—BANKS COMPELLED TO GREATEST CAUTIOUSNESS—NO ESPRIT DE CORPS AMONG MONEY-CHANGERS—THE WAY I "CREATED" DETECTIVES—RAG-PICKERS MADE USEFUL ABOVE THEIR CALLING—AN UP-TOWN CARRIAGE HOUSE, AND ITS TREASURES—A LAUGHING COACHMAN—A PRESENT—COMPLICATED EVIDENCE UNRAVELLED—AN OLD OFFICE-WOMAN INVOLVED IN THE MYSTERY—A BIT OF FUN FURNISHES THE DESIRED "KEY"—"SMOUCHING," AND WHAT CAME OF IT—EXTENDING MY ACQUAINTANCESHIP—THE THIEF FOUND—A WALL STREET BROKER—STUDYING HIM—HIS CLERK WILED AWAY—GOOD USE OF THEATRE TICKETS—THE SCHEME OF IDENTIFICATION—A PLOT WITHIN A PLOT—THE BROKER WORSTED—HE STRUGGLES WITHIN HIMSELF; GROWS PALE—HOW HE EXECUTED THE ROBBERY—THE TERRIBLE "FORCE OF EXAMPLE" SOMETIMES—THE THIEF BECOMES A MEMBER OF THE COMMON COUNCIL—A SALUTARY WARNING TO OTHER THIEVES.
$1,250,000, OR THE PRIVATE MARK.
MONEY-GETTING AS RELATED TO CRIME—A VERY STRANGE HISTORY—THE MOST WONDROUS PURSUIT OF A MAN BY HIS ENEMY WHICH EVER (PROBABLY) WAS KNOWN IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD—JAMES WILLIAM HUBERT ROGERS AND "NED" HAGUE, TWO ENGLISHMEN—"DAMON AND PYTHIAS" IN EARLY LIFE—A CHANGE COMES—A DEPARTED AND CONSIDERATE UNCLE DESCRIBED, ONCE A PROTEGE OF THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA—OLIVER CROMWELL HAGUE, A RICH INDIA MERCHANT—A MARVELOUS SEARCH FOR A LOST MAN—A MAN FOUND AND IDENTIFIED BY NUMEROUS FRIENDS AS THE ONE IN QUESTION—PLOTTING AND COUNTER-PLOTTING—A SHREWD VERMONT "LAWYER" MAKES A THOUSAND POUNDS STERLING—THE INDEFATIGABLE ROGERS COMES TO AMERICA IN HIS SEARCH—LOST IN THE VASTNESS OF THE COUNTRY—WE MEET, AND DEPART FOR ST. LOUIS—TROUBLES, AND AN ENLIGHTENING DREAM—A WICKED LAWYER—THE RIGHT TO REPENT—A SPIRITED COLLOQUY WITH THE LAWYER—AN ENEMY FOUND AND SET TO WORK—THE GRASPING LAWYER OUTWITTED—THE LOST FOUND IN A TERRIBLE CONDITION—A LITTLE PRIVATE FUN OVER THE LAWYER'S DISCOMFITURE—A SHARP EXAMINATION AND CROSS-EXAMINATION—LAWYER OUTWITTED, AND LOSES FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS—MR. ROGERS DEPARTS WITH THE "LOST ONE," BOUND FOR ENGLAND—DROWNING OF THE LATTER AT SEA—THE CHERISHED VICTORY OF YEARS VANISHES—OUT, WITH A LAUGH.
WILLIAM ROBERTS AND HIS FORGERIES.
A MAN OF THE OLDEN TYPE—HIS SAD STORY ABOUT HIS WIFE AND HIMSELF—THEY ADOPT A BRIGHT BOY—THE WIFE'S PROPHET SPECULATIONS ABOUT THE BOY—THE BOY GROWS UP AND GOES TO COLLEGE—A PLEASANT YEAR—HE LEARNS CERTAIN MYSTERIES OF LIFE—STUDENTS' PITCHED BATTLE WITH THE FACULTY OF THE COLLEGE—OF THE "WHITE HORSE"—A WHILE IN A LAWYER'S OFFICE—BECOMES A MERCHANT—MAKING MONEY TOO FAST—A FATAL HOUR—THE VORTEX OF WALL STREET—SUNDRY FORGERIES—A STRANGE CAREER—AN IMPORTANT WITNESS LOST, AND FOUND IN THE INSANE RETREAT, HARTFORD, CONN.—A TERRIBLE COMPLICATION OF AFFAIRS; LAWYERS AND ALL BAFFLED—I AM CALLED IN TO WORK UP THE CASE—DIFFICULTIES ENCOUNTERED—FATE INTERPOSES—WENTWORTH, THE INSANE WITNESS, RECOVERS—A VAST DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BLACK INK AND BLUE INK—DYING OF GRIEF—AN UNHAPPY HOUSEHOLD.
OLD MR. ALVORD'S LAST WILL.
THE DESTRUCTIVE GREED OF GAIN—A WEIRD, WONDROUS TALE—"WHAT IF THEY BUT KNEW"—TELLING STORIES AWAY FROM HOME—REVELATIONS—AN OLD MAN OF THE HIGH MORAL TYPE—CURIOUS NOTION ABOUT THE SIZE OF A FAMILY—THE MYSTIC NUMBER THREE—PORTRAITS OF A FAMILY; A PERFECT WOMAN—DEATH AND INTRIGUES—A "FAITHFUL SERVANT"—OLD WILLS AND NEW—LEGAL COMPLICATIONS—THE LAST WILL MISSING—A CRAFTY LAWYER—A THOROUGH SEARCH—A DIABOLICAL COURTSHIP, AND FIERCE STRUGGLE THROUGH THREE YEARS—A DETECTIVE AT LAST CALLED INTO THE MATTER—A PLOT LAID TO FOIL OLD BOYD, AN UNSCRUPULOUS LAWYER—DID IT SUCCEED?—THE READER PERMITTED TO ANSWER THE QUESTION FOR HIMSELF—A VITAL DISCOVERY—MORE PLOTTING—A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY MAKES A DIVERSION IN THE PLANS—OLD ANDREW WILCOX'S FUNNY LETTERS SEARCHED AND A TREASURE "FOUND" AMONG THEM—OLD BOYD'S CONSTERNATION—THE LAST WILL FINALLY CARRIED OUT—"NOTHING IMPOSSIBLE"—A FORTUNE TOO LARGE TO BE LAUGHED AT—A CUNNING WIFE LEADS HER HUSBAND A CURIOUS LIFE—A BIT OF COMFORT, PERHAPS.
THE CONFIDENTIAL CLERK.
THE INNOCENT OFTEN SUFFER WITH THE GUILTY—THE DETECTIVES' "KEYS"—REGRETS—LEONARD SAVAGE, A YOUNG MAN OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, AND HIS FAMILY STOCK—RICHARD BROOKS, A WEALTHY NEW YORK MERCHANT—HIS VISIT TO YOUNG SAVAGE'S FATHER—RESULTS—PARTIAL BIOGRAPHY OF MR. BROOKS, IN WALL STREET AND ELSEWHERE—A SLAVE TO FORTUNE—A FATHER'S PRIDE—MR. BROOKS' FEARFUL DREAM—MR. BROOKS IN THE OLD HOME OF HIS CHILDHOOD—HOW A TRUE MAN TREATS HIS WIFE—FAMILY ASPIRATIONS—THE LOVE OF YOUNG MEN—COUNTRY AND CITY TEMPTATION—A "NEW SUIT," AND A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS—A SURPRISING PRESENT—A HAPPY SEASON—A FEARFUL CHANGE COMES—TERRIBLE RESULTS OF AN UNJUST JUDGMENT—STRANGEST THING EVER KNOWN—A CATHOLIC PENITENT AN ACTOR IN THE SCENES—REMORSE—UNRAVELLINGS IN AN UNEXPECTED WAY—A SPEEDY VOYAGE TO EUROPE TO RESTORE THE WRONGED TO HIS RIGHT PLACE.
THE PECULIAR ADVERTISEMENTS.
THE DOCTRINE OF CHANCE—A NIGHT AT THE GIRARD HOUSE, PHILADELPHIA—AN INOFFENSIVE GENTLEMAN, MY ROOM-MATE—I DISTURB HIS SLEEP—A QUEER TALE—NELLIE WILSON AND HER UNCLE—WILLIAM WILSON, NELLIE'S DISSOLUTE COUSIN—FEARFUL LOVE-MAKING—A RESCUE—A CALL TO DUTY—A DEAD MAN'S WILL MISSING—STUDYING UP THE CASE WITH THE GREAT CRIMINAL LAWYER, JUDGE S.—FATE INTERPOSES—A MYSTERIOUS AND PECULIAR ADVERTISEMENT—AT THE CONTINENTAL HOTEL, WAITING AND WATCHING—AN "APPEARANCE"—WILLIAM WILSON AGAIN—AN UPPER ROOM, AND THE VILLAINS THEREIN—A PRIVATE CONFERENCE NOT ALL SECRET—A FLASH OF VICTORY BEFORE UTTER DEFEAT—NOTES AND DOCUMENTS EXCHANGED—BASE REJOICINGS—FATAL NEGLECT—THE SURPRISE—COMPLETE DISCOMFITURE—END ACCOMPLISHED—"COALS OF FIRE," BUT THEY DO NO GOOD—VIOLENT DEATH—HAPPY CONSEQUENCES—PECULIAR ADVERTISEMENTS UNRAVELLED.
COL. NOVENA, PRINCE OF CONFIDENCE MEN.
THE CONFIDENCE MAN, PAR EXCELLENCE; A REAL "ARTIST"—"COL. NOVENA," "COUNT ANTONELLI," "GEN. ALVEROSA," "SIR RICHARD MURRAY," MAKES A VISIT—A MAN OF GREAT NATURAL ABILITY, WITH "A SCREW LOOSE"—A BIT OF "PHILOSOPHY"—THE MAN DESCRIBED, VERSATILE, AGILE, BRAVE, DARING—THE COLONEL AS A GALLANT—CURIOUS TALE ABOUT TWO SISTERS AND COL. NOVENA—PRESIDENT BUCHANAN, PROFESSOR HENRY, GEN. FREMONT, AND MR. SEWARD OF THE NUMBER OF HIS FRIENDS—DISHONEST WAYS OF DOING "LEGITIMATE BUSINESS"—A SHOCKING BAD MEMORY—THE COLONEL AS A PHILANTHROPIST—COMES TO GRIEF—AT WASHINGTON, D. C.—SARATOGA TEMPTS THE COLONEL.—HIS SUCCESSES THERE—A CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES—A VALUABLE DIAMOND NECKLACE LOST—THE GREAT MYSTERY—HISTORIC CHARACTER OF THE NECKLACE—THOROUGH SEARCHING—THE SHREWDEST SCAMPS GENERALLY HAVE BETTER REPUTATION THAN MOST PEOPLE—TOO GOOD A "CHARACTER" A MATTER OF SUSPICION—"MR. HENRY INMAN, ARTIST," IS CREATED—HEADWAY MADE—THE NECKLACE COMES TO LIGHT IN THE POSSESSION OF A MOST REMARKABLE WOMAN—GOODNESS IN BAD PLACES—A LIVING MORAL PARADOX—AN "UNFORTUNATE" GOOD SAMARITAN—THE GENERAL'S SENSE OF HONOR WOUNDED—TO CANADA—DOWN THE RAPIDS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE—A TOMB IN GREENWOOD—RENDERING TO WOMAN HER DUE—A BLESSED CHARITY—WALL STREET CORRUPTS THE MORALS OF THE NATION.
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
A ROBBERY—ONE OF THE FEMALE ATTACHÉS OF THE GREAT KOSSUTH—A WIDOW LADY OF RANK IN HUNGARY—KOSSUTH'S SISTER—A BOARDING-HOUSE AT NEWARK, N. J., AND ITS INMATES—SUNDRY FACTS AND CONSIDERATIONS—BEAUTY WINS—AN INVESTIGATION—SERVANTS EXAMINED—THE PATENT-ROOF MAKER—"TRACING" A MAN—A HOLLOW WALKING-STICK WITH MONEY IN IT—NO CLEW YET—A PATHETIC BLUNDER—REVELATIONS IN DREAMS—A BIT OF PAPER TELLS A STORY—IDENTIFICATION—THIEF ARRESTED—CONDITIONAL SETTLEMENT—TRIUMPHAL VISIT TO THE WIDOW—"WHITE LIE," AND ANNOUNCEMENT—DOUBTING—PERFECT EVIDENCE SOMETIMES IMPERFECT—UNSOLVED PROBLEM; WHO DID THE ROBBERY?
THE COUNTERFEIT MONEY SPECULATORS.
"MONEY"—THE COUNTERFEITERS' MORAL PHILOSOPHY—THE CUNNING OF BANK BILLS—NO VALID BANK BILLS ISSUED—A TRICK OF THE BANKS TO EVADE THE LAW—SWINDLING UNDER "COLOR OF LAW," AND IN DEFIANCE THEREOF; A VAST DISTINCTION—COUNTERFEITERS AS "PUBLIC BENEFACTORS"—THE REGULAR COUNTERFEITERS EMBARRASSED BY THE BOGUS ONES—MR. "FERGUSON'S" MARVELLOUS LETTER—COUNTLESS COMPLAINTS—THE "HONEST FARMER" OF VERMONT, AND HIS SPECULATION WITH THE COUNTERFEIT MONEY MEN—WHAT HE SENT FOR, AND WHAT HE GOT—A SECURELY DONE-UP PACKAGE—A "DOWN-CELLAR" SCENE—THE "HONEST FARMER'S" CONFUSION—A BIT OF LOCAL HISTORY RELATING TO THOMASTON, CONN.—THE HONEST OYSTER DEALER THERE, AND THE NINETY DOLLARS "C. O. D."—A QUESTION UNSETTLED—HOW THE "HONEST FARMER" OF VERMONT CHEATED ME AT LAST.
THE DETECTIVE SYSTEM.
THE NECESSITY OF THE DETECTIVE SYSTEM GENERALLY DISCUSSED—STATE OF SOCIETY WHICH CREATED IT—REGULAR AND IRREGULAR ROBBERS—THE YOUNG MAN OF INTELLIGENCE ENTERING UPON ACTIVE LIFE, A PICTURE—HE NATURALLY ALLIES HIMSELF TO THE TYRANT AND ROBBING CLASSES—NO HONESTY IN TRADE—TRADE RULES; AND ALL ARE CORRUPT—NO CONSCIENCE AMONG TRAFFICKERS—LYING A FINE ART—ALL VILLAINS, BUT NONE INDIVIDUALLY AT FAULT—THE DETECTIVE BELONGS TO THE CORRUPT GOVERNING CLASSES—WEIGHING HIM—GREAT THIEVES—"THE PURVEYORS OF HELL"—THE ETERNAL TALKERS, AND WHAT THEY AMOUNT TO—THE USE FOR DETECTIVES AN INCIDENT; "CATCHING A FLAT"—THE DETECTIVE'S VOCATION FURTHER CONSIDERED—HOW THE DETECTIVES PROTECT SOCIETY—ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENTS—A GREAT DETECTIVE DESCRIBED—STRATAGEMS—WHAT THE PHILOSOPHERS SAY—IS THE DETECTIVE SYSTEM FROM ABOVE OR BELOW?
List of Illustrations.
| 1. | PORTRAIT OF GEO. S. McWATTERS, | [Frontispiece.] |
| 2. | McWATTERS' SPECTACLE CASE, | To face page [33] |
| 3. | "TEN DOLLARS A MONTH," | [79] |
| 4. | McWATTERS AND THE VETERAN, | [87] |
| 5. | THE BOND OPERATOR, | [103] |
| 6. | THE WAX FINGER DISCOVERED, | [127] |
| 7. | SEIZURE OF YOUNG WORDEN IN BALTIMORE, | [149] |
| 8. | ATLANTIC BEER GARDEN.—PAYNE AND COLLINS' RENDEZVOUS, | [165] |
| 9. | DESCENT UPON BLANCHARD AND THE GAMBLERS, | [173] |
| 10. | PROTECTING THE INNOCENT, | [201] |
| 11. | RESCUE OF HATTIE NEWBERRY, | [215] |
| 12. | RESTELL AT SING SING, | [221] |
| 13. | THE BOGUS LOTTERY OFFICE, | [237] |
| 14. | SURPRISING THE BOGUS LOTTERY DEALERS, | [249] |
| 15. | RECOVERING THE DIAMOND RING, | [267] |
| 16. | THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER IN THE DETECTIVE'S OFFICE, | [279] |
| 17. | DISCOVERING THE "SPIRITS" AT NO. 89 —— STREET, NEW YORK, | [291] |
| 18. | "KETCH HIM AND HOULD HIM!"—WILLIAMS' ARREST, | [355] |
| 19. | THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING, | [383] |
| 20. | BREAK-DOWN ON LITCHFIELD HILL, | [399] |
| 21. | THE CEREMONY DEFEATED, | [409] |
| 22. | DR. HUDSON'S STRATAGEM WITH THE HIGHWAYMEN, | [433] |
| 23. | THE MISSOURI LAWYER OUTWITTED, | [489] |
| 24. | A RASH COURTSHIP, | [521] |
| 25. | FEARFUL DREAM OF OLD MR. BROOKS, | [549] |
| 26. | RESCUE OF NELLIE WILSON, | [577] |
| 27. | RESCUE OF THE WILL, | [585] |
| 28. | THE TWO SISTERS COURTING COL. NOVENA IN HIS LIBRARY, | [595] |
| 29. | THE "HONEST" COUNTERFEIT MONEY SPECULATOR, | [639] |
| 30. | CATCHING A FLAT, | [659] |
PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTION.
Deeming that the public would be deeply interested to know, indeed had a right to know, something more of the author of the following work than gleams through the series of entertaining, instructive, and in many respects unparalleled articles which constitute "Knots Untied," we applied to him for his Autobiography, in details covering other portions of, and facts in his life, than are revealed in the wonderful experiences of his professional career, as brought to light in these articles.
But we were met by a reply, characteristic of most men of deeds rather than of words, that it would be wholly against his taste to furnish his own personal history: he was in 'no wise desirous to vaunt himself,' he said; 'he had not sought,' he continued, by the articles in question, to illustrate himself, or to play the part of a hero in any measure, but merely to contribute to the current literature and the history of the times a narration of sundry interesting facts, which, in their hidden and secret nature, are usually withheld from the general public.
Throughout this book Officer McWatters has shown the modesty of a retiring and unassuming man; making no further allusion to himself, and his deeds and experiences, than necessary to sustain the thread of the narratives. He desired that the book should stand upon its own merits, without any adventitious aid from the high indorsements of his own daily life and personal character, such as will be found in what follows. He would, so far as the book is concerned, be judged as an officer and an author, rather than by the merits of his own private life, be they great or small. In this he evinced a commendable pride and a good sense which we could not question.
Nevertheless we considered it fitting that we add to the book such facts as we might possess ourselves of regarding the career of a man whose life has been given, in so great part, to deeds of good, heartfully and freely done, and to humanitary reforms, as has Officer McWatters'.
For it is not strictly and merely in the capacity of a successful officer or as a spirited and graceful writer that "the Literary Policeman" (as the journals of New York are wont to distinguish Officer McWatters) has done his best works. Officer McWatters is, par excellence, a humanitarian, a gentleman of the widest tolerance and liberality of opinions, as is evinced in various parts of the narratives, which exhibit nothing of that cruel and tyrannical spirit so common to men who have much to do with the criminal classes. It is rather by kindness than severity that he would deal with the erring.
Officer McWatters, being unwilling to supply his Autobiography; and being ourselves without sufficient notes to furnish the public with the biographical comments which we considered so desirable concerning him, we intrusted the matter of writing his personal history to a well known literary gentleman of New York, with directions to him to put into form whatever he could authentically gather of a nature interesting to the reading public in general, concerning the author of "Knots Untied."
How well he fulfilled his arduous duty, under the circumstances, the reader of the Biographical Notes which follow will judge for himself. But we regard it as not improper for us to say, that in our opinion the Biographical Notes will be found a very interesting addition to "Knots Untied," not only by the insight they give the reader into the career of a man, who, filling an unpretentious sphere in life, so far as technical vocations are concerned, has made himself illustrious by deeds of good will; but also by their style, peculiar in some respects, and here and there marked by the utterance of brave thoughts regarding matters of so much vital interest to the laboring classes, the poor, who are the "chief constituency," in a humanitary sense, of Officer McWatters himself,—by his benefactions to whom he has mostly won that high popular esteem, which is so well recorded in the Biographical Notes.
It is due to the writer of the Biographical Notes to remark here that, in view of the very short period that was given him in which to prepare the same, he accomplished in their production, a task which would be notable, even without consideration of the peculiar difficulties which lay in his path. It is not an easy thing to search hurriedly through a thousand newspapers, for example, for material, and select and arrange the same acceptably. But upon this point, perhaps, we cannot do better than to append to this, our Introduction, a copy of the letter which accompanied the Biographical Notes, from the gentleman in question.
The Publishers.
New York, February 10, 1871.
To the Publishers of "Knots Untied":
Gentlemen: Concerning the biography of Officer McWatters, which you requested me to supply, I am compelled to say that I am unable to give you anything in the "form and order" which a biography should—that it may be whole and symmetrical—present to the reader. Officer McWatters belongs to the class of men who make history,—the actors and workers in life,—rather than those who merely write history, or who so order their lives, and keep diaries, that their biographers can readily follow them from the cradle to the tomb.
Officer McWatters is widely known in New York. Everybody recognizes him as an active philanthropist, of the practical school; yet but a few of all, if any, if called upon as I am, to make detail of the deeds of his life, could place his hand upon this or that, and say, "This is McWatters' work," without some investigation; and for the most part of what I have collected, I have been obliged to search the public journals.
I am indebted, also, for sundry facts, to several of Officer McWatters's personal acquaintances, and have also drawn upon my own memory somewhat for facts which have come to my knowledge during an acquaintanceship with Mr. McWatters of about sixteen years. But I have not attempted to put things in their order, to any great extent; for there is no such thing as a "course of events" (the "Declaration of Independence" to the contrary notwithstanding). Events are individuate, each a completion in itself, and the great deeds of any man's life are usually individual, and not dependently connected with each other.
But in the accompanying papers I send you such a hurriedly executed biographical sketch of Officer McWatters as the short time you have allowed me would permit, trusting that, notwithstanding all its literary imperfections, it will not, so far as it goes, be found wanting in due appreciation, at least, of the noble career of a faithful, true man, who has done, earnestly and with loving spirit, his share of good deeds; and who merits both the respect and affection of all who prize what is gentle, brave, honorable, and honest in life.
Very respectfully yours,
S.
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES.
OFFICER GEORGE S. McWATTERS.
The subject of these Notes is now about fifty-seven years of age,—a hale, hearty, rosy-faced man, agile, lithe of limb, in the full vigor of life; and were it not for his gray beard and hair, might easily pass as not over forty years of age. Always temperate in his habits, he has, notwithstanding the many hardships of his life, some of which would have broken down less vigorous constitutions than his, preserved to himself the blessing of health and the hues of youth in a remarkable degree. He is of a medium height, with a countenance not only always fresh and rosy, but beaming with benevolence—"a good face to look into," to quote Carlyle. Judging from Officer McWatters' physiognomy, and from his style of speech, it would be difficult to declare him to be either Scotch, Irish, or English; he might, by many, be considered an American by birth and education, especially if he were to assume the name "Hudson," "Clark," or "Hyde," for example.
Where he was born and reared.
It matters not in what country a man may have been born, whatever the institutions under which one is reared may have to do with the formation of his character; and as to Officer McWatters' place of birth, we are not absolutely certain, but believe he was born in Kilmarnock, Scotland, and was taken thence by his parents, at an early age, to the north of Ireland, where he was reared.
It is easy to conjecture that a man like Mr. McWatters must have had a more or less ambitious boyhood; and his friends have sometimes heard him recite the wakeful dreams he as a youth indulged in, of "the beautiful land beyond the western waters." Officer McWatters was evidently born out of place, for he is intensely democratic in his sentiments, more so than most native-born Americans, and manifests an appreciation of free institutions, which not unfrequently rises to the sublime, or intensifies to the pathetic. It is doubtful, for example, that during the late civil war there could have been found in all the land a man who took a deeper, soul-felt interest in the integrity of the republic than he. But of this farther on.
Mr. McWatters after receiving a very respectable education in the schools of the north of Ireland, became a mechanic; but the monotonous life of a working-man there, was ill suited to an ardent nature like his; and while yet a young man, full of the spirit of adventure, he left his Irish home, and proceeded to London, where he pursued his trade, and eventually married a most estimable lady, who has ever been to him a helpmeet indeed. By this lady Mr. McWatters is the father of a very interesting family of some six children, who have been carefully reared, and have enjoyed excellent opportunities of education. Miss Charlotte, the eldest daughter of Mr. McWatters, a lady of refined culture, as well as extreme personal graces and attractions, was married in October, 1860, to Signor Errani, then the distinguished tenor of the Academy of Music, and who not only occupies a first class position in his profession, but is a gentleman of marked intellectuality and extensive literary acquirements.
REMOVES TO LONDON
London is a world-school in itself. What a man cannot learn there of arts, sciences, and literature and of all the various phases of humanity, from the worse or lower than the barbarian, up to the highest type which "Natural Selection," according to the Darwinian theory, has developed, he would be unable to learn in any other spot of Earth. Though young yet mature, and with an active, inquiring brain it cannot be supposed that Mr. McWatters allowed the grand opportunity for observation which life in London gave him, to pass profitlessly. Going from among the stiff Presbyterian forms of life in the north of Ireland, which must have been galling to a spirit like his, directly to London with all its social freedoms, the change was a great one for him, and must have piqued his intelligence to the keenest examination and scrutiny of his new surroundings.
In London dwell the best as well as the worst people to be found in the world. The advanced spirits, philosophers and reformers, whom the civilization of other European countries is not sufficiently developed to tolerate, seek the asylum of England and make London their home; so, too, of the criminal classes. The most murderous thieves and burglars find in London a hiding place and theatre of operations. London, which was too large even fifty years ago, and was then emphatically one of those accursed "vampires upon the public weal," as Jefferson declared all cities to be, has grown marvelously since, and continues to grow to the wonder of all political economists, who are at a loss to determine wherefore. But such is the fact, and into this great seething sea of human life was it that Mr. McWatters plunged in his first essay at "studying human nature" away from the narrow field of his boyhood's observations. Whoever resides in London, and acquaints himself with what is about him, and mingles in the city's strifes, and comes out unscathed need not fear to trust himself anywhere in the world.
Migrates to the United States.
Mr. McWatters, after sojourning in London for a while after his marriage, betook himself, with his estimable wife, to this Land of Promise. In London he had made the acquaintance of many of the leading men most interested in questions bearing upon sociology, humane reforms, and philanthropic efforts at the amelioration of the condition of the laboring classes. His warm heart became greatly aroused in seconding the needed reforms which his keen intellect demonstrated were urgent for the good of not only the laborers of London, but of the working classes everywhere; and he brought with him to this country what may properly be termed an intense general anti-slavery spirit, embracing in its sympathy not only chattel-slaves, but wages-slaves, of every kind and color. And this may properly be said to be the chief characteristic of Mr. McWatters; and that he has made this felt for the good of his fellow-men as effectively, perhaps, as any other man living, considering his means and the sphere in which he has operated, cannot be questioned by any one who has attentively read our city journals of the last ten years especially.
The writer has gathered, and has before him, not less than two hundred and twenty different extracts from the papers of New York, in all of which Mr. McWatters is complimentarily spoken of in reference to his benevolent action, his humanitary deeds to the poor and suffering, or his active coöperation with some great public charity.
Mr. McWatters, though gifted with that untiring industry, clear, native intelligence, and wide understanding of men and things, which conquer fortunes in money for their possessors, has never achieved fortune for himself, so busily has he been engaged in deeds of benevolence. At the expense of his heart he could never afford the time to make a fortune. The like fact has marked the history of many other philanthropic spirits, and should redound as much to their credit, as does the same to that of certain great scholars whose devotion to science would never allow them the opportunity for turning their great talents to money-making. It is reported of Professor Agassiz, the great scientist, that being asked by some admirer of his vast talents (and who knew that he rejoiced not in a large share of "this world's goods" in the shape of money), why he did not turn his attention to money-making, and get rich, as he would be sure to do soon, he replied, "I cannot afford the time."
Settles in Philadelphia, and studies Law.
Soon after arriving in this country, Mr. McWatters made his way to Philadelphia, where he took up his residence. After various vicissitudes, he gave his time (1848-9) for a year to the study of the law, under William R. Dickerson, Esq., a Philadelphia lawyer of large practice, but a man of that stamp of character which made him of peculiar value as a collector of debts, especially in doubtful cases. He was rigid, exacting, and uncompromising with debtors. Mr. McWatters reveled in the study of Blackstone, Kent, Chitty, etc., and looked forward with eagerness to the time when he should be prepared to enter the "glorious lists" of the Knights of the Bar.
A Heart too soft for a Lawyer.
But a change was to come suddenly over the spirit of his beautiful dream, and which he foresaw not. Eventually Mr. Dickerson intrusted Mr. McWatters with sundry collections. He found this branch of the business unpleasant in its performance. His soft heart ached for the poor debtors. He could not nerve himself to act the part of an extortioner. When a poor widow, or orphans, or some discouraged man just arisen from a sick bed, and in arrears for rent, etc., shed tears in reciting his sufferings, Mr. McWatters forgot the lawyer in the humanitarian.
Finally, one day he was sent to collect a debt of a poor shoemaker, who was barely able to get bread enough for himself and his family to subsist upon. The laws of Pennsylvania exempt from civil process certain portions of a housekeeper's furniture; but when contracting for rent, the housekeeper may waive his right to such exemption, if he likes. The poor shoemaker in question had done so; but in order to distrain his goods for the debt,—in other words, to take away his very bed, and other necessary furniture,—it was incumbent upon the officer to get peaceable admittance into the house; and that he might do so in this case, Mr. McWatters was sent forward to effect entrance as a person seeking the shoemaker's service, while the constable had his post at a corner near by, and was to rush in when the door should be opened.
The whole thing was sickening to Mr. McWatters. He went, however, as ordered, and rapped at the door, the officer watching at his post. For a reason most creditable to Mr. McWatters' heart, but which may be left here only to the reader's surmise, that door, which was unlocked when he rapped, became duly locked, without the officer's being any the wiser as to how it was done, and entrance was not then effected.
This was the crowning grief to Mr. McWatters' disgust with the practice of the law, and he quitted the further study of the "science" thereof, feeling that he could never harden his heart to the practice of a profession which often requires much of unscrupulousness of conscience and such mercilessness. But his year's study became of great service to him later in life, when called upon as a detective officer, or member of the Metropolitan Police force, in sudden emergencies, when a knowledge of the law in this or that particular was necessary for judicious action.
Departs for California.
About this time the great exodus from the United States, in fact from all parts of the world, to the California gold diggings, began. Mr. McWatters arranged his affairs, and migrated, with tens of thousands more, to the new El Dorado. But he was not happy there. The mad strife for gold overwhelmed all other things there. Men, in general, lost whatever of conscience they carried there, and the whole population was plunged in vices or crimes of one kind or another. Mr. McWatters found that he was not constituted to engage in such reckless warfare at the expense of all that was manly and good, and after nine months came to New York, which has since been his home.
Back in New York.
Soon after his return from California, Mr. McWatters became associated with Laura Keene, the actress, as her agent in New York and Buffalo; and it was while he was at this time associated with her (for he was connected with her in subsequent engagements) that Mr. MCWatters was first called upon to enact the part of a detective.
To his success in this instance referred to may be attributed the series of wonderful articles which constitute "Knots Untied;" for had he failed on that occasion, it is probable that he would never have had confidence to attempt again the critical rôle which the successful detective must necessarily play; and the literature of the age would therefore have lacked the charming contribution of the mysterious revelations of hidden life which Mr. McWatters has made in these spirited tales.
It would be pleasing to the writer to make allusion here in detail, somewhat, to that incident, and other affairs in which Mr. McWatters became engaged, and which have come to the writer's knowledge, but which Mr. McWatters has not seen fit to reveal in "Knots Untied;" but it would, perhaps, be an unwarranted act to do so. He has conceived the design of the book to suit his own tastes, of course; and while he has in these articles struck a chord which cannot but awaken in the popular mind a rich responsive appreciation of his book, yet he cannot expect to suit everybody's taste in every respect.
Mr. McWatters as Agent and Lecturer.
It is not attempted here to give the current of Mr. McWatters' life as it occurred, in successive steps; indeed, the writer is not sure in respect to dates in all cases, possessing only the facts in substance. But not long after Mr. McWatters' first engagement with Miss Keene was determined, he became the exhibiting lecturer accompanying a grand panorama of a "Journey to California by Water and back by Land," and it is not difficult to conceive that with his experiences as a traveller, his residence in California, and his gifts as a public speaker, he made the "Journey" a matter of great delight to his audiences. The panorama was exhibited in the chief cities and towns of various States.
Subsequently Mr. McWatters became the agent of the late Countess of Lansfeldt, more generally known as Lola Montez, which he continued to be until nearly the time of her death. Much has been written about Lola,—much which is false, as well as much which is true. She was, in some respects, particularly social ones, a great woman, but had her weaknesses, like other mortals. Lola, like many, was inclined to occasional religious fits; and this fact suggests an incident worthy of recital, since it illustrates something of the life of persons of much public note.
Anecdote of Lola Montez and Laura Keene.
Reference has been made to Mr. McWatters' association with Laura Keene. At a certain time Lola Montez became very religious, and continued so for a while. During her pious enthusiasm she determined to sell her theatrical wardrobe, consisting of splendid dresses, and dress-patterns (unmade-up), stage jewelry, of magnificent description, etc. She requested Mr. McWatters to offer them for sale to Laura Keene. He took some of the "goods" to Laura, whose purse at that time was rather limited. She could not gratify herself with the purchase of all, but selected a very heavy, rich dress-pattern, for which she paid in part, but on which Mr. McWatters trusted her for the sum of twenty-five dollars. When Mr. McWatters reported the sale to Lola, she was angry that he had trusted Laura.
Miss Keene was then running the Olympic Theatre. John Duff was her manager, together with Leutz, her husband. Laura wished to surprise them with the story of her new purchase, and had sent it off privately to have it made up gorgeously. When she heard that Lola was angry at Mr. McWatters' having trusted her, she sent for the dress; found it finished; declared that she had already paid for it all it was worth, but sent Mr. McWatters to some merchant's to have the goods appraised; whereupon he found that it was not dress-goods at all, but stuff for covering furniture,—known by all ladies now as "rep." Mr. McWatters reporting the discovery, Laura became angry, and sent the dress, with all its costly trimmings on, to Lola. Lola got angry again in turn, and tore off the trimming (which she sent back to Laura), and burned up the dress.
Mr. McWatters solving Social Problems.
Mr. McWatters was busily occupied in connection with theatres, etc., for a long period, more or less interspersed with his enterprises as a detective officer, and his busy life was richly freighted with interesting experiences.
Mr. McWatters has ever been greatly interested in social problems, having in view the emancipation of the laboring classes from their more grievous burdens, and belongs, in his sympathies, to that class of humanitarians who see in Association something like a realization of the teachings of the Founder of Christianism; and at one time was practically engaged with several other philanthropists, in an experiment partaking considerably of Coöperation, but which unhappily failed of its desired success for want of more, and better disciplined coöperatives therein. It would be interesting to the reader, but out of place here to present something particular of the history of the experiment alluded to.
Our Subject and the Public Press.
The writer has before him, clipped from the public journals, the record of remarkable incidents enough in Mr. McWatters' life to fill a small volume of themselves, only a few of which can properly be alluded to in a cursory biography. Such men's lives are often illustrated by "hairbreadth escapes," or signal good fortune under trying circumstances; but it is doubtful that a more singular and happily ending affair has ever occurred in any man's experience than one, the record of which was made at the time, in the New York Dispatch of June 20, 1858, and which is here copied in full.
"Pusillanimous Highwaymen.—Two Knights of the Road Frightened by a Spectacle Case.—At a few minutes to one o'clock yesterday morning, Mr. G. S. McWatters, late door-keeper at Laura Keene's theatre, was passing through Bleecker Street, near Mott. Suddenly two men sprang at him from behind a tree, one catching him around the waist, and the other making a grab at his throat. With a quick and powerful effort, turning himself around, he managed to fling from him the one who had hold of his waist; and quickly taking from his side coat-pocket a silver spectacle case, he drew his hand back with great emphasis, cautioning the other fellow not to advance a step, or he would stab him to the heart. The second fellow evidently mistook the glistening of the spectacle case in the moonlight as the gleaming of steel, for in double-quick time he took to his heels, followed by his companion, whose fall, as the result proved, had not detracted from his nimble-footedness. Mr. McWatters let the fellows run, very prudently avoiding imposing a task upon his lungs by calling for the police. It is thought they followed him for his money, of which he had a considerable amount about him."
McWATTERS' SPECTACLE CASE.
Mr. McWatters enters the Metropolitan Police Force.
Passing over a period in Mr. McWatters' busy life, checkered with incidents and exploits of a marvellous kind in his career as a private detective, as well as much that is interesting of his active participation in many measures of a politico-reformatory and socialistic nature, we find that Mr. McWatters entered the Metropolitan Police force in 1858, wherein he distinguished himself, for the period of twelve years, up to October 17, 1870, when he resigned his post,—not only as a most effective and reliable officer in routine duties, but also by many suggestions and plans of enlarging the utility of the force to the community in general. For instance, we find in the New York World, of date November 22, 1860, an article under the head "Information to Railroad and Steamboat Passengers," which dilates, to some considerable extent, and most complimentarily, upon the beneficent results to the public of the operations of a detachment of the police force, "called the Railroad and Steamboat Squad," by which travellers visiting New York, and passing through, were saved from the impositions and robberies of ticket swindlers, hotel runners, unprincipled boarding-house keepers, etc., by encountering the travellers before they leave the cars and steamboats, and giving them all requisite information in regard both to the swindlers, and how best, most safely and economically to conduct their sojourn in the city. The World's article concludes with stating, that "this plan originated with Officer McWatters, who, we know, was for a long time an efficient, and one of the most popular officers attached to this section of the force."
How well Officer McWatters performed his individual duties in connection with this squad, might be illustrated by the quotation of an article entitled "Personal," in the Daily Tribune of July 7, 1860, which is most highly complimentary of Officer McWatters, but is too long to be incorporated here.
Mr. McWatters' onerous vocation as a policeman did not forbid his finding time for earnest participation in many matters not pertaining to his special duties as an officer. Indeed, it would seem that, with all his labors, he found more time to devote to good causes outside of his police duties than many men of leisure and benevolent spirit think themselves able to bestow. It is said that none find so little leisure time to do anything as the wholly indolent and unoccupied, and the more a man has to do of daily labor, the more time can he find to attend to extra calls upon his services. Officer McWatters seems to have practicalized this "doctrine," for, judging from the several hundred extracts before us, taken from the New York journals for the last ten years, one would be led to think that Officer McWatters possessed the attribute or faculty of ubiquity, for we find him "here, and there, and everywhere" in the city, and without it, in attendance upon reform meetings; or advocating humanitary measures from the rostrum, for Officer McWatters is a forcible public speaker. The suffering and starving people of Kansas (1861) we find elicited his warm sympathies and active exertions in their behalf, expressed by the practical mode of raising contributions for their aid. In the Evening Post of October 2, 1861, we find allusion to Officer McWatters as the Secretary of the Patriotic Association of Metropolitan Police (of which, in conjunction with the late Inspector Carpenter, if the writer is not mistaken, Officer McWatters was the originator), which was organized to afford support to the families of policemen who joined the Metropolitan Brigade in the war for the Union.
Personal Incidents.
Chancing to turn at this moment to the New York World of March 14, 1861, the writer finds that on the day before Officer McWatters "immersed" himself in the North River, plunging in to rescue a six-years-old boy, who had fallen off the dock. In the Sunday Mercury of April 7, five weeks after the occurrence last mentioned, we find Officer McWatters aiding in the rescue of another boy from a watery grave; and in the Daily Tribune of March 11, 1861, appears the statement of still another rescue from drowning by Officer McWatters, this time of a man, one Captain William Vanname. We might extend, indefinitely, the list of kindred good deeds by Officer McWatters, as gathered from the public journals; but these will serve to show the fact that he was always to be found in the line of his duty. He was frequently saving life, or performing other noble acts.—But we do not intend to dwell in detail upon the professional life of Officer McWatters in his connection with the Metropolitan Police. It is enough, perhaps, to say in general terms, that he fulfilled his duties nobly well; that from Superintendent Kennedy, under whom, for the most part, he served, his official career received the very warmest praise, and that the public press made frequent complimentary mention of him all along the period of about twelve years during which he was a member of the Metropolitan Police force.
We might also refer for further evidence of Officer McWatters' honorable performance of his official duties and high standing in the force to the expressed opinion of the late Superintendent Jourdan. This gentleman's judgment of the merit of an officer's services was, of course, to a great degree worthy of respect. But though the Latin maxim is, "De mortuis nil nisi bonum" (say only good of the dead), we are constrained to feel, that although Superintendent Jourdan's praise had a certain professional merit, yet his moral character was so questionable, that his commendation of Officer McWatters could hardly add to the merit of the latter, while his taste as a gentleman, and his reverence for the honest and the true, would probably induce him to prefer the non-production here of the former's testimony.
Officer McWatters in the late Civil War: His Foresight.
Officer McWatters' earnest love of, and reverence for the free institutions of the United States, are something extraordinary, it would seem. Reared in the north of Ireland, and having resided in London long enough to thoroughly understand the miseries of the subject-classes of that great metropolis and of England, Officer McWatters was prepared, when he landed on our shores, to render at least due appreciation to republican institutions; and when the late civil war broke out, he entered into the conflict against secession with all his soul. His anxiety to go to the front at the breaking out of the rebellion, and take a soldier's place in the struggle, was only equalled by the bitter regret that he was prevented doing so by untoward circumstances. But what service to the country he was thus forbidden to do upon the field, he fully rendered, in various forms, in his capacity as a most active and enthusiastic patriot at home. Officer McWatters was not of that "noble home guard," so justly and severely ridiculed at the time, who urged others on to the war, and felt satisfied with their achievements in so doing; but he was ever alert in the discovery of ways and means to serve the government, perhaps more effectively than if he had been in the ranks on the field, or had headed a regiment in battle; for if Officer McWatters had gone to the field, such are his temperament, popularity, and capacity, that he could not long have held a position second to that of many men who gained distinction and led New York regiments and brigades—to say nothing of superior leaders.
He was of the number of those (few, indeed, they may properly be said to have been), who, in the early part of the rebellion, took anything like an adequate preview of its results. It appears that, early in the war, he wrote a letter to the press, in which is clearly stated his opinion, that the war "can have no less result than the abolition of negro slavery." He was prepared for this: implicitly believing in it, he ordered his conduct thereby, and throughout the contest manifested an enthusiasm proportionate to the mighty victory for humanity which he so clearly foresaw was to be won.
First Seizure of Guns at the North.
Always vigilant, and, everywhere that he was able, ready and prompt to serve the government, it must have been a matter of proud satisfaction to Officer McWatters when he made the first seizure of guns which occurred at the North during the war, and which guns were intended by their Northern consignors—sympathizers with the rebellion—to be used by their Southern consignees to shoot down the patriot forces. This seizure is thus recorded in the Tribune of May 12, 1861:—
"The vigilance of the police was yesterday evinced by the seizure of four nine-pound Dahlgren guns by Officer McWatters, of the Steamboat and Railroad Police, on Pier No. 3, North River."
It will be recollected by all who watched the current affairs of the war, that it was in regard to this seizure by Officer McWatters, that Fernando Wood, then Mayor of New York, so infamously and cowardly made an unasked apology to Robert Toombs of Georgia. Communication with the South was not at that time suspended, and he telegraphed to the secessionist his regrets at the seizure, and added assurance that if he had had control of the police the guns should be restored, or that he would have forbidden the seizure. Such was the substance of his telegram. But fortunately for the honor of the nation, as well as of the city of New York, the control of the police had, before that time, been taken from Mayor Wood. But his telegram sent a thrill of shame through all patriotic hearts, and added a new lustre to the merit of Officer McWatters' deed, by the contrast in which it placed the two men,—the dutiful, freedom-loving police officer, and the poor creature who, having escaped the issues of a criminal trial by pleading the statute of limitations, had been borne on the shoulders of a "Sixth Ward brigade" of repeating voters to the questionable height of the Mayoralty of New York.
It is, perhaps, worthy of note here that the virtues of Fernando Wood have since been duly rewarded by an appreciative constituency in New York, who have sent him for several terms as their fit representative to the Congress of the nation. It is seldom that the historiographer has the opportunity of recording such a lofty expression of the "gratitude of republics;" and the writer hereof takes especial pleasure in fixing it here "in eternal types." Officer McWatters' due reproof for the seizure is fitly found in the fact, that a noble constituency like Wood's, would, if they could, have annihilated him for the deed.
Officer McWatters' Services through the Public Press.
Not only at his post of official duty was it that Officer McWatters rendered efficient service to the government, but throughout the war we find him frequently making noble appeals for aid to the Union in one form or another, or setting forth some judicious plan of operations to secure the same, in able and spirited letters to the Evening Post, the Tribune, etc. It should give the writer pleasure to copy some of these letters herein, especially one which appeared in the Evening Post of October 2, 1861, but the limits of these biographical notes forbid.
In the Tribune of August 5, 1864, appeared a letter from Officer McWatters, from which, notwithstanding our narrow limits, we cannot forbear to make a short quotation, since it so well evinces his spirit, both as a man and a writer, as well as his lofty appreciation of the honor and glory of his adopted country's institutions. A portion of the letter is addressed to working-men, urging them to loan to the nation, in its hour of peril, such sums of money as they could save; and the letter concludes with these noble words: "Fellow Working-men: I have, by hard scraping, saved one hundred dollars. I am going to lend it to the government. I ask you, in the name of humanity and patriotism, to 'go and do likewise.' Your country demands your assistance; respond generously, quickly; think of the proud eminence on which you stand before the working-men of the world,—as American citizens!—and acquit yourselves as though you felt your dignity."
Kindly and Wise Providence.
Often is it, perhaps, that little deeds of gentle and silent charity, care for the suffering, and unostentatious benevolence, speak more eloquently for the heart of a true man, than those of valor on the field of battle in the noblest cause. In the Tribune of June 1, 1863, is copied a certain appeal made a day or two before, and which we recopy below:—
"To the Police of New York: Thousands of soldiers—your fellow-countrymen—are now lying in the hospitals about Washington, suffering from wounds received in battle. Their chief torment is a craving thirst; water is unwholesome, and cannot be given in quantities sufficient to satisfy the craving. The only safe and effectual remedy is found in the juice of lemons, and for a supply of this fruit the kindness of individuals must be appealed to. Twenty-five cents from each member of the force would afford incalculable relief to those who now pine for the want of this simple luxury. Will you help? All money paid over to Inspector Carpenter for this purpose will reach its destination immediately."
This appeal, effectively "displayed" (in the job-printer's parlance), and printed upon small handbills, was secretly circulated among the police, and soon resulted in a contribution by them of the unexpectedly large sum of over six hundred dollars, for lemons for the sick soldiers. Though a small affair in the matter of money, it proved a great one in other considerations. It was not only a beneficent act, but a very judicious one. From whom the appeal emanated was a profound secret among the police, until, on the 8th of June, 1863, there appeared in the Tribune a notice of a "report" by the late Inspector Carpenter, in which, referring to this matter, he says: "To Patrolman McWatters, of the Twenty-Sixth Precinct, is due the credit of projecting this trifling donation from this department to relieve the sufferings of our sick and wounded soldiers."
In many other quiet and effective ways Officer McWatters administered to the comfort of our soldiers and their families during the war, but we have not space to recall them here. Some of them became known, from time to time, and were recorded in the public journals of the day.
"Riot Week," July, 1863: Officer McWatters in the Thick of the Fight.
During the whole war nothing of a more fearful nature to the cause of the Union occurred than the great riot in New York city, which commenced on Monday, the 13th of July, 1863, and was not subdued until the following Friday. The people of the North were, to a considerable extent, becoming weary of the war, and thousands, if not tens of thousands, who had previously exhibited a good degree of sturdy patriotism, began to wane in their vigor and firmness of purpose, and were ready to "let the rebels go in peace hereafter." But the facts of those perilous days are too fresh in the memory of all to need recital here. The rioters were exultant, and the people stood aghast for a while; but finally the Metropolitan Police force obtained ascendency over the surging elements of the local rebellion, and brought back peace to the city again. But this was not done without more severe effort and a greater destruction of life than was generally understood by the country at large at that time.
Before us is a book, entitled "Record of the Police during the July Riots, 1863," by David M. Barnes, in the preface of which the author, speaking of the slaughters during those days, says, "The number killed by the police and military in the different conflicts, when alone and united, can never be ascertained; it is estimated by those who witnessed the scenes, and had the best opportunity of judging, at fourteen hundred. The bodies of those killed on the spot were hurriedly taken off, and in many cases conveyed out of the city, or secreted here, and privately buried. Cases of subsequent deaths from wounds, it is known, were attributed to other causes. Eighteen persons are known to have been killed by the rioters, eleven of whom were colored."
We confess ourselves somewhat astonished at so large an estimate of the number killed during the riot; but those were horrible days, indeed, and the estimate is, we think, quite probably within the limits of the truth. The book was published in September, 1863, it appears,—a date a sufficiently long time after the riots to have allowed much careful investigation to have been made. Among the other heroes of those days, whom the author signalizes by especial mention by name,—Commissioner Acton, Superintendent Kennedy, Commissioner Bergen, Chief Clerk Hawley, Inspectors Carpenter, Dilks, and Leonard, etc.,—is found our chief subject, as brave, active, earnest, and efficient in the midst of a deathly struggle, as he is ever gentle, kind, and tender in his silent ministrations to the sick, sore, and suffering in the days of peace. On page eighty-two of the book referred to, and where the special history of the conduct of the police of the Twenty-Sixth Precinct is detailed in regard to their conflicts with the mob in the City Hall Park, Printing House Square, and the Tribune Office, the author says,—
"No mercy was shown, and over a hundred lay in the square and park, the well-punished victims of their own folly and crime. While the mob were being thus terribly handled in the street, some of the force turned their attention to the Tribune Building, fighting their way to, and entering it. The fire had just been lighted, and was readily extinguished. Officer McWatters, on entering the door, was assaulted by a burly ruffian, armed with a hay-rung, who, by a powerful blow on the shoulder, knocked him down; instantly on his feet again, he more than repaid, on the heads of the rioters, the blow. The building was cleared speedily, and not a man in it escaped without severe punishment."
But it is unnecessary to extend comment upon the career of Officer McWatters, as related to the active operations of the war. As a patriot, his name is not only "without spot or blemish," but is one of which the best of citizens might be proud, and of which only such could have made themselves worthy.
Officer McWatters and his Literary Associates.
Before passing on, in direct course, to the most interesting portion of Officer McWatters' life, in which the character of the man, in his intensely benevolent nature, is most beautifully and nobly illustrated in a thousand ways, we pause here to revert to him as a gentleman of general literary tastes, and to his friendly and genial associations with men of letters. Mr. McWatters, in his almost countless letters, and other contributions to the public press, has ever seemed to avoid anything like notoriety,—to be, in short, quite unambitious to secure to himself anything like popular distinction by his pen; for nearly all his contributions to the press have been unaccompanied by his name, and when not literally anonymous, published over various sobriquets, known only to a few of his friends at most. Not a few of his most intimate acquaintances will doubtless be surprised when the spirited and elegant series of articles which he now gives to the world in "Knots Untied" reveal to them the man in his higher literary estate, so unostentatious has he been, and so little merit did his modesty permit him to attach to the articles in question, until diffidently submitted by him to the inspection of a few of his critical literary friends, who, delighted with their engaging style, and appreciating their practical worth, urged the half-astonished author to give them to the public, as a duty he owed to his fellow-citizens.
His course has been altogether a too modest one (if we be permitted to speak in criticism thereof). But, for his own private happiness, Mr. McWatters has never failed to appreciate the society of literary men, and notwithstanding his multiplied duties, official and humanitary, has always managed to find time to cultivate the acquaintance of the most gifted and distinguished literateurs, artists, and so forth, who, during the last fifteen years especially, have given lustre to the great metropolis. A genial man, a good story-teller, courteous under all circumstances, full of sparkling intelligence, generous to an extreme degree, a man of excellent habits as well as refined sentiments, he has always been welcomed by these men of lettered distinction, to whom we refer above.
And here we should be pleased to introduce the names of the most remarkable of Mr. McWatters' literary associates, up to the year 1871, as illustrative of the good taste of our subject. But the record would be too long for place here; besides, we might, while reciting the names of some, fail, through fault of memory, in this hasty writing, to recall those equally worthy of record here. But we have at hand an article clipped from the New York Illustrated News of August 2, 1862, in which is arrayed a list of many of those who at that time were distinguished lights in the literary world, and some of whom have achieved imperishable honors since, while others of the number have been gathered to their fathers—borne to their tombs in the "laureate hearse," after having won and borne upon their brows the bays of many a literary victory.
The article in question descants upon "Pfaff's;" and its literary, artistic, and other distinguished habitues. But we will quote it entire for the reader's pleasure, and information, possibly, as well:—
"As so much has been said in the papers, from time to time, about 'Pfaff's,' it may be well to state that the name is descriptive, simply, of a 'restaurant and lager bier saloon,' kept at No. 647 Broadway, by a Teuton of that name, and which, partly from its central position, and partly from the excellence of its fare, has been such a favorite resort, for several years, for artists, literateurs, actors, managers, editors, critics, politicians, and other public characters, as to have become quite famous. It is not, as has been often reported, the rendezvous of a particular clique or club of Bohemians (whatever they may be), but simply a general and convenient meeting-place for cultivated men, and one where, almost any evening, you may meet representatives of nearly every branch of literature and art, assembled, not by appointment, nor from habit even, but 'met by chance, the usual way.' Among the literary men whom we have met there from time to time, during the last three or four years, may be mentioned Walt Whitman, Aldrich, Winter, Stoddard, Bayard Taylor, W. Ross Wallace, W. D. Howells, Frank Otterson, Charles Dawson Shanly, W. H. Fry, Edward Howland, Charles Seymour, 'Doesticks,' 'Artemus Ward,' 'Figaro,' T. C. Evans, E. C. Stedman, Charles F. Briggs, E. G. P. Wilkins, Charles Gayler, J. V. Sears, Harry Neill, E. H. House, Frank Wood, C. Burkhardt, Rosenberg, A. F. Banks, 'Walter Barret,' George Arnold, Charles D. Gardette, 'Howard of the Times,' and Thad. Glover; among artists, Stillman, Palmer, Launt, Thompson, Cafferty, G. H. Hall, Shattuck, Innis, Sewell, Henessy, Loop, Avery, Frank Howland, Homer Martin, Eastman Johnson, Bierstadt, Van Beest, Hitchings, Bellew, Mullen, Anthony, Eytinge, Nast, Baker, Sontag, Boughton, Rowse; and of other well-known characters, Ullman, Strakosch, Maretzek, Grau, Stigelli, Mollenbaur, H. L. Bateman, Nixon, Dolly Davenport, Davidge, Young, Fisher, Floyd, Reynolds, Stuart, Moss, Chanfrau, Mason, the Hanlons, Officer McWatters, J. Augustus Page, Gill Davis, Schauss, Seitz, Brisbane, Dr. Wainwright, etc., etc., including a good number of politicians, and that large class of people, called Germans, without end."
Of this goodly host, the gifted Wilkins; Fry, the erudite, then so distinguished in the editorial and musical world; Arnold, the genial young essayist, poet, and humorist; "Artemus Ward," and perhaps others, long since made their last visit to Pfaff's—their lights of life going out in the peaceful darkness of death, while "their literary torches burn on,"—"stars which gleam forever."
And other of these,—Whitman, Stedman, Howells, Aldrich, and Edward Howland, for especial example—(the last four being, in 1862, of the very youngest of the above array), and Bierstadt, Shattuck, etc., have climbed to the top of Parnassian heights, won bright and solid victories in the field of prose as essayists, historians, etc., or transferred nature to the canvas with that beauty and sublimity of artistic truthfulness which have commanded for them the admiration of the world.
It is with these men, and others of equal order of intellectual and social gifts, that Officer McWatters has passed most of his leisure hours for many years; thus keeping his genial nature and bright intelligence free from the corrosion and canker which eat into the moral and intellectual vitals of the mere business man; and preserving himself physically, too, fresh and buoyant as youth itself. The great number of personal souvenirs which Officer McWatters' author friends have presented him, in the shape of copies of their respective works, constitute quite a "library" in themselves,—a pleasing recognition, grateful to himself and his family, of the excellent social merits, intellect, and moral worth of the man and the officer.
Officer McWatters as the Good Samaritan.
Whatever are our subject's merits otherwise, as a man and an officer, and extreme though was his patriotic zeal during the late civil war, and to which he gave practical expression in the wisest and noblest ways, all these has he eclipsed, and rendered comparatively unworthy of note, by his career since the war as a Good Samaritan, a practical "Home Missionary" (if it be not derogatory to apply to him a designation, however kindly, which usually signifies but little more than a sectarian proselyter of one school or another). Always interested in social problems, Officer McWatters is too intelligent not to fully understand that the fragmentary reforms and the ordinary great charities of the times can never subdue the evils which his heart would abate and banish from society forever. Indeed, it is the opinion of the writer, (however little this may accord with Officer McWatters' views, or however opposed he may be to so radical sentiments, for herein the writer speaks for himself and no one else), that the availability of charity towards abolishing evil is but pitiable at best. Giving the beggar an old coat, only to be called on by some other beggar for a like coat, and never seeking to abolish beggary and its attendant sufferings by some judicious means of abolishing beggars themselves, by destroying the causes which create them, is unscientific, paltry, and in every way unwise at best.
It is only about nineteen hundred years since the advent of Christianity; and perhaps not over two hundred and fifty millions of people at the present time profess to be Christians, and belong to some of the symbolized divisions of the church, while may be not over three hundred millions more profess to be Christians in spirit; and not much of good could well be expected to grow up in so short a time, and with so few advocates to encourage it; yet the writer confesses that, in some of his weaker moods, he is astonished after all that something has not been done by Christian people to abolish the proximate and fruitful cause of nearly all the crimes and sufferings, namely, poverty. The sufferings of the poor in New York, for example, are terrible to contemplate; and the much-boasted great charities of the metropolis are directed only to temporary relief of the sufferers. This is their highest aspiration even. They proclaim no desire to do more, at best, than to smooth the bed of the sick, and procure "places" for children (to grow up and work for others in), or situations for this woman or that poor man out of employment.
The right of these children and these poor men and women to live at all, and the duty of society to guarantee to the individual the enjoyment of that right, are wholly ignored by them. Year after year they perform their patchwork charities with a patience which would be commendable in the pursuit of science, and which, while it astonishes the writer at its stupidity, nevertheless commands from him, as he cheerfully confesses, a sort of respect, if not admiration; for many of these charity-doers are really the best of people at heart, and would doubtless, if they knew how, do better, act more wisely. But they are ignorant of better means than they use; and, in fact, it has never occurred to them that better and wiser means ought to be, or could be taken than those they employ, to assuage human suffering.
With his study and understanding of sociology, Officer McWatters must necessarily see, we think, and painfully feel, how meagre and pitiful are the amends which charity makes to those victims whom society has robbed of their rights; and his sense of this must constantly operate to weaken his courage and chill his enthusiasm in the cause of petty or "patchwork" charities. Yet withal so abundant is his good nature, so sensitive his sympathies, that years do not seem to abate his zeal therein at all; and here is the wonder. He keeps on in his good works, though the institutions of society multiply the sufferings he would abate, and bring to his door ten new sufferers because he has just aided one old one. As long as such souls as McWatters' continue doing their good deeds, so long will the rapacious and extortionate thank them, and continue to create victims for them to practise their humanity upon. The landlord, whose tenant is poor and sick, is very grateful, of course, to the "charitable society" which helps his tenant to pay the rent; and it is a question with the writer, sometimes, if it were not better that the kind and tender-hearted benefactors of the poor were less numerous; for if the poor were goaded on by suffering a little further, they might, dispelling the mists of ever-fallacious "hope" from before their eyes, come to see their rights, and demand them.
It is to the advantage of the master to feed his chattel-slave sufficiently well to keep him in good strength for work. Charity, under direction of the masters in society, feeds the working classes only up to the point of usefulness as wages-slaves. It is cheaper for a given present time to keep a poor man in a working condition than it is to let him starve to death, and so incur the expense of burying him. That expresses the morale of the master-classes' "consideration" of the subject-classes; and here in the United States the "tender love" of the strong for the weak is just as marked as in other lands, perhaps; but, alas! no more so, notwithstanding our boasted love of "liberty and right."
But we remarked that Officer McWatters must understand all this, and yet pursues his constant course of charities. Not for the wisdom (or the lack of it, as the case may be) which prompts or permits him to do the thousand acts of benevolence for which he is noted, is it that he commands so much of our admiration, but for that tireless sympathy and wondrous vitality of benevolence (so to characterize it) which ever bestir him, notwithstanding his clear understanding that he will, and can alone, only mitigate effects, and not cure causes; that he is "carrying coals to Newcastle" all the while, or is putting one brick on a pile, only to see a dozen fall therefrom; and this, though he repeats it day after day.
As we have before remarked, Officer McWatters is not a rich man, save in his own good nature and the affection of his multitudinous friends; and his charities mean something to his purse, drawing from it constantly whatever he can find time or opportunity to place there; for, if the writer is correctly informed, Officer McWatters has never received a cent for his multifarious labors in connection with any of the several organized charities to which he is attached. As a member of the Metropolitan Police he received his salary, rendering therefor his full duty; and this was all he had to support himself and family upon; and that was constantly depleted by his benevolence, as we have remarked before. In view of these facts, Officer McWatters is elevated, in our esteem, to the rank of the Howards, and the other marked philanthropists of the world.
McWatters and the Soldiers.
During the late civil war, as we have said, Officer McWatters took a deep and patriotic interest in the conflict. This was manifested in many ways, particularly towards the soldiers and their families; and he has not forgotten them since. Whatever the reader may think of a man who in this age allows himself to go deliberately into a contest, the avowed purpose of which is to maim and kill his fellow-men, for any cause; or what he may think of that order of society which compels a man to enlist in a cause of cruelty and blood (as hosts of men were driven into the rebel ranks at the point of the bayonet, or by conscription, or want of something else to do, however remonstrating), ought to have but little bearing upon the case of the veteran soldier now.
Our Northern soldiers went to the war with the assurance of the public press, and the declaration of hundreds of thousands of those who remained at home, but who gathered in crowds ("to see the soldiers off") at the places of departure, that they should, on their return, receive the gratitude of those for whom they fought. Promises were abundant, and the poor, confiding fellows for the most part believed them, and on the battle-field found consolation for their hardships and dangers in the love of those they had left behind, and which, poured forth in unstinted measure on their return, was to be their "good and abundant reward." Poor fellows! they have learned, for the most part, the value of their countrymen's love; they have learned how priceless is the glory of an arm or a leg lost, since it secures for them, who only had precarious homes before, a permanent home in the poor-house, or has led them to the due consideration of the virtue of economy; the estimable and superior value of rags over the whole coats they used to wear; of temperance in eating, and other like virtues. Very few care for the "veteran soldier" now, and his family is left to starve with those of other paupers, or with those of the imprisoned criminal. This is the sad truth; and were another civil war to arise to-day, probably but very few of the old rank and file, who are still strong and able, would muster around the standard again, but would generously suggest to those who remained at home before, that they might now win all the victories, and enjoy all the glory.
But there are a few in the community who have not forgotten the maimed veterans and their suffering families; and chief among these few is Officer McWatters; for we hazard nothing in saying, that, all things considered, there cannot be found another person, male or female, in the whole land, who has done more for the poor soldiers and their families than he. He seems to be impelled in his constant care for them by what amounts to almost a generous frenzy, and which might so be denominated were it not that his deeds in their behalf are always directed by wisdom; it is a passion, at least, with him; the poetry of his current life.
Ladies' Union Relief Association.
Officer McWatters is an active member of several charitable organizations; but that under which the greater share of his benevolent deeds have been done for the last five or six years during which he has been connected with it, is the Ladies' Union Relief Association. This is an organization, under the directorship of several benevolent ladies of distinguished social position in New York, such as the wives of Messrs. Marshall O. Roberts, Ex-Mayor Havemeyer, Dr. Joseph Worster, Henry Dwight, J. A. Kennedy (President), William E. Churchill, etc., with Miss Evelina S. Hamilton, as Corresponding Secretary, Miss Madeline McKibben, Recording Secretary, and Miss Marianna Hale, Treasurer of the Association. This organization has an advisory board, composed of Generals Dix, Van Vliet, Butler, Rev. Drs. Chapin and Thompson, Hon. W. F. Havemeyer, Drs. Herrick and Worster, Messrs. Theodore Roosevelt, George Bliss, Jr., William E. Dodge, Jr., and many other distinguished gentlemen. But the chief and most active man of the board is our subject, Officer George S. McWatters, with whom, and his constant aid, this benevolent Association would not willingly part.
The Ladies' Union Relief Association undertake to assist the sick and disabled veteran soldiers and their families, and the families of deceased soldiers; and their self-imposed duties are very onerous, and a vast amount of charitable work do they, visiting the sick and taking to them the necessaries of life, paying their rents, clothing the children; finding places of employment for the ex-soldier, or his widow, or family; furnishing this or that one means of transportation to the far West, for example, when offered a home there with some relative, etc., etc. These duties are constant. The field is always a large one; and in a season like that of 1870-71, when business is dull, and employment is scarce, the poor of New York suffer extremely. It is in such a season that the relations of poverty to the wealth which its labors have created (for the workers are ever the poor), is seen in painful relief upon the face of society.
In the performance of his voluntarily assumed duties under this Association, Officer McWatters found nearly all his time, aside from that strictly required by his official duties, occupied, nights as well as days. At the police headquarters, where he held a detailed position, the poor and suffering flocked to him during the day for advice and succor; and when off duty as a policeman, he gave his time to visiting and aiding them in their squalid homes.
The Ex-Superintendent Kennedy cordially seconded Officer McWatters in his benevolent work, and gave him every facility for receiving the poor at the police office. In this way he was enabled, while fulfilling his duties as a policeman, to gratify his heart with kindly attention to the poor. But eventually Superintendent Kennedy was superseded by Mr. Jourdan. Jourdan was, it would appear, an unfeeling man. He refused to let the soldiers visit the headquarters in search of Officer McWatters, and declared that they were "dirty, and smelled bad," and that he would no longer suffer them to come. Thus Officer McWatters' mendicant clientage was prohibited consulting with him during the hours of police duty, and he felt that his dearest, most cherished "occupation," was almost "gone." His sphere of pleasant, though onerous duties, was limited, and he fretted under the restraint of the rule which prevented the poor to approach him—a man whom the Rev. Dr. Bellows declares, when referring to the poor soldiers, to be "one of their few steady, laborious, and judicious benefactors."
But death came, and laid Superintendent Jourdan in the grave—the common earth—as lowly as the graves of the "dirty," poor soldiers whom he despised. It is a significant fact that this man Jourdan's remains were followed to the tomb by many distinguished citizens of New York,—politicians, men of wealth and professional good standing, and others. But perhaps it is not so strange after all that he should have been so honored in New York, for Fernando Wood has been mayor of the city; and many who have grown rich by political thieving are kept in office, and Jim Fisk, Jr., is not only suffered to live within the city limits, but has been elected to the post of colonel of the Ninth Regiment, and is actually extolled by great numbers of the people. Crime is no great stain to any man in New York if he but have money, or is in the "line" of making it fast. The city's moral worth reposes, for the most part now, with the few members of the churches who are what they profess to be, and with the benevolent and Christian women,—comparatively few in number,—like those of the Ladies' Union Relief Association, and the few Howards, whose best representative is Officer McWatters.
Jourdan's death, however, did not abate the unjust rule he had made, forbidding the poor to seek their friends at the headquarters of the police, and Officer McWatters, unwilling longer to follow for a livelihood a calling by which he was prevented from honoring the dictates of his heart by doing all which he might do in some other vocation for the poor soldiers and their families, determined on resigning his post. While he was casting about for such a position, some of his friends, among whom were Rev. Dr. Bellows, President of the United States Sanitary Commission (and who cheerfully says of Officer McWatters, "The evidence is overwhelming that few private persons have given so much time and effectual aid to the friendless class as he"), Wm. Cullen Bryant, and other gentlemen of high character; and the ladies of the Relief Association, who were unwilling to part with his invaluable coöperation, sought, for Officer McWatters, a place in the custom-house, where the lingering sway of no heartless Jourdan would oppress him. Officer McWatters' desire being made known to Collector Murphy, he, be it said to his honor, immediately and generously offered him a situation which would enable him to earn his living, and continue his benevolent work; and on the 17th of October, 1870, Officer McWatters tendered the resignation of his place as policeman to the Commissioners, by the following letter, a copy of which we take from the New York Dispatch of the 23d of that month:—
"New York, October 17, 1870.
"To the Hon. Board of Police Commissioners of New York.
"Gentlemen: I beg respectfully to offer my resignation as a patrol policeman, the same to take effect on Tuesday, October 18, 1870.
"This step has been rendered necessary for the following reasons: I have been prohibited by your representative, the late Superintendent, from employing my spare time in the fulfilment of a duty which, in common with all good citizens, I owe to the defenders of our country, the sick and disabled soldiers, and to the widows and orphans of those who perished in the late war; and being determined to fulfil that duty, I have obtained employment elsewhere, under circumstances that will enable me to continue to assist and advise these poor people.
"Respectfully asking your acceptance of my resignation, I remain, gentlemen, yours, &c.,
"George S. McWatters."
The public journals of the times made most complimentary allusion to Officer McWatters when noticing his withdrawal from the police force and acceptance of a post in the custom-house. They spoke of him—but perhaps it were well to let some of them "speak for themselves." We reproduce here the following (all we have space for in this article) from the New York Evening Post and the Daily Times. The former remarked thus:—
"The resignation of George S. McWatters deprives the police force of one of its most faithful and efficient members; but, on the other hand, it enables Mr. McWatters to continue his benevolent and gratuitous services in behalf of the wounded soldiers, and the widows and orphans of those who fell during the late war. Mr. McWatters proposes to open an office, under the auspices of the Ladies' Union Relief Association, and of General Butler, in his capacity of President of the Board of Managers of the National Homes for Disabled Soldiers, where, at certain hours each day, he can be consulted, and will offer relief and assistance. There is now no place in this city where this class of persons can get advice without paying roundly for it, and running the danger of falling into the hands of unprincipled claim agents. Mr. McWatters intends to give his service gratuitously in this good cause, as he has been doing for the last five or six years. He is now filling an office in the custom-house, and Collector Murphy has shown his discriminating good sense in making the appointment."
The Times said:—
"The appointment of Mr. George S. McWatters to the position of storekeeper, under the New York custom-house, was most judicious, and will be heartily approved by those who are familiar with the man and his good deeds. He has been connected with the police department of the city for the past twelve years, and never had a charge preferred against him in all that time. Since the war, in addition to his police duties, he has been an indefatigable worker for the interests of sick and disabled soldiers, and the families of those who died in battle. Hundreds of cases have been investigated by him, and relief obtained for the unfortunate in scores of instances. For these services Mr. McWatters received no remuneration whatever, save the gratitude of those who were the object of his beneficence. His merits were recognized by the collector, and hence the offer of an appointment, which was accepted a few days after."
Thus it was that Officer McWatters ended his connection with the Metropolitan Police, with the honor of the public for his faithfulness and efficiency as an officer, and the applause of all good people for his benevolence and laborious services in the cause of philanthropy. This brings us to the month of October, 1870; since which time Officer McWatters has been attending to his duties as an officer in the custom-house, and pursuing his career as a "Good Samaritan" as usual.
The Swindling Bounty Claim Agents.
In these biographical notes it has not been attempted to preserve chronological order throughout, as the reader has observed, and we now revert to sundry important facts in Officer McWatters' history, which have been passed over by us without allusion. Perhaps the chief service which McWatters has rendered to the soldiers is the successful war he waged against the Bounty Claim Agents in 1868-69. As the law regarding bounties then stood, the agents were able to grossly swindle the soldiers. And many of these agents, all over the land, and probably the most of them, did swindle them. To appreciate the full merit of Officer McWatters in circumventing the swindling agents, it is necessary to understand how they operated with poor soldiers; and as we find in the New York Times of March 21, 1869, a succinct explanation of their mode of operations, we transfer a portion of the article containing it to these pages. It will be found interesting as an item in the history of the times (as well as a comment upon the beauties of civilization in general). The article is headed "Bounty Swindlers," and goes on to say:—
"Herman, who is well known as a former claim agent in this city, is now at large, under forfeited bail of ten thousand dollars, for swindling discharged soldiers, who were credulous enough to trust him, out of their well-deserved bounties. It is estimated by the authorities that he made nearly twenty thousand dollars by these operations, which he has so carefully disposed of that it cannot be recovered by his unfortunate victims. There are, perhaps, fifty others of the same stripe in this city, who have gathered small fortunes by thus defrauding the soldier or his widow and orphans.
"To protect the soldiers from these sharks, Mr. French, Second Auditor of the Treasury Department at Washington, has, from time to time, suspended all business transactions with them. This had the effect of stopping the frauds for a while, but the swindlers soon found a method of overcoming the obstruction. This they did by procuring willing tools through whom they operated as successfully as ever.
"There are said to be thousands of dishonest agents all over the United States, who are continually engaged in this nefarious business. They are principally lawyers who have no reputation to lose, and who, therefore, are indifferent to public opinion.
"The modus operandi by which these swindles are carried on is as follows: A. is a discharged soldier, B. the claim agent. A. calls on B., and requests him to procure his bounty money for him. A. is informed that, in order to enforce his claim, it will be necessary for him to intrust B. with his certificate of honorable discharge, to be forwarded to Washington as a voucher. Thus far the transaction is legitimate; but now comes the trickery. B. further informs A. that there is another paper to be forwarded with the discharge, a blank, which he (A.) must sign. It is merely a matter of form, B. says, which the government requires, for some reason best known to itself. The signature is given, and the soldier goes away, assured that within a few days his check will be ready for him. The paper to which, in his ignorance, A. signed his name, turns out to be an absolute power of attorney conferred upon B., not only to enforce the claim, but also to indorse the draft when it is received, and to collect the money therefor at the bank. Thus authorized, B. draws the cash at the proper time, puts it into his own pocket, and keeps it there. A. calls for his money at the appointed time, but is put off with the excuse that the return has not yet been made by the department at Washington. This explanation is repeated each time that A. calls, until, finally, he becomes suspicious of unfair dealing, and peremptorily demands either his certificate or the bounty. As a rule, this demand leads to the speedy unfolding of the base villany. B. acknowledges that he has collected the money, and adds that he has spent it, but that he will refund it as soon as he is able to do so. The claim agent having acted by full power of attorney in the matter, cannot be prosecuted criminally, and the only remedy open to the victimized soldier is a civil suit for the recovery of the amount of his claim. The remedy is ineffectual, however, by reason of the fact that the swindler has no property out of which to satisfy judgment, and the soldier being too poor to prosecute the case, the affair ends at this point.
"There are now in the Second Auditor's office as many as sixty-five thousand unsettled bounty claims, representing about four millions five hundred thousand dollars, and by the recent passage of another bounty act, that sum will soon be augmented by nearly five hundred thousand dollars. It will thus be seen that, unless some measures are taken by the government to prevent it, five million dollars more will pass into the hands of swindling agents, to the great loss of those for whose benefit it was intended."
But long before this article appeared in the Times, Officer McWatters had been reflecting upon a measure for rescuing the poor soldiers from the despoiling grasp of the agents. He had laid his plans before the Ladies' Union Relief Association, and the good ladies, at once appreciating it, commissioned him to go, in the name of the Association, to Washington, and procure, if possible, the immediate carrying out of his plan, which consisted of certain changes in the law. He went at once to the Capital, and called upon President Grant, who kindly received him, and to whom he unfolded his plan. The Military Committee of the Senate were also visited, and they, as the President had likewise done, gave Mr. McWatters assurances of their sympathy with his designs, which they proceeded to directly express, by a proposed change in the law, which was in due time made. Messrs. Wilson and Howe of the Senate, General Butler and General Logan of the House, were particularly earnest and active in aiding Officer McWatters to accomplish his great aim in this matter. A resolution "for the protection of soldiers and their heirs," according to Officer McWatters' plan, after passing both Houses of Congress, received the approval of the President, and became a law on the 10th of April, 1869, and thousands of soldiers have since blessed their ever warm and judicious friend, McWatters, for one of the very best deeds that has been done in their behalf since the war. Lodges of the Grand Army of the Republic, in all parts of the country, passed votes of compliment and gratitude to him; and the press, also, was everywhere laudatory of him.
The new law forbids the Treasury and Pay Departments paying bounties due the soldiers to any claim agent, or upon "any power of attorney, transfer, or assignment whatever;" but provides that the money due shall be sent directly to the soldier or his heirs, by draft, on their order, or through the Freedman's Bureau, or state agents appointed specially for that purpose, etc., at no cost to the soldier or his heirs. The law also provides, that the government shall retain in its hands such proper fees as may be due to the claim agents for their services in procuring bounties, which fees are subject to the agents' order; thus securing to them all that is justly their due, while also, in a truly Christian or motherly way, shielding them from the temptation to rob the poor soldier or his heirs of everything. (One object of governments, we are told by sundry "great writers on Law," is to protect the morals of the people; which we are very glad to be assured of—sometimes. It is refreshing to be told that a divine power has a hand in the governmental institutions of the world; for if we were not so informed by the great writers, we might not always be able to discover the fact.)
But this victory over the claim agents was not won without much hard fighting on Officer McWatters' part. The rascally agents harassed him, threatened him, and attempted to bribe him, etc. But without going into details, we will content ourselves with transferring to these pages an article which we find in The Sun, of April 10, 1869:—
"The thanks of hundreds of soldiers who have been defrauded by the bounty thieves, are due to General John A. Logan, for pushing through Metropolitan Policeman McWatters' bill, requiring that all moneys due them shall be paid to the soldiers direct, the government reserving to itself the fees. While Officer McWatters was in Washington, the bounty thieves pretending to enjoy influence with the Metropolitan Police Commissioners, threatened him, and tried to buy him off, one of the fellows offering him five hundred dollars to 'go home and mind his own business.' We reproduce two of their threatening letters, as follows:—
"'Mr. McWatters. Dear Sir: You are in a business that don't suit you—something you have no right in. The men you are working against are a large and influential class; have power where you least expect it. You have a good position on the police. As you value it, quit your present action. Let the soldiers take care of themselves; it don't pay you, nor will it. You can't afford to play philanthropist. Leave that to men of means, and women, if you like. A word to the wise.
"'Yours, a friend,
"'New York, March 27, 1869. H. B. L.'
"'Mr. McWatters. Dear Sir: Your visit to Washington will do you no good, but may possibly result in great harm to yourself. You have a good position now, and I think you had better let the soldiers' matters alone, as you are interfering with the business of those whose power and influence can be used against you to disadvantage. If you think anything at all of your own welfare, leave Washington immediately, and pursue the matter no further.
Yours, etc.,
P. G. W.
"'New York, March 29, 1869'"
But Officer McWatters' labor for the soldier and his family, in regard to the laws regulating payments thereto, did not stop here. In 1870, in conjunction with others (he being the proposer of the same, we believe, as he was surely the most active mover thereto), obtained a change to be made in the time and frequency of the payment of pensions; the same theretofore being paid only semi-annually. There were evils attending these semi-annual payments. Some recipients getting so much of their dues at a time, were led to improvidence, spending the same more freely than they would have done smaller sums; and their families often complained about the matter. Officer McWatters urged the proposition of monthly payments, but was unable to secure his object; but the law was changed, making the pensions payable in quarterly instalments. This was a great improvement over the old law. Officer McWatters received numerous letters of gratitude on the passage of the law. We clip the following in relation thereto, from the Tribune of December 9, 1870:—
"The first payment of pensions under the new law making the payments quarterly instead of semi-annual, began last Monday, and many grateful letters, illustrating the beneficial working of the new plan, have already been received by Mr. G. S. McWatters, who was instrumental, in conjunction with the Ladies' Union Relief Association, in procuring the passage of the bill."
The payments were made formerly in March and September; and how the pensioner welcomed a quarterly payment coming on the first Monday of December, is perhaps as feelingly told, in its own homely way, as it well could be, in the following extract from one of those letters to which the Tribune refers. A pensioner, writing to McWatters, says: "Nobody but a poor man can appreciate the feelings a poor man enjoys in the consciousness of having a clean rent bill, a ton of coal, and a barrel of flour, in the first month of winter."
Ay! there is an eloquence in those words—an eloquence which touches the softer chords of the heart,—"The poor man enjoys"! Nobody more than Officer McWatters, the philanthropist, could appreciate the poor pensioner's letter. But is there not in that letter that which touches other chords than those of sympathy—the chords of justice in all decent souls? a sense of justice which regards with horror, and burns with indignation over, the wretched order of things, or disorder the rather, which creates these suffering poor? Very likely that pensioner, who tells us so touchingly of "a poor man's feelings," has done more for the world, created more for the good of his fellow-men, through his labor, in the form of agricultural products, necessary work of one kind or another, etc., etc., than all the millionnaires of New York together,—the mere cormorants, who fatten upon the toil of the laboring classes. Is it not a shame to our common humanity that a barrel of flour should, in any family, become a subject for their rejoicing? "How a poor man feels!"—in this world of wealth! in this age of Christian teaching! in this era of churches! Bah! it is enough, one would think, to make the apostles of the Nazarene arise from their graves, and seize the sword of Peter, to put an end to the villany which still enslaves the masses and keeps them poor. But we do not hear that they are disturbed, nor do we learn that there is pity anywhere in the universe for the poor, save in the souls of the poor themselves, and in those of a few philanthropists here and there. But that is well, for it is not pity which is to work the good reformation which must some time be wrought; it is justice, the justice which shall yet demand rights, and banish even the name of privileges; justice, with science as its means. All else has signally failed to achieve any great good.
Froude and other great writers admit that but little real progress has been made under our social institutions. Changes have come along the line of the centuries, it is true, but the "poor man" (and the term generically comprehends the vast majority of the race), the poor man suffers as much in these days as in those of Moses, or in Caligula's, or in the dark ages, or any period of feudal times; and yet we boast of "progress." In no period of the world's history has anything more reprehensible than the suffering of the Irish people at home, in these days, occurred; and there is no reason found in the organic structure of our government why our own poor suffer less, or shall suffer less in the future, than the Irish people now, save that there is a little more mercy in the laws which the tyrant or governing classes of this country make for the laboring classes, in the matter of certain household goods, for example, exempt from levy of attachment or execution; (but this is true only of the laws of certain States, not of the national laws). And this very hour, as we write, the National Congress is contemplating putting millions of acres of the public domain into the hands of the tyrant forces, thus robbing the future millions who will need the soil to live upon.
"The poor man's feelings"! But we dismiss the subject here, with the simple words,—eloquent enough to stir every decent soul to indignation over the wrongs of the laboring classes,—"The feelings of a poor man"!
But more work for the soldier and his family remained for McWatters to do, and he is at this writing (February, 1871) attempting, with the support of the ever noble and active Ladies' Union Relief Association, to get an act passed by Congress, by which an honorably discharged soldier, too poor to buy his own grave, may console himself, in his last moments, that his family will not be obliged to follow him to a pauper's last resting-place. Now, only such soldiers as die in actual service have a right to be buried in the National Cemeteries. The veriest villain may have enlisted in the service yesterday, and died, and be buried to-day in the National Cemeteries. But the honorably discharged soldier, who served through the war bravely and nobly, is not entitled to be buried therein, and if he dies poor, goes to the potter's field. Such is the nation's gratitude!
There's an awful sarcasm in this last work of McWatters. We do not know whether, in the overflowing kindness of his soul, he sees it or not. Memorializing "The Honorable the Senators and Members of the House of Representatives in Congress assembled" to provide a place to bury the nation's heroes in, by a sort of legal fiction, which, while they do fill paupers' graves, technically, obscures a little the fact of their abject poverty, by giving them graves "free of cost." Poor fellows! After death they get more rights than they had when living! The government takes away the soil from the living man, robs him of his right to it,—a right, the true title to which is in the fact of his existence,—his being born, if you please,—and makes restitution with six feet of subsoil to the dead man!
But the merit of Officer McWatters' work is not decreased by this consideration. He does the very best thing he can do under the circumstances. But the nation—the community—civilization—what of them?
Honorable Testimonials to Officer McWatters.
We have somewhere said that Officer McWatters has received not a dollar for his years of constant, active benevolence. This is literally true: but it is not exactly true in the interpretation which some readers might give it; for Officer McWatters has not been wholly without substantial rewards other than those of the joys of his own happiness in well doing. But we have not space to notice all of these. The one which we presume is most dear to the gallant heart of Officer McWatters, is a testimonial of his benevolent services given him by the Ladies' Union Relief Association, in July, 1868. We copy the following article regarding it from the New York Times of July 31, 1868:—
"Testimonial.—The well-known services of Officer George S. McWatters on behalf of disabled soldiers and of the widows and orphans of fallen ones, received a handsome acknowledgment, a few days since, at the hands of the Ladies' Union Relief Association, with whose invaluable labors he has closely identified himself since the organization of the institution. Mrs. John A. Kennedy, who is President of the Association, presented Mr. McWatters with a very valuable gold watch, purchased for him with private contributions of the ladies of the Association, as a testimonial of their appreciation of his energetic labors in the work they have so much at heart. The watch is richly chased and bears on one side of the outer case the monogram 'G. S. McW.,' and on the other, also in monogram, '1868.' The inner case has the following inscription:—
"'Presented to George S. McWatters by the members of the Ladies' Union Relief Association, in appreciation of his services to the families of Union Soldiers. 1868.'
"It is pleasing to note this handsome recognition of the quiet energy and modest worth of Officer McWatters, who has in many ways and frequently, during the war and since, given remarkable evidence of how much good work, in a humble and unpretending way, is within the compass of a single individual, impelled by a spirit of true philanthropy."
We also append a notice of the same testimonial, taken from The Sun of the same date, since it very succinctly sets forth Officer McWatters' great worth as a philanthropist.
"Handsome and Well-deserved Compliment.—A few days ago Officer G. S. McWatters was surprised by a request to attend at the residence of Mrs. John A. Kennedy, the President of the Ladies' Union Relief Association. There he was presented with a beautiful gold watch, as a token of recognition of the valuable work done by him in assisting the objects of the society. Ever since the war Officer McWatters has devoted all his spare hours to the benefit of Union soldiers and their families. We could fill columns with stories of his work and its good results, but have only room to say that no man of equal means has worked so hard and so successfully. To the assistance and encouragement of that noble institution, the Ladies' Union Aid Society, he has given every moment that could be spared from his official duties. It is a fitting and graceful compliment, when such ladies as Mrs. Wm. F. Havemeyer, Mrs. Marshall O. Roberts, Mrs. Kennedy, and others of similar standing, so generously recognize the faithful services of their co-laborer. Of course Mr. McWatters has official permission to accept his well-earned present, and long may he live to wear it."
We also subjoin the following from the Tribune, inasmuch as it makes allusion to certain benevolent acts and plans of Officer McWatters, to which we have not referred in these biographical notes, but which are most worthy of record. So good a summary is the Tribune's article of Officer McWatters' claims upon the public esteem as an active philanthropist up to the period of its date, that we copy it entire, though it embraces several matters upon which we have descanted more or less extendedly in these Notes:—
"It is always gratifying to see genuine and unpretending merit recognized and honored. We are therefore specially glad to record the fact that the Ladies' Union Relief Association of this city have recently, by the presentation of a valuable and appropriate gift, so recognized and honored the services rendered by Officer G. S. McWatters to the peculiar cause of benevolence to which they are devoted. The gift is a handsome gold watch, and the presentation was made on Thursday evening, the 23d inst., by the President of the Association, Mrs. John A. Kennedy, at her residence, No. 135 West Twenty-Second Street. The Ladies' Union Relief has been established two years. It was instituted with a view to the relief of sick and disabled soldiers, their families, widows, or orphans, from the evils of extreme poverty. Great good has been accomplished by the Association; and, in its peculiar charity, it has had no ally more efficient and indefatigable than Officer McWatters. Indeed, from the very beginning of the late civil war, this officer has consistently and faithfully devoted himself to the cause of the Union soldiers. In 1861 he was associated with the late Daniel Carpenter in the mission of raising money from the police force for the support of the families of policemen who had gone to the war. In 1862—an assessment having been levied on the police force for the purpose of raising and equipping the Metropolitan Brigade—Officer McWatters subscribed more money to this fund than any other patrolman on the force. In 1863, when our military hospitals around Washington and elsewhere were in great need of lemons for the wounded and suffering victims of battle, Officer McWatters collected six hundred dollars from among the police towards supplying this want; and the lemons so procured were gratuitously forwarded to the hospitals South and West by Adams Express Company. A letter of thanks from Dr. Bellows, representative of the Sanitary Commission, was, on this occasion, addressed to the Police Commissioners. In 1863, also, Officer McWatters was a member of the little band of police officers that rescued and defended our building from the miscreants who attacked it during the July riots, and in that affray he was badly wounded. In 1864 he was one of the originators of the New York Sanitary Fair, and he served as one of its committees, with so much devotion and success that he won a letter of thanks from Mrs. Lane, the President of the Fair, Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont, and Colonel Le Grand Cannon. Officer McWatters, it should also be mentioned, is the originator of the Police Mutual Aid Society, a very useful institution, founded on the principle of fraternal benevolence. The society has served as a model for similar societies—of firemen, post-office clerks, and other bodies of men all over the country. A plan of practical benevolence has likewise been formed and matured by Officer McWatters in the Masonic Fraternity, and has won the commendation of some of the highest officials in that organization. These facts strongly attest the humane spirit, active intelligence, and earnest devotion to duty which have characterized Officer McWatters in a highly creditable career of practical benevolence. The ladies of the Union Relief Society have no less justly than gracefully acknowledged the worth of his character and services, in making the gift we have recorded. Every lover of this country, we may add, and every friend of mankind, will naturally wish the amplest success to all these workers in the good cause of charity."
The Bellevue Hospital Iniquity.
Charity, holy though the poets sing her, and beautiful the painters picture her lineaments, is, after all, a hag, if real; or only an ideal being, at best, if we are to judge her by her precious, favored children, the almoners she sometimes employs to dispense her bounties. In New York a great many vulgar wretches are, from time to time, officially connected with the charitable institutions under control of the city government. Bellevue Hospital was, in 1869, the theatre of some of these base fellows' operations.
These men were protected by the "Citizens Association," so called,—a self-constituted body of very respectable gentlemen, whose business it is to see that everything in the city is properly conducted; gentlemen of high moral tone, the hems of whose phylacteries (made of invisible or abstract "great moral worth," "solid character," "piety," "good standing in society," and visible and real amounts of greenbacks, all interwoven in some mysterious way, and which together constitute "dignity," we believe), are broad enough to out-Pharisee those marvelous gentlemen in Christ's time who made Jerusalem such a genial place of residence, with their "long prayers."
In July, 1869, the Citizens' Association published, through the newspapers of the city, what they called the result of an investigation of the several institutions under the control of the Commissioners of Charities and Corrections, in which they assured the public that these institutions were all properly and well conducted, and felicitated the said public that the said institutions were in charge of such high toned and efficient gentlemen as they named.
But there was a man in New York, who, when he read the Citizens' Association's manifesto, thought it a most astonishing falsehood, either of the kind known as a lie, or of that kind which people tell sometimes when they are talking of things about which they know nothing; for his duties had called him to Bellevue Hospital on sundry occasions, and he had there witnessed, with his own eyes, sundry things which made his blood boil with indignation; and when he read the manifesto of the Citizens' Association, he determined to correct it.
Of what this man had seen at Bellevue Hospital, some faint conception may be formed from the following facts: There was scarcely a bed there, in any of the wards, which was free from vermin; patients who took most care of the beds, were always liable to get lousy in the water closets; only a single clean sheet a week was allowed, no matter how filthy a bed might become through the poor patient's weak misfortunes; the blankets were dirty; to keep the coverlets clean, for "whited-sepulchre" purposes, when visitors called, they were taken off nights; the cooking of the institution was done by a drunken, filthy cook, and was served to the patients on what had once been tin dishes, but had been so often polished "clean" that they had became rusty sheet-iron plates; the "orderlies," who were paid to attend to the sick, were tyrannical, and little or no attention was paid to the complaints of the sufferers. The only thing a poor sick man had to sit on was a stool, with a seat of about twelve inches by fourteen inches in size, without a back (and most of the sick had weak backs). The sick poor, picked up in the streets, for example, and carried there, had their outer garments taken off, and were put to bed without washing, with their under clothes on, and had no "change of raiment" till they died! The wards were cold in winter, and the poor were glad of even their filthy rags to keep them warm. Generally the bed in which a poor fellow died remained as he left it, unchanged, for the comfort of the next occupant and corpse! But this is quite enough, we opine, for the reader's entire satisfaction.
Of course this "Augean stable" needed cleansing, and the Citizens' Association needed enlightening, or reforming, whichever is the proper term in the case, and that man to whom we have alluded knew how to do it. The Tribune and Evening Post, when informed of the true state of affairs, cheerfully gave space in their columns for the facts, and appealed to the Citizens' Association to revise their work of voluntary report-making. We have before us a copy of the Evening Post of date September 1, 1869, containing a long editorial article on "Bellevue Hospital," mostly made up of a letter (which was written by a poor, disabled soldier, then "confined" in Bellevue Hospital), setting forth some of the luxuries, conveniences, the neatness, etc., enjoyed at Bellevue Hospital. (It appears that the only decent thing connected with the hospital then, was the medical care which was pronounced excellent.)
The article alluded to, called on the Citizens' Association "which, by a recent publication, has made itself in some sort responsible for the good management of the city charities," to "investigate" the matter (out of courtesy it ought to have said, "re-investigate," but it didn't).
The secretary of the Citizens' Association visited one of the editors of a city paper, and stated that Bellevue Hospital was the only institution under the Commissioners of Charities and Corrections which he had not personally visited! and after two weeks' delay, the Citizens' Association sent a committee of investigation to the hospital, and found everything all right, of course, and drew up a report, which, however, was never published; for when they presented the same for publication, the wary editors required that the report, if it were to appear in their columns, should be followed by affidavits of proper parties, showing that the iniquities complained of existed at Bellevue Hospital when the complaints were made.
The result was, that reforms so much needed at Bellevue Hospital were made there; for which hosts of patients have since been grateful. It is said that the authorities of the hospital offered a hundred dollars reward for the person who wrote, or instigated the writing, of the various letters to the press, exposing the state of things there, and which wrought the reform. But they were not successful at the time in discovering their enemy, and the poor patients' friend; for the bringing to light, and subjecting of these outrages at Bellevue Hospital to public condemnation, was one of Officer McWatters' many silent Good Samaritan deeds, and he did not intend to have them or the public know who wrought it. Besides, the officials were powerful, and might do him great harm, in their indignation at his exposure of their wickedness, and it would not have been wise in him to act too openly. But time enough has passed now, we presume, to calm their animosity; and having possessed ourselves of the facts without Officer McWatters' knowledge, we think it proper that the credit due him in this matter be acknowledged here.
Conclusion.
In these meagre Biographical Notes we have done but partial justice to Officer McWatters. Our readers were duly assured that no attempt would be made by us to write a fitting biography of the man; and we have only, in a hasty way, and in a manner wholly unsatisfactory to ourselves, alluded to certain incidents in our subject's life, which serve to stamp him as a man far above the average of even good souls, in his active, practical benevolence. But it is often in little things that the generous soul demonstrates itself most eloquently—in the usually unremarked, quiet acts of a man; and, in our judgment, a letter from Officer McWatters, which, in our search of the public journals for most of the material of these Notes, we found in the Evening Mail of October 23, 1869, bespeaks for him as much respect from the good and charitably inclined as anything he ever did.
We judge from the opening sentence of the letter, that some "good enough" fellow, "S. W. H. C.," soft of heart, perhaps, but limited in judgment, had found fault, through the columns of the Mail, with the poor organ-grinders' "plying their vocation" on the public streets. Of course there was nobody in all the great metropolis to come to their defence, except some man like Officer McWatters. And so he came, it seems, seasonably. The letter shows not only the tender, generous spirit of the man, but his ripe good judgment and comprehensive view of things as well, and is worthy of preservation here in these pages, along with the masterly efforts of his pen, which, in "Knots Untied," have not only given us,—his present readers,—the liveliest gratification by the mysteries they unfold in a lucid style, but have made one of the best possible records of certain phases of now current life, for the information of the future historian.
The old Romans (as well as other peoples) had their secret police service; and how interesting it would be to us, in these far off centuries, to read of their deeds in the empire, or during the kingdom of Rome. History, for the most part, is made up of the deeds of great conquerors, etc. We know too little of the domestic and "hidden life" of the past. But the future historian of these times will have all the materiel his ambition can desire for weaving the thread of his story. And what a resumé of crimes and outrages of all kinds will that of the 19th century be for the historian of the 40th century to make!
The letter to which we refer above, regarding the organ-grinders, will be found appended hereto, together with some other matters of interest regarding Officer McWatters, which we have collected in our examination of the public journals. We place them in connection with these biographical notes, as in some respects presenting our subject in a more graphic manner than we are able in this hurried writing, to make him known to the great reading public of his adopted country.
The concluding paragraph of the letter referred to regarding the organ-grinders, as will be seen by reference to it, is, "Until the country has reached out her helping hand to all to whom she owes assistance as a right, it is in bad taste to find fault with the mode in which the disabled soldier tries to earn a living for his family." In these words, so just and wise, is embraced more than the casual reader will be apt to perceive. They are, in our opinion, very remarkable, and involve a great principle, one which Officer McWatters, as a student of social science, as we have remarked him, must clearly understand.
"To all to whom she owes assistance as a right," are words eloquent with the great truth of social statesmanship which they suggest; which is, that a country, a government, should recognize the right of its subjects (or component parts, to speak more decently, for there is a hateful sound in that word "subjects") to life; and the great moral duty of all these parts to assist each other; a duty which is clear and imperative in the nature of things (but we cannot here go into the subtleties of the matter, and show why); a duty, however, which can never be fitly performed till some nation or people are so organized, politically and socially, that each shall receive all he merits therein; till the labor forces, the creators, the only really worthy, are honored and protected; and not, as now, when the chief villains and the worthless tyrants live upon the fat of the land, enjoy all the honors, and are shielded by the laws in robbing from and exploiting upon the poor, the laboring classes.
Healthful and buoyant of spirit, Officer McWatters doubtless has many years of active life yet to enjoy. The record of his past is abundant assurance that his future will be just, generous, brave in good deeds, sternly and patiently laborious, and benevolent to all mankind; and when he ceases to be, when the organized atoms which make what we call the man, and are discriminated by us from all other organized atoms as "McWatters," shall have been resolved into their original conditions, and his individuality is lost forever in the ceaseless processes of continuing creation, his good deeds shall live on still, and make for him a place in the reverence of those who honor good works far above that of most men; above that of all the talkers, the self-elected teachers, who heed not their own doctrines, however noble these be. One such man as Officer McWatters is worth more than an army of self-proclaimed saints, who do nothing but prattle about virtue, and preach, to use their own figure of speech, but live not out in their lives, nor exemplify in their deaths, "Christ and Him crucified;" but who think more of Christ on the Cross, in the "triumph of faith," than of the nobler Christ-come-down-from-the-Cross, and still battling, with untiring spirit, against the wrongs which men do to one another.
With this hasty sketch, and the appendices which we may see fit to make (as before indicated), we leave Officer George S. McWatters,—the kind of heart, the merciful, the dutiful, the intelligent and honest man; the patriot of the true type; the practical and great philanthropist,—in the hands of our readers, trusting that some able biographer will yet write his history, in a style and with a particularity commensurate with Officer McWatters' nobility of character and multifold great good works in the cause of humanity.
THE ORGAN-GRINDERS.
A WORD IN THEIR BEHALF—LETTER FROM OFFICER MCWATTERS (REFERRED TO IN THE BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES)—A SAD STORY—WHY THE ASYLUMS CANNOT BE HOMES FOR ALL THE DISABLED.
To the Editor of the Evening Mail: The communication signed "S. W. H. C.," in your issue of the 19th, breathes a good spirit towards our sick and disabled soldiers, but evidently was not written understandingly. By far the greater number of the street organ-grinders, clad in soldiers' garb, have been true and honest soldiers, but being husbands and fathers, they cannot take advantage of the asylums. The article on this subject was in all respects correct. Until the nation furnishes homes for this class of our disabled soldiers,—homes which will not necessitate their parting from their little families, dearer to them by far than their own personal comfort,—we must look for such street exhibitions as we see, and which are not disgraceful to the soldier, whatever they may be to his country. That some of these are impostors, I do not doubt; but it is the duty of the police to satisfy themselves who are and who are not, and to treat them accordingly. On the other hand, there are no more deserving objects of charity in the world than some of these are.
In evidence of the reluctance which those who have family ties feel in entering any of the asylums, I now narrate you an incident. Some six months ago I found a poor fellow in this city who had lost his health in the army, in which he had served four years. He had just been sent out of hospital incurable—a consumptive. He had a wife and four children, the eldest a boy of twelve, a cripple, and three little girls. Some one of the customary blunders at Washington had hitherto delayed his pension. The sole income of the family, when I called, was what the mother earned by scrubbing. The father had evidently not long to live, and poverty was hastening him to the grave. When I called, and saw how things were, I advised him to go to the Home, to which I would find means to send him. He said he would consult his wife. He did so, and then said that he had resolved to go; that he was only eating the bread his poor wife earned, and which his little ones needed. I took the necessary steps, and received from General Butler the coupons for his transportation. By this time I had had several interviews with his family; and seeing how much misery the threatened separation was likely to entail,—for they were deeply attached—father, mother, and children—to each other,—I resolved to try and prevent it. To this end I consulted Mrs. J. A. Kennedy, President of the Ladies' Union Relief Association, who, having heard the pitiable case, consented to extend the aid of the institution to the family, that they might stay together as long as the father lived. Freighted with this news, I went to the miserable home. They were waiting for me; had been sitting, weeping in company for hours, expecting the separation. I cannot describe to you the joy that filled that poor home when I told them that the father was not to go. Their joy was more touching than even the preceding grief.
Had "S. W. H. C." been with me then, or had he seen so many of just such cases as I have seen, he would be much slower in coming to judgment of the poor organ-grinder. For it is this love of wife and children, which we honor, or ought to honor, which sends the married soldier on the street to beg in this way, rather than take life easy, and "fight his battles o'er and o'er again" in an asylum. The soldier above referred to is still alive, thanks to the assistance given him by General Butler and the good ladies of the Association.
The asylums, as they are at present ordered, cannot meet cases like these; but they merit help, and should have it in some fashion. The Ladies' Union Relief Association does much to keep a great number off the street who would otherwise present much more disagreeable pictures than the organ-grinders to the eyes of your sensitive correspondent; but their means are limited. They cannot reach all who need. Until the country has reached out her helping hand to all to whom she owes assistance as a right, it is in bad taste to find fault with the mode in which the disabled soldier tries to earn a living for his family.
McWatters.
TEN DOLLARS A MONTH: A STORY OF GRIEF AND JOY.
It is a painful comment upon the state of society, or the character of our civilization, that our most cherished literature, both of poetry and prose, has its origin in human woes and wrongs. "Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn." Dickens, with all his wealth of genius, so much prized, would have found no use for it in a decent world, unless, perchance, it might have shone as brightly upon the face of Joy, as it beamed pathetically upon the tortured visage of Misery. Hood, in his immortal "Song of the Shirt," and the "Bridge of Sighs," and in many other of his verse; Tennyson, in the best of his poems; Mrs. Browning, with her vast power of thought and feeling, to say nothing of many other great writers of the past and present; our own blessed poet Whittier, etc., have given us their noblest works with pens dipped in human tears, or sharpened by human sufferings. So, too, of the great good deeds of the other philanthropists—the Howards, the Nightingales, the McWatterses. They could only have had their origin in the wrongs which man does to his fellow-man; in the outrages which the tyrant classes do to the weaker; in the riot of wars for governmental supremacy; in the sufferings of the outraged, trampled into the dust by the powerful robbers of society in their mad greed for wealth, or cheated by pious and talented hypocrites out of their moral as well as physical rights.
Society should be so ordered, as it might readily be, that all the pathetic literature now so much cherished, would be obnoxious to us, as belonging to a state of things which once existed, but which all were anxious to forget; when only the songs of joy should find birth, and when the basilar principles of Christianity should be practically recognized, and everywhere expressed in our institutions, or organic social life. But this we cannot hope for till superstition shall be done away with, the "money-changers" driven from the porches of our "temples;" the poor and ignorant made aware of their rights, and earnest in claiming them; and the tyrant classes come to learn the falsity of their chief "motto," namely, that 'tis "better to rule in hell than serve in heaven."
We had thought to give in the foregoing Biographical Notes some touching instances of the experiences of the good women of the "Ladies' Union Relief Association" and Officer McWatters, in their noble work of succoring the needy, and binding up the wounds of the suffering. We have before us, furnished by the kindness of a friend, a partial record of the Association's deeds (never intended for publication), freighted with notes of bitter sorrows which they have assuaged, and which, written out, would fill pathetic volumes; but we have no space for them here. One, however, so enchains our interest that we cannot forbid ourselves to recite it here, as an exemplary instance, which, if multiplied in his mind by hundreds and thousands, will give the reader something like an adequate understanding of the vast work of kind and tender ministrations which these philanthropists have done, and are constantly doing.
Officer McWatters had two or three times visited a poor, sick, emaciated veteran soldier, by the name of Patrick O'Brien. Of course Patrick could earn nothing for his own support, and depended wholly upon what little his good wife (a comparatively young and fragile woman) could earn by washing and scrubbing, and which she shared with him and their three young children. McWatters was greatly moved by the condition of this family. He saw that the wife could not much longer sustain the burden she was bravely attempting to bear, and finally advised that, as the best thing to be done, the veteran should be sent, at the expense of the Ladies' Union Relief Association, to the Soldiers' Home at Dayton, Ohio. This was consented to by the soldier and his suffering wife, but not without great reluctance. The sympathy of sorrows is tenderly cohesive and sensitive. After leaving with the family some money for their aid, and fixing upon a time, two or three days thereafter, to call with a carriage, and take the soldier to the cars, Officer McWatters bade good day to the family. They expected him to come for the veteran in the night, for the poor man preferred travelling then, as he got no sleep in the night season.
Officer McWatters was so greatly impressed by the innate pride, high spirit, and profound love of the soldier for his family, so deeply reciprocated by them, that he could not bear to see that poor household separated, and at once interested himself to get an allowance for the soldier from the Association, and thus enable him to stay with his family; and he succeeded in procuring ten dollars a month for him, assurance of which he received by letter, just at the time appointed for taking the soldier from his poor home to the cars. He went to bear the good news to the family. It was so late when he got to their miserable little room (for one room, one bed, served them all), that they had retired, thinking that he would not come that night. He rapped, and announced his name, and the poor wife arose from the bed, and admitted him. The poor children awakened before he could announce the good news, and supposing that he had come to take away their father, rushed off from their couch, and sobbing and weeping, implored him not to take their father off, the violence of their and their mother's grief preventing Officer McWatters explaining his present errand for the space of a full minute or two. The poor soldier, moved by his family's grief, had risen from that one bed, and added his prayer to the rest, for something else possible to be done than the sending of him away.
TEN DOLLARS A MONTH!
At last Officer McWatters succeeded in quelling the passionate storm of wailing and grief for an instant, which he seized to tell them his errand in. It is not probable that pen or pencil could ever do faintest justice to the picture of the gleeful, tearful gratitude which that family exhibited in their sudden revulsion from broken-hearted grief to wild joy, as McWatters finished reading the letter he had received assuring the monthly allowance.
"Ten dollars a month!" A pitiable sum, yet it brought joy to that whole household at that dead hour of night, in the city of mingled sorrows, and vanities, and debaucheries, when hundreds and thousands of the pampered sons and daughters of luxury (worthless members of society) were wasting each more than ten dollars an hour in worse than useless ways,—in riot and "ribald revelry."
The poor man remained with his family nearly two years; when he died, and was buried by the Association. Upon his death his grateful widow wrote to the ladies a letter (a copy of which was taken from the archives of the Association without their special knowledge, it must be confessed, but by "no robbery" after all), and which we think most worthy a place here, in honor of the good ladies whose charities it acknowledges.
"New York, May 3, 1870.
"To the Ladies Union Relief Association:
"Ladies: It is my painful duty to inform you of the death of my husband, Patrick O'Brien. Allow me to express the deep sense of gratitude that I and my children feel towards your Association for the assistance you have generously extended to us during the last two years of his illness. The value of that assistance has been enhanced by the manner of its bestowal. Mr. McWatters, the kind dispenser of your bounty, has smoothed to the grave the pilgrimage of a proud spirit; but for the many delicate assurances he gave my husband that your generous assistance was not charity, but the poor soldier's rightful due, the last years of his life would have been embittered by a sad sense of destitution and dependence.
"My husband served the republic for nearly four years, during which service he was maimed in its defence, and died at last of disease contracted in the service. He could not have borne the thought that he and his little ones were subsisting on the cold charity of the world, and thanks to the delicate tact with which your aid was bestowed his mind was smoothed, and his last days on earth made peaceable.
"Please accept the sincere gratitude and blessings of a soldier's widow and three children.
Mary O'Brien."
This scene of the poor family, with their single bed, and as they stood in their night-clothes before Officer McWatters, as, choked with mingled feelings of sympathy and a sense of the joy he was about to give them, he read, with tears, the welcome news, ought to be put upon canvas, and hung upon the walls of all the haunts of sin, the gold-room of the Exchange, the brokers' offices, bankers', princely merchants' ware-rooms, sectarian churches, and the other meeting-places of pride and robbery throughout the city, and underneath it should be written, "A chapter of our civilization in the 19th century."
S.
MACK AND THE VETERAN.
A TOUCHING TALE—THE POETRY AND PATHOS OF BARE FEET.
The following, taken from the New York Dispatch of October 16, 1870, is not only to the point as illustrating the noble traits of Officer McWatters' character, but is too well told not to be preserved here. We think best to make no substitution of "McWatters" in the place of the familiar sobriquet by which the genial writer was pleased to designate him.
In one of the big public institutions set apart for a branch of the Municipal Government of this big, overgrown city of ours, there is one, among the many departments of this, that, and the other thing, presided over by our friend Mr. Mack.
Mr. Mack is a gentleman, who, though old in years, is not old in infirmity, and he walks about with a vim and spirit that might be profitably imitated by many listless young men of the period.
Besides devoting his time and talents to his official position, he takes an active interest in everything of a philanthropic nature. We are ignorant of the number of societies which have these objects to attain, of which Mr. Mack is a member; but in all of them he is among the most active.
Among the charitable societies, is one composed of ladies, who attend the wants of disabled soldiers, their widows and orphans. The ladies have selected our friend Mr. Mack as their almoner, and his office is visited every day by scores of poor people.
On a late visit to the good man, we found a poor veteran just approaching his desk.
"Mr. Mack, sir," said the man.
"That's my name sir. Take a seat."
The man stepped forward briskly, but with a limp. He was sixty years of age, with gray hair, shabbily attired, lame in the leg and arm, and, as it afterwards appeared, one half of his right foot gone; a wreck of the human form divine, but with much manliness left about him.
"What is your business, friend?"
"That's it, sir; and I'll thank you if you can do it," he replied cheerily, as he handed a letter.
"You want to go to New London?" said Mr. Mack, after reading the missive.
"That's it, sir; my darter lives there. I've walked all the way from Philadelphia, and my legs have kinder give out. One of them ain't of much account anyway, but I've got to make the best of it."
Mr. Mack. "Were you a soldier? You know my business is principally with soldiers, although I should be glad to assist you if it is in my power."
Veteran. "Well, I guess so, sir. I got knocked up in this kind of shape doing service for Uncle Sam."
He raised his arm with difficulty, and pointed to his leg.
Mr. Mack. "Have you your discharge papers?"
Veteran. "I'm sorry to say that I haven't got them with me. I had them framed, and after the old woman died (tearfully), I sent them to Mollie for safe-keeping. But they're honorable, sir—they are, indeed."
Mr. Mack. "I might give you a letter that would insure you an entrance to the Soldiers' Home. Would you like to go there?"
Veteran. "O, dear! no, sir; although it may be a good enough sort of a place. I've got a home with my darter Mollie, who is well married, and settled in the place that I am making for; and I know that she will never go back on the old man, for she used to think too much of me, and be too delighted to see me when I came home from a long voyage in happier days. O, no, sir! (brushing the tears from his eyes with his coat sleeve), Mollie will make room for me."
During the colloquy, Mr. Mack was busily engaged in writing a note, and after finishing it, went into an adjoining room to obtain a necessary signature. He returned without getting it, and was obliged to delay the veteran until the official, whose name to the letter was wanted, came in.
Mr. Mack. "You will have to wait a little while until I can get this note signed."
Veteran. "All right, sir; never mind me—I'm used to waiting. I learned that some time ago, when I waited through the long watch at sea, till my turn came to climb into my bunk, and when I was on post in the army, till the relief guard came around; and when I've been away from home,—in times past, you know, I had a home of my own once, sir,—I've waited for the day to roll around when I would see my wife and Mollie (who was a little bit of a thing then) again. And all I'm waiting for now is the time when my shattered old hulk shall be laid aside as used-up timber; and all I hope for, when that time comes, is, that my darter Mollie may be alongside, and I shan't mind it much."
Mr. Mack. "Are you a native of Connecticut?"
Veteran. "No, sir; I'm a Baltimorean. I was born opposite the old Independent engine-house, in Gay Street, and my father and mother before me were born in the city, too, for that matter."
Mr. Mack. "A great many from your State fought in the Southern army."
Veteran. "That's so, sir; they did. But how do you think it was possible for me to do so, after having followed the old Stars and Stripes through the Mexican war, and having sailed under its protection for going on thirty years? O, no, sir! I had too much love for it. Why, sir, every port I ever entered respected that flag. They couldn't help it; besides, they knew they had to!" (Drawing himself up proudly.)
Mr. Mack. "Did you enlist in a Maryland regiment?"
Veteran. "No, sir. I'll tell you all about it. You see when the Massachusetts regiments passed through Baltimore, the brig that I sailed on had just returned from a voyage to Rio, and we were unloading in Smith's dock, near Centre Market. The soldiers had disembarked from the cars at the Philadelphia depot, and were marching along Pratt Street, towards the Washington station, when the attack was made on them. As I looked from the deck of the brig I saw the old flag pushing and dodging along the street, with a shower of stones and bricks flying around it, and I heard the sound of pistol-shots and the hissing and hooting of the mob. I happened to turn around, and I saw the same colors proudly flapping in the wind from the mast head, and I tell you it was too much for me—I couldn't stand it. I went to the captain, almost choking, and I told him I wanted an order for my pay; I was going home. I was the second mate of the brig; and the captain was a little wrathy at the idea, for he wanted me to stay and help him superintend the unloading of that part of the cargo that was to be left on the dock, before dropping down to Fell's Point the next day. I told him I must leave; and as he had no further hold on me, he had to give me the order. The owners were surprised, too; but after some talk they paid me, and I went home to the old woman. She said, 'You look excited; what's the matter with you?' 'Well,' said I, 'I am going to enlist in the Union army, and try and help to pay these fellows that fired on the American colors in Pratt Street to-day, back in their own coin.' 'That's right,' said she; 'I wish they'd let me carry a gun, and I'd go with you.' And I wished for once in my life that Mollie was a boy; for I might have made a drummer out of her, anyway, for she was too small for anything else. Well, you know;—but I hope I'm not tiring you with my long yarn, sir?"
Mr. Mack. "No; go on with it."
Veteran. "They were not raising any regiments in Maryland; and I fell in with a Hoosier, who was going home to Madison to enlist, and I promised him ten dollars if he would get me past the surgeons. I'm sixty-six years old; and you know I was too old for them, because they were more particular in the early part of the war than they were later. Well, when we got to Madison, to make matters sure, I went and got my hair dyed; and as luck would have it, the recruiting officers were a little drunk, and I passed without any difficulty, though one of them asked me how old I was, and I told them a lie, God forgive me, that I was thirty-nine years old! I went into the Army of the Cumberland, and at Chickamauga a shell burst near me, and I was knocked up in the way you see."
Mr. Mack. "You have served with General Howard?"
McWATTERS AND THE VETERAN.
Veteran. "Yes, sir; and a good, noble-hearted man he was, too, sir. There was no airs about him. He was just like one of the boys,— moving around among the men in a blue army blouse and the regulation cap, with a kind word for everybody; and when there was a battle, wherever there was the most danger you were sure to find him."
Mr. Mack stepped out, and returned with the letter, which he handed to the old veteran, with some money, which he took with some hesitation, saying, that all he wanted was to get a passage to New London, and Mollie would attend to his wants.
"When I get there," said he, "Mollie will find me some clothes to wear, for these are getting rather soiled; and I'm kind of ashamed to be seen in them, for I've been used to wearing a little better."
Mr. Mack told him that he only gave him the money to buy some food on the way, and keep him strong enough to look for his Mollie when he arrived at his destination.
"That's so, sir," said he; "I ain't got as much as will buy me a good supper. When I left Philadelphia, I didn't have enough to pay my passage, and I have made many a longer march. I didn't think it was much to walk a hundred miles, so, sooner than beg my passage, I thought I'd walk it. My lame leg made it rather harder than I expected, and I made slow work of it. I soon spent what money I had for meals, and I was obliged to part with a bull's-eye watch, that cost me twelve dollars a good many years ago. It was pretty old, and I only got a dollar and a half for it. Bull's-eye watches ain't worth as much as they used to be. I sold my old pocket-book, too; but as it didn't have anything in it, it was no good to me. I got my breakfast this morning, and have a small balance in my pocket, off of my spectacles, that I sold to an old fellow that they suited exactly; and I tell you I missed them this morning when I tried to read a newspaper with an account of the war in Europe. I think that war is going to do our people some good. They'll want some of our corn and wheat, and I tell you the crops did look amazing fine in the country that I passed through. I'm getting interested in the way things are going on on the other side of the water, and I think I'll buy a pair of specs with some of this money you gave me, and read to-day's news about it."
"Do you know," said Mr. Mack, "that you are entitled to seventy-five dollars for the loss of your foot, under the law to supply soldiers with cork legs, when they have sustained the injury in the line of duty?"
"Well, sir," said he, "I didn't know it, but you can see whether I am entitled to it;" and he pulled off his boot, and showed the stump of his foot, with the same pride that we remember to have seen a general officer display the stump of his arm lost in action.
The exposure showed that he was without socks, his foot being wrapped up in a handkerchief.
While he was exhibiting his stump, we observed Mr. Mack pulling his shoes off, and we expected to see him display a wounded foot also, when he hastily pulled off his socks; but instead of so surprising us, he handed the socks, which he had evidently but just put on that day, to the veteran, and against that individual's earnest protestations, forced him to take them to wear.
We are certain that the same angel who dropped a tear on the record of Uncle Toby's oath, will enter those socks to the credit side of Mr. Mack's account, at a large increase on their market value.
Shaking hands with the battered old veteran, and wishing him good speed on his journey to Mollie, we left Mr. Mack in his office in a meditative mood.
LOST IN THE STREETS.
OPERATIONS OF THE BUREAU FOR THE RECOVERY OF LOST PERSONS, ETC.—OFFICER
McWATTERS IN CHARGE.
During a considerable portion of his connection with the Metropolitan Police, Officer McWatters had charge of the department denominated "Bureau for the Recovery of Lost Persons;" a position which both his experience and active sympathies with sorrow peculiarly fitted him to fill. Its duties were very onerous, as will be seen by the following article copied from the World newspaper of December 12, 1868, and which cannot fail to greatly interest such of our readers as are not conversant with life and its mysteries in the great Babylon of America.
In a side room of the main hall of the Central Police Headquarters, on the second story, in Mulberry Street, is a desk, at which sits an old rosy-cheeked, white-headed police officer, named McWatters. Officer McWatters is famous in New York. He is a theatrical critic, and his opinions on music and the drama are greatly esteemed by artists; but, like most critics, he is a little dogmatic at times, perhaps.
Officer McWatters is detailed by Inspector George Dilks to take charge of a department organized in November, 1867, to supply a great want, and which is now in successful operation. This department is known as the "Bureau for the Recovery of Lost Persons." Officer McWatters was formerly in the City Hall Precinct, under Captains Thorne and Brackett, and is very well acquainted with the city, so his services have been made available in his new bureau.
Missing Men and Women.
The manner of investigation in regard to a missing relative or friend is as follows: As soon as a person disappears from home, the nearest relative, on learning of the missing person, goes to police headquarters and makes application to the "Missing Bureau" for information. The age, height, build; whiskers, if any; color of eyes, dress, hair; the place where last seen, the habits and disposition of the person, are given to the inspectors, and Officer McWatters makes proper entries on his register, which he keeps for that purpose, of all these facts. The personal description of the missing one is compared with the returns made by the Morgue every twenty-four hours to the police inspectors. Should the description answer to the person and clothing of any one found at the Morgue, word is at once sent to the relatives of the joyful news. Besides this, another very necessary precaution is taken to find the person or persons missing. Cards are printed, five or six hundred in number, and sent to all the police offices on special duty in the different metropolitan precincts, with instructions to the captains to have his men make active and energetic search for the person.
Troubles about Lost People.
Over seven hundred people have been reported as missing, to police headquarters during the past twelve months. Of this number the majority have been found, it is believed, as no record can be kept of those who are not reported when found, by their relatives or friends, to headquarters. Occasionally, a person who reports some one missing belonging to them, will give all the details about him, but if found, will fail to notify the authorities, from a sense of shame where domestic difficulties have occurred in families, or from laziness, or a sense of forgetfulness. Thus all track is lost of those who have been found unknown to the police, and accurate statistics are baffled in the matter of inquiry.
Where and how People are Lost.
The manner in which missing men are advertised, is as follows: A card, of which the following are fair examples, is circulated among the police.
"Missing.—Morton D. Gifford, about twenty-five years of age, light hazel eyes, brown hair, full beard and mustache same color, five feet six and three quarters inches; has lost two first joints of the middle fingers of right hand. Had on a light brown cloth suit bound with black, the vest cut without a collar, a black cloth overcoat made sack fashion, with black velvet buttons. Was last seen on board the steamer City of Norfolk, running between Norfolk and Crisfield, in connection with the Crisfield, Wilmington, and Philadelphia Railroad Annameric line, on the 3d of February, 1868. Had with him a black leather satchel, containing a full suit of black clothes, hat, linen, &c. Was a soldier in the Union army, and has recently been in business in Plymouth, North Carolina. Any person having any information regarding him will please communicate with Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry Street, New York."
"Office of the Superintendent of Metropolitan Police, }
300 Mulberry Street, New York, January 11, 1868. }
"Missing—since Thursday evening last, Mary Agnes Walsh, 23 years of age, residing at 281-1/2 Elizabeth Street, five feet high, medium size, slim built, dark complexion, dark-brown hair, dark eyes, had on a black alpaca dress, black plush coat (or cloak), black velvet hat. It is supposed she is wandering about the city in a temporary state of insanity, as she has just returned from the Lunatic Asylum, where she has been temporarily confined for the last three weeks. Any information of the above to be sent to her brother, Andrew Walsh, 281-1/2 Elizabeth Street, or to Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry Street."
"Missing, since Thursday, November 14, John F. McCormick. When last seen, he was on board the steamtug Yankee, at the foot of Charlton Street; age 24 years, eyes and hair dark brown, height five feet four inches, heavy eyebrows. He was dressed in a brown sack coat and brown vest, black pants, flat-crowned black hat. Any person knowing his whereabouts, or having seen him since the above date, will please call at the residence of his uncle, Robert McCormick, No. 12 Talman Street, Brooklyn, or to Inspector Dilks, Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry Street. November 30, 1867."
"Fifty Dollars Reward.—Missing from Bay Street, Stapleton, Staten Island, since Wednesday, November 25, 1868, Willy Hardgrove, a boy eight years of age, medium size, dark hair, dark, clear complexion, blue eyes; has a recent scar on his cheek, made by the scratch of a pin; dressed in a dark striped jacket and pants; the pants button on the jacket with light bone buttons; old, strong boots, no hat. He is rather an attractive boy, and very familiar with strangers. It is feared he has been abducted, from the fact of his musical abilities. He can sing, in a good tenor voice, any tune he may hear once played, but can't speak plain. The above reward will be paid by his father, Terence M. Hardgrove, Stapleton, for such information as will lead to his recovery. Information may be sent to Inspector Dilks, Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry Street."
"Missing.—Annie Hearn left her home on Monday last. She is ten years of age, dark blue eyes, black hair cut short; has a slight scar on her left temple. Was dressed in a dark alpaca frock, black woollen sontag with white border; black velvet hat, no trimming, high laced boots, striped stockings. Any information relative to her will be gratefully received by Richard Burk, 217 Madison Street, or Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry Street."
"Left her home, at Hyde Park, Scranton City, Pa., on Monday, June 14, Sarah Hannaghan, aged 15, tall for her age, short brown hair, light eyes, and fair complexion. Had on a tan-colored dress, light cape, drab hat, trimmed with ribbon of the same color. Had with her a dress with a yellow stripe, made short. Information to be sent to Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry Street, New York, or to James Hannaghan, 152 Leonard Street."
"Twenty-five Dollars Reward will be paid for information that will lead to the arrest or recovery of Henrietta Voss, aged 16 years. She left Secausus, Hudson county, New Jersey, Tuesday, July 21, about 7 A. M. She is tall, slim built, and a little stooped; brown hair, blue eyes, long, thin, pale face. Dressed in a full suit of black. The gratitude of a father, who desires to save his daughter, will be added to the above reward. John Voss."
"Twenty-five Dollars Reward.—Missing, an insane man, named Frederick Liebrich, native of Germany, speaks English, German, and French. Supposed to lodge at night in the police station houses about the lower part of the city; is very stupid looking, and clothed in rags. Was last seen in Washington Market, about the middle of last November. He is about 38 years of age, eyes and hair black, large, regular features, and very dark complexion; about five feet ten inches high, stout built, straight and well made. The above reward will be paid for his recovery, or direct evidence of his death, by Frederick Kummich, 82 Washington Street, Brooklyn. Information to be sent to Inspector Dilks, Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry Street."
Lost Children.
Hundreds of "lost children" bear testimony to the carelessness of mothers and nurses, who are more intent on other business, when their charges stray off, to be found afterwards, in out-of-the-way places, by stray policemen. Quite often a pedestrian will notice, on going along one of our side streets, a young child, its eyes bubbling over with tears, and red from irritation and inflammation, who has strayed from its parents' residence. Sometimes it will have a stick of candy in its infantile fist, or else an apple, or a slice of bread, butter, and molasses, to console it in its wanderings. It is very seldom, however, that these children do not find their way back to their parents, unless that there is foul play, in such instances where a child may be kidnapped by people who are childless, or through their agency, for the purpose of adoption in barren families. The practice of baby-farming has not as yet attained, in America, the height that it has reached in England, and therefore the lives of children are not yet so endangered as they are across the water. It is calculated that at least one thousand children are missing every year in this city, but they are nearly all returned before the close of the day on which they are first missed.
The Dens of Midnight.
If the thousand and one noisome crannies, nooks, and dens of this great city could be exposed to view, day after day, the body of many a missing man and woman might be found festering and rotting, or their bones bleaching, for want of decent burial. Where do the bodies come from that are fished up, bloated and disfigured, night after night, by the Water Police, in haunts of the docks, and from the slimes of the Hudson? It is fearful to think of men, influenced by liquor, who, with their gold watches, pocket-books, and other valuables, exposed in the most foolish manner, are to be seen, night after night, in the dens and hells of this great, sinful city. Many of these men are from far-off country villages and happy homes, and when thrown into our streets at night, under the flare of the gas lamps, and among crowds of showily dressed women, whose feet are ever downward into the abyss, it becomes almost impossible for them to resist the thousand and one meretricious temptations that are placed before them.
The Horror of a Breaking Dawn.
Instances may be related of how men disappear, and are never heard of to be recognized. A well-to-do person from Ohio, who had never visited New York before, pays a visit to this city, and stopping at a down-town hotel, sallies out in the evening in search of what he has been taught, by his limited course of reading to call "adventures." He believes, in his Ohio simplicity, that he will meet with a beautiful and rich young lady in New York, who, struck with his rural graces and charms, will at once accept his hand and farm. Well, he takes a look at the "Black Crook," or "White Fawn," or "Genevieve de Brabant," and, returning late to his down-town hotel, is struck by the beauty and grace of a female form that glides before him on his way thither. Pretty soon she makes a signal to him that cannot be mistaken, and our Ohio friend, rather astonished at the freedom of the aristocratic and well-bred ladies of the metropolis, but nothing loath, hastens to her side, and accompanies her to her richly voluptuous mansion in Bleecker, Green, Mercer, or Crosby Streets. In the watches of the night he awakens to find the aristocratic lady fastened on his throat, and a male friend of hers, with a villanous countenance, poising a knife for a plunge in his neck. The work is done quickly; a barrel well packed, or a furniture chest, placed in a carriage at night, can be taken up the Hudson River road, and there dropped in the river, and after a day or so the head of another dead man will be found eddying and floating around the rolling piers near the battery, his face a pulp, and no longer recognizable. The sun shines down on the plashing waters, but the eyes are sightless, and never another sun can dim their brilliancy or splendor. It is only another missing man, without watch, pocket-book, or money on his person.
Misery, Shame, and Death.
Another missing instance. A beautiful girl, born in a village on the Sound, where the waters of that inland sea beat, and play around the sandy pebbles of a land-locked inlet, is reared in innocence and virtue, until she reaches her seventeenth year. She is as lovely as the dawn, has had no excitement—but the Sunday prayer-meeting, and her life, peaceful and happy, has never been tainted by the novelty of desire. At seventeen she visits New York for the first eventful time in her life. She is dazzled with its theatres, its balls, its Central Park; the Broadway confuses and intoxicates her, but opera has divine charms for her musical ear, and she is escorted, night after night, by a man with a pleasing face and a ready tongue. She is yet white as the unstained snow. One night they take a midnight sleigh ride on the road, and stop at a fashionable-looking restaurant in Harlem Lane. She is persuaded to take a glass of champagne, and finally to drink an entire bottle of champagne. That night the world is torn from under her feet. She has tasted of the Apples of Death. She returns to her peaceful home, by the silken waves of the Sound, a dishonored woman. To hide her shame, she returns to New York; but her destroyer has gone—she knows not whither. Then the struggle begins for existence and bread. She is a seamstress, a dry-goods clerk, but her shame finds her out when an infant is born to her unnamed. One night, hungry, and torn with the struggle of a lost hope, she rushes into the streets and seeks the river. On a lone pier she seeks refuge from her "lost life." The night-watchman, anxious about the cotton and rosin confided to his charge, does not hear the cry of "Mother" from a despairing girl, or the plunge into the gloomy, silent river below. She is not found for days after, and then her once fair face is knawed threadbare with the incisors of crabs, and the once white neck, rounded as a pillar of glory, is a mere greenish mass of festering corruption. She is not recognized, and thus fills the page devoted to missing people.
Finis.
Then there are the cases of girls who disappear from their homes outside of New York, and descend into her brothels, where they find rich raiment, rich food, a merry and unceasing round of gayety, champagne and lovers, which they could never hope for where they came from. These girls leave home very often through sensuality or laziness,—for girls are lazy as well as boys,—and when missing, are generally found in brothels, which, as a general thing, they will not leave for their parents. Then there are husbands and wives who quarrel foolishly, and separate to vex each other, and are missing for years, to finally be forced into other illegal ties. And there is a case of a young man, twenty, married and rich, who leaves his wife; is gone for twelve months, and is found in New Orleans, when he tells those who find him that he has been very sick, and was forced to leave his happy home.
There is also, as it is well known, a great number of infamous houses in this city where abortion is openly practised, and where whole hecatombs of innocent children are slaughtered, to hide the shame of their guilty mothers. How many wealthy and refined girls are to be found in these slaughter-houses, concealed there to hide the evidences of their indiscretion, by their parents or relatives, whose social position would be lost did the consequences of such indiscretion show themselves? The mothers are left to die in agony, again and again; and there is no coroner's inquest or public burial; for are there not scores of obliging physicians to hush the matter up?
And then, again, our private lunatic asylums. How many men and women are spirited away to those tombs of living men, where remonstrance or clamor is useless unless the public press tracks the injury, as in the case of a well-known naval officer, who was most unjustly confined, as the investigation proved, and was only released by the agitation made by The World newspaper.
AMONG THE "SHARKS."
ADVENTURES OF A FALL RIVER WANDERER—HIS VALUABLE EXPERIENCE
IN NEW YORK—THE BOND OPERATOR.
A part of Officer McWatters' duty, when connected with the Railroad and Steamboat Squad, was to advise and protect strangers in the city. He, of course, encountered many a curious country chap, making his debut in the great Metropolis. One of the most comical, if not the most valuable things Officer McWatters could possibly do for the delectation of readers in general, would be to write out his multifold experiences with strangers in the city, and put the whole into book form, entitled, for example, "Afloat in the Sea of Iniquity, Waifs Gathered There." The following is taken from the New York Mercury of some years ago.
Officer McWatters, whose urbanity and politeness is proverbial, was accosted yesterday forenoon, by a young man who had just stepped off of the Fall River boat, who inquired of him to know the way to the Park.
"What park?" politely queried the officer.
"O, I don't know,—any park where I can sit down a while, and see something of New York!"
"Better take a stage and go to Union Park. Everything clean, quiet, and orderly."
The officer assisted the young man into the stage, which soon sat him down in Union Park. The Park never looked lovelier. Children and drums, nurses and baby-wagons, small boys and fire-crackers, lovely maidens with books of poesy, the water-basin and the flowing fountain, the green trees and the luxuriant shade, all were but parts of a perfect whole, which Mr. Jasper Gray, the young man in question, enjoyed hugely.
Mr. Gray is a native of that enterprising village known as Fall River, and he had come to New York to see the sights. The senior Gray had warned him to look out for the "sharks;" and with a promise that he would do so, and about one hundred and sixty dollars in his pocket, the young man left his home, to sojourn several weeks in and about the Metropolis. Mr. Gray's idea of "sharks" was, that of some huge braggadocio, who would fiercely assault him late at night, demand his money or his life, or assume some other equally disagreeable mode of placing him in a dilemma. He had no idea that under the bright sun of midday, and in the grateful shade of the trees of a public square, the shark was looking and watching for a victim; but so it was.
As he cast his eye towards the fountain, his gaze rested upon a little child playing on the greensward, now rolling on the grass, and again approaching dangerously near the water's edge. Once thinking that the child might fall in, he sprang from his seat, and caught the little fellow by the arm, and delivered him into the hands of his nurse. A few moments after this occurrence an elegantly-dressed young lady came up to the seat upon which he was sitting, and begged leave to thank him for having so kindly cared for her little brother, whom, she declared, he had saved from falling into the water.
"Nurse has gone home with the darling, now; but I could not feel to leave you without expressing my gratitude for your kindness," said the lady, whose eyes shone with brilliancy through the thin gauze veil, filling Mr. Jasper Gray with the most undefinable feelings.
He replied awkwardly to her many complimentary expressions, but finally became animated, and began, as all slightly verdant people are apt to do, to speak of himself, his connections, the town he came from, how he came to leave, what his father told him, how much money he had, and a hundred other equally as interesting matters. The lady was interested. She grew animated as Mr. Jasper Gray proceeded; and as he alluded to the one hundred and sixty dollars with which he had been provided on leaving home, her interest seemed to have reached its height. She declared he must accompany her home to see pa and ma, and receive their thanks for having saved little Charlie's life.
Really, this was too much; but the young lady insisted, and Mr. Gray at length yielded to her solicitations, happy in the thought that he had not only escaped the "sharks," but had fallen into the most pleasant of experiences with the most respectable of people. The mansion into which our hero was inveigled was one of the first class. The furniture was of rosewood and brocatelle, and the lace curtains swept the floor with their magnificent dimensions. Elaborately carved chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, costly mirrors and valuable paintings decorated the walls, and marble-top tables and a splendid piano lent their attractions to the room. Bouquets of choice flowers shed a rich fragrance about the place, giving it an air of elegance and enchantment. Here Mr. Gray spent the afternoon. An elderly-looking personage played mother, and thanked him a thousand times for saving Charlie. Pa would soon be home, and he would be equally grateful. Cake and wine were served. The youth was in a perfect sea of delights. The wine raised his spirits, and evil thoughts entered his heart. He cast longing and loving glances upon the fair Florine of the mansion, and the elderly matron adroitly withdrew. More wine was served, and the young man was in a fit condition to sing with Burns,
"Inspiring bold John Barleycorn,"
so bravely did the ruddy fluid lift him up.
What followed must be left to the imagination of the reader. Suffice it to say, that the Fall River wanderer, when in the full flush of the Paradise of which the wine had led him to believe he was the sole master, was suddenly confronted by an enraged father, who desired simply to know who he was before he killed him on the spot, and by a sobbing mother, who declared he had betrayed the confidence she had reposed in him; and last, but not the least important, the beautiful being, whose dishevelled hair and disarranged toilet told a woful story, standing before him, a mute upbraider of his crime. Such a combination of revenge, despair, and injured innocence, as the trio presented, very nearly, but not effectually, sobered Mr. Gray, and left him in a peculiarly muddled condition, in which, with true Yankee simplicity, he felt for his pocket-book, as the most available and only method of settling the accumulated difficulties under which he found himself laboring.
It is a credit to his instinct, that the production of the pocket-book aforesaid produced the desired result. The mother was compromised by the payment of one hundred dollars, and Mr. Gray was allowed to depart. He of course sought for his new-made friend, Officer McWatters, for consolation and advice in his emergency, and seventy dollars of the amount was recovered last evening, and Mr. Gray was admonished to expect the "sharks" in any and every possible garb, from the rollicking gutter-man of the Five Points to the extensively got-up denizens of the Fifth Avenue or the Astor.
But we ought, perhaps, to add here an incident of Mr. Gray's experience among the "sharks" of another kind than that alluded to in the foregoing portion of his history. Not willing to trust himself further alone in the city, and wishing to make his visit to New York as profitable as possible to himself in the sight-seeing way, he begged Officer McWatters to permit him to go around with him on his business tours. The complacent McWatters, who was never known to deny any one anything proper to be asked, and which he could give, permitted the bore to accompany him for a day or two. Among the early sights thereafter seen by the young man, was one, which frightened him so thoroughly, that the wonder is his hair did not turn white on the spot. He declared, after he recovered his self-possession, that he "wouldn't be hired to live a week in New York for all Old Vanderbilt's pile."
THE BOND OPERATOR.
Officer McWatters had occasion to cross Wall Street, on a hasty errand of business down into Beaver Street, accompanied by his attaché, Mr. Gray, when they came suddenly into the midst of a great excitement. A dandily-dressed, rakish-looking young man was just breaking out of a crowd, and running with hands full of papers and a bag. Officer McWatters instantly "twigged" the nature of the trouble, and put chase after the fellow, unceremoniously leaving Mr. Gray in the midst of the turbulent and excited crowd. The fleeing young scamp, who had just snatched a package of United States bonds and a money bag from an old messenger of some house, who was on his way to make a deposit, was a little too fleet for Officer McWatters, and gained on him a little; but, turning a corner, was fortunately impeded in his flight by another policeman, who chanced to have his pistol about him, and brought it to bear on him. The bold "Bond Operator" (as such villains, who were quite plenty in those days, were called) thought discretion the better part of valor, surrendered, and got his dues, we believe, at last.
Mr. Gray was in fearful plight over losing Officer McWatters, and it was some time before he found him again, meanwhile getting jostled about among the large and fierce crowd of excited Wall Streeters, whom the interesting occasion hurriedly brought together. He quite lost heart for sight-seeing in that adventure, and was, at last, only too glad to "get out of the infernal city," and went home a wiser man, we presume, than when he first landed in the city from the Fall River boat.
A SMART YOUNG MAN.
AN AFTER-DINNER COLLOQUY—AND ITS RESULT.
From one of the public journals we clipped the accompanying spicy article; we have lost our notes, and have forgotten from which, or we should duly credit it to the proper source. We discover that we have "pencilled" it "1862," and presume that it first appeared in that year. Our readers will pardon its somewhat "swelling" style in sundry places, but it exemplifies Officer McWatters' quick and acute perceptions, and his character as a detective, and we therefore give it place.
Young Man of large Appetite and small Conscience.—The necessity of eating is a strong one; the demands of appetite are peculiarly and pertinaciously potent. There are many fleshy-looking young men in New York whose appetital demands are largely ahead of their pecuniary resources, the latter being of a limited nature, like their consciences. Our leading hotel diners are appreciatively affected by these unconscionably-stomached and conscienceless individuals; and it requires all the devices of the proprietors, and ingenious watching of sharp-sighted detectives, to guard against their stealthful appropriation of dinners. In the multiplicity of guests daily arriving at first-class hotels, and multiplied disguises assumed by the unpaying diners, it is easy to conceive that the labor of watchfulness is no light one, and the guarantee of detectives by no means sure. There is no keener man in the Police Department to scent out a rogue than Officer McWatters. He can tell a rascal by a sort of instinct. A stranger to him is like a piece of coin in the hand of the skilful medallist, who tells the spurious from the genuine by the feeling—by a glance even.
Officer McWatters measures a man at a glance. He sees the latent roguery peering out of the corner of the eyes, lurking in the smile, hiding itself in the cultivated mustache and careful whiskers, strongly and unconsciously developing even in the gorgeous watch-chain, flashy vest, showy cravat, elaborately-checked pants, and brilliantly shining patents, or, vice versa, suit of puritanical plainness. His penetrative optics permeated, yesterday afternoon, the disguise of that most notable and audacious of non-paying hotel diners, Jack Vinton. Jack had taken dinner at the Metropolitan Hotel. His brassy impudence had enabled him to pass muster, as a guest of the hotel, the Cerberus at the dining-room door. Not to betray a dangerous haste in leaving, he sank back leisurely into a soft-cushioned chair in the gentlemen's parlor, and read a newspaper for a while. He was going out of the hall door, when Officer McWatters spotted him.
"Are you stopping at this hotel?" asked the officer (who, by the way, was in citizen's dress), in that tone of politeness, for which he is remarkable.
"I am, sir."
"How long have you been stopping here?"
"Ever since I came here."
"Is your name registered?"
"Registered? I never heard of such a name. Mine begins with an initial letter of higher alphabetical rank."
"You misunderstand me. Is your name on the hotel books?"
"The bookkeeper is the proper informant."
"Have you a suit of rooms here?"
"Am suited perfectly—all the rooms I want."
"What is the number of your room?"
"A No. 1—first-class, sir. First-class hotel has first-class rooms, you see, sir. This is a first-class hotel—the ergo as to the rooms is conclusive."
"You are evasive."
"Only logical, sir!"
"You took dinner just now up stairs?"
"Ask your pardon. I took no dinner up stairs. I went up with an empty stomach. An excruciating stomachical void. 'Nature abhors a vacuum,' says philosophy; and, to borrow the apothegmatic utterance of that philosopher, Dan Brown, 'Dat's what's de matter.'"
"I must be plain, I see. You are Jack Vinton, and are up to your old tricks. You have come here, eaten a tip-top dinner, and were coolly walking away, with no thought of paying for it."
Jack saw he was in for it. He offered to pay for his dinner, and attempted by bribery to effect what he had hoped to effect by colossal cheekiness of action and tongue; but his antecedental history was self-crushing, like the mad ambition of the great Cæsar. He was conveyed to the Second District Police Court, and committed to answer this and other graver offences of swindling, of which he is supposed to be guilty.
Jack is only twenty-three years old, and is a master-swindler. Of good family, he has been well educated, and to fine looks adds the manners of a polished gentleman; while in artistic culture and familiarity with the classics, scientific studies and polite and poetical literature, he has few equals of his years. His dashing form is often seen on Broadway—the envied of his own sex and the admired of the opposite sex. His career betrays a wonderful and perverse mingling of the finest intellectual endowments and culture with the meanest and most pitiable traits of low and dishonest natures. He is a sort of Lord Bacon, on a vastly reduced scale of brilliancy. As philosophy delves the mysterious problem, she finds only "darkness to shadow round about it."
A SUSPECTED CALIFORNIA MURDERER.
ARRESTED—CHARGED WITH KILLING FOUR MEN; A GERMAN, FOR HIS MONEY, AND TWO SHERIFFS AND A DRIVER, WHO WERE CONVEYING HIM TO PRISON.
The following article is taken from the New York Dispatch (1861), and serves to illustrate the sagacity of Officer McWatters in "picking out his man" in a crowd.
A young man named Velge, lately from California, was arrested at the pier of the Ocean Mail Steamship Company by Officers McWatters and Hartz, of the Steamboat Squad, and taken to Police Headquarters, where he has been since detained, till the matter can undergo examination before a magistrate. The report, as obtained from an officer at the central office, is substantially as follows:—
About eighteen months since, a German, residing in Sacramento, was murdered under circumstances of extraordinary brutality. He was mild and inoffensive, said no extenuation appeared to exist for the atrocious crime. He had saved some money, which the assassin had taken, but the amount was hardly sufficient to induce an ordinary bravo to attempt his life, or otherwise disturb him.
The suspected murderer was known to the police. Extraordinary measures were adopted to bring him to justice. His likeness was obtained somehow, and photographs of it were multiplied and distributed all over California and Oregon.
After some time, intelligence was received at Sacramento that the suspected murderer was at Carson City. There was a resemblance, certainly. The sheriff of Sacramento and a deputy repaired thither, and arrested him. A conveyance was obtained, and the legal formularies having all been attended to, the officers set out for Sacramento.
The journey was tedious, as may well be expected. The party finally neared Sacramento. Already the officers began to dream of home and rest from their fatiguing journey. The driver was in an equally listless mood. Velge, the prisoner, was not slow to perceive their half-somnolent condition, and take advantage of the circumstances.
Quietly but adroitly taking hold of the revolver which one of the officers was carrying in one pocket, he cocked it so as not to arouse attention, and a moment after sent a bullet through the brain of the unfortunate sheriff. The other sprang to his feet, just in time to receive the contents of another barrel in his body. He fell from the vehicle, while the assassin hastened to despatch the driver. Having thoroughly completed the work of death he fled.
The excitement produced by this triple murder was terrible. Rewards were offered, and the State was thoroughly searched for the felon. But it was of no avail.
Among the passengers on the North Star was a young man of singular mien, whose appearance attracted comment. One of the passengers had a portrait of the murderer of the sheriffs, and found it to agree remarkably with that of the strange passenger. He made no effort to call attention to the matter, but took the opportunity, as soon as he came on shore, to place the authorities in possession of the facts. The first man whom he observed was the busy McWatters, of the Steamboat Squad, who was making himself ubiquitous and useful in the way of superintending the landing of baggage, protecting passengers from runners and pickpockets, and enabling them to come and go as best suited their convenience.
Approaching the indomitable McWatters, Rev. Mr. Peck addressed him.
Peck.—"Are you an officer?"
McWatters.—"Yes, sir; I hold that position, and am proud of it."
Peck.—"I have an important matter to call your attention to. Please examine this likeness."
McWatters.—"I see it. I would know that face in a thousand. I could pick it out in a crowd."
Peck.—"He is a passenger on the North Star, and I think is guilty of murder."
Calling his comrade to his help, McWatters carefully noted each passenger as he was leaving the steamer. As Velge came up, Mac recognized and arrested him. He was thunderstruck at the occurrence, and protested his innocence. The officers conveyed him to the central office, and laid the case before the superintendent. The prisoner showed that he was an old resident of this city, though only twenty years old. Several of his relatives were at headquarters yesterday pleading his innocence. The clergyman who had caused his arrest made his statement to the superintendent, who finally decided to retain the young man in custody till he could be brought before a magistrate.
There was certainly a striking resemblance between the portrait and the countenance of the prisoner. If the suspicions now entertained should prove to be well founded, this is another instance of the perpetration of crime followed by its speedy detection.
EXTENSIVE COUNTERFEITING.
SEIZURE OF FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS IN SPURIOUS POSTAL CURRENCY—ARREST
OF THE COUNTERFEITER—HIS CONFESSION.
In the New York Times of November 20, 1865, we find an article with the above caption, and which we copy as below. The arrest therein spoken of created much sensation at the time, as well it might. Officer McWatters acted in the matter, not only as an ordinary member of the police force, but in the capacity of a detective, and won great credit by his sagacity.
"An important arrest was effected in Brooklyn last Tuesday, the particulars of which have been suppressed up to the present time. The Treasury Department at Washington have long been aware that the business of counterfeiting greenbacks and postal currency has been carried on to an alarming extent at different points throughout the country, but their endeavors to arrest the guilty parties have, with a few exceptions, been attended with failure, or only partial success. One exceedingly skilful engraver of bogus postal currency has been especially marked as the most dangerous operator, inasmuch as his execution was so perfect as frequently to deceive even the Government officials; and the boldness of the counterfeiter was almost as great as his skill. The man in question is an English engraver, by the name of Charles J. Roberts. The best Government detectives have been on his track for six months, without succeeding in finding him, until last Tuesday, when his arrest was effected in Brooklyn, by Messrs. R. R. Lowell and A. J. Otto, detectives in the service of the Treasury Department, with the assistance of Officer McWatters, of the Twenty-Sixth Metropolitan Precinct.
"The operations of Roberts have been mainly confined to Philadelphia, in the suburbs of which city his "money mill" was situated. The last counterfeit pieces which he made, and which, in an indirect manner, led to his arrest, were copies of the latest issue of fifty cent postal currency. They are of steel, and the impression from them is so beautiful and perfect, as to be entirely undistinguishable from that of the genuine plates. Upon this counterfeit the criminal artist had exerted his skill with the most elaborate patience and precision, intending to make it, in every sense, a perfect resemblance, which would even escape the suspicion of the Government detectives.
"But though an engraver, Roberts was not a printer. His plate was perfection, but unaided, or assisted only by mediocre printers, he could not produce an impression equally perfect. He therefore left Philadelphia a short time ago to seek the services of a Brooklyn printer, whom he understood to have been in the counterfeiting business, and who was well known to be a mechanic of extraordinary skill. Unluckily for the English operator, this printer was in the service of the Government detectives, who were, therefore, promptly informed of the whereabouts of the game for which they had so long been in pursuit.
"Messrs. Lowell and Otto, McWatters and others, accordingly surprised Roberts in his Brooklyn retreat, on Tuesday morning last, at 9-30. The counterfeiter made a desperate resistance, swearing that he would die sooner than be taken; but the detectives were too many for him. He was knocked down, disarmed, and speedily lodged in the Raymond Street jail.
"The arrest was kept a profound secret, to allow the detectives time to effect the seizure of the plates and counterfeit money already manufactured in Philadelphia, which they were unable to do prior to the arrest. They also knew of twenty thousand dollars in the fraudulent currency, which the manufacturer had brought with him to Brooklyn, and which they hoped to procure. After lodging their prisoner in confinement, they immediately set out for Philadelphia, found the mill, and seized its contents, comprising the plates, tools, presses, fifty thousand dollars' worth of the fraudulent currency, all in fifty cent postage stamps. Some of it was in an unfinished state, but the detectives declare that the completed issues would have deceived them instantly; that they would never have doubted their genuineness. But they were outwitted by the prisoner, so far as the counterfeits in Brooklyn were concerned. During the absence of his captors, Roberts managed to have the following letter conveyed to his mistress and confederate:—
"'Brooklyn, November —, 1865.
"'Mary: Please go at once, when you receive this, and tell Louisa to come and see me at once. Tell her to clean things away. I am at Raymond Street jail. Please go some roundabout way, and take care nobody follows you. Tell Louisa to keep cool. I am all right. Do this right away, please, to-night, and oblige,
"'Yours,
Charles J. Roberts.
"'Mrs. Lloyd, corner North First Street and
Third Street, Brooklyn, E. D.'
"This note was conveyed to the above address by the brother of the sheriff who had the prisoner in charge, whence it reached 'Louisa,' who, of course, 'cleaned things away,' much to the disappointment of the detectives, when they called for the purpose of making the seizure. The guilty brother of the sheriff has fled, and has thus far effected his escape.
"The detectives are now in pursuit of a confederate of Roberts, and they are quite confident of soon capturing him. Since his incarceration Roberts has confessed everything. He says that the plate which has been seized was intended for his final and greatest effort. If the detectives had only held off for another week he would have made one hundred thousand dollars, and been in Europe enjoying it. We understand that Roberts's new counterfeits, to the extent of twenty thousand dollars, are already afloat.
"Overton, the counterfeiter of twenty-five cent stamps, who was arrested some time ago, pleaded guilty on Friday last. Roberts will also probably be speedily convicted, and, as he is not so fortunate as to have 'a wife and nine children,' there is no likelihood of his receiving the hasty pardon which was recently granted to Antonio Rosa, a similar criminal."
THE GAMBLER'S WAX FINGER.
CHARLES LEGATE—A FORGER—STUDYING HIM UP—FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS, HIS "PRIZE"—DESCRIPTION OF LEGATE—NO TWO PERSONS EVER AGREE IN DESCRIBING ANOTHER—A MARK HIT UPON—START FOR ST. LOUIS—MUSINGS—CURIOUS INCIDENTS OF MY JOURNEY—A GENEALOGICAL "DODGE"—ON LEGATE'S TRACK AT LAST—ST. LOUIS REACHED—OF MY STAY THERE—LEAVE FOR NEW ORLEANS PER STEAMER—A GENIAL CROWD OF MEN AND WOMEN ON BOARD—CHARACTERISTICS OF A MISSISSIPPI "VOYAGE"—NAPOLEON, ARKANSAS—SOME "CHARACTERS" COME ON BOARD THERE—A GAMBLING SCENE ON BOARD—ONE JACOBS TAKES A PART—A PRIVATE CONFERENCE WITH JACOB'S NEGRO SERVANT—A TERRIFIC FIGHT ON BOARD AMONG THE GAMBLERS—JACOBS SET UPON, AND MAKES A BRAVE DEFENCE—HOW I DISCOVERED "JACOBS" TO BE PROBABLY LEGATE, IN THE MELEE—HE IS BADLY BRUISED—HIS LIFE DESPAIRED OF—WE ARRIVE IN NEW ORLEANS—JACOBS' IDENTIFICATION AS LEGATE—LEGATE PROVES TO BE VERY RICH—A CURIOUS VISIT TO AN ITALIAN ARTIST'S STUDIO—A NOVEL MEDICINE ADMINISTERED TO SIGNORE CANCEMI, THE SICK ARTIST—HE GETS WELL AT ONCE.
Early in my detective life, when I was more ready than now to accept business which might lead me far from home, I was commissioned by a New York mercantile house to go to St. Louis first, and "anywhere else thereafter on the two continents" (as the senior member of the house fervently defined my latitude) where my thread might lead, to work up a subtle case of forgery to the amount of about fifty thousand dollars, out of which the house had been defrauded by one Charles Legate, a Canadian by birth, but combining in himself all the craft of an Italian, with the address of the politest Frenchman, and the bold perseverance and self-complacency of a London "speculator." The task before me was a difficult one, and at that time more than now I craved "desperate jobs," entering into them with an enthusiasm proportioned to the trials and dangers they involved.
After a thorough study in every particular of the correspondence between Legate and the house, which covered a long period of time, and in which was disclosed to me, as I thought, a pretty clear understanding of the man in all his various moods and systems of fraudulent pursuit, and having gathered from the members of the house every particular in regard to the personal appearance of Legate, of which they could possess me, I started on my mission. The house had been unable for some time to get any word from Legate, or any tidings of his recent whereabouts from others; so we felt certain that I should not find him at St. Louis, the point from which they had last heard from him, and where they had evidence he had for some weeks resided; so I was even unusually particular in my inquiries of the firm as to Legate's mode of dress, the peculiarities of his manner, and all possible personal indices. Legate was one of those men whom it is difficult to describe, being of medium height, having black eyes and black hair, a nose neither large nor small, mouth of medium size, teeth the same, nothing peculiar about his cast, and his complexion sometimes quite light, at others "reddish." There's nothing more difficult to determine by inquiry from others than a man's complexion, no two persons seeing it alike. He dressed neither gaudily nor carelessly, and though my informants all agreed that he was a man of consummate address, yet none of them could by imitation give me any definite representation of his manner.
Almost in despair of learning anything at all definite about his personnel, which might enable me to identify Legate, I finally said, "Gentlemen, almost everybody is in some way deformed or ill-formed—nose a little to one side—one foot larger than the other, leading to a habit of standing on it more firmly than on the other—one shoulder higher than the other—an arm a little out of shape—hand stiff—fingers gone, or something of the sort."
"See here," exclaimed Mr. Harris, a junior member of the firm, interrupting me, and resting his face pensively for a half minute on his hand, the elbow of which was pressed upon the table at which we sat. "Ah, yes; I have it. You've hit the nail on the head. I remember noticing once, when Legate dined with me at Delmonico's, that the end, or about half, of his little finger of the left hand was gone. He doesn't show it much. I remember I looked a second time before I fully assured myself that what I first thought I discovered was so. He is as adroit about concealing that, as he is in his general proceedings." I felt great relief to learn so much, and bidding my employers good day, found myself, as speedily as I well could, on the way to St. Louis, taking my course up the river, and on viâ the New York Central Railroad. I suppose that it is the fact with every business man when travelling in the pursuit of his occupation, either as a merchant going to the big cities to buy goods, the speculator hunting out a good investment somewhere in real estate,—no matter what the business,—to be more or less occupied in thought regarding it. But no man has half or a tenth part so much occasion for constant weariness about his business as has the detective officer, whether he be in pursuit of an escaped villain, working up a civil case, searching for testimony in a given cause, or what not; for however deep his theories, or well laid his plans, some accident or incident, apparently trifling in itself, may occur to give him in a moment more light than he might otherwise obtain in a month's searching and study—a fact which is ever uppermost in my mind when in the pursuit of my calling, and I endeavor to turn everything possible to account. It so happened, that when along about Syracuse on the cars, I overheard some men, who were evidently enjoying each other's society greatly in the narration of stories and experiences, saying something about "home" and St. Louis; and I fancied they were, as proved to be the case, residents of that city; and I became consequently quite interested in them, hoping that something would occur on their way to allow me, without obtrusion, to make their acquaintance; for they were both men who apparently know "what is going on around them," and very possibly might know Legate, or something about him, which might serve me. Indeed, I half fancied that one of them might be Legate himself; for he would answer the description given me of that person as well as anybody I should be apt to find in a day's travel; and I was more than half confirmed in my suspicions, as you can readily surmise, when I discovered that the traveller was lacking the little finger, or nearly all of it, on the left hand! Of course, thus aroused, I became very watchful, and devised various plans of getting into the acquaintance of the gentlemen as soon as might be. But the cars rolled on and on, and no chance occurred to place myself in their immediate presence, although I walked up and down the aisle of the cars, occasionally lingering by this or that seat, and passing a word with the occupants; but somehow I could not get at the men in question in this or any other like way; but I kept myself as much as possible within hearing of their ludicrous, comical, or exciting stories, over which, at times, they laughed immoderately.
Eventually, as the cars were starting on from a station at which we stopped for a moment, there came on board a fine, brusque, jolly, but courtly-looking man, of that class who bear about them the unmistakable evidences of good breeding, frankness, and honor, and whose associates are never less than respectable people, and who, as he brushed down the aisle of the car in search of a seat, accosted the man upon whom in particular I had my eye,—
"Ah, Mr. Hendricks! I am very glad to meet you," extending his hand and giving him a cordial grasp and "shake" which assured me that the man Hendricks was a very different character from the Mr. Legate in search of whom I was making my journey; and so my "air castles," founded upon suspicion, came to the ground. I know not why, but I really felt a relief to find that it was not Legate, after all, notwithstanding it would have been a happy circumstance for me, had Mr. Hendricks really been he.
But I listened still to the St. Lousians' story-telling, which grew more and more loud as we moved on, in consequence, I suppose, of their occasional attention to a little flask of wine which each gentleman carried; but they did not become boisterous. Mr. Hendricks was narrating to his friend,—whose name by this time I had discovered to be Phelps,—what was evidently an intensely interesting story to the latter, when he, striking his hand very heavily upon his leg, exclaimed, "That Legate was one of the most accomplished villains—no softer word will do—that I ever heard of."
"Ah, ha!" I thought to myself, "now I am in the right company to get a clew to the fellow. But stop; he said "was," not is. I wonder if Legate is dead: perhaps he is; and I became quite fearful that he might be, and so my mission prove entirely fruitless. But I could see no chance to break in upon their conversation, here, or make their acquaintance. "That Legate," too, might also be another than the Charles Legate, whom I was seeking. What shall I do? and I pondered over the matter. Finally I made the bold resolution to interrupt the gentlemen at the first half-favorable opportunity, my seat being one back of theirs, on the other side of the car, and so near that I might do so quite readily. While talking of this man Legate, their conversation was, in the main, more subdued, and as if half confidential, than upon other topics, which made it the more difficult for me to interpolate a query, for I had by this time resolved upon my plan.
Presently I heard Mr. Hendricks say, "The last I heard of him, he'd gone to Mexico." I fancied this must relate to Legate, and began to think that my journey might indeed extend "over the two continents," according to my conditional orders on starting. Presently I heard the name Legate, and as Messrs. Hendricks and Phelps were at this time in the height of their jolly humor, I fancied they wouldn't mind the obtrusion. I stepped from my seat to theirs, and said, "Gentlemen, you'll pardon me, but I am somewhat interested in the genealogy of the Legate family both at the west and east; and just hearing you speak the name Legate, it occurred to me that perhaps I could get a new name to add to my list. Is it a gentleman of the western branch of whom you were speaking?"
"O, no, sir," replied Mr. Hendricks; "the man we were speaking of doesn't belong to the United States at all. He was (and is, if alive) a Canadian, who lived for a while at St. Louis. Are you a Legate, sir, or a relative of the family? allow me to ask."
"No, sir; simply a general genealogist. You know all men have their weaknesses: genealogical studies are among mine."
"I asked," said he, "because, if your name was Legate, you might have been offended, if I had told you that the Legate we were talking about wouldn't add any grace to your family list."
"Ah, ha! then I infer that he might have been at least a man of bad habits—perhaps a dishonest one."
"Well, the public opinion in St. Louis is, that this man Legate wasn't very honest, however good his general habits may have been."
"I am sorry," said I, "that any member of the Legate family anywhere should bring disgrace upon the name; but we can't always help these things—a pretty good family generally throughout the country, I find. Permit me to ask, what was this Legate's first name? perhaps I have heard of him before."
"Charles," said Mr. Hendricks; "or familiarly, among his old acquaintances, 'Charley Black Eyes Legate,' to distinguish him from a blue-eyed gentleman by the same name. His French friends, too,—there are a great many French-speaking people in St. Louis,—called him 'Charley Noir' (Black—short for black eyes.)"
Having learned so much, I was not anxious to press my inquiries, at that time, beyond simply asking if he was still residing in St. Louis, and was assured that he had departed—nobody knew to what point—nine months before. I managed, before we arrived in St. Louis, to make the further acquaintance of these gentlemen, without letting them at all into my business; indeed, so cordial had they become as to insist on calling on me the next day after my arrival at the Planter's Hotel, and giving me a long ride about the city.
During the ride I referred to Legate, and learned from them that he was a swindler and a gambler; that for a while he moved in the best society in St. Louis, and was thought a "pink of a man," possessing good manners, and being an unusually interesting colloquist and story-teller. He was considerable of a "romancer among the ladies," said Hendricks.
"Better say necromancer; that would be nearer the truth," suggested Mr. Phelps.
"O," said I, "a man given, in short, to wine, women, and cards, you mean?"
"Yes, exactly; but a man might be all that, and not be a Legate," responded Hendricks. "The fact is, sir, this Legate is a most unscrupulous villain—a man who would hesitate at nothing. If I am rightly informed, he made a murderous assault in New Orleans once upon an old friend who happened to cross him in some way. It was in that encounter, Phelps, that he lost his finger, I've heard."
I could no longer have any doubt that I was on the right track, and I felt that there could be no danger in confiding my special business in St. Louis to these men, who might be able to give me great assistance, possibly. So I told them that I was hunting this same Charles Legate, of the frauds he had perpetrated upon the New York house, and that I wished to find him within a given time in order to secure a certain amount of property in Canada, which, after a certain period, would be so disposed of as to be of no avail to my employers, and that I was willing to give any reasonable amount for information which might enable me to reach him.
My friends told me that they thought my case an almost hopeless one, that Legate's sagacity could outwit the very d——l, and that he was the most uncertain man to "track" in the world; but they would do all in their power to find out who were his principal associates, during the last of his stay in St. Louis, the time, as near as might be determined, when he left, and what course he took. They had heard that he had gone to Mexico; but that was probably only a "blinder."
I staid in St. Louis five days, prosecuting my inquiries; but all I could learn of any import was, that the last which was known of Legate in St. Louis, he was constantly with a certain pack of gamblers, of rather a desperate order, and that, with his quick temper, it was possible that he had got into a fight (as some had suspected), and been made way with—possibly thrown into the Mississippi. This was not decidedly encouraging, and I was on the point of writing back to my employers that it was useless to search for Legate longer at that time; that they would have to trust to some future accident to reveal him, if still alive, indeed. But having another affair on hand at the same time, which necessarily called me to New Orleans before returning to New York, I thought better of the matter, and merely wrote to my New York friends, that having gotten all possible clew to Legate in St. Louis, I should take boat next day for New Orleans, from which point they would hear from me duly.
The next afternoon I took the steamer "Continental," after having made all arrangements with my new friends in St. Louis to apprise me if ever Legate "turned up" in that city; and down the mighty Mississippi the proud boat bore me and a large number of the most cheerful, genial, and hearty men and women I ever travelled with. There's a certain frankness and generosity about the western and southern people which captivated me, when I first went among them, at once; but though I had often been in the west, I had never encountered a finer class of travellers than departed with me that day from St. Louis, on board the well-tried steamer Continental.
Nothing special, save the usual jollity, mirth, good living, copious drinking, and lively card-playing, which characterized a "voyage down the Mississippi," especially in those days, occurred, and being not over well, I kept my berth considerably—until our arrival at Napoleon, Arkansas, where we stopped to "wood up" and take on passengers, accessions of whom we had had all along our course, at every stopping-place. At Napoleon quite a concourse came on, mainly of not well-to-do people, mostly migrating to Texas in order to better their worldly condition, as they thought. Poor fellows! I fear many of them found themselves doomed to disappointment. But to my story. Among the on-comers at Napoleon were three men of marked individualities. They came aboard separately. One of them was quite large and comely, neatly dressed, in the style then prevailing at the North; nothing about him but certain provincialisms of speech to indicate that he might not be a northern man. The other two wore long hair, and beards, and slouched hats, and had the air of well-to-do planters of middle age. One of them was accompanied by a negro, the most obsequious of all his race, and who, whenever ordered by his master to do anything, always took great care to indicate his willingness to obey by saying, very obsequiously, "Yes, Massa Colonel," or "Yes, Massa Jacobs;" by which fact I of course learned what the negro supposed, at least, his master's name to be, but there was something about this man's appearance which excited my suspicion, at first, that he might not be a planter, after all.
It was near nightfall when we departed from Napoleon and it was not long after the cabin was lighted up that the usual card-playing was resumed; and these three men crowded, with others, round the tables, to look on at first, and of course to take part when occasion might offer. Jacobs was particularly observant of the games as they proceeded. Although I saw that he had peculiar talents for the gaming-table, I wondered why he lingered so long before taking a hand. But he was biding his time. The bar, of course, was pretty well patronized, and the finest looking of the three men in question grew apparently more and more mellow. The stakes at this time were not large, but the players were waxing more and more earnest, when this man—assuming to be slightly intoxicated—exclaimed, "Gentlemen, I say, I say—do you hear me?—that this fun is rather slow. Is there anybody here that wants to play for something worth while? See here," said he, "strangers, please let me draw up my seat," pushing his chair up between those of two players; "see here; there's a cool two thousand, that I want to double or lose to-night," and poured from a red bag a heap of gold, over a portion of which he clapped his large hand. "I am in for it. Is there anybody that wants to make this money?"
"Well, stranger," said Jacobs, "when these players can give us room, I'm your man; that is, till my pile's gone. 'Tain't so big as yours, and it ought to go for a new nigger down to Orleans. I must have another hand; but your challenge is rather provoking, I must confess, and I don't care if I try you."
The players, moved by that curiosity which such a proceeding between "strangers" would be apt to excite, politely made room for the combatants, and in their turn became lookers on. The large man played well, but he was (apparently) intoxicated, and now and then "bungled," giving the game into Jacobs' hands at times. My curiosity about Jacobs was, I know not really why, constantly increasing, and when the third of that trio had entered the lists with a partner, I managed to slip out down to the lower deck, where Jacobs had ordered his servant, and fall into conversation with him.
"Are you Mr. Jacobs' nigger?"
"Yes, massa; I'se Massa Jacobs' body sarvant."
"Your master's a jolly fellow—isn't he? He's a planter, I suppose—has a great number of "hands"—hasn't he?"
"No, Massa Jacobs don't plant. He's a banker, or a specumater, as they call um up there."
"Up where?"
"Little Rock—we lives about five miles wess of Little Rock."
"O, then he don't plant. What do those speculators do? I never heard of them before."
"O, massa, you's quare—ain't you? You never knows about the specumaters? That's quare."
"But tell me what they do;" and the darky, turning up the whites of his eyes in a most inimitable manner, and cocking his head to one side, while he put his big hands into the attitude of one about to shuffle cards, went through the motions of dealing off cards with a celerity that indicated that he, too, might be a "specumater," as he doubtless was, among the darkies, having taken lessons in his master's office.
When he had finished this exhibition, he whirled about on his heel in true negro style, and with great glee shuffled a half dozen steps, and ended with an air of triumph, which indicated to me that he thought his master a great man. The slaves used, despite all they might suffer from a cruel master, to take great pride in him if he excelled in anything, or was a noted man.
"Your master's a great speculator, then? I reckon I had not better try him, eh?"
"Tell troof, massa, I reckon dare's nobody on dis heah boat that can beat massa;" and he looked very serious, and spoke low, as if kindly warning me.
I had learned enough, and proceeded to the cabin, and watched the play. For a while Jacobs played with the large "stranger," sometimes losing a little, sometimes winning more, and at last gave up the play, having won quite a sum.
Noting Jacobs' success, and the "stranger," too, having ordered on sundry glasses of liquor during the play, and having become apparently more heedless, others anxiously sought his place. A party of four was made up, and the large "stranger" and the third one formed two as partners. Jacobs posted himself where he could signal to the large "stranger," who, with his partner, went on now winning great successes. Frequent charges of "cheating" were indulged in by the losers, and Jacobs was appealed to to decide the points in issue, which he always did favorably for the large "stranger." But as the losses grew heavier, the suffering parties became incensed, and charged Jacobs as coöperator with the large "stranger" and his partner; and finally some one on board declared that he knew Jacobs and the large "stranger" to be chums; that they travelled together up and down the river, swindling everybody they could "rope in" to play. This, being whispered about at first, became finally talked aloud; and then commenced fearful criminations and recriminations among the parties. Pistols and knives were freely brandished, and a grand melee seemed on the point of breaking out; and it did break at last, fearfully. All the while my eye was upon Jacobs. I could not, for some reason, avert it. Somehow he seemed to me to wonderfully resemble the description I had had of Legate; but there was this difficulty in the way of my suspicions. Jacobs wore upon the little finger of his left hand a large seal-ring, and there was unmistakably a full-formed finger, which articulated at the joints properly, and I must be mistaken. During the earlier part of the disturbance, which the officers of the boat tried in vain to quell, the big "stranger" had been the chief centre of abuse and attack; but suddenly some one exclaimed, "That black-muzzled wretch is worse than the big one," and the whole party of sufferers turned instantly upon him. Jacobs was a brave fellow, and with cocked revolver in hand breasted the whole, and swore he would kill the first man who laid hands on him, standing then on one side of the cabin with his back to the door of a state-room. Suddenly a passenger, who had retired for the night, opened the door behind him, and Jacobs, being stiffly braced against it, "lurched" for an instant, when an agile, wiry fellow of the angry crowd suddenly jumped forward and grasped his revolver, turning its muzzle upwards, when off went the pistol—the first shot, which was a signal for a desperate conflict, in which Jacobs struggled hard for the possession of his revolver, but was overpowered, and most severely beaten, so much so, that he had finally to be carried to his berth; and I followed the crowd that bore him there. He was speechless and nearly dead, I thought, and they laid him in his bunk. I noticed that the ring had gone from his finger, and with it, lo! the end of the finger also, leaving only the first joint and part of the second. I examined the stump, and saw that it was old. No further doubt rested on my mind that Jacobs and Legate were one and the same, and I immediately called the attention of the passengers to the loss of the ring and the finger, and caused search to be made for the same, which we found evidently unharmed, having somehow fallen into the state-room, the opening of the door of which first threw Jacobs off from his balance. I took charge of the finger, which was made of hardened wax, as my trophy, and some one, I knew not who, took the ring.
THE WAX FINGER DISCOVERED.
The big "stranger," who was badly bruised too, was not so much wounded that he could not be about next day, but kept aloof from poor Jacobs, probably because he had protested utter unacquaintance with him, and the next night, with the third "stranger," got off the boat, it was supposed, at the point where the boat stopped to wood, for the next day they were nowhere to be found on the boat; but poor Jacobs was so severely handled that his life was despaired of by a doctor on board, and we took him along to New Orleans. Meanwhile I had made my suspicions and business known to the captain of the boat, and we took means for Jacobs' detention on board after the rest of the passengers should leave. But, poor fellow! there was hardly need in his case for so much caution or prevision, for when we arrived in the city, Jacobs could not have left the boat had he tried, so weak and sick was he. I left him on board, and hastened to the office of a friend of mine, once a detective in New York, and told him the story, asking his counsel how best to proceed.
"Why," said he, "this is a strange affair; but I think I can put you in the way at once of identifying this Jacobs as the very Legate whom you are after. Indeed, rest assured that he is your man, without doubt." Going to his drawer, he produced and showed to me an advertisement of a year before, offering a reward of two thousand dollars for the arrest of one "Charles Legate, alias Charles L. Montford," giving a description of his person, but pointing especially to the fact that he was wanting a portion of the little finger of the left hand. "You see," said my friend, "that we have an interest in the fellow as well as you. If he is our man, we are all 'hunky-dory,'" said he, "for he is very rich, as we have found out—know where his money is."
"Rich?" asked I. "Why, then, does he continue to lead the life he does?"
"Why? Why, indeed, such a question from an old detective like you astonishes me: it wouldn't, though, if a woman, or a fool, asked it," said he, giving me a curious wink. "Don't you know yet that the Mississippi is infested with old gamblers rich as Jews, and who can't give up their pious trade to save their lives? Come along." And he took me down St. Louis Street a ways, and stepped into a side street, and standing before a door a moment, said, "Give me the finger, and follow me." We mounted a couple of flights of dirty stairs, and my friend opened a door into a sort of anatomical museum of old gypsum and wax casts, and all sorts of small sculptural devices.
"Mr. Cancemi at home?" asked my friend of a weird-looking lad, whose hands were besmeared with the plaster he was working. "Si signore," (yes, sir), was the reply; "but my fader is much sick, questo giorno" (to-day).
"But I must see him a moment. Won't you go ask him to come down?"
The family, it seemed, occupied rooms in the loft above. The boy hurried off, and presently the father came down with him, almost too feeble to walk.
"Cancemi," said my friend, "you are sick; but I've brought you some medicine that will cheer you up at once."
"Ah, Dio," exclaimed the old Italian, "I vish it be so. I am much ammalato (sick). What have you brought?—Tell quick."
"See here!" said my friend; "did you ever see that before?" producing the finger. The old Italian seemed a new man as his eyes dilated at the sight with wonder, and he went into raptures over the matter, the reason for which I could not understand, and in his broken English muttered a thousand exclamations of surprise and joy. Of course he identified the finger as the one he had made for the "villain-scoundrel Legate." Legate, I found, had never paid the Italian for his skillful handiwork, and he had been promised a portion of the reward, if my friend should succeed in earning it—hence his joy.
We left the old Italian soon, and proceeded to the boat, where we confronted Jacobs, and made him acknowledge his identity with Legate. My business was made known to him. He lay on the boat for two days, until her return trip, when we had him carefully taken to a private hospital, where he could, beyond possibility of escape, be confined, and awaited his slow recovery under the best medical and other attendance we could procure. I telegraphed to my parties in New York, one of whom came on directly, reaching New Orleans within ten days from that time; and before two weeks had passed from the time of his arrival, we had settled matters with the now penitent, because caged, Legate; and the New Orleans parties who had offered the reward were now called in by my detective friend, and settled their affairs with him by accepting a mortgage he held for twenty-five thousand dollars on a sugar plantation in the Opelousas country, paying the reward to my friend, and losing nothing in the result.
Only for the advertisement in the New Orleans paper, probably Legate would never have thought to procure a false finger; but for which I should never have been able to satisfy myself that Jacobs, in his bruised and battered state, was the identical Legate, and might have left him without further investigation on the boat.
The old Italian recovered his health speedily in his joy over Legate's capture, and was not forgotten by my friend, who, by the way, but for this old artist, would of course have never known of Legate's attempt at disguising the only peculiar mark about him, and would not, therefore, have been so sure of his identity when I told him my story. "Straws show which way the wind blows," and "fingers," though they be inanimate and waxen, may "point," you see, unmistakably to a villain.
LOTTERY TICKET, No. 1710.
A DIGNIFIED REAL-ESTATE HOLDER, VERY WEALTHY, LOSES SEVEN THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE DOLLARS—OUR FIRST COUNCIL AT THE HOWARD HOUSE—VISIT TO HIS HOUSE TO EXAMINE HIS SAFE AND SERVANTS—A LOTTERY TICKET, NO. 1710, FOUND IN THE SAFE—HOW CAME THIS MYSTERIOUS PAPER THERE?—CONCLUSIONS THEREON—VISIT TO BALTIMORE, AND PLANS LAID IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE LOTTERY AGENT TO CATCH THE THIEF—THE TICKET "DRAWS"—THE NEW YORK AGENCY "MANAGED"—TRAP TO IDENTIFY THE THIEF—THE SECURITY AND "SOLITUDE" OF A GREAT CITY—A NEW YORK BANKER—MR. LATIMER VISITS A GAMBLING-HOUSE IN DISGUISE.—IDENTIFIES THE SUSPECTED YOUNG MAN—THE AGENT AT BALTIMORE WAXES GLEEFUL—HIS PLAN OF OPERATIONS OVERRULED—MEETING OF "INTERESTED PARTIES" AT THE OFFICE IN BALTIMORE—A LITTLE GAME PLAYED UPON THE NEW YORK AGENT—MR. WORDEN, THE THIEF, IDENTIFIES THE TICKET, AND FALLS INTO THE TRAP OF A PRE-ARRANGED "DRAFT"—DISCLOSES SOME OF THE IDENTICAL MONEY STOLEN—WE ARREST HIM—EXCITING SCRAMBLE—THE MONEY RECOVERED—WORDEN'S AFTER LIFE.
"Your name is ——, I believe, sir?" asked a tall, gray-haired gentleman of me one evening, as I was stepping out of the Carleton House, a hotel then on the corner of Broadway and Leonard Street.
"Yes, that's my name," offering my hand to receive the already extended hand of the gentleman.
"I have sought you," said he, "at the suggestion of my friend and lawyer, James T. Brady; who tells me that you are able, if anybody is, to help me in my loss."
"You've had a loss? Well, sir, you wish to tell me about it. Shall we go in here, or where shall we go to talk it over."
"Can we not walk up Broadway, and I tell you during our walk?"
"Probably that would not be the best way," I replied, "for it is doubtless as a detective that you need me, and we might meet somebody who knows me as such, and who might be the very last person whom I should like to have see us together," I replied.
"You are right, sir," said he, smiling. "Your caution shows me that you understand your business; but it is too late to go far up town to my house.—I have it. I'll call at the Howard House, take a private room, and you follow, in half an hour, say, and finding this name on the register with my room, come up. Here's my card. Come directly to the room, and say nothing."
"That's a good plan, sir. I will be there;" and he left, and I, having finished my business at the Carleton, wandered slowly up Broadway to kill time, wondering what such a stately, dignified, cool-headed sort of a looking man as he—a real estate holder to large amount, a man whom everybody knew by reputation as one of the most quiet in the city—could have for me to do. I suspected forgery, arson, or some attempt at it, and a dozen other things. But I drove them all out of mind in a few minutes, for it is never well for a detective to indulge in anticipations in such a juncture of affairs; and meeting just then an old friend, beguiled a few minutes with him along Broadway, and finally taking out my watch, saw I had only ample time to get to the Howard at the time appointed, and so "suddenly recollected" an appointment, excused myself to my friend, sought the Howard and the gentleman there, whom I readily found in waiting for me.
"You are here on the moment," said he, as he closed and locked the door on my entry. "Take this seat, if you please, and I'll try to be short with my story."
"Go on, sir," said I; "but please don't be in too much haste. I have plenty of time; but tell me all your story as you would, and probably did, to Mr. Brady."
"Well, sir, day before yesterday morning I missed from my safe, at my house, seven thousand two hundred and fifty-five dollars, which I placed there the night before, having received most of it that day, at an hour too late to make deposit of it in bank;" and here he paused.
"Well, sir," said I, "who took it? That's the question, I presume, which you wish to solve."
"Yes, that, of course, is the point; but I can't fix my suspicions upon anybody."
"You say that most of this money was received after banking hours. Suppose you tell me next where and of whom you received it, and in what amounts, for I infer that you did not receive it in a lump."
"No; I collected it partly from rentals due, and some came to me from the country,—notes due,—and some from the sale of a cargo of pressed hay over at Jersey City, and I did not get around in time to put it in bank, such as I had, before closing hours," looking at memoranda.
"Well, I am glad you have memoranda of the amounts. Now tell me where you received these, each one;" and he went on to tell me, in detail, where, and who was near by, if anybody, in each case where a tenant or other debtor paid him money. I listened intently, and could get at nothing worthy of note till he came to the hay transaction at Jersey City. It appeared that there were several persons standing about at the time of the payment of the money to my client (call him Latimer, for further convenience), mostly working-men, some dealers, loafers, and two or three well-dressed, but rather dashily-dressed, young men. Mr. Latimer had been obliged to take out considerable money from his own purse, in order the better to arrange it to put in the amount then received; and feeling that he had quite an amount of money, even at that time, and he added some before he reached home, put his purse in his inner vest pocket, thinking of nothing worse than possibly encountering pickpockets, or losing his money by accident on the way. In his vest pocket he thought it secure, and secure it was to take home, but not secure for keeping.
The result of our conference was that evening, that I should be obliged to go with Mr. Latimer to his home the next morning, when he would call at my office for me. I could not go that night, and perhaps it was as well; for I had a business appointment which led me, not an hour after parting with Mr. Latimer, into certain haunts where I fancied,—it was mere imagination, if it were not instinctive perception, in which I do not much believe, although many mysterious things have occurred in my life which seemed to be governed or directed by some subtle law, which the human brain is not yet strong enough to discover,—where I fancied, I say, that I saw some of the money which Mr. Latimer had lost, displayed, and distributed in dissipation. In short, I imagined that I had stumbled upon the thief, and had I known the character of the bills, which Mr. Latimer, however, could not tell me much about, I might have seized my man then and there.
But the next morning I visited Mr. Latimer's house in an up-town street, which was not then, as now, compactly builded; at least, in the portion of it where he dwelt. I examined everything about the premises, concluded where a thief might have gotten into the house without much trouble, and finally commenced questioning Mr. Latimer about his family, the servants, etc. None of Mr. L.'s family, except his wife, were at home. Two boys, or young men, were at school, rather at college one of them, and both far away, and the daughters were at the female seminary in Cazenovia. As to the servants, in whose honesty Mr. Latimer had the utmost confidence, I had them called into my presence, and questioned them about the condition of the house on the night of the robbery. One of them heard some slight noise, at some time between twelve o'clock and four in the morning; was not definite. The others slept soundly; heard nothing. They did not seem to me likely to be connected with anybody, or to have lovers who would be apt to be of the class who might have robbed the safe. Besides, nobody, not even Mrs. Latimer, knew that Mr. L. had deposited any amount of money in his safe that night. He was of the order of men who attend strictly to "their own business," too strictly, sometimes, when evidence is wanted especially. His bedroom adjoined the room in which the safe stood, and was so situated in regard to a pair of "back stairs," that if the robber had come in from the back (on the theory of his possible complicity with the servants), he could have hardly gotten into the room without disturbing Mr. and Mrs. Latimer, unless on that night, which was probably the case, they slept with unusual soundness. I concluded that the robber must be an expert one, and somehow I constantly referred in mind to the fellow whom I have alluded to before as having been seen liberally dispensing money. He seemed to me competent for the business; but there was one thing which I left to the last, which arose in my mind at first on my interview with Mr. Latimer at the Howard; but I said nothing of it then, for I had learned that the best way is to approach the most serious troubles softly; as often the "course of things," as they take shape in an interview, will better point out how this or that mystery occurred than all the attempted solutions which one might, a priori, project for a week, and that one thing which perplexed me was, How did the robber unlock that safe? He must either have been familiar with the house and the safe, and perhaps had a key to it, or he must have carried about him, probably, several safe keys, one of which happened to fit (and the key to this safe was a small one, fifty of the like size of which would not much trouble a burglar to carry), or he must have gotten possession of Mr. Latimer's key. But his key was in his vest pocket, and his clothes were on a chair at the head of his bed, he said, on my inquiring,—there's where he left them, and there was where he found them in the morning,—and he was sure he locked his safe securely after putting the money in. I finally, as the concluding portion of my examination, asked Mr. Latimer to let me see the inside of his safe, and to show me where he deposited the money. He unlocked and opened the safe,—a simple lock concern, proof really against nothing but fire, perhaps; for although it was supposed that the keyhole was so small, and the safe so constructed, that burglars could not get sufficient powder into it to blow it up, yet it would not have stood a minute against the skill and power of professional burglars; but to open it, as they would have done, would have necessitated noise enough to have awakened Mr. Latimer, especially as the bedroom door was open. Mr. Latimer had put the money into a little drawer in the safe, and turned the key of that, which key, however, remained in the drawer lock. But the drawer was tight, and we tried a dozen times to pull it out without making a creaking noise, without avail; so I concluded that, on the whole, Mr. Latimer and his wife had slept that night pretty soundly.
We were about closing the safe again,—I having made due examination, and asked all necessary questions,—when Mr. Latimer, thinking to arrange a half dozen or so papers which had been thrown loosely upon the bottom of the safe, took them up in one grasp of the hand, and commenced to put them in file, when out of his hand dropped a little white card with figures on it, which arrested his attention. He picked it up, looked at it with astonishment, and said, "That's a curious thing to be here," handing it to me. "You will perhaps think me a sporting man, a devotee of the Goddess of Luck; but I don't know who put that here." "Who has access to your safe besides yourself?" "My wife; she has a key." "O," said I, "perhaps she's put it here then." "Not she," said he. "She'd turn pale with horror if she had found that here, in fear that I might be trifling with lotteries. A brother of hers spent a good-sized fortune in lottery tickets, and died of disappointment and chagrin over his course. Not she!" "Yes, I know," said I; "still she may have put it there, if not for herself, for one of the servants, perhaps; for you know many servants have a mania for 'trying their luck.'" So Mrs. Latimer was called, and asked about the lottery ticket. There was no mistaking her seriousness when she said that if one of the servants had asked her to lock up the ticket for safety, she would have taken it and torn it to pieces before her eyes. I was satisfied. But how came the ticket there. "No. 1710, Great Havana Consolidated Lottery," to be drawn on such a day, through the house of Henry Colton & Co., Baltimore. This is as near as the notes of my diary of those days, much worn, permit me to recount the words and figures of the ticket as I took them down in pencil. I studied the ticket, and saw from a note at the bottom that some days would elapse before the drawing was to come off. It was a fresh ticket then, evidently. But how did it get there? Mr. and Mrs. Latimer knew nothing about it—that was clear. It had not been there long—that was equally clear. I questioned Mr. Latimer about the condition of the loose papers in the bottom of the safe. It appeared he did not observe much order in them, so I could learn nothing by that query. Finally, I concluded that perhaps in pulling out the drawer the robber experienced considerable trouble, and that if he had the ticket in his vest pocket at the time, in bending over, and exerting some force to pull out the drawer, he might have dropped it on the floor, and perhaps his curiosity led him to pull out the papers too, some of which fell from his hand, and he picked them up, the ticket along with them. I settled upon this, and there was a clew to the robber, if nothing more. But how did he unlock the safe? This question remained unanswered. Perhaps with a false key, as I have before suggested; but this lock was one supposed to need a special key, none other exactly like it in the whole world. After we had finished our examination, Mr. Latimer closed the safe door, gave a turn to the knob, and jerked out the key. I do not know what led me to think of it, but I asked, "Have you locked it?" "Yes," said he, "that's all you have to do to lock one of these safes," at the same time taking hold of the knob, and pulling it, to show me how securely and simply it was fastened; when, lo, open came the door! Mr. Latimer was confounded, and I confess I was greatly surprised. It might have been that the robber that night found as easy access to the drawer as Mr. Latimer then. We examined the working of the lock as well as we could, and found that something must be deranged, for although it would, on turning the knob, give a "thud," as if the bolts were driven home, it did not always put them in place. Mr. Latimer had his safe repaired after that, and found some "slide" in the lock-work a little out of place.
But I had gotten the ticket, and I told Mr. Latimer that we must work out the problem with that, or fail; and I sent Mr. Latimer about to his debtors, who had paid him the stolen money, to see if any of them could remember the denominations of the bills, and by what banks issued, which they had given him. He found something in his search which seemed likely to serve me. I gave Mr. Latimer my theory of the case, and pointed out to him the course I should pursue, and we concluded that a week would probably bring us to the determination to try longer, or would put us on the clear track of the robber or robbers, for there might have been more than one. Mr. Latimer authorized me, in case I saw fit, to offer a reward of five hundred or a thousand dollars for the robbers, or double these sums for the robbers and the money.
My first step was to go to Baltimore, where I learned that the ticket was genuine, but I could not learn the name of the person to whom it was issued. I had obtained it, I represented, of a man who never bought tickets, and was curious to know of whom he got it: but it was of no use to inquire. They kept faith with their customers. I could have inquired, with perhaps more success, of the agent in New York, but I dared not venture to see him. Some special friend of his might have bought that number,—"1710,"—and he would tell him of the inquiry, and the robber might suspect that he had lost it on Mr. Latimer's premises. The New York agent had fortunately made his report to the "general office" in Baltimore a day or two before. I left the lottery office, baffled for a moment, but I soon laid a plan. If this ticket wins,—and I shall know by the drawn numbers as published in the papers immediately after the drawing,—then I will "lay in" with the ticket agent, with the bribe or "reward" of five hundred or a thousand dollars, to help me detect the robber; and if the ticket fails to win, I will make the ticket agent my confidant, and have him despatch a note to the person to whom this ticket was sold, saying that "1710" has drawn a prize, to be paid on presentation of the ticket; and in this way get the man into my clutches. So thinking to myself, I concluded to stop in Baltimore till after the drawing, which occurred three days from that time.
As fortune had it, the ticket—"1710"—was lucky, and drew a prize of three thousand dollars. I went to the agent, and putting him under the seal of secrecy, with the prospect of five hundred dollars, and one half of the money drawn by the ticket besides, we arranged to catch the robber, if possible. The New York agency would claim the privilege of paying the three thousand dollars itself, for this would help to give it the reputation of selling lucky numbers, and increase its sales, and consequently its profits. Of course the New York agency was alive to its interests; but where was the ticket? The man to whom it was sold was expected to present it at once at the New York agency; but it didn't come, and he was advised of its having drawn a prize. But it was lost, he said; and the New York agency, desirous of making capital for itself, ordered the payment of the prize money through it, advised with the home office. It was finally concluded that the buyer might make affidavit, before a notary public, of the fact that he purchased the ticket No. 1710; that he had not transferred it to anybody else; that he had lost it, and when. And it was suggested that, as possibly the ticket might yet be presented by somebody who might have found it, it would be well for the buyer to state whether he had given it any private mark—his initials, or something else,—which is often done. This was done to excite the robber's memory about it, and drew forth from him a statement that he had not marked the ticket, but remembered that it was "clipped" in a certain way, cutting into the terminal letter of a line across the end; which was just what we wanted, as it identified him, beyond a doubt, as the real purchaser. He swore he had not transferred the ticket, but had lost it somewhere, as he alleged that he believed, on such a day (which chanced to be the very day on the night of which the robbery occurred), somewhere between the corner of Fulton Street and Broadway (where was located then a day gambling-saloon) and Union Square. This was indefinite enough for his conscience, I presume. Of course a name was signed to the affidavit, but how could we know that it was correct? Together with this came the agent's affidavit that he sold to such a person the ticket. We arranged that payment should be made to the affiant if the ticket was not presented by somebody else within a month; and if it were presented before that time, he should be informed, and the proper steps taken to secure him his money. This was communicated to the New York agency, and I left for New York to find out who was this "Charles F. Worden," the purported purchaser of the ticket; and the Baltimore agent came on to see the New York agent, and adroitly draw out of him a personal description of this "Worden," for we suspected that the agent and he were special friends. The Baltimore agent had no difficulty in executing his part of the work, and indeed effected an interview with Worden, whom, with the New York agent, he treated to a superb supper at the Astor House. When he came to give me a detailed account of the fellow's personal appearance, I recognized him, especially by a curious bald spot on the left side of the head, and which he took some pains to cover by pulling his long hair over it,—which, however, did not incline to stay there,—as the young man whom I had seen in the gambling saloon on the night that Mr. Latimer first consulted me at the Howard.
I now felt quite sure of my game; but was confident enough that I should find that the young man bore some other name than "Worden." Suffice it that it was the work of a couple of days only before I had my man in tow, knew all about him, his antecedents, etc. His family was good. He had been prepared for college, at the Columbia College Grammar School; was a young man of fair average capacity, but by his dissipations managed to make himself an eyesore to his family. His father, who was a well-to-do, if not rich merchant, doing business in Maiden Lane, had, in order to "reform" him, "given him up," and ordered him to shirk for himself, something like a year before this. He went into a grocery store, being unable to get work elsewhere, and had done very well for three or four months; but there was a private room in the back of the store where liquor was sold by the glass—one of those places which are now known by the felicitous name, "Sample Rooms," the disgusting frequency of which all over New York, and in many other cities, is so remarkable; places which are really worse than the open bars of hotels, or the regular "gin mills" (if I may be permitted to use the vulgar phrase), because in these sly, half-private places is it that most young men learn to drink, and here it is, too, where many a man, too respectable to be seen frequenting the open liquor stores of his vicinity, steals in and guzzles his potations, on the sure road to a drunkard's fate—failure in business, ruined constitution, and final poverty and disgrace. Here the young man, "Worden," as he now called himself, had fallen in with genial company, who came to his employers to "buy groceries," and to drink, and among them had made the acquaintance, in particular, of a down-town "banker," who boarded in the vicinity of the grocery, which was on the corner of Bleecker Street and ——. This banker was a fascinating fellow, and young Worden soon fell in love with him. By and by he found out what sort of a "banker" was his new-made friend—the same who kept the day gambling-rooms on the corner of Fulton and Broadway. It is astonishing how little one may know of the business of his neighbors whom he meets every day in New York, unless he takes special pains to find out. The "solitude of a great city" is no mere Byronic fancy. One could hardly be more solitary in the dense woods than a man may be in the midst of the throngs of men and women he may meet in New York. He sees them—that is all. His heart is closed to them, and theirs to him, as much as if they were in China, and he the "lone man" on some island of the West Indies. So that "banker" passed for a rich, active, business man, in the vicinity of Bleecker Street and ——, within less than a mile, perhaps, of this nefarious den. Young Worden was easily led on till he got to neglecting his business when sent out on errands, or down town to the wholesale grocers; and finally the grocer discharged him for neglect of business; and how he had lived since then was a mystery to his old companions, who found him afterwards always better dressed. The secrets of his history, from the time of his discharge up to the time of the robbery, as I finally learned them, would form an interesting chapter by themselves, but are out of place here. An incident in his career, however, may yet find place in these papers, because it was interlinked with an extraordinary case which at another time I worked up, and of which I have made note, in order, if my space permit, to recite it in this work. It must suffice now, that despair, resulting from the loss of money at the gambling-table, and which he was not for some days able to win back, though he hazarded his last dollar, drove the young man to commit a small robbery, or theft, from the purse of one of his fellow-boarders, when the latter was asleep one night. The full success of this hardened him, and led him on. If detection could always follow the first offence, the number of criminals would be far less. But few will "persevere" beyond a detection, if it comes early enough in their career.
I had made sure of my man. But he was not caught yet, by any means; besides, the Baltimore agent and I had something further to do together. Upon him depended much. I had the ticket in my possession, and the young man had sworn to it—identified it in his affidavit, to be sure; but he would insist that he lost it, and that somebody who found it must have robbed the safe, if we should pounce upon him now. So I went to Mr. Latimer, and managed to take him, in proper disguise, to a gambling saloon, which this young man frequented, and he thought he recognized him as one of the persons standing near him on the day the money for the hay was paid him in Jersey City; and before we left the saloon,—staid half an hour perhaps,—Mr. Latimer was quite willing to swear to the young man's identity as one of those present at the hay transaction. But this would not be enough to convict the young man, unless we could find some of the stolen money upon him, or among his effects, which I felt sure we should do, for I saw that he was gambling those days sparely, like one who means to win, and keep what he wins. I reasoned that the robbery had given him a snug little capital; that he felt his importance as a "financial man," and that perhaps he was resolving to gamble but little more, give up his old associates, and with what he had, and what he would obtain from the lottery, go into business, and perhaps win his way back into his father's favor. And I reasoned rightly, as a subsequent confession of the young man proved.
In his investigations among the creditors who had paid him the sum stolen, Mr. Latimer had found out a fact on which I was relying for aid in the course of the work, as I have intimated before; and renting on that becoming important in the line of evidence, I repaired to Baltimore, and told the general agent that I thought it time now to draw matters to a close. We arranged our plans. The New York agent was informed that the ticket had been presented at the general office, and the prize demanded; that it would be necessary for the young man and himself to come on to Baltimore to meet the presenter of the ticket, and that he was to call again in three days. The general agent was in great glee over the matter; for I had arranged with him that he should have the whole of the three thousand dollar prize as his own, if he would not demand the five hundred dollars reward of me, in case the matter worked out rightly, and we managed to get back a good share of the money stolen from the young man. He was for attacking the young man at once, as soon as we could get him into the private office, and charging him with the robbery of Mr. Latimer's safe; overwhelming him with the history of his being that day in Jersey City, and showing him the trap we had set to get him to identify the ticket so minutely, etc.; but I feared that the young man might not be so easily taken aback, and we agreed to wait for something else which might, in the negotiation, turn up. I had not informed the agent yet of what Mr. Latimer had discovered in his investigations about the kind of money paid him, but had arranged with the agent that if things came to the proper point he should offer to pay the young man by a draft on New York, and should say to him, that if it would be convenient he would rather make the draft for three thousand and five hundred dollars, and let the young man pay him five hundred dollars, as that amount would draw out all his deposit, and close account with the bank in question, he having determined to do his business with another bank. So much I had asked which he said he would do; and duly the young man and the agent came on. We had a private conference; I being disguised, with spectacles and all, as the legal counsellor of the lottery men. The agent from New York was present. I had asked the young man many questions about the ticket, heard the New York agent's story, and given my advice to the Baltimore man to pay it to him, but to send for the "other man" who held the ticket, and who was said to be waiting the result of things. So the New York agent was politely asked to take a note to a man quite a distance off from the lottery office, and whom the agent had informed that he might receive a note that day, and instructed what to do in such case. The man was a store-keeper; was very polite to the New York agent; bade him be seated in the counting-room, and he would send his boy out to bring in the man indicated in the note. The New York agent was told to be sure to get the man, wait till he could bring him along with him, "if it takes three hours," said the Baltimore agent, as the New York man went off.
"Yes, yes; depend on my doing the business right," responded the New York agent, as he went off on his tomfool's errand.
Papers were given the young man to read, and we chatted together a little; the lottery agent having gone to work at his business desk in the next room. A half hour passed, and then—"This is dull business. I must go to my office, and come back if needed," said I to the lottery agent, as I opened the door into his room. "When shall I return?" "Stay; he'll be back soon." "No," said I; "I'll go, and return." "Well, please don't be long away,"—and he gave me a significant look, which the young man, of course, did not see. I went off, and returning in about a quarter of an hour, called the agent into the private room, and said, "See here! a new phase in affairs. I found that man waiting at my office to consult me about the ticket. He said he knew I was your attorney, and would advise him what was best; he didn't want any fuss about it. This was after I told him I was quite sure that the ticket was the property of young Mr. Worden here; and the matter is left entirely with me. See! I have the ticket here; do you recognize it?" asked I of Worden, presenting it to him. He started up, looked at it, and with a face full of joy, exclaimed, "The very same: don't you remember how I described this slip here in my affidavit?" "Well, Mr. Worden, as the matter is left with me, I have no doubt the ticket is yours; and of course the agent will pay you the prize." "Yes, of course," said the agent; "stay here, since you are here, and I'll make the due entries, etc., get the money, and be back." He closed the door behind him; and as it was a late hour, drawing near closing time, told the clerks he'd give them a part of a holiday; and bade them to be on hand early next morning. "A good deal of work to do to-morrow, you know," said he, as he smilingly bowed them out.
Presently, after a delay, however, which I was fearful would excite the young man's curiosity, if nothing more, the agent came into the room, and told Worden that he found it would be inconvenient to pay the three thousand dollars that afternoon in money, and then proposed to him to take the draft on New York, of which I have before spoken. Worden compliantly fell in with the suggestion; said he would cash the draft for the balance. He was anxious, he said, to get on to New York as soon as might be; and, "by the way," said he, "where's my friend, Mr. ——?"—(the New York agent.) "Ah," replied the Baltimore agent, "he's waiting at the place to which I sent him for the man." "Well," turning to his watch, "there'll be time to send for him before the next train north, after we have settled the matter." He went to his desk, drew the check, came in and handed it to Worden, who, laying it on the table, proceeded to take out his wallet, which I noticed was heavily loaded. He selected five one hundred dollar bills and handed them to the agent, who stepped into the next room, as if to deposit them in his safe, saying, "I'll be back in a moment, Mr. Worden. Step in here, 'Counsellor,'" said he to me, "and tell me how I am to make this entry"—for the want of something better to say. I followed, and he showed me the notes. We "had" the young man! Four of the notes bore on their back, in writing, the business card of one of the men who had paid Mr. Latimer money on that day; the notes were of the Bank of America, such as he had told Mr. Latimer he had drawn that day from bank, and he had indorsed his card on them not an hour before he paid him. His account was new with that bank. He had no other than six of those one hundred dollar notes, so I saw our game was sure, and I said instantly, "Go in and ask Worden if he can't give you two fifties, or five twenties for this note," taking up the one not bearing the business card. He did so, and I followed, and instantly that Worden drew his purse to accommodate him, I suddenly knocked the purse from his hand, and caught Worden by the throat—"No noise, you villain! You are caught! You are the scoundrel who robbed Mr. Latimer's safe. I've traced you, and you are splendidly trapped!" I exclaimed.
SEIZURE OF YOUNG WORDEN IN BALTIMORE.
He made some exertions to get from my grasp, but I held him firmly; waited a moment or two that the first flush of excitement might pass from him, and led him to a chair; gave him his history in brief; and in a short manner showed him how he was caught. Meanwhile the agent, at my request, was searching and counting the money in the purse which he picked up as I knocked it out of Worden's hands. "Here's another one hundred dollar bill with Bordell's card on it," said he. (The card was "Rufus Bordell, Optician, and Mathematical Instrument Maker, 173 Bowery, N. Y.," as my notes read. It was not an unusual thing in those days, though I always thought it a foolish one, for men to indorse all the new bills that came into their possession with their business addresses, as a mode of advertisement. Poor Mr. Bordell! He was an Englishman, and was making a trip to England to visit his relatives on board the ill-fated Pacific steamer in her last trip out, which went to sea, and was never heard of after.) Well, Worden saw that he was caught, and there was no escape for him. We found he had over three thousand dollars in money with him, and he agreed to go to New York with us and get what remained of the rest, which he said was all he had taken except six or eight hundred dollars, and he thought he could manage to raise that amount too, if I would not prosecute him. The vision of State Prison was too much for his nerves. He wanted to go unmanacled; and so I insisted on the agent's accompanying me to help watch him. However, he could never have got away from me alone, for I should have felled him at once to the ground had he tried, and I was sure he had not been in the business long enough, or done enough at it, to have "pals" to assist him. In fact, he said he never had any comrades in crime.
The agent arranged his affairs; sent word to the New York agent that he was suddenly called to New York, and would see him there the next day, and we left Baltimore for New York by the next train. The young man kept his promise to us; not only got the money left out of his robbery, but raised of a "friend," whom we all visited, seven hundred and ten dollars, which we found was the deficit; gave up the lottery ticket to the agent (who had the honor, however, to pay him back the sum he paid for the ticket), and we let him go.
I hardly know whether I ought to state what I am about to or not; but it may encourage some reader of this who may be inclined to a life like that which young "Worden" was then leading, to reform. "Worden" saw the situation of things, thanked us for our kindness, and begged me to never mention his real name. (I had not communicated it to the agent or to Mr. Latimer, and have never since told it to either or to anybody). He promised to reform at once, and go to work, however humble the situation. He did so, and in two or three years won his way back into his father's smiles, conducted business in New York for a while after that, and is now a prominent and wealthy man of Chicago. I met him not over ten months ago from this writing, and enjoyed his hospitality. "You saved me," said he. And that was all that was said between us about the robbery.
The Baltimore agent drew the prize for No. 1710, and it was none of the Lottery Company's business that he pocketed it.
When I carried the money back to Mr. Latimer, he was astonished, and insisted that I take the reward of one thousand dollars, which, as he was rich, I did accept. I never told him how we let the fellow escape, but satisfied him on that point.
"But," said he, "you haven't told me what you learned about how he got into the safe."
"No, for the scamp was in as much doubt about it as we; he thought that the lock turned easily, if it turned at all. He pulled, and the door came open, and afterwards, on looking at the key he tried it with, thought it curious that it could have raised the spring. Probably the safe was not locked."
"But how did he get in, and do it so secretly, my wife and I lying right there?" pointing to the adjoining bedroom.
"O, he says you were both snoring away so that nobody in the house could have heard him if he'd made ten times the noise he did."
"I—do—not—believe—it," said Mr. Latimer, with an emphatic drawl, and more seriousness of face than I had seen him exhibit over his loss even. "I never caught her snoring in my life. She says I snore sometimes. I'll call her, and tell her the story."
Mrs. Latimer came in; the snoring matter was settled in a joke, and I was made to stay and take a private supper with them, which, in due time, was served in superb order; and I left that house to go home at last with a firm friend in Mr. Latimer, who has never failed to send me business, when he could command it, from that day.
He is ignorant of the young robber's real name to this day; and, indeed, said he did not care to know it; when, four years after the occurrence, as he was one day badgering me to satisfy his curiosity on that point, I told him the man had reformed, and was made a good citizen of, indirectly through the facts that the safe was probably unlocked that night, and that he and his wife snored so loudly.
LEWELLYN PAYNE AND THE COUNTERFEITERS.
AN IDLE TIME—A CALL FROM MY OLD "CHIEF"—THE CASE IN HAND OUTLINED—I DISCOVER AN OLD ENEMY IN THE LIST OF COUNTERFEITERS, AND LAY MY PLANS—TAKE BOARD IN NINETEENTH STREET, AND OPEN A LAW OFFICE IN JAUNCEY COURT—MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MRS. PAYNE, LEWELLYN'S MOTHER, AND FINALLY GET ACQUAINTED WITH HIM—HE VISITS MY LAW OFFICE—I AM INGRATIATED IN HIS FAVOR—I TRACK HIM INTO MY ENEMY'S COMPANY, AND FEEL SURE OF SUCCESS—LEWELLYN FINALLY CONFESSES TO ME HIS TERRIBLE SITUATION—CERTAIN PLANS LAID—I MAKE "COLLINS'" ACQUAINTANCE—VISIT A GAMBLING SALOON WITH HIM—A HEAVY WAGER—FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS AT HAZARD, PAYNE'S ALL—THE COUNTERFEITING GAMBLERS CAUGHT TOGETHER—A SEVERE STRUGGLE—PAYNE SAVED AT LAST, AND HIS MONEY TOO—A REFORMED SON AND A HAPPY MOTHER—TWO "BIRDS" SENT TO THE PENITENTIARY.
There had been a lull in business for a time with me soon after I had left an organized force of private detectives, and with the promised assistance of some friends, mercantile and otherwise, whom I had served more or less, under the direction of the chief of the corps to which I belonged, had taken a private office, and was beginning to wish that I was not so much "my own master," and had more to do.
During those days I tried to divert my mind with much reading, and one day, poring over De Quincey's "Opium Eater," I was half buried in oblivion to all particular things around me, though wonderfully aroused to a sweet sensuousness of all things material, when my old chief entered my office. I was not a little surprised to see him, for it had been weeks since I had met him, and that casual meeting was the first time I had seen him since my resignation from the corps.
"Good day, my boy," said he, giving me a hearty grasp of the hand. He looked weary and worn. I thought he looked vexed, too, about something, and I asked, "Well, what's up? What ails you? Are you unwell?" "No," said he, "not unwell; in fact, never in better health; but business annoys me. I've been on a scent for some parties for quite a while, and I can get nobody to do what I want done. Report of failure to find out what I want has just been rendered an hour ago, and I have come down to see if you can't help me out."
"Tell me your story," said I. "But I don't suppose I can accomplish anything for you if Wilson, Baldwin, or Harry Hunt" (detectives of rare ability on his corps) "have failed."
"They have," said he, "signally; but I believe the matter can be worked out readily, though you will have to take your time at it. The case is this: There's a lot of blacklegs and counterfeiters, some of whom you know, whose den I want to find out. That's all. They are passing more or less counterfeit money these days. What I want is not to detect any one of these by himself, but to capture the whole of them in their den—gobble them all up at once, and break up their gang; and now I think I have a key to their hiding-place, which, if I can get anybody to work it well, will open in upon them."
"Well, give me the particulars, and your general instructions, and I'll try it."
"You know," said he, "that some of it may be desperate work, and that's one reason why I want you—steady hand, and cool head, and time enough, must succeed in this business. Here is a minute description of five of the gang. Look it over," pulling from his side pocket a paper. "There, you know this first one, Harry Le Beau. We dealt with him, you know, two years ago; and the next I guess you don't know. In fact, I reckon you don't know any of the rest."
I was studying over the personal descriptions; meanwhile the chief went talking on, I paying little heed further to what he was saying. Coming to the last on the list, "Mont Collins!"—"Mont Collins?"—I don't know the name, but the description just suits another person; rather, just suits the character himself, for I knew, of course, that "Collins" was one of any number of aliases. "This is a particular friend of mine," said I. "His name used to be Bill Blanchard, and—and—well," without saying any more, "I'll undertake the job; and, by Heavens!" said I, "I'll succeed," for I had been warming up out of my opium reverie from the instant my eye fell upon the description of "Collins," with an indignation and a hope of revengeful triumph over this villain, who had now taken a step in counterfeiting, or in passing counterfeit money, where I could, if successful, get him confined within the walls of a prison, and pay him for his vile iniquities.
"You have encountered this scoundrel before, it seems," said the chief, noticing the glow upon my face.
"No, not I; but a relative of mine. I can't tell you the story now. I'll follow him to the death. No stone shall remain unmoved in this business."
"I am glad you have a peculiar incentive, and I feel that you are sure to succeed; but I have not given you the key yet. May be it will serve you. Perhaps you can get a better one, and won't need to use it," said the chief.
"Give it me," said I, "by all means. A straw, even, might serve to point the way; and if the rest are as desperate and cunning as 'Collins,' I shall need all the help and advice possible to work up the job," said I.
So the chief went, on to say, "It is very evident that these fellows have an important victim in a young man, by the name of Lewellyn Payne, from Kentucky, who came to New York some months ago, reputed to be very rich, and had always at first about him money enough; but he has become reckless. He's a fine-looking fellow, of good address, and how he allowed such a vile gang to get hold of him, I don't see"—
"But I do," said I, interposing. "Collins is as keen and genteel a villain as the city holds," said I.
"May be," said the chief; "but the rest of them are only cutthroats, without a particle of grace to save them."
"But they cannot be worse at heart than he," I responded. "He has chosen his crew for his own purposes—fit instruments for his style of villany."
"Well, you think you know him. I hope you do, and can manage him; but I'll tell you about this Payne. They have drained his purse, I think; in fact, I've had him watched, and have found out that he is greatly in their debt. They hold his notes, and he is about to sell property in Kentucky to meet them. At least this is my translation of Hunt's report from him. Hunt "cultivated" him for a while, but we couldn't find out anything from him in regard to the gang's rendezvous."
"Well, what am I to do? Where does he live, this Payne?"
"In West 19th Street, No. —, corner Sixth Avenue. He and his mother board there."
"O, ho," said I; "his mother! Does she know anything about her son's dissipations?"
"Yes; it was she who came to me first about him,—says her heart is broken, and that something must be done to save her son. She can learn but little from him; but says he's away a great deal all night, and sleeps mostly during the day; that she fears he's gambled away most of his property, etc."
"Then she can be approached upon the subject. Well, I see the way clear. I must make his acquaintance without his knowing why. I may make such use of your name as I please?"
Before night that day I was fortunate enough to secure board at the house in 19th Street, though I did have to accept a room a little farther up toward the sky than I desired, with the assurance that I should have the first vacant room below. My first business was to effect a meeting with the lady, Mrs. Payne, which I found but little difficulty in doing. The poor woman, who was a model of elegance and matronly character, was greatly moved when she came to tell me of her son's wanderings from the strict path of morality in which she had tried to rear him. Young Payne's father had died some twelve years before, and she had taken her son Lewellyn to Europe to finish his education. Being of Scotch origin herself, and most of her relations residing in and about Edinboro', she had taken him to the university there, whence, after leaving college, she went to the Continent with him. Finally, spending a season at Baden Baden, young Payne caught there the fashionable mania for gambling, which was proving his ruin. She was ready to spend liberally of her means in order to reform him, and wished me to spare no expense necessary in the course which I pointed out to her. I found it necessary to take an office or desk as a lawyer in Jauncey Court, out of Wall Street, and had some cards struck off, announcing myself as an attorney at law. Three or four days passed before I thought best to make the acquaintance of the young man, the mother having stated to me, meanwhile, a legal matter of hers in Kentucky, on which I had taken advice, so as to be able to talk learnedly to the son.
All being arranged, the mother told the son that she found they had a lawyer in the house, and had thought best to consult him regarding the matter in Kentucky, and was pleased with his advice, but would like him (young Payne) to talk with the lawyer also. Through this means I made the acquaintance of young Payne next day, and invited him down to my office. He said he should have occasion to go into Wall Street that very day, and would call about three P. M. Of course I was there, received him, spoke of the library, which was quite large, as mine, and played the lawyer to the best of my abilities. We went out to a restaurant together, and I allowed myself to accept his treat to a little wine; and, in short, before reaching home that evening, for we went up town together, I felt very certain that I had properly impressed young Payne with my consequence, and with the notion, too, that I was no "blue-skin," but ready always for a little "fun."
Mrs. Payne looked a degree or two improved that evening when she saw how swimmingly her son and I were getting on in our acquaintance.
After supper, young Payne said he had an engagement out, and would bid me good evening. But I said, "I am going out too; perhaps our paths may lie along together for a while. I am going down town."
"So am I," said he, "and I should be pleased with your company as far as you may go."
I left the house with him, and we proceeded to Broadway, and turned down, talking over many things, and managing to agree pretty well upon them all. At last, as we neared 8th Street, I thought I saw that young Payne was a little uneasy, as if wishing to shake me off; and I said to him, "Well, good evening, Mr. Payne," offering him my hand. "My course leads this way," pointing to the left, and turning in that direction. "I suppose you keep down farther."
"Yes," said he, "I am going on farther," and bowing me an "adieu, for the while," he passed on, and I kept a good look out for him, for I "scented" that he expected to meet somebody not far from that point. Dropping into a saloon near by, where a friend of mine was engaged, I left my "stove-pipe" hat, and pulled from my pocket a thin "slouched" hat, which I carried for occasion, and taking the opposite side of the street from Payne, kept him in sight till he passed into the New York Hotel, when I crossed over, and entered. I had hardly done so before he, returning from the back portion of the hall in company with another, passed by me. His companion was evidently telling him a funny story, for he laughed quite loudly, and was hitting Payne, as if in glee, upon his shoulder. I knew my man, both by his voice and face, which was partly concealed by the manner in which he, at this moment, had fixed his hat upon his head. He was unmistakably Blanchard, alias "Collins," and my blood was up. Blanchard, the villain, had ruined the husband of my cousin Elizabeth ——. "Bettie," as we familiarly called her, was one of the sweetest women I ever saw,—my most cherished cousin, of whom I was proud in every sense,—and the griefs which bore her down, in the ruin of her husband, pierced my heart, and I resolved to be avenged, if possible, upon this villain Blanchard, who had worked her husband's downfall, and robbed him of every dollar. The husband had been at one time in the enjoyment of a lucrative trade, as a merchant of woollen goods, and had a fine standing with some of the best manufacturers in Rhode Island and elsewhere, and was on what seemed the sure road to a great fortune, when he unluckily fell into the clutches of Blanchard. Indeed, I too had suffered by Blanchard, to no small extent for me, having been indorser of some of my cousin's paper, which went to protest, and which I had at last to pay. I do not allow myself to cherish enmity against my fellow-man. The detective soon learns to not be surprised at finding the man of the best reputation frequently involved in crime, and he comes to look with charity upon the faults, and even the crimes, of his fellow-men. Comparatively, men do not, in society, differ at heart so greatly as the uninitiated might imagine. But few men are proof against the wiles of "circumstances." No man can really tell what he would have done, or would not have done, had he been placed in these or those circumstances by which some other man has been led on to a career of crime, or to some dark deed. But I could never wholly suppress my longing for vengeance whenever Blanchard came into my mind, and on this occasion my temper was quite as intense as I could well control.
I turned when Payne and his friend had passed a proper distance on, and taking the sidewalk, followed them near to a house in Houston Street, which I saw them enter. I did not know the character of the house then, but was satisfied that it was a "hell" of some sort—a genteel one, for its outward appearances indicated as much; but I made myself acquainted with the probable character of the place before I returned to my boarding-house that night.
The next day Payne was not up till two o'clock in the afternoon, and I feigned illness enough to delay me at home that day, in order to make further study of him. When he came into the general parlor, I saw that there was a peculiar haggardness about his countenance, not such as over-drinking or ordinary mere dissipation gives. To me it was a tell-tale haggardness, and I felt I knew full well that he was on the last plank, and just about to be submerged beneath the waves of irretrievable ruin. So he looked, so he felt, too, of course. I entered into conversation with him, drew out some of his experiences in New York, and gradually led him on to the disclosure of some pretty serious confessions. At last he told me that he had run a wild career, but had made up his mind to reform, and find some useful employment. "But," said he, "I've promised myself to do so a thousand times before, and have failed as often to make a beginning."
"I know your case," said I. "I've known a great many such. There's always ground for hope, I assure you, so long as the desire to escape exists. But each case has its peculiarities. One case is never an exact representation of another, of course."
We carried on the conversation for a while longer, till we came to a point where Mr. Payne, in giving me a description of some friends whom he had made since he came to New York, spoke of his friend "Collins" as a very "brilliant, dashing fellow," who was a nondescript for him, otherwise, in character. I was, of course, more interested at this point than at any other, which must have been manifest at once to young Payne. He told me of some of his and Collins' adventures. In all these I could clearly see the workings of the villain Blanchard, and I was several times on the point of uttering my full views to Mr. Payne, but I thought it an hour too early in our acquaintance to do so, and so delayed to do it.
Another day came. I was out all day away from the house, but not idle, for I managed to learn more of "Collins'" or Blanchard's proceedings for the last few months before, of his places of resort, etc.; but when I returned at evening, before Mr. Payne's usual hour for going abroad, I found him in great dejection; and having opportunity to converse with him, approached him, and was soon invited to his room. It was not long before our conversation took such shape that I was able to breathe to him some of my suspicions. Payne listened with surprise; but I drew Blanchard's modes of proceeding, his general character, etc., so accurately, that Payne became more than half convinced that "Collins" and Blanchard were one. In short, I got down into Payne's heart before our conversation concluded that evening. It was necessary for him to go forth again that night, or, I think, he would have held me in his room all night, reciting his adventures and running over his mistakes. I saw that he was utterly ruined, beyond all hope, unless I could manage to get out of the hands of his captors a large number of collaterals, which he had for the space of three months past left in their hands, as security for promissory notes to a large amount which he had given them, and to pay which he was looking to the sale of some property in Kentucky, and for some dividends on stock in a manufactory in Cincinnati, which, however, was itself pledged. These were debts of honor, as he, up to that moment, had regarded them, and must be paid, no matter if paying them more than bankrupted him. Indeed, he had played and lost far beyond the sum of his actual property, so desperate had he become in the matter; and the gamblers, his elegant friends, were willing to show their gentlemanly confidence in him, and trusted him more,—the well-bred scoundrels. But I pointed out to him the fact that he had (which was evident enough to me) been victimized by villains who never play an honorable game of hazard; indeed, who never play a game of hazard at all, since all is in their hands and under their perfect control. When he came to see this, and reflect upon each step, and saw how the thing had been done, and also that, as his memory, now excited, called all vividly before him, when he had lost heavily with the gang they had, without doubt, in every instance played a false game, the dark shades deepened in his face.
Mr. Payne became at first very serious, but at the close of our conversation I saw that his mind had become quite calm: he was very deliberate. The muscles about his mouth assumed a firmer expression. I could easily see that he was meditating some way of revenge on the scoundrels who would have gladly ruined him in all respects, as they had already done in some. Finally he said to me, "You seem to understand all about these villains. How came you to know them so well? Have you ever been victimized by them?"
"No, not victimized; but I came to learn these characters through my profession. Professional men are compelled to know more or less of them, and it has been my lot to be greatly interested; in fact, somewhat involved in a matter in which Blanchard, or, as you know him, 'Collins,' was the principal actor; and I'll say to you here, that it would give me the keenest pleasure to give you any aid in my power as against that wretch."
Mr. Payne's time for going out that evening had come, and I left the house at the same time with him, hoping that he would do something, or that something would occur on my walk with him, to further my projects. But we parted that evening with nothing done. But next day Payne came to me at my office in Wall Street about twelve o'clock. He was uneasy, and did not wish to sit down to talk, and asked me if I would walk with him. We sallied out up to Broadway, and along it; got to Courtlandt Street, when he said, "Somehow I feel a great inclination to go down to the water. Suppose we go over in the ferry to Jersey City."
ATLANTIC BEER GARDEN—PAYNE AND COLLINS' RENDEZVOUS.
Of course I was ready to humor him, for I well knew the agitated state of his mind; and down to the dock and over the river we went, and arriving in Jersey City, Payne having no special point of destination, we wandered the streets and talked. He told me his whole story over, as of the night before, and added to it many touching incidents. "Help me now, I beg you, if you can." I asked him if this gang dealt in counterfeit money at all, and found that he knew nothing about it. This was a relief, in one sense, to me, and a surprise in another; and I thought, "Perhaps I may be mistaken after all." But we planned, as the result of our day's conversation, that, as a first step, he should take "Collins" that evening into the "Atlantic Beer Garden," in the Bowery, to take beer (of which he said Collins was very fond, not drinking anything else intoxicating), to treat him, and I should come in carelessly, but unexpectedly, upon him. And he should present me at once to "Collins" as Mr. "Wilson," the name I had assumed on my legal card, but which I did not explain the reason for at that time to Mr. Payne.
That night I came upon the twain at the place proposed, where they were sitting at a table over pots of beer, and smoking, when I, darting in, called for a pot of beer; and seeing Payne, pushed up to his table, extending my hand. "Ah, here, eh? Mr. Payne; very glad to meet you?" "Take a seat with us," said he. "This is my friend, Mr. Collins, Mr. Wilson."
I looked into "Collins'" eyes; gave him a wink, as much as to say, "Mr. Payne thinks my name is Wilson; you know better; keep still." Of course "Collins" was as anxious that I should not call him Blanchard, as I was that he should address me as Wilson. "And," he said, "Mr. Wilson—I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wilson. Let's fill up, Mr. Payne," for their mugs were dry, "and invite Mr. Wilson to take what he likes with us." "Thank you, gentlemen, but here comes my beer. I'll wait for you to fill up again." I put "Collins" quite at ease, and we drank, and told stories, and sang a song or two. So well did Collins and I disguise the fact that we had ever heard of each other that Payne, as he afterwards told me, made up his mind soon that I had been utterly mistaken in the man.
We had nearly finished our cups at the table, when Payne, spying a southern friend coming into the saloon, with a number of others, asked to be excused for a moment, and left us.
"The devil!" said Blanchard; "how did you come to know Payne?"
"O, he is one of the acquaintances one picks up in the city, he hardly knows how."
"Yes, yes; but as I happened, by the mistake of a partial acquaintance, to be introduced to him as 'Collins,' I have let it go so. I hope you'll be as careful the rest of the evening to not call me Blanchard, as you have."
"O, we are in the same boat, 'Collins,' you see! He calls me 'Wilson,' and I let it go at that."
"But," said Blanchard, "I must say, 'Wilson,' you are very complaisant, and I hardly thought you would speak to me at all."
"O, well, Blanchard, we grow wiser as we grow older. We don't see things, generally, in the same light we used to."
"True," said he; "and I am glad to find you not unkindly disposed,"—and I doubt not that he was, for he well knew how I loved my cousin, and that I knew he was the cause of her husband's downfall, and her greatest griefs.
"What are you doing these days?" asked B.
"I've turned lawyer," said I, "and have an office on Wall Street. Here's my card. Don't like my profession over much, and so find time to speculate more or less." (Blanchard had never known that I had become a detective, fortunately. Though living in the same city we had been, practically, as wide apart as the poles.)
"What are you doing?" I asked in turn.
"Well, I am speculating, too, a little," said he, with a half-inquiring wink in his eyes.
"I see you misinterpret me a little," said I. "Not so much either," I continued, "for I speculate in Wall Street some, and elsewhere some."
"The fact is," said 'Collins,' "I am getting to be very much attracted by sundry speculations, though I lose money as fast as I make it. I was on my way to-night on a little speculation. Perhaps you'd like to go along." In paying for my beer I had purposely made display of all the money I had,—quite a pile,—and doubtless Collins' gambling avarice was a little whetted, or he might not have invited me along.
Payne returned to us; and Collins telling him that he had invited me to accompany them "for a little fun to-night," we sallied forth, and were not long in crossing Broadway, and finding ourselves in a suite of rooms, which, as soon as I set my eyes on them, I understood as one of the worst of the second-class of gambling hells in the city.
Roulette, dice, and the latter loaded, and every other appurtenance of such a place, as well as cards and a faro bank, were there. The whole air of the place, the men at play and about the boards, were assurance to me that I was on the right track of the counterfeiters; but I felt at once that the game I had to play was a desperate one; that these fellows were the worst sort of cutthroats.
We both played a little, Payne and I; but Collins played not at all that night, except the part of a particular "friend" to Payne in various ways. I lost considerable, Payne lost more, and his note was received on demand; but still with the understanding that he was not to be asked to cash it till his Kentucky remittance came on. It was a part of my plan to play and lose a little that night, to furnish occasion to come again; and when we parted to go home, the "gentleman" of the establishment, to whom Collins had introduced me as Wilson, said, "Mr. Wilson, now you've learned the way, drop in occasionally. Poor luck don't run always."
"Ha, ha!" said I, "gentlemen," taking the matter good-humoredly. "I'm not feeling very well to-night; but you can expect me around some time to break your bank when I am in good spirits."
"That's right, come along any time. We like bold players, if they do clean us out sometimes; nothing like spirit,"—and we bowed ourselves out.
It was arranged by me and Payne, as we betook ourselves home, that he should continue to go there and play a little every night till his money came; that then he should offer to play all his pile against his indebtedness to the concern, his notes of hand, and all the collaterals he had pledged. I knew the gamblers would catch at that, and count him a bigger fool than ever. I was to be there, and play too. Payne continued to visit the place, played less and less each night, and at last declared to them that he would not be in again till his money came. "And," said he "I'm going to take Wilson in, as my partner—he has a pile." Meanwhile I reported to my old chief, and had all things arranged for a descent upon the place if I should be able to work the matter up to the proper point by the time Payne's money came. The money came. Payne's fifteen thousand dollars, in good money, I knew would be a temptation to the villains, although his indebtedness to them had increased to over twenty-five thousand dollars, and we went to the den; I having my force of policemen in training, and ready for my call. It was a wet night. There was quite a number of visitors in early in the evening; but they straggled home, as the rain increased, some not having umbrellas with them, and for various reasons, and we were left, eventually, almost alone with the regular keepers of the place; and Payne was asked if his money had come? "Yes, gentlemen, fifteen thousand dollars of it; all I shall get for more than a year to come, and I'm going to hazard it all against my notes and the collaterals you hold."
"All right," said the leading genius of the place. "All right," said "Collins," aloud; but he stepped up to Payne, and kindly whispered in his ear, "But would you do it? I wouldn't hazard it now. Play half for half, say; for if you should lose all, you know—well, do as you like."
"Yes, I will do as I like—I'll play all." There was a smile of fiendish triumph then on Collins' face, which Payne did not see, but I did, and I couldn't help feeling a pulse of vengeance beating in my heart as I contemplated how soon the scoundrel's face might change its expression. Payne's money was put up; one game was to decide the whole. His notes were put up on the table, by the other side, to the amount of fifteen thousand dollars.
"But where are the rest?" said he. "No trifling; and where are the collaterals?" and there was bickering about the understanding, and I was appealed to. "I did not wish to interfere," I said; but that "I understood it was to be a clean sweep. But as there was a misunderstanding, perhaps 'twasn't best to play at all to-night; wait for another occasion, and Payne take his money and go."
The gamblers saw it was of no use to pretend further misunderstanding, and that Payne's money was likely to be more readily "gobbled up" then than if they were to wait, and consented to put all on the table, though as the collaterals were packed away and locked in the safe, they proposed to put money up instead—ten thousand dollars.
"No, no," said Payne, "I want to see the whole on the table. I want to look at 'em once more. There's my Harry Clay watch" (a very fine five hundred dollar watch); "I want to look her in the face again—play better, I tell you, gentlemen, in her smiles;" and so he went on. I was at the instant disposed to favor him; but on second thought I suspected that that money would be mostly, if not wholly counterfeit, and I saw if it was, how I would trap the scoundrels, and save Payne's fifteen thousand too, as well as get up his notes and all his collaterals; and I interposed. "No need, Mr. Payne, of troubling to get out the collaterals. The money at hand's just as good, and if you win you can buy back the collaterals."
"Yes, yes, that's it," said Collins, eager now to see the foolish Payne slaughtered. The money was produced. "Here, count it if you please, Mr. Wilson," said Payne, as the first bundle of a thousand dollars was thrown upon the table.
I caught it up carelessly, and ran it over rapidly. "One thousand," said I, all right; and so with the next, and the next, till the fifth had been counted, when I said, "Mr. Payne, there's no use counting the rest; I guarantee it all right." It is not easy to deceive me with a counterfeit bill at any time; but that night, alert and watchful, I could have sworn that more than nine tenths of the money I counted was counterfeit. The play came. I declined to join as "partner" of Payne, as he had called me. He played tremblingly. I began to fear that he would not hold out till the proper time for me to expect my men; but he did, and just as the game was about concluding, disastrously to him, there came a ring at the door-bell. The servant hurried down, and the excited gamblers bade Payne "play, play." Up came a dandy-looking chap, apparently intoxicated. He was my man. He blundered around, took a little wine from the side-board, and said maudlin things; staggered on to the board, made the gamblers angry, one of whom drew a light cane over him. I interposed, took his part, said that they should excuse him; if he was a fool, he was drunk; should be pardoned if he asked pardon; and, taking advantage of the black boy's absence in the exterior room, said, "I'll show him down, and get him out of the way." "Wilson, you are always so polite and obliging," said Blanchard, facetiously, as I led out the stranger, who was very loath to go, and needed some encouragement.
DESCENT UPON BLANCHARD AND THE GAMBLERS.
"Just so," said I. "Don't you think I'd make an excellent waiter here?"
"Yes, we must employ you. What do you want by the month?"
"Talk about that when I come up," said I.
We went down the stairs—two flights—but to return. I opened the door, the "stranger" gave the signal he had arranged with the rest of the men, and eight stalwart, well-armed policemen were in the house, and silently on their way up those stairs; the stranger fighting me, and pulling me along up, making some noise, and more drunk than ever. "Our friend won't go out," said I: "insists on staying."
"D—n him! I'll put him out," said one. "No you won't," said the stranger, drawing a pistol, and calling out to our followers, who were just at our heels, "Come on, boys!" and there was a rush into that room which startled every gambler to his feet, only to be throttled by a policeman. There were six of the villains, including Collins, and the policemen had no little trouble to silence them. The drunken stranger immediately seized all the money on the table, notes and all, and ordered the gamblers manacled on the spot, which was done. Payne then told them his story (as I narrated before only in short), asked to have his collaterals delivered up. In short, the gamblers were ready for anything. The counterfeit money was in our hands, and the evidence complete. Payne got all his notes back, which were at once put in the grate and burned, and all his collaterals, his fifteen thousand dollars of money, and was satisfied. But I was not; and a compromise was made that on the delivering up of all the counterfeit money they had about them the gang should give up the rooms and disperse, all but two of them, one of whom was my man Blanchard, and another desperate scamp whom the police wanted to answer to a charge of burglary in Philadelphia. The safe was searched; all its counterfeit money given up, and all the collaterals, with the names of parties who had pledged them for gambling debts, were delivered into the police's hands. The rest were then allowed to escape; but Blanchard, and Johnson (the Philadelphia burglar), were ironed and taken to the tombs.
"Blanchard" was tried before the United States Court in due time, but under another name, which, unfortunately for his respectable relatives, became known as his proper one before the trial came on, and was sent for five years to Sing Sing.
Johnson was, after due process of requisition by the governor of Pennsylvania, on the governor of New York, taken to Philadelphia, tried, and sent up for ten years.
In a short time after the breaking up of this gang proceedings were taken to find the parties to whom the collaterals, other than Payne's, belonged, in order to deliver them up. It took a good while to find and surely identify them; and this delivery led to information regarding various matters which needed the keenest detectives to unravel. I was overrun with business, in consequence, for months after, incidents of which I may think best to relate in other papers.
Mr. Payne was the happiest of men over his good fortune, and insisted on deeding to me some very valuable real estate in Kentucky, besides giving me more money than I had the face to ask. He became my fast friend, as he remains to-day.
But there was a happier mortal than he in those days, in New York, when all came to be disclosed, and that was the beautiful, noble old lady, his mother, Mrs. Payne. She could hardly contain herself in her joy, when Lewellyn made clean confession of all his misdeeds, all his great sins, and pledged her that he would not only never play cards again for a cent, not even for fun—a pledge which he sacredly keeps to this day. His experiences were too great, his sufferings had been too severe, to be forgotten; and Mr. Payne, in due course of time, went into legitimate business, in which he has proven himself a very capable man.
Good old Mrs. Payne lived happily with her reformed son for about four years and a half, and at last died of a fever, which followed a cold contracted one wet day, on Mount Washington, New Hampshire, where she and her son were passing a summer vacation, and her remains were taken back to Kentucky. I had the honor of accompanying Mr. Payne on his mournful journey there.
THE GENEALOGICAL SWINDLERS.
PRIDE OF ANCESTRY IN THE UNITED STATES—IT IS SOMETIMES MORE PROFITABLE TO OTHERS THAN TO THOSE WHO INDULGE IT—"PROPERTY IN CHANCERY"—A WESTERN MERCHANT, HIS STORY, AND HOW HE TOLD IT—A FAMILY MEETING AT NEW HAVEN, AND WHAT A MEMBER LEARNED THERE—THE GREAT "LORD, KING, & GRAHAM" SWINDLE—THE WAY IN WHICH THE FRAUD WAS ACCOMPLISHED—A CUNNING LETTER FROM "WILLIS KING," OF THE FIRM OF "LORD, KING, & GRAHAM," TO ONE OF HIS RELATIVES—THE CORRESPONDENCE OF THIS NOTED FIRM—THE SEARCH—THE TRAP LAID—THE SHARPERS CAUGHT, AND FOUND TO BE EDUCATED YOUNG MEN OF THE HIGHEST SOCIAL STATUS—THEY ARE MADE TO DISGORGE—A PARADOX, WITH A MORAL IN IT.
The pride of ancestry is usually great among those whose ancestors possessed any traits of character worthy to be remembered, or did deeds of which history has made emblazoned record, or who held large estates, or were in other respects distinguished,—and justly great is this pride, perhaps. However, it is not to be overlooked that, as a general thing, how great soever the pride of the progeny may justly be, that of the ancestors would probably not have been extreme, in most cases, could they have looked forward for a few generations, and seen what their successors in time were to be. It is not certain that some of them would have refused to have successors at all, and might not in very shame have betaken themselves to the cloister, in celibacy, or forsworn their mistresses altogether. And could their ancestors have foreseen that even their greatness would be overshadowed by the large or small estates which they might leave, what would have been their disgust or displeasure, is left to us to conjecture.
But a "pride of ancestry" has developed itself in this country, which, if it is not altogether profitable to those exercising it, is sometimes made so to others; to lawyers who seek fortunes for others, and who, for due fees, are ready to hunt up "estates in chancery" in England, and find them, too, if they are there,—which is the only requisite for the finding, except the fees. At sundry times many families get it into their heads that there ought to be property of their ancestors preserved somewhere for them, and talking up the matter among themselves, get feverish over it, and finally assure themselves that such property exists, and that it is their first duty to procure it. Such people become an easy prey to speculating lawyers and others, who find it an easy thing to whet their hopes, and procure money from them to make "primary investigations." A shrewd lawyer, wishing to make the tour of Europe, for example, can readily play upon the credulity of some such family, and induce them to advance him a few hundred dollars to go to England with to examine records, and so forth; and when there, can send home such a "statement of the case," so full of hope, as to evoke a few hundred, or a thousand or two more dollars, in order to retain and pay first-class counsel. It is a shame to our people that so many of them fall victims to the greed for money in this line.
I hardly knew whether the more to be vexed at the stupidity of the sufferers, or amused by the skill of the intriguing scamps who perpetrated the swindle I am about to disclose, when I first heard of it; and I confess I haven't yet come to a decision on that point after the lapse of a dozen years or so.
I was called on one day by a Western merchant, an old man, by the name of King. He was a New Yorker by birth, he said, born in a place called Janesville, in Saratoga County, where he had lived to maturity, had then done business in New York City till he had reached beyond middle age, when, failing in business, he had retired to some land he had, in the course of business, acquired in Illinois; but finding farming irksome, had managed to open a little country store, which had grown upon his hands until he had, in the process of time, become rich, and was in the habit of visiting his old home in Saratoga County every year, and also coming on to the city, sometimes to select goods, though his junior partners came down at the same time, and did the principal business. The old man had learned to drink whiskey at the West, in order to keep off the "fever-na-gur," as he called it, and at the time of visiting me, had evidently not gotten over his last "fuddle" at home, some weeks before, or had somehow managed to get abundance of that creature comfort—"old rye"—in New York; not that he was drunk, but he was "keyed up" to a good pitch—a height from which he surveyed all the glory of the King family, and felt that nothing but royal blood flowed in his own veins; and who knows but the blood was royal? It might have been the whiskey, however,—but what matters it? The old man descanted a long time on the glory of his ancestry, and the pride of his race; claimed relationship to the great Rufus King of New York, and all the Kings by name, who were of any account; spoke of their natural pride; said that they were always ready to avenge any insult to their name, come from what source it might, and so forth, and so forth. It was in vain that I interrupted him at times at the end of a sentence, in order to ask him to come to the point. Talk he would, in his own way; and as he was a white-haired man, the outlines of whose face showed that he was a gentleman when not in liquor, especially (and he was thoroughly gentlemanly at the time, though vexatiously garrulous), I thought I would let him have his talk out in his own way. At last he got to tell me that some months before he had been swindled out of a dollar, and that a large number of the King family, he had recently learned, had each been defrauded to the amount of a dollar, and that some of them, moved by family pride, had, as he had been informed, made effort to discover and punish the defrauding parties, but had failed. He felt his pride wounded at this. The King family had made an effort to find out the parties who had so questioned their good sense as to successfully swindle them, and such a number of them, too—and failed. This he could not endure. If all that had been lost had been wheedled out of one member of the family, if he himself, for example, had been the only victim, he could have endured that, and would, for the pride of the name, have endured it in silence. But the whole race had been insulted, the very family coat of arms had been mocked, and he would not suffer it any longer. There had been, a few days before he came to me, a large gathering of the King family from all over the country. If I remember rightly, this was at New Haven, about the time of commencement at Yale College. The Kings of Georgia shook hands there with the Kings of New York and the Western States, and so on; and it was there that he learned how extensive had been the swindle. Some of the family had talked and laughed about it as a good joke, and poked fun at each other about it. But the old man considered that these were degenerate in spirit, and spoke of them with a degree of shame. Persons present at the gathering, with King blood in their veins, but bearing other than the King name,—the sons of King daughters, by men who rejoiced not in so royal a name,—made great sport of the swindle, and said that people high in position, like Kings, emperors, etc., were more subject to such things than people of undistinguished names and of low estate, and assured the King relatives that the latter ought to feel complimented by the deference that had been paid to them by the swindlers. The old man felt sore over this style of joking; felt that the name had been trifled with, and he was resolved to let the jokers "see that there was yet the 'true spirit' in the King blood to avenge an insult,"—and so he did at last. He was not particular about "terms." He was willing to pay abundantly, for he was rich,—rich on that day, at least,—and persuaded me to take hold of the matter by advancing me,—and insisting on my taking it,—double what I told him it might cost to make thorough work of the matter. I told him I had not a particle of hope, for I saw no prospect whatever of tracing out the perpetrators of this fraud in question months after it had been accomplished. But I took the matter in hand, and hearing his story in full, told him to call next day, for I might, on reflection, wish to consult him again. He left with me a letter, which a son of his had received—the man to whom I was indebted for my engagement in the matter. His son, and a partner of his in business at Utica, N. Y., had about a year before had occasion to engage my services in tracing out some forgers, who had been "speculating" a little upon them; and when he found his father, against his advice, was determined to do something about the matter in question, he told him he had better employ a regular detective, and so sent him to me. I kept this letter for a long time, and, indeed, had three or four copies of it, which I got, some from the Kings, and others from some persons by the name of Perkins, who had been victimized at the same time. I supposed I could readily find a copy now; but in the multitude of vicissitudes to which a detective's papers and "things sacred," as well as those of other people, are subjected, the letters have become misplaced or lost. But my memory is pretty retentive, and I can reproduce the letter so nearly that I presume several thousands of people in the land would, trusting to their own memories, say that it is a perfect copy, for these several thousands and their families were the victims. The letter purported to be, at its head, the advertisement of a great firm of lawyers in New York City; or rather the professional firm name was displayed in type at the head of an ordinary full-sized letter sheet, thus:—
Attorneys and Counsellors at Law.
(Address, P. O. box 1070.)
Daniel Lord.
Willis King.
J. Perkins Graham.
New York, ——, 185.
[The above was printed in an elegant manner upon the nicest paper. Under this was written a letter, the same to the Kings, the Lords, the Grahams, and Perkinses, with the exception that when writing to a King, the "King family" was named, in the place where, when writing to a Perkins, the "Perkins family" was named; and the letter ran pretty much after this sort; for example:—]
William King, Esq.,
Quincy, Illinois.
Dear Sir: Our firm, in the course of investigations, which it has made during the last year among the records of the High Court of Chancery in England, discovered that there is a vast estate lying in chancery there for the descendants of John King, who came to this country in the year 1754, as near as we can learn. In behalf of the King family in this country, I have undertaken to make out a genealogical list of the direct descendants, and their branches, from said John, and have found a branch, of which I suppose you to be a member, and if so, entitled to your share in the estate. Will you have the kindness to forward me your pedigree, as fully as you understand it, or are able to obtain it? I am making out a genealogy of the King family, which will be furnished to those wanting at its cost price, one dollar. This list will be used in bringing suit in England, and it is desirable that all Kings claiming relationship to the said John should be registered therein, as this will be made a part of the pleadings in the case, and, according to a peculiarity of the English law, only such as are thus made parties to this suit will receive a share in the estate. Your name will be at once registered on receipt of the dollar and your pedigree. Please be as particular as you can about the latter.
Yours, very respectfully,
Willis King.
The letters I saw all seemed to be written in the same rapid, half-clerkly, half-lawyerlike, but elegant scrawl, whether written to a Perkins or a King. It will be seen that the third partner—"J. Perkins Graham"—could represent both the Graham and the Perkins family, and I suppose he did. So there were in the scheme four families to be preyed upon,—Lord, King, Graham, and Perkins; and these families are numerous over the land, and many of them in high positions. I learned from the scamps, after their detection, that they received all sorts of epistles, from the lowly Lord up to the exalted one, who wrote on paper displaying flaming coats of arms, and their letters bearing a huge seal. So with the rest of the families. The swindlers had spent some time in hunting through all the directories of other cities and towns which they could find in New York, and gathered all they could from advertisements in newspapers for a year or so, before they launched out in their long-meditated scheme. Meanwhile they were practising their cunning arts in other swindles. They also wrote to the postmasters of a large number of towns, enclosing to one a letter for a King, to another a letter for a Perkins, to still another a letter for a Graham, asking each postmaster to have the kindness to "read the accompanying letter," and to pass it over to any King, Perkins, and so on, who might be within the delivery of his office, or in his vicinity. These letters they got copied by a clerk at a few cents (five, I think) apiece. So when they got a dollar back it paid for about twelve letters, inclusive of stationery and postage. A hundred letters and the postage would cost them about twelve dollars, and from a hundred they would probably get fifty, if not more, favorable answers. From several thousand letters they received several thousand dollars, aside from large sums which, by subsequent correspondence, they swindled out of such pompous, or other parties, as, judging by their letters, they thought they could further entrap. Some of these forwarding to the famous firm of Lord, King, & Graham as high as a hundred dollars to be guaranteed especial effort in their behalf! It is almost too preposterous to be believed, but such was the fact—such the credulity of some who occupied political positions of note; one of them, indeed, being at the time a member of Congress! But credulity in matters of this kind is a weakness, alike of the poor and the rich, the educated and uneducated. The device of these swindlers proved to be more profitable than one would have, on first thought, judged possible, so much greater is human credulity than we are wont to consider it. Perhaps credulity is the only thing in the world that we are not apt to overrate. But it is not strange that it should be great touching material things, when in matters of religion the most absurd fancies have, from time immemorial, down through the ages of Oriental, pagan, and other religions to the days of Mohammedanism and Mormonism, had possession of the human soul, ruled nations, gathered armies, and taught millions of millions of human beings to sacrifice each other in death, willingly and proudly. And in the matter of money-getting, where hope may be whetted, in order to inspire the actor,—as in reaching out for a fortune in chancery,—their credulity usurps a wondrous supremacy, and carries all along with it. So many of the most intelligent representatives of the various families addressed by "Lord, King, & Graham" fell as readily into the trap as the least intelligent. Now and then a man, a little more wary than the rest, wrote, wishing to make further inquiries about the property in chancery, how it came to be discovered, what was its amount, about how many, probably, it would have to be divided between, etc., etc. But he could not, after asking so many questions, neglect to enclose the small amount of a dollar; and the swindlers taking his measure by his letter, would generally reply in so cunning a manner as to finally elicit from him a "contribution" of from twenty-five to a hundred dollars, in order to prosecute the matter in England.
In some instances persons who had received letters wrote that they were coming on to New York in a few days, and would call and talk over the matter. Replies would be made to these, that "our Mr. Perkins," or "Mr. Lord," or whatever name the special letter-writer bore, and "who has exclusive charge of the matter in question," is away from home, gone to meet some of the family in—(Kentucky, for example); that he would proceed, immediately on his return, to England, etc., so as to keep the party from making investigations, and finding that there was no such firm as "Lord, King, & Graham," generally managing to conclude the letter in some such way as not only to win the one dollar at once, but to elicit more from the man; as, for instance, suggesting that some of the Perkinses were making up a sum, by the contribution of ten dollars each, to secure special legal talent in England, and intimating that the interests of those who took a generous and manly part in prosecuting the matter would be likely to be better looked out for than would the interests of those who are not so generous. The family pride of the correspondent would often be flattered in such a way as to make him go deeper into his pockets. The recital of affairs, as given me by one of the swindlers, himself a young man of fine education and genius, was very amusing. It was a pity, he said, that they had not preserved all the correspondence. It would have made a most remarkable book, as funny, in parts, as anything Thackeray ever wrote. It was serious and serio-comical; bombastic and Pecksniffianly humble. It represented all grades of society, from the "Lord" who "drove stage" for a living, up to the "King" who had a seat in Congress. Widows, whose deceased husbands' names had been culled from ten years old directories, wrote mournful stories about "the late Mr. William Lord," or "James Perkins," or whatever the names might have been, and declared that their late partners had always told them there was an immense estate in England for them, and so on. The pious and the less pious each wrote his peculiar letter. But what was most noticeable was, that almost all of them assumed the airs of "nabobs." And why shouldn't they? Were they not on the eve of becoming immensely rich? And what is there in this world, with its grievous labors and trials, comparable to riches? I presume this same sort of trick could be successfully played with almost any family in the land which has an American line extending back of the Revolution, say, for a hundred years, and with many of less age, so great is the desire to get riches. Indeed, there is a lawyer in Vermont who has made the matter of searching out estates in England a study. He spent ten years in England in hunting up genealogies and titles; has a regular partner in London to whom he transmits business from this country, and publishes a good-sized pamphlet filled with the names of families residing in America, and entitled to property in England. This lawyer now and then gets an important case, in which his fees amount to something handsome,—sometimes to twenty thousand dollars.
But this is wandering from the direct line of my story, though, perchance, it is far more interesting than the simple detecting part of the tale. My old friend King left the city, and went home a few days after I accepted the work; but his interest did not flag because he had handed over the matter to another, but rather increased. His letters were very frequent, sometimes three a week, none of which, except the first, did I take the trouble to reply to for a long while. I soon found that I needed more facts than I had in my possession to enable me to reach any practical result. It was impossible to find any job printer in the city who had ever done a job for "Lord, King, and Graham." Nobody had ever seen the letter-head before, and no one could suggest where the work was probably done. It was not recognized as like the style of anybody. Possibly it was done out of the city; but the fact was, as I afterwards learned, that it had been done privately by a firm which had meanwhile failed in business, and I was baffled on that point. I expected to fail, and so gave but little heed to the matter; but it finally occurred to me that if I could find some King, or somebody else who had received a letter and not replied to it, that he might at that late day make reply in such way as to get into a correspondence with the parties, and I could then have them followed from the post office, or in some other way trap them. About this time I went on to Louisville, Ky., and there encountered a gentleman, one of the King family,—we will call him Lemuel, for a name,—whom I had not met in some fifteen years before. He was a New Yorker by birth, and I had known him when a school-boy. Lemuel was a bright boy, and made a most acute man. When I asked him if he had ever done business with "Lord, King, & Graham," of New York, he laughed outright, and exclaimed, "No; but my George, you knew him, has, and got badly bitten." When I found out this, I disclosed to him my reason for inquiring, and found that he had on file somewhere the letter from "L., K., & G.," which was hunted out, and we coined a letter to the firm, which was calculated to wake up any one of them who should receive it. Mr. King's letter had been found, sealed and unopened of course, in a package of letters, and he wrote hastily, with great anxiety, to know if it was too late yet to be put in the genealogical list for the dollar; and intimated his desire to contribute anything of a reasonable amount to the prosecution of the search and claim for the estate. This letter was posted, and I hurried back to New York, suspecting that it would appear in the list of advertised letters, as it did; and thinking that it would meet the eye of some one of the firm who would be curious to get it, I had a man stationed in the post office, along with the delivery clerk, and when the man came, as I suspected he would, and asked for the advertised letter, the clerk delayed the delivery long enough to enable my man to get out near the fellow, and follow him. He found that the man entered a law office in Nassau Street, and that the real estate business was also attended to in the same office. So we devised a business call upon the office, and got well acquainted with the man who took out the letter. He caught at this bait, as I soon learned from Louisville, and I carried a letter in reply to his, which led him along till I was fully satisfied that the lawyers and real estate men were all of a piece. I "laid in" with the post office clerk to let me know when a letter bearing Mr. King's monogram, from Louisville, should arrive. The clerk delayed its delivery one day, and I made a call into the office at the time one of the partners went for their mail. He returned smiling, and passed the letter, which he had read, over to the other party. There was an amount of blind talk over it. Finally they excused themselves to retire into the "counsel-room," and coming out, the lawyer sat down and answered the letter. I left the office soon after, and had the letter intercepted at the post office, which I took into my possession.
I then sent to Louisville for the letters which had preceded this, and receiving the same, I now had the writing of two of them in my possession, and I had managed in a business way to possess myself of sundry documents written by each of these men, and I found other parties, too, who could identify the handwriting of each; and having secured these, I advertised in a Philadelphia paper, also in a Boston paper, in one at Utica, and one in Cincinnati, to the effect that any person by the name of King (that for Philadelphia), or any person by the name of Lord (for Boston), and so on, might hear of something to his advantage by calling on so and so any time during the week. I made arrangements with brother detectives in these places to receive their calls, and instructed them what to say. In this way I became, in the course of two weeks, in possession of abundant facts to convince the firm of Lord, King, & Graham that we had them trapped; and one day, taking an officer along with me, and setting watch till I saw that the two men I have spoken of were in their office, dropped in, and said, "Gentlemen, I have been here often on business affairs, and we have got along very pleasantly, and I have invariably found your advice good; but I've something now which I fear will puzzle you; perhaps you can help me out. By the way, if you please, as it's private, I'll lock the door," stepping towards it.
"O, certainly, certainly," said both of them at once. I locked the door, and putting the key in my pocket, said, "Perhaps, gentlemen, you think I am over-cautious in pocketing the key; but my business is serious, and—you are my prisoners." There was astonishment, and differing shades of color going and coming on their cheeks.
"Give me the key!" exclaimed the lawyer, finally, resuming his composure in a measure. "'Twouldn't do you any good," said I, "for I have brother officers at the door, and the best way is to sit down and talk over the matter coolly. You naturally wish to know why you are my prisoners. I'll tell you. Some months ago you carried on a system of frauds under the name of 'Lord, King, & Graham.' I was lately employed to work up the case. I've all the facts necessary for your conviction; your handwriting, and so forth, and so forth, in my possession;" and then I read them a series of names of those they had swindled, and said, "although I don't need to do so, yet I am going to cause your back office there to be searched." One of them started to rise in his seat. "Sit still, or I shall handcuff you," said I; and I stepped to the door, called in the officer, relocked the door, and put the key in my pocket, and directed my man to go into the other room and possess himself of all books and papers which he could find there, and search especially for anything bearing on the "Lord, King, & Graham" business—(I had told him all about it before); "and, gentlemen, I propose to take possession of all your papers here." My man was hunting over matters vigorously in the other room while I was at work briskly searching the larger room, when the lawyer rose, and said, "Gentlemen, I see you've got us. I'll give you up what books there are left, and you can make what you please out of them; they won't do you any good, however." "Please to deliver them up, and I will see as to that." They were produced—journals of accounts; and fortunately in one I found three letters written out, but which, for some reason, had never been sent, in the writing of "J. Perkins Graham," which I discovered to be that of the letter written by the lawyer to my friend in Louisville. I also searched the books, and found entries therein in his hand. Taking out his letter from my pocket, "There," said I, "is your late letter to Mr. King, of Louisville. I saw you write it, can prove your hand by a half dozen persons in this building; and that" (taking up a newly-found letter), "is yours, and here are entries in your hand, and I have your friend caught still more firmly. Now you see the relation of things, and we needn't dispute; how will you settle this business? All the expenses I have been to must be met first, and you can't object to paying a handsome sum for the education, discipline, and experience you have had in this business. You've learned a good deal of human nature. I don't propose to be hard with you, but my instructions are to expose you through the public press,—you two, and the rest of you,—for I know you all." There was consternation in their countenances, and I had no great difficulty in bringing them to terms, for I informed them that I knew all about their social standing, and that of their relatives, especially dwelling upon the relatives of one of them who was at that time absent, but whom I had inextricably caught with the rest. The lawyer was willing, and so was his friend, to submit to "any reasonable terms," an item of which was the returning to those whom they had swindled out of ten dollars and upwards the money they had defrauded them of, as nearly as from the books and memory they could make out, and to bear the expense of such correspondence as I should think necessary. They were also to pay all expenses I had been to, and to give me full wages for the time I had been at work, the account of which made no small sum. There was no need of my holding them under arrest, for they could better afford to come to my terms than to run away and be exposed in the public papers. Besides, they could not think of such a thing on account of their relatives. The father of one of them was a clergyman, in high standing, and the rest held higher social position than he, and the terms, were duly complied with on the return of the third party the next day.
I kept possession of the books, had a short letter, in the form of a circular, printed and sent to all the parties whose names were on the books, and were marked with a little cross, which they told me meant those who had responded, in which was set forth the fact of the swindle, with a request that each party should reply as to how much he had lost, especially over ten dollars, and make affidavit of his loss before some notary public or other officer in his vicinity. The amount thus heard from was over three thousand dollars (not counting the several thousands which came in one dollar at a time). On the three thousand and upwards I charged, as permitted to do, ten per cent. for "collecting;" but it was a bothersome business, and vexed me more than it profited me. My acquaintance got to be somewhat intimate with those sharpers, who were all men of education, and very adroit, as the reader may well conceive, from the fact of their perpetrating their frauds on some of the shrewdest and most important men in the land. They kept files of some of their letters, as well as copy-books, which revealed the most consummate skill on their part. Indeed, as I said before, I sometimes hardly knew whether to swear, to laugh, or be indignant over this subtle fraud.
Old Mr. King, who first employed me, was delighted with the detection of the villains, but could never forgive me for not exposing them to the public. However, he took all the credit which was fairly due him, if not more, and considered that the good name of King in America was at last preserved from the shame which easy imposition had brought it, and used to say that the Lords, Perkinses, and Grahams of the country all owed the Kings a great debt of gratitude. But as my name is not King, I sometimes used to reflect that perhaps they owed gratitude to some others than Kings as well, for the largest share of the money returned went to Lords and Perkinses. Not a Graham, save one in North Carolina, had been defrauded of over one dollar. For many it proved better to have been swindled out of ten dollars or more, than it would have been to have lost only a dollar,—a paradox, with a moral in it, which I leave to the reader's solution.
HATTIE NEWBERRY, THE VERMONT BEAUTY.
"SOCIETY, FOR THE MOST PART, CREATES THE CRIMES WHICH IT PUNISHES"—A BEAUTIFUL GIRL ON THE CARS FROM RUTLAND, VERMONT, ON THE WAY TO BELLOWS' FALLS, BESET BY NEW YORK ROGUES—A DETECTIVE RECOGNIZES IN HER THE FORMER PLAYMATE OF HIS OWN DAUGHTER—HE ENCOUNTERS THE ROGUES AT BELLOWS' FALLS, AND KNOCKS ONE OF THEM DOWN IN THE LADIES' ROOM—THEY ALL TAKE THE NEXT TRAIN, AND MOVE SOUTHWARD, ON THEIR WAY TO NEW YORK—INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY—A THIRD VILLAIN GETS ABOARD AT HARTFORD, CONN.—WHY HATTIE WAS GOING TO NEW YORK—AN OLD TALE—THE DETECTIVE GIVES HATTIE MUCH GOOD ADVICE—A SKILFUL MANŒUVRE, ON ARRIVING IN NEW YORK, TO PUT THE ROGUES OFF THE TRACK—A PAINFUL DISCOVERY AT LAST—A DEEP, DEVILISH PLOT OF THE VILLAINS DRIVES HATTIE TO DESPAIR, AND SHE IS RESCUED FROM A SUICIDE'S GRAVE—THE ROGUES PROVE TO BE THE MOST HEARTLESS OF VILLAINS, AND ARE CAUGHT, AND DULY PUNISHED—HATTIE RETURNS EVENTUALLY TO VERMONT, AFTER HAVING MARRIED HER OLD LOVER—THIS TALE IS ONE OF THE SADDEST AS WELL AS MOST INTERESTING OF EXPERIENCES THROUGHOUT.
It was my original intention when I contracted with my publishers for these sketches from my diary, to avoid such narratives as hinged upon matters of love between the sexes, and especially to avoid all those matters of abduction of females for unholy purposes, the detection and exposure of the schemes of procuresses, or the rescuing from a life of infamy girls of respectable parentage and home surroundings, from both the country and city—matters which frequently come into the hands of detectives, and with which old detectives, in particular, are painfully conversant. I could fill a quarto volume with what has come under my own eye of that nature, with recitals far more romantic in their truthfulness than are the cunning devices of the most imaginative novelists. Indeed, the more astute novelists of the sensation school are wise enough to gather instruction, and obtain from interviews with detectives the plots which they work up, out of facts given them by these officers. In my own experience I have been, indeed (at one time especially, when it seemed to me as if all the scribblers had gone mad upon sensation tales), harassed and vexed by what we would now term "interviews," fishing from me the issues of this or that experience. It was my purpose, to which I shall adhere, of course, to give publicity to not a line in these narratives which may not properly fall under the eye of the most fastidious or the most innocent child. Nevertheless, such is the course of life the detective is obliged to lead, finding himself frequently among the vilest characters,—thieves, gamblers, highway robbers, unfortunate and lost women, and wretches too low and vile to be named here, even by the crimes or base offences which they commit,—that it is almost impossible to give the full history of anything, with all the incidents of a nature interesting (in some respects) which may have attended it. The scenes which occur in New York, for example, in one day, if gathered into a book, such as the regular police force and the detectives might furnish, would astound the uninitiated; and were they recited in all their details, would, many of them, horrify and disgust, as well as "astound," the reader. At this writing there are crowding upon my memory many occurrences in my life, that I have been called to take a part in, which would hardly be fit for these pages, in view of the extreme immorality that generated them, or follows in their trail, which yet have their romantic side. Most of these affairs, to which I now especially refer, relate to the life of fallen women, their first enticements from the path of virtue, their utter ruin, or their final rescue. But it were better that the public remain ignorant of these things as far forth as possible, than to be well informed. Yet the eye of sympathy cannot but fill with tears of pity over the ruined and wronged; and as I write, I feel a strong impulse to go aside from my original intention in these tales, and mingle with them recitals of horrible personal wrongs suffered, and the lives of infamy led by many females, whom better surroundings than they enjoyed, or more benevolence and kindness than they received, might have saved, and elevated to places as comparatively dignified in the world as the position they now occupy is base and degraded.
"Society," it is true, as a great philosopher has aptly said, "creates, for the most part, the crimes which it punishes;" and though the detective, in the pursuit of his calling, is apt to become merciless towards the really guilty, and to condemn them outright,—declaring that they could, if they would, do better,—he knows that it would, a thousand times, seem that the very "conspiracy of circumstances" irresistibly impels men on to the commission of crimes, and in his reason he is more lenient towards his fellow-men than his profession permits him to be in practice. But there are villains in the world who seem to combine with base desires and notions a persistency in the expression of them which never wearies. They pursue their base objects with a tirelessness which would be most admirable in a good cause. Indeed, virtue, save as exemplified in the characters of a few great souls, grows weary and careless, and turns almost to vice, long before the perseverance of these villains would turn from its course of wrong. There seems to be a romantic impulse for some in the very trials that beset the path of crime. The more hair-breadth escapes to be made, the more eagerly do these villains seem to enter upon their course. But I must not stop to moralize farther here. Unwilling to recite any tale of my own experience of the kind to which I have alluded, as related to the rescuing of intended female victims from the snares of the despoiler, which now comes to my mind, I will recall, as clearly as I can, the story of a brother detective. I was coming from Buffalo, in 1859, and chanced to enter the car in which he was seated, on his way to New York, from a successful professional mission at the further West, and fortunately found a seat with him in the same chair. We occupied our time mostly as detectives, when travelling together, are apt to, in the narration of our professional experiences; and let me say here, that of all "story-tellers," the best I have ever listened to are detectives,—the most "apt scholars" usually of human nature,—and what is more, they always have truths enough of a startling kind to tell, to be under no necessity of "drawing on the imagination."
Thus ran his story of "Hattie Newberry:"—I may get places and names, in some particulars, not exactly correct. I merely wish to present the substance; and I remember it more particularly, because the case he cited was in so many respects like one of mine, which, however, had features which would be unfit for display in these pages. But to the narrative.
My friend said, that once on his way from Vermont, he took the cars at Proctorsville, I believe, below Rutland, coming south; that he had not been long on the cars before he observed a couple of men whom, by their "flashy" dress, and certain signs unmistakable by the "initiated," he knew to be either New York or Boston cutthroats of some sort. He thought he had encountered them somewhere before; and as he was on a peculiar mission, connected with the subject-matter of which these very men might be, he kept his eye on them, watching their manners with each other. He discovered that they had some iniquity on hand, as he thought, or were very gleesome over some already secured success, or something of the kind. He observed, too, that they frequently turned their attention to a young lady who was sitting alone in the front seat of the car, by the door, near the stove; and by and by these fellows got up, and went forward to her, and commenced talking, and it was evident from her manner that she had seen them before, and that she wished to avoid them. They tried to affect a familiarity with her, offered her something to drink which they carried in flasks, and so conducted, in short, as to attract the attention of the car full of passengers, who seemed disgusted with their movements. It was evident to my friend that something was wrong; and eventually, as the cars stopped at Bellows' Falls for a change of passengers to another train for those going down, my friend caught a glimpse of the young lady's face, which he had not seen before, sitting, as he was, some distance behind her, and at once he reflected that he had seen her somewhere, and ought to know her. She was startlingly beautiful, not only in the regularity of her features, but in the expression of her face—"the most beautiful being I ever saw in all my travels," to use his own declaration. He felt a great interest in her; and now that he had seen her pure, beautiful face, he understood well enough that the two villains had no proper acquaintance with her; that they were only harassing her, and had some low design regarding her. The cars waited at the Falls for some fifteen minutes before the other train would come in, and my friend, leaving the gentlemen's room, wherein the two men in question were, among others, partaking of refreshments, and "giggling" over their pretty designs, and talking about "her," "that bully gal," etc., and smacking their lips with evident delight over some contemplated victory,—he sauntered into the ladies' room, and proceeded towards the young lady, who arose, moved towards him, and giving him her hand, called him by name. He was astonished as well as delighted that she knew him.
"But, miss, I am sorry I cannot call you by name. I think I must have known you," said he.
"Why, then," she replied, "you have forgotten 'little Hattie Newberry,' whom you used to dance so much on your knees, along with your Jane."
"O, no, I've not," said he, grasping her hand, and shaking it heartily, but tenderly, for the tears came into his eyes; for his Jane, to whom Miss Hattie referred, was dead, and he called to mind how dearly she loved "little Hattie." Ten years had passed since he had seen Hattie. She was then a "wee bit of a thing" of her age, and she was not very large now, though grown to full womanhood, as exquisitely moulded in form as she was beautiful of face. My friend had married a Vermont girl, he himself being a native of New Jersey. The illness of his wife had led them to remove to a little town somewhere above Rutland,—New Haven, I believe, but may be that is not it,—for a summer, in which place he had first known Hattie, when but a child of six years of age. His little daughter Jane was just her age, having been born on the very same day that she was, and the two little creatures, just the opposites, however, in complexion, color of hair and eyes, and quite unlike in all respects, fell into the warmest mutual friendship. "They had not a single taste alike," said he. "Jane was a great romp, loved to be out in the stables with the horses and cows, was full of boisterous life;" but Hattie was as mild as her own blue eyes, and as delicate as her fine, glossy hair. "It was a strange affection these children had for each other," he said; "very beautiful, and I used to be constantly with them when there." He used to spend a month or so of each summer there, while the wife staid from the last of May, he said, into October. For three years his wife made the little town her summer home, and these children grew more and more together. Ten years had gone, and Hattie was now in her nineteenth year,—a beautiful woman, into whose countenance her advanced years had thrown just enough of spirit to make her interesting,—with an air of sweet, just ripe maturity about her, which gave my friend an inkling of what the two villains were pursuing her for. Pretty soon my friend introduced the subject of her "friends,"—her two "fellow-travellers,"—and she shrugged her shoulders with an expression of mingled disgust and dread, and said, "You are going down?"
"O, I am so glad, for you'll be company for me, and keep those mean men away from me—won't you?"
"Why, certainly. Where did you meet them first?"
"They came on at Rutland, I think, and the impudent fellows have tried to talk with me all the way down. At first I said a few words to them, and told them I was going to New York, and they've left their seats several times, and come forward to me."
"Yes, I've noticed them," said my friend, "and that's why I came in here, not expecting to find Hattie Newberry, but sure that you, whoever you are, were being persecuted by those villains, and needed protection."
"O, you are so good," said she, "and I shall be so glad to go with you. I did not know what to do, but I had thought that if they got into the same cars with me on the next train, that I would speak to the conductor about them, or go out into another car. They had the impudence to ask me to take some liquor with them, and I do not think they were drunk."
Their conversation had proceeded to this point, when into the ladies room boisterously came the two men. "Here's the darling," said one, approaching her, bringing cakes, etc., in their hands. "And you must take something with us." She declined, and turned her face away, when my friend said to them, "She doesn't want anything—don't trouble her."
"Yes, she does, too," said one, and the larger of the men; "and she mustn't be bashful—must take it. See here, sis," said he, and placed his hand familiarly on her shoulder to turn her around; at which she shuddered, and gave my friend such a look that he couldn't control himself, "if 'twas in the ladies' room," and dealt the fellow such a blow in the face with his brawny arm—for though he was not very large, he was a Hercules in strength, and as skilful with his fists as a prize-fighter—as stretched him flat upon the floor.
PROTECTING THE INNOCENT.
"This young lady is under my protection, and if you harass her any more, I'll break your head," said he, as the scamp "gathered" himself up, and looked for an instant at my friend, perceiving then, perhaps, that the plain-looking man, whom he had quite likely taken for a "common country fellow," was something of a genius in the art of self-defence, as well as that of offence, for my friend was on his "pose," ready to resist the attacks of the two.
The scamps almost instantly decamped, and about this time the expected train arrived, and my friend led Hattie to a car. Into the same the two men came; but my friend, rising, and looking about at them as they passed back, and they perceiving him, they said something to each other, and turned about, and went into a forward car. My friend hoped that that was the last of them; but at several stopping-places on the road, one of them—not the one who got the blow—would saunter through their car, as if looking for some new in-comer, but evidently to feast his eyes on Hattie's beauty,—so my friend thought.
After being well seated in the cars, my friend called to mind, that, not long before, his wife had heard from some of the relatives in Hattie's native village, with whom she kept up an occasional correspondence, that Hattie Newberry was engaged to a young man by the name of Dwight Phelps, a member of a quite wealthy family in that place; and he wondered if Hattie was going to New York to get "fixed up" for the marriage, for he knew that she had some relatives there somewhere, and his curiosity led him to inquire if she was going to stay long in New York.
"Yes, perhaps so. I am going with my cousin Charlotte,—going to work in the same store with her. She's been trying to have me come for a long time, and at last I've made up my mind to go." Hattie's parents were poor people; industrious and respectable, but with quite a large family; and Mr. Newberry himself, never a very "touch" man, as they express it in Vermont, and ill a good deal, they had hard work enough to make ends meet, and send the children to school, and all that.
"O, so you are going to live in New York! How's that? Let me see; it seems to me that somebody wrote to my wife a few weeks ago, that you and young Dwight Phelps were to be married; and so I supposed you'd always stay up there."
Hattie blushed, and replied, "O, there was such a rumor; but that's all over now." She tried to be cheerful, but a sigh, which did not escape my friend's ear, and a sad look, for an instant, which did not escape his eye, revealed to him that something had gone wrong with her; and he finally found, on joking her a little about the matter, kindly, that young Phelps's father, who was a sort of a miser, was in the way; that he wanted his son to marry some rich girl, or not a poor one in money, at least, however poor she might otherwise be; and the young man was in his father's hands, so far as pecuniary means were concerned, and would not be independent enough to think of marrying soon. The old man Phelps had threatened to disinherit him if he married against his will; and she had determined to not make difficulty in the family, and was on her way to New York, at her cousin's solicitation, to go to work where she could earn something, and help her father and mother support the family. The subject was a painful one for Hattie to descant upon, and my friend addressed himself to other matters of conversation. Hattie informed him that her cousin, Charlotte Keeney, was the chief clerk in a confectioner's establishment, with a neat restaurant attached, in Sixth Avenue, near Twelfth Street, New York, the proprietor of which was a certain Mr. Henry —— (Brown, for a name)—a popular, thriving business man, of the rigid school of morals; just, generous, and kindly in manners, but as fixed in his opinions, and as relentless against evil-doers, and as unforgiving of actual moral delinquencies, as if he had been carved out of the "ribs" of the Mayflower—(before she became a slave-ship); a sort of wooden-headed man in all matters of morals; a descendant of the Puritan stock. This fact lightened my friend's regret that Hattie had resolved to go to the city to live, for he chanced to know Mr. Brown's reputation, otherwise he would have felt it his duty to say more to her of the perils and trials of city life than he did. He said, as he looked upon her wonderful beauty, and thought how many girls, almost as beautiful, had found city life full of thorns; had borne sad trials, and suffered deathly sorrows, principally through the fact of their exquisite beauty; and reflected, too, that she was going there with a wound upon her heart, and therefore less likely to resist the city's temptations,—his heart quite overcame him, and he wanted to take her directly into his own family, and as a father protect her.
Along the route, as I have observed before, he noticed the impertinence of the two men, constantly seeking to get a sight at Hattie whenever the cars stopped. My friend (call him Frederick Daniels) was greatly annoyed by this; but it gave him occasion to descant to Hattie upon the character of certain heartless beings she might meet with in the city, and to advise her touching the companionships she might make. But Hattie thought that in her cousin Charlotte's riper experience she should find sufficient protection, and she seemed to look upon Charlotte as a wonder of wisdom as well as of goodness; and Mr. Daniels, reflecting that Mr. Brown's must be as safe a place as any for a young lady, probably contented himself with asking Hattie to visit his family as often as she could; but he lived far up town, and on the other side of the city from Mr. Brown's, so it was not likely that she could find time, save on Sundays, and then she would be obliged to walk much to get to his house. But she promised him to visit his family when she could, and to always come to him if she needed aid or protection of any kind. The journey was passed pleasantly on to New York, without notable incident, save that at Hartford, where the cars were delayed for some time on account of an accident which had occurred on the road some miles below: the two men were met by a man of the same character with them, evidently, and who gave them something to drink from his flask, theirs being apparently empty, and which fired one of them into unusual impudence, which made him annoying to Hattie and Mr. Daniels—breaking in at times into the ladies' sitting-room in the depot, whither they had gone, with other passengers, for "sake of change" from the cars. Mr. Daniels, it chanced, knew this third man, who seemed to have no memory that he had ever run across Mr. D. before; and knowing him, Mr. D. was not at a loss where to place them. He told Hattie that they were gamblers, and worse; besides, probably being pickpockets. She, in her innocence, was surprised to learn that so well-dressed men as these could be so low in character, and Mr. D. felt that she almost questioned his judgment. So, hoping to impress her with the danger of "trusting to appearances," in a great city especially, he told her such tales about such elegantly-dressed scoundrels as came into his mind; and filled up the time of the journey with such lessons as he thought might be of use to Hattie, and put her on her guard against evil.
Mr. Daniels chanced to observe that the third villain took passage with the other two from Hartford, and he saw that this man had become more interested, if possible, in Hattie than the other two, if anything was to be judged by the more extreme eagerness with which he eyed her. The third villain, whose name or alias was, as Mr. D. knew, "Harland," was a more accomplished man than the rest. He hailed from Meriden, Conn., where it was said he was quite respectably related, and had at one time occupied a respectable business position in New York; but turning to sporting, he at last got involved, and operated some adroit forgeries, and had been connected with a swindling bogus lottery. It was in the detection and breaking up of this concern that my friend Daniels had come across Harland. This man had lost his best old friends, who discarded him outright, he being obliged to take up with a low class of society; yet there was a natural, or educated pride in him, which probably suffered much from his debasement, and which prompted him to make tools of these beings, whom he regarded, notwithstanding his fraternizing with them, as inferior beings. Mr. Daniels felt a renewed interest for Hattie when he considered this adroit man; and the fear came over him that the rascal would, in some way, manage to make himself felt by her to her sorrow; and he told Hattie that the fellow would as likely as not seek her out in her employment, and that the place she was going to, being open to the public, he would doubtless find her out; but that if he did, she must not allow him to make her acquaintance, beyond what her necessity as a clerk would demand of her allowing. She promised him to observe his advice. My friend, with his usual shrewdness, had preconceived that these villains would endeavor to follow Hattie, to see where she went on her arrival in New York; and when the passengers alighted from the cars, he was not surprised to find these men near him, watching his movements; and to thwart them, he took Hattie and her trunk, by coach, to the hotel, intending, as he did, to soon after take her to her place of designation on Sixth Avenue, and to send from there some trusty man for her trunk. The scoundrels followed in another coach, and kept close behind him, alighted at the same hotel, and registered their names just below his and Hattie's. "Fred. Harland," "Edward Rowe," and "Philip Jas. McHenry," were the entries, in the bold and elegant hand of Harland. Mr. Daniels procured a room for himself and one for Hattie, who began now to see the desperate course which these men would pursue, and was very willing to be guided by Daniels, to avoid being followed by these fellows. Mr. Daniels, not being willing to be kept close prisoner there by these men,—and the night was coming on, too, and he wished to be at home,—went out to a trusty friend's store, advised him of what was going on, and asked him to allow one of his lady clerks, about Hattie's size, to go to the hotel parlor, the gentleman to follow soon; and the girl, "for the fun of the thing, if nothing more," as she giddily said, acquiescing, made entry to the hotel parlor, whence Mr. Daniels took her to Hattie's room, and caused her to assume Hattie's hat and shawl, in exchange for which Hattie took hers; and after the merchant had come over to the hotel, and had been made acquainted with Hattie, Mr. Daniels took the young lady, and proceeded through the hall to the street; and acting as if utterly oblivious or careless of the existence of these fellows, passed on, with his thickly-veiled charge upon his arm, down the street. In crossing to the opposite side, at no great distance from the hotel, he had opportunity to look back without being suspected, and saw Harland, and the man "Rowe" (the one whom he had knocked down at Bellows' Falls), following slowly, but with eyes bent upon him. He would have been better satisfied had he seen the third following him. The young lady liked the sport, and Daniels led the fellows quite a chase, and finally brought about to the store of his friend, trusting that the latter's sagacity had enabled him meanwhile to leave the hotel with Hattie, and take her to Mr. Brown's, on Sixth Avenue.
He had told Hattie to take the key of her room with her, and give it to his friend. The surprise of the scamps in seeing Mr. Daniels come away from this store, and leave "Hattie" there, must have been considerable. Mr. D. went back to the hotel, and to his joy found that the merchant had gone with the real Hattie; and he withdrew to the store again, and awaited his return, which he made in good time. It was then arranged that the porter of the store should be sent for Hattie's trunk, and it be brought there. Mr. D. went with the porter, paid the bills, and took the trunk, brought it to the store, whence the next day it was sent to Hattie's new home, and Mr. D. then betook himself to his own home,—feeling that his stratagem had saved Hattie much annoyance in the future, and perhaps much suffering. The next day the ladies re-exchanged, through the porter, their hats and shawls, and Mr. Daniels, being called away from the city soon on business, and being exceedingly occupied for some two months and over, had almost lost memory of Hattie altogether. She, however, called at his house once in the mean while, in his absence from home, and had a cheerful "reunion" with the wife and the family. Mrs. Daniels took the greatest interest in her, and regarded her beauty as something "almost superhuman," she said. She knew that as a child she bade fair to become a beautiful woman; but the change had been so great in her in the last eight years (for Mrs. Daniels had seen her once since her husband had, before the latter's late meeting with her), that she would not have known her at first, had she not given her her name, and then could barely recognize that it was she.
Mrs. Daniels gladly accepted the husband's invitation to "go down and call on Hattie Newberry," which they did; and on entering the confectioner's shop, what was Mr. Daniels's astonishment and horror, on discovering there both Harland and McHenry, in cheery conversation with one of the girls, whom he took, and who so proved, to be Charlotte Keeney, Hattie's cousin! Evidently they were old acquaintances of hers. Mr. and Mrs. Daniels passed by them, on to where they discovered Hattie, who saluted them cordially, asked them into the little rear saloon, and called in her employer, Mr. Brown, to whom she presented them as old friends, who "used to live in Vermont." They had a charming visit with Hattie, who was released from her engagements by her kind employer, in order to entertain them, and Mr. Brown sent in confections and "goodies" for them to carry back to their family, and gave them much of his attention besides. Mr. Daniels was indignant to find those two men there; but he knew not precisely what to do. Had they hunted out Hattie, or were they old acquaintances of Charlotte, and had found Hattie there by accident when calling on the former? Were they time-old customers of the place, or recent comers? These and such like questions occupied his mind. He wanted to speak to Mr. Brown, and tell him of the character of these men; but they might be good customers,—certainly they were lavish with their money that night,—and it was clear that Charlotte liked them; indeed she seemed fond of them, and Mr. Daniels hesitated as to what to do, for fear of giving offence. He knew the reputation of Mr. Brown, to be sure, and that he would not wish his clerks to be on terms of friendship with such villains, if he knew their true character. But then he, Daniels, was a comparative stranger to Mr. Brown, and why should Brown accept his single word as against such well-behaved "gentlemen," who were good customers, too. Besides, business men, however good they may be themselves, exist upon, and make their money out of, their customers; and whoever should enter upon a close scrutiny of the character of his patrons in New York, would be apt to find nine scamps in every ten persons. The fact is, that the greed for money is so great in New York, and all over the country, that the best men come to be as polite to their most wicked patrons and customers, as to those of high and noble characters.
Mr. Daniels, as a detective, whose business it is to "mind other people's business" in some respects, felt more keenly than most men feel the like, the propriety and expediency of minding his own business, and was cautious in his proceedings therefore. He made up his mind to say nothing to any one except Hattie, at first, at least; and so, when she, and his wife, and himself were quite alone together, he spoke to her of these men as the ones whom they had encountered on the cars, and whom she had escaped. What was not his astonishment when he found that she did not recognize them as such. It appeared that Harland was an old friend of Charlotte, of whom Charlotte had, in fact, written her before she came on,—speaking of her having been, the night before her letter was dated, to the theatre, with her friend, Mr. Harland, "a very fine, spirited gentleman," etc., whom Hattie would like, she thought. Mr. Daniels had not mentioned the names of these men to Hattie on the day of her escape from the hotel. It had not occurred to him to do that; and when, in the course of a week or two after her arrival at Mr. Brown's, Harland called on Charlotte, who received him joyfully, and after a while presented him in warm terms to Hattie, she of course did not recognize him by his name, though she thought she'd seen him somewhere; but she reflected that on her way to her boarding-house—for she did not board with Charlotte—she saw many noticeable men, and probably had encountered him somewhere in going or coming. But notwithstanding Mr. Daniels's assurance, she could not identify either of the men as having been aboard the cars that day; and it was evident that they had made quite a pleasant impression upon her mind. They had been there quite often; and Mr. Daniels, from what he saw of their sly glances towards Hattie, discovered that it was she, rather than Charlotte, whom they came most to see. But Mr. Daniels was not willing to leave without making some further effort in Hattie's behalf; and he asked her to call Charlotte into the room, to see him and his wife, while Hattie should wait upon the customers, and especially these men. He thought that possibly Hattie might yet call them to mind as the scamps who pursued her that day.
It was evident to him that the men recognized him, and were bound to stay as long as he did, and entertain Charlotte. They proved themselves "good customers" that night, if never before; in fact, Hattie confessed that she thought they had bought more that night than in all their calls before. She went, at Mr. Daniels's request, and asked Charlotte to go into the little room; and Charlotte said she would "soon." The men heard the request, and it was clear that they meant that she should not go, and so they kept chatting on; but Hattie, going out again, and evincing some anxiety, Charlotte excused herself to the men, and went, not however till Harland, calling her back after she had gone a few steps after Hattie, said something to her. She came to the table where Mr. and Mrs. Daniels were sitting, and thanked them for their wish to see her, but said they must excuse her; that they saw how occupied she was, and that Mr. Brown, though a kind, generous man, was very earnest in wishing his clerks to do their full duty, and not lose a chance to trade. She hoped they would come again, and find her more at leisure. Of course Mr. Daniels could have nothing to reply to this, but to thank her, etc., and she bowed herself away pleasantly, and so Daniels was foiled in that move; and at last, contented himself with earnest advice to Hattie to let these men alone, to avoid them all she could, and to tell Charlotte their true character, and that they were the men who persecuted her on the day of her arrival. Hattie promised to heed Mr. Daniels's advice, and she told Charlotte about the men, on the first good opportunity that she had; but Charlotte could not believe it, especially as Hattie had not recognized Harland before, and confessed that she could not yet call him to mind. "But Mr. Daniels cannot be mistaken," said she. "I did not look the men in their faces much. I avoided them, and would not be apt to remember them in other dress, and coming here as your old friends." But Charlotte would not be persuaded, and believed Mr. Daniels mistaken. Indeed, she finally told Hattie that Harland said he had seen her friend, Mr. Daniels, somewhere before; couldn't say where; but that he was a man of poor character he knew, and he wondered Hattie allowed him and his wife to call on her. This, Mr. Daniels heard long after from Hattie's lips. That night Mr. D. went home down-hearted, feeling that he had failed to impress Hattie sufficiently of her danger; but he had made her promise him, that if she ever had any serious trouble she would seek his aid, and that she would call on him and his family, whenever she could find it convenient to do so.
Time went on, and though Mr. Daniels's mind frequently reverted to Hattie, yet his business cares did not allow him to visit her. He made up his mind that night that the wretches intended to possess themselves of her in some way, and that they would carry out their vile purpose if possible. He talked with Mrs. Daniels about it. Such beauty as Hattie's would not fade easily, and such a prize as she would be sought. He hoped she'd make the acquaintance of some good man, and get married, and thus be saved from trouble; but he reflected that these villains would manage to keep such men as that away from her. As for themselves, even if either of them was moved by her beauty to love her, he probably then had a half dozen wives somewhere; and would prefer her as mistress rather than wife, even if he were unmarried. Mrs. Daniels had no fear for Hattie; which consoled Mr. Daniels somewhat. She said she knew that such a girl as Hattie could take care of herself as against the seducers. She felt in her woman's nature that there was something in Hattie's composition which the despoiler could not corrupt, and which would be her protection; besides, Hattie's duties required her services evenings, and these men had not much opportunity to ply their villanous arts. Mr. Daniels deferred a good deal to his wife's judgment in this, and felt more easy—and time wore on.
Three or four more months had passed, and one night, just as Mr. Daniels had returned home, there was a violent ringing of his door-bell, which he answered on the spot, not having yet removed his overcoat. The messenger had come for him, with imploring word from Hattie Newberry, that he should at once come to the Jefferson Market Station to see her. She was in trouble: charged with crime, and was almost frantic; had been rescued, an hour before, from the North River, where she had attempted to drown herself, and was calling, in incoherent terms, his name, and much which they could not make out. He must go at once, and he did, with a willing but a sad heart. He revolved all sorts of possibilities in his mind as he accompanied the messenger, and arriving at the station-house, found there poor Hattie, who, recognizing him, rushed upon him, threw her arms about his neck, and exclaimed, "O, if I had but minded your good advice. I am not guilty! not guilty!—and I wanted to die." "No, no, Hattie, you are not guilty," he replied; "no matter what the charge is, you are not guilty of any crime." At this point a brother detective stepped up, one of Mr. Daniels's best friends. His clothes were still wet, and Daniels exclaimed, "What, was it you, Montgomery, that rescued my child here from the water? God bless you!" "Yes,"—and Montgomery, pulling him by his sleeve, as if to take him away, he said to Hattie, "Be calm, Hattie, you are my child, and nothing shall hurt you; excuse me a moment, I'll be right back." "Yes, yes," interposed Montgomery, who was a splendid officer, and greatly respected by all about the station, "I assure you that what Mr. Daniels says is right. You shall not be harmed, and we'll be back soon."
Daniels and Montgomery went aside, and the latter said, "Tell me all about this girl, Daniels. I never saw such beauty. I thought one spell she'd drag me down, but I would have gone under willingly to save her; and when she called your name I was glad, for I knew all was right somehow—but I haven't questioned her much; indeed, she's been half delirious till you came; but I see her eye is getting natural." Montgomery then went on to tell him how he happened to be down near the wharf, saw a well-dressed girl running in such a mad way as to arrest his attention, and he followed her, and saw her plunge off the dock, but not before she had paused a second, and looked about, when he caught sight of her wondrous face. His first thought was, that she was some unfortunate of the town, who had resolved to end her unhappy career; but he stripped off his outer coat and boots, and ran along some logs which were lying in the water, and reached out a pole to her which he had caught up. As she rose, puffing and struggling, she seized it, and he saw that the water had chilled out her purpose of suicide; and, indeed, she cried for help, and he plunged in, finding the water deeper than he thought, and had a hard struggle to get out with her, for she was frantic, and grasped his arms so that he could hardly use them. He had gotten assistance and a carriage, and had taken her to the station, and quickly after arriving there had encountered an officer, who said he was after her; that she was a thief, had stolen a diamond ring of great value, "and, of course, lots of other things," as he said. But Montgomery would not give her up till Daniels came, after hearing her call for him. This was all that Montgomery knew about the matter.
RESCUE OF HATTIE NEWBERRY.
Dry clothes had been procured for Hattie, and she had recovered from her fright a little when Daniels came. Daniels told Montgomery all about her, and they both believed her innocent, and resolved to save her. The charge was surely false, they said, and they went back to her, dismissed those about her, and asked her to tell them her trouble, which, in her plain, simple way she did. She had been charged by Harland with having filched from him a valuable diamond ring, worth three hundred dollars. She had denied it; and Harland had asked her to let her room be searched, and she had willingly done so; and in company with an officer, she had gone to her room with Charlotte and Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and allowed the search; and there, to her consternation, in her own reticule, wrapped up in a little white paper, was found the very ring Harland had described. "The villain slipped it in there in the search!" exclaimed Daniels. "No, no," said she, "Mr. Brown opened the box, and found the reticule, and examined it himself. Harland did not touch it." "Did he examine anything?" "No, he didn't touch anything," said she. "Mr. Brown and Mrs. Brown did the searching; he looked on." "Then," said Montgomery, "the villain had, in some way, got the ring in there. He knew what the search would result in,—felt sure of his game."
Mr. Brown was convinced of the girl's guilt, and was going to discharge her. He was dreadfully perplexed by it, for he had thought Hattie the best of girls; but her guilt was so apparent to him as to excite his old Puritan sense of justice. Mercy lost its hold in his heart, but he consented, at Harland's suggestion, to let her stay a day or so longer. Harland said, that now he had got his ring he did not care to punish her; that he presumed she had been sorely tempted by it, for she had seen it in his possession, and he knew well enough when she took it. He thought it too bad to not give her another trial; but Mr. Brown would have no thief in his employ, but would let her stay a day or two,—but not to work,—till Harland could get her a place. When Daniels and Montgomery got to this part of her story, they could account for the man's villany; and consulting with each other away from Hattie, concluded to send at once for Mrs. Daniels, for they saw that there were probably things which Hattie would prefer to tell to a woman. While the carriage was gone for Mrs. D., they learned further of Hattie's story: that she partly loved Harland, that she was innocent of the theft, and somehow suspected him of having planned to destroy her character. The light began that day to open upon her mind, and she loathed him; and so dreadful were her feelings, and so deep her sense of wrong at Mr. Brown's hands, in that he had no charity for her, that, brooding over it all, and thinking what a horrible story would reach her home about her, she got frenzied, and resolved to put an end to her life. She expected Harland at about such an hour, and the nearer that approached the more terrible her condition seemed to be; and finally, life seeming unendurable longer, she had rushed from the house, as it would seem, just about the time Harland and the officer with him had come. This would account for the appearance of the officer whom Montgomery had seen.
"That scamp is no officer," exclaimed Montgomery, when he came to hear this, for he was the same man, she said, who had accompanied Harland on the day of the search. "I thought I had seen him before. Do you go, Daniels, and meet him, for he may know me. I think it is a wretch by the name of Harry Restell; and if it is he, you'll discover a slit in the lobe of the left ear, shaped liked an inverted 'V,' and if you notice further, you'll see a slight inclination of the head to the left side, as if the cords of the neck, on the left side, were a little shorter than on the other, and stiff. If you find so much, make his acquaintance pleasantly, get him to talk with you, and go with you about the cells, and without ceremony shut him in; call Badger for the keys, and tell him I told you, for this will end that game, and send for me instantly. I'll fix him. I want him." Mr. Daniels went, and finding Restell, the man whom Montgomery suspected, was adroit enough to accomplish the feat given him to perform in less than fifteen minutes; and Montgomery was delighted with the word to "come." He told Hattie to be calm; that the rascals would be foiled, and she proved innocent,—as she was, in reality, before another day rolled round. He rushed to the cells, opened the one in which was Restell, drew in Daniels with him, and clutching the villain by the hair, said to him, "I have you, you scamp, you murderer, you —!" But it will hardly do to repeat here the last word, implying crimes which, though common enough, are hardly fit for the eye of the general reader to see named in print. "You show your guilt, and my proof you know, when I name Mary ——; and now you have been personating an officer, helping that Harland to destroy an innocent girl. You have your choice, whether to go with me at once to the Tombs, and from there to Sing Sing Prison for five or ten years, or to tell me all about what Harland and you have been doing. Make a full confession." Montgomery spoke as rapidly as lightning, and there was a terrible firmness and earnestness in his voice. Restell quivered. He saw that he was known. He had been guilty of a terrible crime; had personated an officer, too,—a misdemeanor punishable with fine,—and he was sure to be caught in the conspiracy with Harland; and he thought it the better way to confess at once, which he did; and he told Montgomery that Harland had managed to slip the ring into the girl's reticule at the theatre a few nights before; that the ring was a paste one, and not a diamond ring; that its setting was really worth about twenty-five dollars, but the diamond being only paste, Harland had not risked much; that Harland wanted to degrade the girl, get her away from her place, get her a situation himself, make her dependent on him, and finally make her his mistress. "And he told me I might have her a part of the time, if I would help support her," said Restell; "and when I came to see her, I found her so beautiful that I agreed to help him, and went with him, as an officer, to look for the ring, and we were after her to-night, and got there five minutes after she'd left. That's how 'tis," said he, "and I went one way in search of her, and Harland another." "Where were you to meet when one of you found her?" quickly asked Daniels. "At Washington Parade Ground, on this north-west corner." "Ay, ay," said Daniels, "I know that fellow. We'll nab him,"—and taking an officer with him, proceeded at once to the spot, and luckily found Harland walking back and forth there, very nervously. Daniels knew him, and without a word, as they were about to pass each other, knocked the rascal down, and fell upon him, while the officer clutched him too. "Don't make any noise, or you are a dead man," said Daniels. "Give me that diamond ring the first thing, or die," clutching the scoundrel by the throat, till he was so nearly dead that he could hardly point with his finger to an inside vest pocket, where Daniels put his hand, and found a wallet, in which he found the ring. Getting that, he let the scamp up. He wanted the ring to prove its paste character, as one of the evidences against the villain. "Now," said he, "Restell is nabbed. You see he has 'peached' on you, and we want you to go along with us to him." The officer told Harland that if he didn't go quietly, he would "put the irons on;" and Harland felt the propriety of subjection, without any attempt at escape. Meanwhile Mrs. Daniels had arrived, and being instructed by Montgomery, had inquired into Harland's conduct towards her. It was evident that his intentions had long been to possess her, but that the girl, in her innocence, had not known what he meant; and when he had asked her to marry him, although she had considerable liking of, and affection for him, she had refused to accept him for the time, and he had urged her several times. She said he was always quite nervous, and sometimes almost angry, that she would not marry him; yet, after all, he had been very kind to her in most respects; had made her several presents, and taken her and her cousin to the theatre, etc., whenever they could get away from the shop. Some things which she told Mrs. Daniels, on the latter's minutely inquiring into the modes in which he had treated her, and what he had said, showed a peculiar innocence in the girl, amounting to almost stupidity. Yet it was no wonder, after all, in view of her careful rearing at home.
What Mrs. D. learned confirmed Mr. D.'s and Montgomery's theory, and with it, and all they had learned before, they had solved the problem. Harland saw how thoroughly he was caught, and thought best to acknowledge that what Restell had disclosed was the truth; that the girl was innocent; and he went so far as to express his love for her with tears, and was allowed to see her, and beg her pardon on his knees, with protestations of love, and his desire to marry her. He was allowed to do this, only that Hattie might have better evidence of her innocence, for it was done in Mr. and Mrs. Daniels's and Montgomery's presence. Harland wanted to give her the ring which Daniels handed to her for him, but she spurned it; and Daniels said he would keep it for her, to which Harland consented; for Daniels had a notion that Harland would yet do evil with it if he possessed it. To make all sure, Mr. Brown was sent for, routed out of bed, and brought before the girl and Harland, and Harland made to repeat his confession before him. Mr. Brown was delighted, put his arms about Hattie, called her his own child, and said he could not all the while believe she meant to do any wrong; but there was the ring in the reticule, and she had stoutly denied having any such ring; and how could it have gotten in there without her putting it there? etc. This had convinced him against his will; but he said he would never believe any charge against anybody on circumstantial evidence again, Hattie was taken back into his employ, remained with him over a year, as kindly cared for as if she was his child, and finally went back to Vermont as the wife of young Phelps, who had, at last, overcome his father's objections, mostly through his mother's intercessions, who had died meanwhile, and who, on her death-bed, had made him promise to let the son marry the girl he loved.
Harland agreed to leave New York forever if proceedings were not taken against him; and having money enough (obtained, though, by gambling and forgeries), the officers thought it no wrong to make him pay pretty liberally for the trouble he had made; and Mr. Daniels, having Hattie's good at heart, was not easy with him in his demands, but secured enough, so that Mr. Brown could afford to do a great deal for her; for, at different times, Mr. Daniels put sums of money into Mr. Brown's hands to buy this or that for Hattie, letting her suppose that it all came from Brown's generosity; and it should be added, that the latter was generous to her also, for he always added to the sums given him, and purchased better things than directed for her, as a sort of quietus, it is supposed, to his wounded conscience, in believing that she was guilty. Harland decamped; but he came back at last, and carried Charlotte Keeney off with him somewhere as his wife,—which was the strangest part of the story. She had loved him before Hattie came, and he had probably loved her, but Hattie's great beauty had attracted him from her; that is, his affection,—for he had always taken Charlotte along with Hattie to theatres and elsewhere. The fact is, there was a jealousy of Hattie in Charlotte's heart, so great, that though she loved her cousin, it seemed that she was almost sorry that she proved innocent at last; and she felt Harland's absence, notwithstanding his villany, greatly. The heart of a woman will cling to her lover or husband in crime or obloquy, almost as strongly as the heart of a loving man will cling to, and protect, the woman he really loves, doing deeds of crime at her will, and, in fact, wrecking fortune, and health, and life at her behest. It is common to declare the constancy of woman greater than that of man; but that is a false notion, cherished only by the inexperienced in human nature's laws. Charlotte found pardon in her own heart for Harland; and if she did not invent sensible excuses for his conduct, was not wanting in the number of them. She married, and was heard from afterwards as living happily with him somewhere.
RESTELL AT SING SING.
Restell expected to escape his deserts by peaching on Harland; but Montgomery had not so promised him when Daniels caged him in the cell, and Montgomery had taken care to not do so, for officers of the law and detectives are very scrupulous about keeping their plighted word to even the basest criminals. And if they were not so, the whole fraternity of wretches would know it, and refuse to give evidence at any time, and thus many a criminal mystery would go unexplained, and many an innocent, like Hattie, might suffer the full consequences of a criminality of which they were not guilty. It is often better to let a dozen guilty go than that one innocent should suffer. Restell was taken to the Tombs, on charge of a crime here unmentionable; but a portion of the evidence against him failed by the death of a witness for the prosecution, while he lay in prison, and a matter of forgery having meanwhile become disclosed involving him, he was tried on that, and sent to Sing Sing for four years and some months—the longest term the law would allow for his offence.
Mr. Daniels interwove in this narrative many interesting facts, to which I cannot, at this distance of time, do justice. He was a keen observer of human nature, and told a story pleasantly. He recited to me many other tales of almost equal interest; and, as I learn that he is alive at this writing, I am not sure that I shall not try to hunt him up, and engage him to give zest, with his piquant stories, to these pages; for it matters not whose an interesting experience may be, so that we have the facts. Truly, "facts are stranger than fictions" often; and it has occurred to me, while hunting over my diaries and burnishing up my memory, to hint to my publishers that the truest, shortest, and best way to collect a volume of marvellous experiences would be to invite a number of detectives to dinner, accompanied by short-hand reporters, and treat them so well that they tarry with their story-telling through the night.
ABOUT BOGUS LOTTERIES.
HOW THEY ARE "GOT UP"—THEIR MODE OF OPERATIONS DETAILED—HOW THEY MANAGE THE "DRAWN NUMBERS" BEFOREHAND—THE GREAT SHREWDNESS OF THE OPERATORS—THE SOCIAL RESPECTABILITY OF THESE—THE GREAT FIRM OF "G. W. HUNTINGTON & CO."—THE IMMENSE CIRCULATION OF THEIR JOURNAL—THEIR VICTIM, A MAINE FARMER, WHO BELIEVED HE HAD "DRAWN" FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, AND COUNSELLOR WHEATON, HIS LAWYER, A STORY TO THE POINT—WHO INVEST IN LOTTERIES: CHILDREN, WIDOWS, CLERGYMEN, BANK CASHIERS, ETC.—HOW THE FIRM OF "G. W. H. & CO." WAS CAPTURED—NO. 23, WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK, THEIR PRETENDED BANKING HOUSE—HOW A BOGUS LOTTERY COMPANY SWINDLED ITS OWN AGENTS—A QUEER TALE.
The object of these narratives is not simply to paint human nature in the color of its subtle facts, more strange than the imaginings of fiction, in order to excite the reader's mind as he runs over these pages, or to feed the greediness for the marvellous—not these alone; but the writer trusts that what he has taken so much pains to cull out of the repertoire of his observations and experiences, and from those of others, and reproduce here for the instruction of his fellow-men, shall be found useful as well as interesting; and by teaching those who are inclined to the commission of offences against law and the good order of society, that they cannot easily escape discovery if they commit crimes, shall prevent, to some degree, the perpetration of such crimes. But there are sufferers as well as guilty actors, and these the writer would serve also, as well as preserve the innocent and unwary from the operation of those crafts and cunning devices by which they might be made sufferers.
To-day, tumbling over some old files of notes and papers at the bottom of an old trunk, the contents of which had not been thoroughly disturbed for over ten years before, there came to light a sealed package, marked "The Bogus Lottery Papers: not to be opened without my consent." This package has awakened a host of "memories of other days," and decided me to wander a little perhaps from the preconceived line of these narratives; and not so, either; for in this tale it will be seen that the detective had his legitimate part to play in the matter which it recalls.
The package is found to contain notes for guidance in working up the case; letters from dupes or victims of the crafty speculators in human credulity; bits of the personal history of some of these wily scamps, and which they would hardly desire to see in public print, with their true names affixed (for some of them were and are of high rank in the business, social, and literary world); copies of certain financial journals, devoted to the dissemination of remarkable facts tending to show the wise philosophy of "nothing venture, nothing have," and from their first column to the last, filled with cunning lies; my own correspondence with certain victims; memoranda of facts gathered at sundry post offices and elsewhere; piteous letters from the deluded; correspondence with lawyers on the subject at issue, etc., etc.,—quite a little pile, as they lie on my table here. Some of the letters have grown dark with age, and there is a peculiar smell about them, as if they hinted at unsavory things, and so they do.
And these remind one of other years very peculiarly, and suggest many thoughts on human weakness and perversity. I am vexed not a little as I look over them, and call to mind the class of men who mingled in the iniquities of which I am about to speak, that I cannot write out these men's names for the public eye. But some of them have "reformed," have gone into legitimate business, and have families dear to them, and who were ever quite unconscious of the modes by which their husbands and fathers obtained money here in this seething sea of iniquity of New York,—this worse than modern Babylon,—whom it would be cruel now to wound. And I call to memory now one of these operators in petty villany, who is dead—a noble fellow in the general way, a son of a distinguished father, well bred, and related by blood to some of the first, and really finest people in New York. Ah! what would a certain philanthropist say—a man who leads noble charities, devotes his now declining years to the practical duties of a Sunday school teacher, and whose voice has been, within a few years past, heard in the national Congress, as that of one of the few there whom the corruptions of politics have not stained; a man of large wealth, with which he makes far less display than many a man of the expensive habits of these latter days with but a tenth or fiftieth of the former's income, and a man of marked intelligence, too, as well as of high morals,—what would he say, were it disclosed to him that his relatives, his nephews, the sons of his not unnoted sisters, were participants in these crimes,—cool-blooded, mean, devilish,—and continued, and carried on, under the guise of "business," and indeed as a business for years? But if this simply, were told him, he could not understand the half, for he would not know the half. I shall spare the participants in those criminal schemes the mention of their names here, though I conceive that I should have done no more than my duty had I, at the time in question, given them publicity through the press. But even in the last ten years the public sentiment has largely changed, not only in New York, but throughout the country, perhaps, in regard to the true standard of morals, or the recognition of any standard at all, may be; and those who are acquainted with the modes of conducting business in Wall Street,—(the real centre of practical government for the nation),—and therefore know what iniquities transpire there in the way of "legitimate business," so called, could hardly be surprised at anything I might disclose of the past. It is a sad reflection that the greed of gain governs everything else in these days in this Union; and that the manner of obtaining a fortune is, in most people's opinion, of no account, however vile, in comparison with the matter of possessing it. Money is a veil which will cover every crime, and nobody knows this fact more surely than the detective. It is a fact, that to save anything like a fair proportion of the value of a thing stolen, the loser will almost universally compromise with the thief when the detective secures him. "Compounding a felony," in itself a crime at the Common Law, has become so universal as to be the "common law" itself: and in New York it is a matter of but slight disgrace, at most, to be guilty of any crime; and especially of those crimes by which the perpetrator secures a large amount of money. Wall Street, for example, is thronged every day by men in respectable and high ranks of society, who are frequently guilty of crimes which would, a generation ago, have consigned them to the State Prison for a long term of years, if not for life. But after all, the reflection comes that morals, like the matter of conscience, are educatable, changeable; and that the hearts of men are not so very bad at bottom, most wrongs being chargeable to the institutions of the people. Competition, instead of coöperation, being the rule, and the depraved doctrines of such writers as Carlyle, advocating the development of the individual, rather than the interest of communities and blended peoples, have had a direct tendency to increase the volume of crime.
But I will, with these "prefatory remarks," return to the body of my subject. New York contains a large number of people who obtain their living by the practice of frauds, of one kind and another. The gambling saloons, with their marked cards, and faro banks, so arranged that while the pretension of fairness is observed, the chances in favor of the bank are made sure in the proportion of ninety per cent. to ten per cent. for every hundred dollars which go upon the table; the iniquitous "corners" made in Wall Street, and all the fine scheming of the Bulls and the Bears, etc., etc., illustrate this. In fact, commerce itself is, in all its avenues, made to bend to this skill of fraud in making money, and making a living; and it is a wonder that there are not more, rather than less of the institutions of which I am about to speak, in New York. These exist to-day; but it is a long while since I have been called into relations with them in a professional capacity.
At the time to which I allude, there were several bogus Lottery Companies having their centre in New York, and extending their operations all over the country, fleecing the credulous people to the extent of hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. In Maryland and in Georgia, and also in Kentucky, at that time, lotteries were licensed, and perhaps in some other States; but most of the States prohibited them. Cuba, too, licensed extensive lotteries, and Havana was, as she still is, the chief city of the world, perhaps, in this respect. The bogus companies in New York mostly pretended to be agents of the legitimate companies to which I allude above; and purported to give their "policy-holders" the true reports of the public drawings of these lotteries, by which their fate, as winners or losers, was decided. Among these companies of scamps, was one, self-styled "G. W. Huntington & Co.," concocted and "managed" by men of classical education, high bred, representing some of the really best families in the land, but who had not been as fortunate in legitimate business as desirable, and so resorted to this course of fraud in order to make money easier, and more of it. They knew the value of advertising, to any business, and they published a sheet in the form, in part, of a literary paper, in which counterfeit schemes of the companies they pretended to represent, were set forth in due style. It appeared, in the course of my investigation of these affairs, that this company issued monthly no less than two hundred thousand copies of this paper, which were sent to various addresses, culled out of directories, and otherwise obtained, from almost every village as well as city in the nation, north and south, east and west; but principally in the Western and Middle States. As the agents of the companies they pretended to represent, and of pretended companies too, which never had an existence, these men were in constant receipt of letters, containing from fifty cents, as a minimum, up to ten dollars, usually the maximum, from their victims, who wished to purchase tickets in this or that drawing; and they got tickets in return, to be sure. I was informed that these letters were received in numbers varying from thirty to a hundred a day, for several days, and even weeks at a time, when some especially grand "drawing" was announced to soon take place. Their mode of operations, as disclosed in our investigations, was this: They first fixed upon nine numbers, which they were to report after the alleged (pretended) drawing should have taken place, as the numbers drawn—thus, for example:—
1, 7, 14, 35, 11, 8, 55, 91, 240.
According to their "rules," whoever chanced to hold a ticket upon which any three of the above numbers should appear in consecutive order (as, for example, 1, 7, 14; or 11, 8, 55; or 7, 14, 35)—would draw the largest prize of the scheme in which he bought his ticket, and in many of these schemes such sums as $50,000, or $100,000, or $250,000, were announced as the chief prizes; and then there were numerous small prizes in each scheme which the ticket holder was sure to draw if he happened to hold a ticket with numbers thereon, which should represent two of the above numbers consecutively; and so on ran their rules. Well, having previously decided what numbers they would report to their countless victims as the drawn numbers, these wily scoundrels had, for their safety, only to take care in issuing each ticket to see that it did not contain any three of the "drawn numbers" in consecutive order. To A, for example, they would send a ticket bearing the Nos. "1," "7," "80"; to B, "11," "8," "200", etc., etc.; and after the "drawing" they would send their report, containing a slip of paper bearing the nine "drawn numbers," as above arranged, with a letter, running somewhat this wise.—I am sure I had, at one time, several of the letters actually sent to victims, but they do not disclose themselves from my package now; but no matter, for my memory of them is pretty clear. The report of drawings was private; but the letters were usually written with a pen, in part, in order the better to flatter each person that the company took especial notice of him, and hoped for his particular success.
(Here was a picture of their Banking Office.)
Banking House of G. W. Huntington & Co., Bankers and Brokers,
and Dealers in Foreign Exchange, and Agents for the chief
Baltimore and Havana Lotteries, 23 William Street.
"New York, June 14, 1858.
"John Henry Jones, Esq., Harrisburgh, Pa.
"The public drawing of the 'Grand Consolidated Lotteries' of Baltimore, Md., No. ——, took place as advertised, yesterday. Herewith find slip bearing the drawn numbers." (Thus far, save the address, printed, then followed in writing.) "We are sorry to perceive that your ticket in scheme No. ——, and numbered 14, 35, 80, has drawn a blank. But you observe that you came near winning the chief prize, as we heartily wish you had (as it is for our interest as agents that our special customers be lucky); '14, 35' only needed '11' to follow them, to have made you a rich man. But perhaps your luck will come next time. 'Perseverance is a virtue which wins in the long run.' Hoping for your further favors, and that you will yet be amply lucky, we beg to remain,
"Your obedient, humble servants,
"G. W. Huntington & Co."
Now, "John Henry Jones, Esq." was probably an ignorant, low-minded, dirty-faced ironmonger, of Harrisburgh, who managed now and then to get together a few dollars, and had a hankering to get rich fast. His letter to the company was badly spelled, and so forth; but it contained money, and was, therefore, as acceptable as the elegantly-written letter of some cashier of a bank in Ohio, or some poor clergyman of Illinois, who thought it no harm to try his luck for once—(for many clergymen, as well as others, get bitten by these schemes). John had never been addressed as "Esquire" before; never received such a polite letter in his life, and from a great banking house, in the largest city on the continent! and John was flattered. Besides, he had almost drawn a great prize; of course he would "try again," and again, and again, for it appears that many persons become infatuated in this sort of speculation, and will buy lottery tickets several times a year, and year after year, for a long period, even without a particle of success.
When a customer sent these fellows ten dollars, they would so arrange the numbers on his ticket, sometimes, in relation to the prepared drawn numbers, as to allow him to draw one, two, or three dollars, so that he should not feel that his loss had been entire, and to tempt him by a little success to try again for a greater one. This will serve to illustrate the business ways of the fellows; and just here, since it now comes to mind, perhaps I had better note a little "side issue" of one of these companies, of which I was told by one of the participants. The company had its agents,—postmasters, many of them,—all over the country,—and thought they would make a little speculation on their agents themselves. So they prepared a splendid "scheme,"—a wonderful Grand Consolidated Union Drawing, etc. The tickets were most elegantly printed, and vary-colored, in red, blue, and black, on the nicest paper. No ticket in this grand scheme was less than ten dollars. To some fifteen hundred of their agents, in as many different localities, they sent from three to five of these tickets each, with a printed letter, but marked "very confidential," setting forth the great advantages of the new scheme, and suggesting that among these tickets were doubtless many prizes, and the company did not expect to reap much profits from the sale of tickets in this scheme, but were anxious that its old customers should reap the prizes, and so forth. Of course the company did not expect that any agent would be able to sell all the tickets sent him, even though so few, and were surprised that many were disposed of before the time of the alleged drawing. On the day of the "drawing," more than nine tenths of the tickets still remained unsold, and unreported upon in the hands of the agents. Having prepared written letters in anticipation of the small sales, as a part of the trick, they sent them forth to each agent. The letter ran something like this, in substance:—
"Dear Sir: The drawing of the Grand C. U. Lottery took place at Baltimore, at twelve M., yesterday. Please to return us the tickets, Nos. —, —, —, —, —, now in your hands, at once, without fail, and buy back any, if you can, which you may have disposed of, and charge us, and ask no questions, and we will send you certified copy of drawing immediately on your reply.
"Yours, most respectfully,
"—— ——."
This being an unusual way of doing business, excited the agent's suspicion. He reflected that probably some one of the tickets he held had drawn a great prize, and that the company meant to keep it, but he could not, of course, guess which; and so as to secure the prize himself, he would hold all the tickets, send on the money for them, with an apology for not having reported earlier, and frequently with a long lie about the trouble he had had, and naming this or that man to whom the tickets had been sold. So hundreds of them sent in, after the day of the alleged drawing, from thirty to fifty dollars apiece, according to the number of tickets they held, and received by return mail a "certified report" of the drawing, by which they discovered that the tickets they held were all blanks, each, perhaps, thinking that somebody else had drawn the "mammoth prizes." This trick was fruitful to the amount of a great many thousands of dollars, and cost the company only its expenses for printing, stationery, and postage. These same agents continued to act for the company, and I presume that not one of them to this day knows how he was taken in. But I trust that this narrative will fall into the hands of many a one of them, and open his eyes as to the fact of his having been made a tool of by designing scamps to cheat his neighbors, and to be cheated himself.
The mayor of New York was constantly besieged, and I presume the same is the case now, with letters from all parts of the country, complaining that these writers had tried and tried their luck, time after time, in this or that company, in vain, and asking him regarding the standing of the company, and so forth. Sometimes a victim would get his eyes open, conceive that he had possibly been cheated; or, having had some rupture by correspondence with the company, discovered that he was cheated, and beg the mayor to take the matter in hand. On two or three occasions, within my memory, the police have made raids upon such companies as they could get at; but usually matters were so secretly conducted, that it would cost the police too much effort to get at anything decided, especially without extra compensation for their labors; and the frauds complained of in each case would generally amount to not over ten dollars at most, and the complaints usually, perhaps always, came from obscure men, living at a great distance from New York, who could not afford to come and attend to the matter themselves.
But the companies constantly had difficulty from one quarter of the land or another—enough so as to keep them all the while on the alert. Their offices were in obscure places. The members had business names which differed from their real ones. Ostensibly, they carried on a real estate business, for example, actually doing something in that line for respectability's sake, and conducting their lottery swindle in some secret room, having a box at the post office, and sending for their letters a clerk, who was instructed to deposit the letters in some secret place, from which one of the firm would secretly take them. Thus they managed. But one day "there came trouble into the camp" of "G. W. Huntington & Co." They had sold a ticket to a sturdy, and somewhat intelligent farmer in or near Portland or Bangor, Maine. (I am unable to find his address at this writing.) When the alleged drawing took place, the company sent on its usual report to the farmer, among the rest of their victims, saying, "You perceive that your ticket has unfortunately drawn a blank. We regret it," etc.
THE BOGUS LOTTERY OFFICE.
Now the farmer had "studied up" on the matter, and he saw that if they had sent him what they called the copy of the "certified report" of the drawing, he had drawn a prize of five thousand dollars, instead of a blank, and so he politely wrote the company about their mistake. Correspondence ensued, in which the company tried to convince the farmer that he was mistaken; but it was of no use. The farmer was too keen for them, and insisted on his rights. He consulted a lawyer in his place, and the lawyer opened correspondence with the company, hinting that legal measures would be taken. The company put the matter into their lawyer's hands, and the two attorneys fired away at each other, the company laughing in their sleeves over the humbugging they were operating on the Maine lawyer. Finally the farmer's lawyer wrote on to say, that the farmer would go down to New York, and institute proceedings there, unless the prize was cashed within a week, and suggested that a suit would seriously injure the credit of the company. To this the company, by its lawyer, made no reply.
The farmer came on, and proceeded to the "Banking-house of G. W. Huntington & Co., 23 William Street." He brought with him one of the company's papers, in which was an engraving of the building, 23 William Street, with the great sign of "G. W. Huntington & Co., Bankers," running across the whole face of the building, in large letters. His astonishment can be guessed at when he failed to find any such bankers, or any such sign there. There was the building, correctly represented in the picture. The rest was fiction, of course. The building, except the lower story, which was the office of some brokers, I believe, was occupied mainly as lawyers' offices, and it chanced that the farmer, in his astonishment at not finding "G. W. Huntington & Co." there, and being determined to investigate the affair, and not be cheated out of his five thousand-dollar prize, after coming all the way from Maine, sought counsel at the office of one Mr. Wheaton,—a great criminal lawyer, and the son of the distinguished author of an extensive and valuable work, in two volumes, on International Law and Practice. Mr. Wheaton was the same gentleman who, a few years ago, was run over by the Harlem train of cars, on its way out of the city, and killed. He was a very gentlemanly man, and heard the poor man's case; told him that the company was undoubtedly bogus; but pitying the man, who was really not well off in this world's goods, undertook to aid him, and through the post office sent a very polite note to the company touching the matter. The note was politely responded to, and eventually, after three or four days' delay, the company, securing a sharp and unscrupulous lawyer, sent him to wait upon Mr. Wheaton. The lawyer represented that he did not know the company's place of business even, but was ready to treat for them; that they would not pay a dollar, and that the whole trouble arose from some mistake. But Mr. Wheaton would not settle without something being done; but at last, after a few days, agreed to take thirty dollars, which would pay for the farmer's travelling expenses to and from Maine. How the poor fellow met the rest of his expenses, I was never told; but he doubtless went back to Maine a wiser, if not a better man. (Should this article chance to fall under his eye, he can certainly do some of his neighbors good by reading it to them, and "illustrating" it in person, saying, "Gentlemen, I was the man! behold the picture! and forever be wary of lottery agents.") I had been called in to work up the case, but the settlement was effected the next day, and it was dropped. Mr. Wheaton had a conference with the mayor concerning it; and afterwards, when, on several complaints being made against the company, the mayor resolved to trace out the company, and break up their nefarious business, he sent for me.
Numerous efforts had, at times theretofore, been made to hunt out these companies' dens. Officers had been stationed inside the post office, and when a clerk—usually a rusty, scampish-looking lad, or an old sinner of a man—came for the letters, and he took them, he was tracked, with the hope that he could be traced to the secret office. But he was too wary for that,—had had too good instructions,—and escaped; or, if next time he was arrested, after having been traced along a circuitous route, going into this or that crowded store, or eating-house, it would be found that he had already disposed of the letters, having adroitly handed them to one of the "firm," perhaps, properly stationed at some point for the purpose of receiving them: or, if he was arrested at the post office with the letters in hand, he was found to be an individual not easily frightened, and when taken before the mayor, would declare that he did not know the company, or the individuals composing it; that some man, whose name he did not know, had employed him at fifty cents or a dollar a time to draw the letters with the box check or card. If the mayor took away the check, all the company had to do was to write to the postmaster for another, alleging their loss. Keeping this fellow under arrest for some length of time did no good. The company readily found out about the arrest, and would send some lawyer to act for the clerk, and the result would be that he would be released speedily, and go to drawing letters again. Attempts had also been made to trace out the printers of the papers sent out by these companies. So great were the numbers of these at times that they seriously burdened the mails. The postage expenses to the companies must have been enormous; but advertising "tells," and if only one paper in a hundred chanced to fall into the hands of a man who would be allured thereby to invest in lottery tickets, the business would pay. But after considerable search for the printers, within the city, it was concluded that the papers were printed somewhere else, and sent into New York in bulk, and privately prepared for the mails.
This was the situation of things when I took hold of the matter. I was advised of what had previously been done, but was, of course, allowed to pursue my own method. After a day or two's experimenting in following clerks from the post office, and finally tracking one of them into a lawyer's office on Nassau Street, and being coolly informed by the lawyer that the company were his clients, and having had some difficulty with disaffected parties, had put their correspondence into his hands for a while, I thought best to pursue another course. There was little or no use in attempting to convict him of complicity with the matter. He said he would take his oath that he did not know whether the company was bogus or not, or were really the agents of responsible companies in foreign states; and as for that matter he did not care. He had been, he said, employed by them to attend to certain legal matters of theirs, and he never inquired into the private character of his clients except when necessary. "They pay me well for my services, generally advancing my fees, and I am satisfied." My own opinion was, and is, that he was one of the firm himself, and as guilty as any of the rest, but he was shrewd enough to not get trapped. I saw it would cost more than it would come to to pursue that line. If I arrested the letter clerks for a few days, and took them before the mayor, that would not break up the business. The company's plans were safely laid. When I did get at them, I wanted to break them up effectually; and I set myself about procuring copies of their papers, which I did by writing from the mayor's office to the parties who had sent in their complaints, asking them to forward all documents and papers which they had received from the company. Receiving these, I submitted them to various wary and knowing printers, in order to find out at what office in the city the printing was probably done. A printer or newspaper man will ordinarily detect, by the size of column, or some other peculiarity, from what paper a given extract has been clipped, as readily as a tailor can tell from whose shop a certain coat or pair of pantaloons came, or as easily as a man can distinguish the handwriting of his friends. But in this case I was baffled at first. Nobody could give me any hint, till I finally came across a printer then working in the Tribune office; and on looking over some of the papers, he discovered something which reminded him of the style of a certain paper in Norwich, Connecticut; and then, as if a new light had dawned upon him, suddenly exclaimed, "By George! I believe I have it, for I know that at the —— office, a year or two ago, the boys used occasionally to do a great deal of extra night work, and got extra pay. I never knew what 'twas."
In further conversation with him, I concluded that there must be something in it, and in a day or two posted off for Norwich, where I made the acquaintance of a gentleman by the name of Sykes, then editor of the "Advertiser" (I think that was the name of his paper), and was soon put in possession of abundant facts for the then present time. I learned that the papers for certain bogus lottery companies, to the extent of several hundred thousand a month, were printed at a certain office there, and mailed through the Norwich post office; that it was a matter of considerable pecuniary profit to the post office to have the mailing of these documents, and that certain men of much social respectability in Norwich were engaged in printing and mailing these papers, which they well knew to be the circulars of bogus lottery companies; but I could do nothing with them; and exposure of their conduct in Mr. Sykes's paper was not likely to result in much good. The lottery papers reached parties who would not be apt to ever hear of the exposure; besides, to make it was no part of my business on that occasion. I found, to my satisfaction, that whereas "G. W. Huntington & Co.'s Bulletin" had formerly been printed in Norwich, and distributed from there over the country; that it was now doubtless printed somewhere in New York, and at Norwich I prepared my traps to find out certainly where the papers were printed in New York, which fact I finally accomplished after a little delay. Determining about what time of the previous month the papers for the next month's issue would be put to press, I made business to the printing office, and gave the printers an order a little difficult to fill, and which I knew would have to be delayed. I also set a brother detective on their track with a like affair, so that we could have proper excuse for visiting the office occasionally. I managed to privately secure (no matter how, for somebody yet living might not wish me to tell) two or three copies of the paper then in process of being struck off. The character of the printing office was high, the members of the firm being all what are styled "good fellows," not likely to be in complicity with the lottery pirates, and I was not disposed to injure the printers; but I was determined to learn what parties gave them the orders for printing these papers. The laws of New York are a little stringent upon this matter, and I waited till I found out that a very large number of the papers were struck off and ready to be delivered. I had learned that these were usually sent off out of the office to somebody's care, but I did not propose to follow up the parties as I had done the letter clerks; so one morning, when all was right, I took a couple of regular policemen along with me, and entered the printing office on Spruce Street, and calling one of the proprietors into the counting-room, advised him of my business, and the law in the premises. He was taken aback; turned a little pale; and protested that he had no suspicion that he was engaged in an unlawful business; said they exercised no secrecy in the printing, so far as attempting to cover up any offence was concerned; but that the lottery company had asked them to observe a degree of privacy in the printing, on account of their competition with rival companies.
"But," said he, "I read a little law once in Ohio; thought I would make a lawyer, but got sick of it; and I remember that one of the first things my old instructor, in whose office I read, taught me, was, 'Ignorance of the law excuseth no man,' and we shall have to bear the brunt of it, I fear. Besides, we have a bill of nearly a thousand dollars against these fellows, and if you break them up, where are we to get our pay?"
"Have they been good pay heretofore?"
"O, yes; we let one bill run on to over fifteen hundred dollars. I felt a little skittish about it, but they paid it all up, and gave us five hundred dollars in advance on the next month's issue." I was convinced of the gentleman's honesty. I had learned a good deal about him, and his manner was that of an honest man. "Well," said I, "I'll tell you what we'll do. You deliver these papers, but do you let me know precisely where they are delivered; tell me the true names of the parties who order them; give me such 'copy' as they have sent in to be printed from, so that I may be in possession of their manuscripts; describe the personal appearance of each of them whom you know, in writing, and make a written statement over your own signature of all your connection with them, and I will wait till you get your pay from them, if you will stir them up immediately, and promise to not do any more work of this kind for them." The gentleman instantly replied,—
"That's fair. Of course we won't do any more such printing if it is illegal: but some of these lottery men are persons of great respectability in society, and I am astonished to find they are engaged in such a nefarious business, and I prefer to consult my partner" (a much older man), "before I concede to your proposition. Let me speak to him a minute, for there he is, and I will give you my answer. I prefer that he shall take the responsibility."
The gentleman walked out to where his partner was engaged in looking over some work, held a moment or two's conversation with him, when they both came into the counting-room, and the older gentleman heard from me my story and my propositions, and answered at once. "Of course we will accede to your propositions, and be much obliged to you for giving such excellent terms."
The propositions were specifically complied with. The printing-house got its pay for its work by refusing to deliver it till paid for. As the lottery agents were in need of the papers, and would lose a month's revenue for want of them, they were obliged to yield, and pay up all arrearages, threatening to take their printing elsewhere thereafter, which had been considerable; but the printers kept silent, and did not even let them know that they had discovered they were pursuing an unlawful business. The papers were duly delivered to the lottery men, and I kept watch on their private den, concluding that I would not disturb them till they had gone to the expense of wrapping the papers, and paying the postage, which must have been something enormous. Whole bushels at a time of the papers went to the post office, and the rascals were probably dreaming of the revenue which was to follow that month's laudable labor. I was willing that they should do the government as much service as they pleased in the way of sustaining the postal system, and inwardly rather feasted on the "prospect." Their private den was unoccupied during the night. Indeed, they usually left at an early hour in the afternoon, save on great mailing days.
I hired desk room in a lawyer's office in the same building, No. 5 Tryon Row, close by the courts of justice, and within the immediate shadow of the City Hall,—not an inappropriate locality for the bogus lottery scoundrels after all; for the common council of New York holds its sessions in the City Hall, and there, too, is the mayor's office, and that office has sometimes been filled by as great wretches as these lottery agents. Indeed, I call to mind one mayor who made not a little of his large fortune in the "policy business," i. e., in a scoundrelly, though, in a measure, legalized lottery swindle. Matsell, the old chief of police, had his rooms in the same building, and had he been in office at the time, would have rejoiced to find these "birds" making their nest so conveniently near him. Having a desk in the lawyer's office, I was of course entitled to spend my nights there, or as much of them as I pleased; and being next door to the "Real Estate Office" (as a sign on the door facetiously intimated), or, in other words, the private office of "G. W. Huntington & Co.," I found the "patent lock" on their door not at all in my way for making observations. With a dark lantern I could select such of their correspondence as I pleased, take it to my room, and there, by a broad light, read it. I got possession in this way of many astounding facts, and also procured "specimens of the handwriting" of several of this honest firm—notes written to the clerks, giving orders, etc. Some of these I preserved for future use, but returned most of the customers' correspondence. There were in their office numerous large packages of "business" letters; letters from agents and customers—(when we took possession we found somewhere about twenty thousand letters, which were only a part of what the company had received during their comparatively short existence. They had destroyed great numbers, merely to rid themselves of the incumbrance.) I got a pretty thorough understanding of the business, and collected facts and names of customers for future witnesses, etc., to put it quite out of the question for these fellows to ever resume their business under their then title, after they should be broken up; and, all things prepared, kept watch so as to catch one of the proprietors in the office at work. The "Real Estate" department, in which nothing at all was done, was divided off from the lottery den by a board partition, over the door of which was a sign "Private Consulting Office." Leaving my assistants at the door (and having sent an officer to an office in 115 Nassau Street, to arrest another of the "proprietors" there), I went in to see the gentleman on real estate business; and was informed by the clerk that his principal was in the consulting room, and would be out soon. The clerk who had come out from the "consulting room" as I went into the office, had closed the door (which was evidently open before); and I remarked, that as I was in a hurry, I'd step in and see the principal; and suiting the action to the word, stepped to the door, when the clerk,—a tall lad, of twenty years of age, perhaps,—brusquely stepped up before the door, and said,—
"You cannot enter here—that's my orders."
SURPRISING THE BOGUS LOTTERY DEALERS.
I pushed him aside without saying a word, whistled, and went in, and caught the principal with pen in hand at work at a table, with a pile of correspondence before him, while at the same time my two men at the door rushed in, and I called to them to secure the clerk, and bring him into the private room, which they did. I then stepped out of the private room and locked the outside door, and returning, informed the principal what I knew about him, and so terrified him as to extort from him a full confession of his connection with the business. He confessed that they were thoroughly caught, and must be broken up; which conviction was soon deepened, when one of my men answering a knock at the outside door, let in an officer, accompanied by another of the principals. I took possession of the contents of the office, made the parties deliver up the mails for that day and the day before, (the money received from which they still had on hand,) in order to refund the money to the swindled parties; made them give me money enough to pay for the requisite stationery and postage, all of which I got from them on the spot; and then took due proceedings against them legally, leaving the office in charge of one of my men, till I could get around to it and examine the correspondence, which was in time to be destroyed. I made these fellows advance me money, too, to pay for the rent of the office, on which a month's rent was then due the lessor, and for another month's rent. These fellows were men in high social position, and they tried hard to bribe me into silence, and made large and tempting offers, and promised also to quit the business forever; but I reminded them that their very offer was an offence against the law, and suggested that they must not even repeat their bribes. There was a third member of this honest firm, but the officer sent to arrest him reported that he was out of town, to return next day; and as we wanted him too, we took good care that his friends should have no opportunity to communicate to him, or anybody else that day. I never saw more "sore-headed" chaps than they. The fear of exposition through the public press, was a terrible one for them; and as it was compounding no felony, and was no breach of law to agree to not give the facts to the press, and to let these chaps be brought before the proper officers and plead guilty, under assumed names, when we should get to that point, I had no hesitancy in accepting for myself and my men a pretty large sum of money from them. It was true that the money gave me some uneasiness, as I reflected that it had probably been cheated out of poor victims, although the rascals asserted that they had not made much in that way. But their correspondence showed that they had. The third man was arrested next day, and kept apart from the other two. He was taken before the mayor under his assumed name, and there made a pitiful confession, disclosing more than his confreres had done. He was the "scion of a distinguished house," was younger than the rest, and had been inveigled into the matter by the ambition to be independent of his father, and make money for himself; and having been bred to no legitimate business, easily fell into this in connection with his cousin, one of the other principals. The third party is now dead. He "reformed," and went into a legitimate business. Some of the steps we had taken with these fellows, were rather bold ones, hardly within purview of the law; and the mayor, satisfied with the thorough work which had been done,—we having captured all their correspondence, their elaborately-kept journals, containing corrected lists of all their agents, together, with quite a large library of city and business directories, and a countless quantity of business cards, which had afforded them names to which to direct their papers, and schedules of "drawings to be held," etc., etc., the mayor conceived that we had so effectually crippled them, that they could not, seeking a new office, go on with their business; and as all he wished to do was to break them up, he concluded to let them go, on their promise to not reënter upon the business; and turned to me, and asked if I did not agree with him. I said, "Yes; but I think there is one thing more which these men owe to the public, through their victims. They have apparently a plenty of money, and we have their register of correspondence. My proposition is, that we draw up a circular to be sent to all their victims, stating that the firm is broken up, and warning the customers of the fraudulent character of this and all other such concerns, get a few thousand of the circulars printed, and mail them to each man on their books, and make them bear the expense of printing, enveloping, clerk hire and postage, and pay the clerks liberally for their work. They ought to do this, to undo the wrong they have done, as far as they can."
"Yes, yes, gentlemen, I like that proposition. What do you say to it?" said the mayor.
They were deathly silent for a moment; looked askance at each other (for at this session we had all the three present); but one broke the silence—
"It will be a pretty big bill. I told you the truth when I said we are poor; as for myself, I am worth next to nothing."
The mayor looked at me inquiringly, and probably saw something in my face which was as expressive as if I had said, "Bosh! they are perfectly able;" so he said, "Gentlemen, I shall insist on the condition;" and turning to me, he added, "make out a liberal estimate, and hold these men under arrest till you get the sum advanced. Mind! I say advanced! don't trust them for a minute."
The firm, seeing that it was of no use to quibble, agreed to meet the emergency that day; and I, having in the course of two hours found out how much it would cost to print twenty thousand circulars, and for clerk hire for two months, for two clerks, with postage added, at two cents a circular, agreed to accept eight hundred dollars,—a pretty liberal sum, for I was not disposed to oppress myself for want of means, on account of any foolish pity for these chaps. The amount was forthcoming, and the scamps were released.
I at once drew up a circular in these words. By the way, I had secured their engraving of the building, No. 23 William Street, with which the circular was headed:—
"Mayor's Office, New York.
"Dear Sir: This is to inform you that the great 'Banking House of G. W. Huntington & Co.,'—the above picture of which you have doubtless seen before,—has 'suspended operations' having fallen into the hands of the police. This house was a bogus lottery concern, which conducted its stealthy business in an obscure den, while pretending to occupy the building above represented, by the picture of which they more readily enticed their country customers to 'invest' in their shrewdly-devised schemes. If in dealing with them you ever secured a prize, it was only given to entice you into larger ventures. Beware of all such companies in the future. The mayor directs me to advise you that there are no legitimate lottery companies or agencies in the city of New York. None are allowed by law to do business here. All of them are bogus and fraudulent. His honor the mayor further suggests that you may, perhaps, do your unwary neighbors a service, by showing them, if you please, this circular,—or by at least informing them that all such companies and agencies in New York are fraudulent in their character. The mayor receives hundreds of complaints during the course of a year from the victims of these companies, or 'agencies,' and a list of all those to whom this circular is sent, is kept, and no notice of the complaint of any one of these will hereafter be taken. The mayor trusts that you, sir, will not only escape being imposed upon by these bogus lottery sharpers hereafter, but will so warn and instruct all your friends that they, too, will escape being victimized.
Respectfully yours,
"—— ——,
"Mayor's Special Clerk."
About eighteen thousand of these circulars were duly mailed to the addresses found in the captured books, and the books themselves were duly deposited for further reference. It would seem that this warning, scattered as it was into more than half the towns in the Union, ought to have lessened the number of victims to these swindling concerns; but I have been informed that some of them are in full blast to-day, and that all along, since the arrest of "G. W. Huntington & Co.," other concerns carried on heavy operations. Everybody, almost, it would seem, must have personal experience; will not, for some reason, profit by the experience and advice of others who have suffered—been bitten by sharpers. But I trust that this article will be heeded by all who read it. Perhaps it is a sufficiently clear exposition of the way these rascals proceeded, to make it evident that there is no trusting the pretences of any of them. Sure it is that there are at least five hundred thousand people in the land, who, if they were to read this exposition, could reflect that it must be, as it is, literally true, entirely unembellished by imagination to the extent of even a word, and that, too, from their own experiences; and they can now understand the modus operandi by which they were swindled.
All "gift enterprises," so common in New York, and other places, to-day, partake in their nature of these bogus lottery operations, and no man is safe who trusts a single one of them. He will be swindled in the end, in some way.
I could not well allow myself to cut this article short at this point, although my tale is, properly speaking, finished, and my contract under this head, with my publishers, fulfilled. There is something so marvellous in the human heart in the way of its disposition to adventure in order to make money easily; such a wonderful credulity in the minds of large numbers of people, and a willingness to fasten in trust upon the merest shadow of success, that perhaps these fraudulent concerns will never lack victims. But in studying the correspondence which fell into my hands,—over twenty thousand letters,—and with which I beguiled many hours during the six months in which I kept them, before burning them, I became apprised of the fact that the great majority of the "customers" of these concerns are illiterate; most of their letters being misspelled; that great numbers of them were young men, boys, and poor women; nearly all evidently mechanics, and from some of the States, such as Pennsylvania, many farmers. (Pennsylvania, by the way, furnishes more victims to petty frauds, I learned, than several other States which I might name, taken together.) She has a large number of citizens who are barely able to read and write poorly, and who probably do not read the public journals extensively, and are, therefore, not likely to be well informed of the current iniquities of the time. I seriously meditated, after having studied the "G. W. Huntington & Co." correspondence, the writing of a book on the matter of Swindling, in general; and this correspondence would have afforded me many pathetic things for comment. While looking over that correspondence, the tears often came irresistibly to my eyes. I recollect the letter of a boy writing from Easton, Penn., I think it was. He had, it appeared from his letter, sent many dollars to the company for tickets, a dollar at a time, and winning nothing from his ventures, was getting discouraged. He wrote an imploring letter at last, accompanied by a dollar, in which he begged the company to choose him a winning number. He told them it was his last dollar; (he was but sixteen years old, he said); that he should not be able to send again, if he failed this time, for he had to give every cent he could earn; (I forget what he said he worked at, but he named the business and the pitiable wages he got); that his father was a dreadful drunkard; one of his little sisters was "sick all the while;" another had broken her leg two months before, and the doctors thought she might have to lose it, and so on, a pitiable tale—a tale to stir the hardest heart, and written in that style which stamped it as undoubtedly true. At the bottom of this letter was a note for the clerk, in the handwriting of one of the firm. "Write to" (somebody, I forget his name, of course), "at Easton, and learn if this story is true; and if it is, let the boy draw five dollars in Scheme No." (so and so.) There was a note dated some days after, below this in the clerk's hand. "Letter received from Easton; story true; ticket issued." Probably that boy re-invested the whole five dollars. Drawing the money, his hope would naturally be excited; and now that he could buy a ticket in a larger "drawing," he probably sent the five dollars back, and lost them of course.
Widows, with large families, and who wrote most mournful stories, sending on every cent they could save (while half-starving their families in order to do so, probably), were among the number of correspondents. Clergymen of poor parishes sent for tickets, with long letters, in which they commented piously upon the matter of hazard and lotteries, in a manner to excuse themselves for sending, and hoping that they should draw something to help them out of their poverty and misery, and expressing their belief that "God would pardon them if they were doing wrong," were also of the number. Many letters were of a comical nature, the writers half-laughing at themselves for doing so foolish a thing as buying tickets in a lottery; but yet unable to resist the temptation. By some of the letters it was evident to me that the writers told abominable lies about their sufferings and trials, in order to excite the sympathy of the "agents," and induce them to use their best efforts to secure for them winning tickets. Some of the correspondents offered to give the "agents" half their prize money, in order to bribe them to select a successful ticket. Some of them sent counterfeit money. I found such notes as this at bottom of several letters, "One dollar counterfeit, two dollars good. Send tickets in Scheme No. 8." "Counterfeit; send back." These were evidently directions to clerks. If the writing in these letters which contained only counterfeit money had been good, I might have suspected the writers of perpetrating an appropriate joke; but the letters were evidently from ignorant people, some of whom, perhaps, knew that the bills they sent were counterfeit, and hoped that the great banking company, in their vast press of business, would fail to detect the bills. Many of the letters were written in excellent mercantile hand; but I noticed some badge of ignorance about all these, as well as about the poorly-written and misspelled ones. Probably ninety-nine in a hundred of the victims were made such through their ignorance of the world and the wicked men in it.
"Knowledge is power;" not only a power to execute, but a power for salvation; and when her light shall be sufficiently diffused, all such crafts as these bogus lottery swindlers will "have had their day," and not before. I doubt somewhat that if all the newspapers of the land should, on some given week, publish each a full exposé of these swindles, and repeat the same every week, for a month, the majority of the victims would be saved. Many would; but some with their eyes opened, as far as facts could open them, would still be duped. The investigation of this bogus lottery business did more to weaken my respect for the good sense of my fellow-men in general, than had all the experiences of my life theretofore. But I find I am tempted on beyond the limits I had set for myself in this article. The subject is an interesting one to me, and I may return to it at another time, and to some of its phases not here commented upon.
THE BORROWED DIAMOND RING.
THE DETECTIVE OFFICER'S CHIEF "INCUBUS"—AT WINTER GARDEN THEATRE—"HARRY DUBOIS"—AN EXPERT ROGUE EXAMINES HIS PROSPECTIVE VICTIMS—SOME SOUTHERNERS—HARRY "INTRODUCES" HIMSELF IN HIS OWN PECULIAR AND ADROIT WAY—HARRY AND HIS FRIEND ARE INVITED TO THE SOUTHERNERS' PRIVATE BOX—HARRY "BORROWS" MR. CLEMENS' DIAMOND RING, AND ADROITLY ESCAPES—MY DILEMMA—VISIT TO HARRY'S OLD BOARDING MISTRESS—HIS WHEREABOUTS DISCOVERED—ACTIVE WORK—A RAPID DRIVE TO PINE STREET—A FORTUNATE LIGHT IN THE OFFICE OF THE LATE HON. SIMEON DRAPER—A SUDDEN VISIT FOR A "SICK MAN" TO HARRY'S ROOM—HOW ENTRANCE WAS EFFECTED—THE RING SECURED—HUNT FOR MR. CLEMENS—A SLIGHTLY MYSTERIOUS LETTER—A HAPPY INTERVIEW.
Just before the late war broke out, and the Winter Garden Theatre being in its prime, my friend, Henry C. P., of New Haven, Conn., being in town, urged me to accompany him there one night to see the play. The house was quite crowded with a more than usually fashionable set of play-goers, many being from different parts of the land, visitors for a time in New York. No matter where I go, to theatre, court, or church, along Broadway crowded with its vast moving tides of humanity, or through the streets of some half-deserted hamlet, my mind is ever on my business; rather, ever pondering on the craft and crime of society, symbols of which, in more or less emphatic shape, I am ever liable to see. It is one of the greatest vexations which the detective suffers, that the nature of his business is such that he can never fully liberate his thoughts from dwelling upon the frailties, the follies, and particularly the crimes, petty and felonious, of which so many of his fellow-men are constantly being guilty. Like an incubus of dread and darkness, these thoughts are ever weighing on his mind. He has no peace; and the only approximate peace he can win, is to let his thoughts drift on in the usual current, without attempting to direct them by his will. Consequently, that night, though for a while I enjoyed the play, studying its representations of human nature with some delight, and being not a little pleased with the beauty of sundry of the female dramatis personæ, who were rather above the average in personal graces, my eye was wandering over the parquet, family circle, etc., considerably. Hearing a slight noise in a part of the gallery, I observed that three young men, probably having a "prior engagement" to fill somewhere, were leaving the theatre,—a thing of no moment in itself, and which I should have forgotten on the instant, only that the vacancy they left enabled me to cast my eye a little farther on, when I discovered a character of much interest to me—a man elegantly apparelled, and having every outward semblance of a gentleman. At the moment my eye first rested on him there, he was peering into one of the boxes, and I saw him soon in the act of whispering some mystery, apparently, into the ear of the comrade who sat by his side. The latter person I did not know; but knowing the company he was in, I divined that some mischief was up, for the former person was no other than a man whom, in my detective career, I had several times encountered—an elegant, scheming fellow, who sometimes operated on Wall Street, kept an office at 34 Pine Street, as a real estate broker and money lender, etc., though he was seldom there, and was as skilful a juggler and pickpocket as any of whom New York could at that time boast. I could not, from my then position, well see into the boxes, so I changed my seat—through the courtesy of an old friend, who gave me his in exchange for mine—to a point where I could watch the boxes and the two elegant gentlemen, of whom I have spoken, without the latter's knowing the fact. As I have intimated, the season was gay. In one of the boxes sat two gentlemen and two ladies, the former evidently Southerners I judged, and so I thought the ladies to be also. They were quite richly dressed, and "sported" a large amount of richest jewelry. I was not at a loss, as soon as I had enjoyed a good view of them, as to the nature of the special concern which they had evidently awakened in the minds of the two worthies whom I was watching. I felt very sure that some plan was being devised by the latter two to make the acquaintance of the gentlemen, and, perhaps, the ladies in the box, with an eye to relieving them of some of their jewelry or money.
"Harry Dubois" was one of the aliases of the elegant rogue; his friend's name I knew not, and have never learned it. I was not surprised then, when, after a little polite leave-taking at the end of an act, and the gentlemen left their ladies in the box, to see Harry and friend leave their seats, and saunter out. Divining that the gentlemen had gone into the refreshment-room, I followed, disguising myself as I went out, by the assumption of a pair of spectacle bows, to which was attached a false nose quite unlike my own, in order that Harry might by no means discover me. I arrived in the refreshment-room, and had selected out my friends of the box before Harry and his friend, or "pal," came in. I had prepared my mind to expect some peculiarly stealthy, circumlocutory proceeding upon the part of Harry. Perhaps he would come only to "watch and wait" still longer; perhaps he would find there somebody, also, who knew the gentlemen of the box, and get a formal introduction. Indeed, I had conceived a half dozen modes of operation on his part, when, to my astonishment, Harry, having first cast a searching glance over the room, and giving his "pal" a knowing touch on the elbow, rushed, with all smiles upon his face, up to the apparently elder of the gentlemen of the box, who were at this moment lifting glasses of wine to their lips, and exclaimed, "Pardon me, Mr. Le Franc; but how do you do? I am exceedingly glad to see you! How long have you been on from New Orleans, my dear sir?"
The gentleman addressed looked with astonishment upon the elegantly attired Harry, whose face was the symbol of the frankest honesty and most certain refinement, and evidently "taken" by Harry's manner, replied, "My dear sir, there's a mistake here, for my name is not Le Franc; and truly, sir, I can never have known you, for I surely do not now, and if I had I should never have forgotten you."
"Upon my honor," said Harry, "I thought you were a Mr. Le Franc, of New Orleans. You look just like him, with whom, and others, I went on an excursion up to Donaldsonville, three years ago, at the invitation and expense of Bob McDonald."
"Bob McDonald? Why, he's my cousin, sir. If you know him, give me your hand. My name, sir, is William Hale, of Savannah, and this is my cousin, Mr. Clemens, of Mobile" (turning to his friend), "Mr. —— Ah! excuse me, but you have not given me your name, sir, I forgot."
Fully pleased, Harry pulled out a card case from his vest pocket, and presented to Mr. Hale a neat card, inscribed:—
HENRY CLARKSON DUBOIS,
Attorney at Law.
Specialty—Dealing in Real Estate, Effecting Loans, and
Securing Advances on Cotton.
Office, 34 Pine Street, N. Y. City.
"Pardon me that I give you my business card; I find I have no other about me."
"Ah, Mr. Dubois! I am sure I am very glad to know you as Bob McDonald's friend. Tell me when you last saw him. How was he? Jolly fellow—isn't he? Take some wine with us? and your friend, too; he'll join us?"
Harry was nothing loth to accept the wine. He was making splendid progress, he doubtless thought; and joining in the wine, he said, "You asked when I last saw Bob. Well, when he was here in New York, three months ago, on his way to Hamilton, Canada, he was my guest for a week, at the Metropolitan, where I board."
"Just so," said Mr. Hale. "Bob wrote us at that time from Canada. I am sorry I did not go on there when he was there. He was well as usual then, I suppose, and just as full of the 'Old McDonald'" (for his father was a great old sport) "as ever, eh?"
I saw that Harry was making smooth inroad into the affections of these gentlemen, and wondered what would be the result. Mr. Hale treated to cigars. Harry refused, saying, that with permission he would smoke a cigarette,—pulling a box from his pocket,—commented on the habit which he had learned in Cuba, when he was attached, as he said, to the United States legation there, and quite took the Savannah gentleman aback with his delicate manipulation of the dainty cigarette. Harry's mastery of good manners seemed to completely win the Southern gentlemen, and Harry's friend too, though less elegant than he, was no "slouch" of a fellow in appearance.
The next act of the play had begun before the gentlemen had finished their cigars and chat, and Mr. Hale said to his friend Clemens, "Wouldn't Mary be delighted to meet so intimate a friend of her cousin Bob? Mr. Dubois, I spoke of McDonald as my cousin; so he is by marriage; but he is cousin by blood to my wife, and she likes him above all her kin. Wouldn't you and your friend do us the honor to accompany us to our box, where our wives now are?"
"With the greatest pleasure," said Harry, suiting the action to the word, and away they started for the box. I lost no time in getting back to my seat, on the way depositing my spectacles and false nose in a side pocket.
From what I afterwards learned from Mr. Hale, he delightedly presented Harry to his wife, as an intimate friend of her cousin Bob; and it was evident to me that Harry was making as sure victory of the esteem of Mrs. Hale, and the other lady, Mrs. Clemens, as he had of their husbands. He laughed and chatted with the ladies to their evident delight. They could not have heard much of the second act, so busily were they engaged with him—gentlemen and ladies both. I noticed that Harry was not lacking, on that occasion, in a good degree of effrontery, mingled with his polite manners, which fact was assurance to me that he had formed some plan of operations already, but what it would be I could not conjecture. I saw more or less display of jewelry, Harry taking a splendid solitaire diamond from his finger, and evidently telling some story about it. But eventually, as the act was drawing to a close, I discovered that Mr. Clemens had taken from his finger a very costly ring, which, as the sequel proved, he had bought at Anthony's the day before, for fifteen hundred dollars, to take as a present to his brother, then studying medicine in Harvard College, whither Mr. Clemens and his lady were about going. All was very jubilant in the box as the act drew to a close, and there was a clatter in the box—the gentlemen laughing, and the ladies shaking their fans at them, as if half menacingly forbidding them to go out, evidently begging them to stay, and so forth. But Harry, according to the story I learned afterwards, kindly assured the ladies that he would return with his new "charge" all duly and "soundly," which the ladies interpreted to mean soberly, and they let them go.
Harry left the box, the last of the gentlemen, and as he did so, foolishly waved his hand in parting, at the ladies; and the mystery was at once unravelled to me, for on his finger was what I took to be, knew to be, that new, flashing ring of Mr. Clemens.
I hastened to the refreshment-room. I saw at once the flush of victory on Harry's face, and watched him intently.
He was very brilliant in conversation, and very generous; insisted on "treating" all the while himself. Wouldn't allow Mr. Hale or his friend to call for anything, etc.
The time for the next act coming on, the gentlemen, not a little "warmed up" with the numerous glasses of wine they had taken, returned to their box, and I to my place, replacing my spectacles in my side pocket.
I had been a little delayed in getting back to my place by a crowd gathered around a lady who had fainted, and when I resumed my seat, and looked into the box, what was my astonishment at not finding Harry there. I saw that Mrs. Clemens was very serious about something, while the rest seemed very much excited; meanwhile, Harry's friend seemed engaged in some sort of wonder-looking protestations, for he looked astonished, and was putting one hand very emphatically upon the palm of the other. The whole thing flashed upon me. I saw that there was no time to lose; and I left my seat, and proceeded directly to the refreshment-room, in time to find Mr. Hale and his friend there, eagerly inquiring of the bar-keeper if "Mr. Dubois" had returned there; if he had seen him since they went up last time to the box, and sundry other hurried queries. The bar-keeper had not seen him; no clew could they get to him; and Mr. Hale said, "Clemens, you are 'done for,' sure. That's one of those arch scamps we read of. He's borrowed that ring, and we'll never see it again."