1.--_The American Trenck; or the Memoirs of Thomas Ward, now in
confinement in the Baltimore Jail, under a sentence of ten years'
imprisonment for robbing the United States Mail._ Baltimore. 18mo: 1829.
2.--_Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux, a Swindler and Thief, now transported
to New South Wales, for the second time, and for life. Written by
himself._ London. 18mo: 1829.
3.--_Memoirs of Vidocq, principal Agent of the French Police, until_
1827, _and since, Proprietor of the Paper Manufactory at St. Maude.
Written by himself. Translated from the French._ London. 4 vols. 18mo:
1829.
"One half of the world does not know how the other half lives:"--so says
the adage, and says truly. Men of reading, however, who direct their
attention to biography, and especially to auto-biography, and who
combine with their reading attention to the varied pursuits of mankind,
may attain tolerably correct notions of the habits, modes of reasoning,
and peculiarities of others, though living in evidently different
stations, and engaged in occupations the most various. In this view, the
volumes above announced are valuable. They furnish a remarkably clear
insight of the ways and actings of professional thieves, and of the men
with whom they often become connected,--police officers and jailers. But
what assurance have we, it may be inquired, that they speak the truth?
How can the evidence of such characters be received? These queries must
be answered by considering several particulars. In the first place,
then, the verity of a narrative may be partly established by its
coherence and probability. When the events related have a manifest
correspondence with each other, and are such as may be credited, we
necessarily attach to them a degree of belief, which we cannot extend to
those of an opposite character. The evidence from this source is,
however, exceedingly imperfect, since many narratives, almost entirely
fictitious, appear so natural, as to impose upon the reader with all the
strength of unvarnished truth. Robinson Crusoe has deceived thousands,
and Damberger's Travels in Africa were not suspected to be otherwise
than true, for a considerable time after their publication; but they
were at length proved to be a complete fabrication. Accordingly, in
judging of doubtful works, we must resort to additional means; one of
which is a comparison of works of a similar description with each other.
When an account appears to be too wonderful for credence, we are, of
course, disposed to rank the author with romance-writers; but when we
find that divers accounts, equally extraordinary, are related by others
as happening under similar circumstances, we then begin to suppose that
we may have judged erroneously. Captain Riley's Narrative of his
Captivity in Africa was rejected by many as half-fictitious: his
sufferings were greater than human nature could bear, and the Arabs of
the desert could never lead the life described. But since it has been
found that the sufferings undergone by the crew of the French frigate,
the Medusa, were no less horrible, and of the same kind, and that
Clapperton and others who have subsequently crossed the Sahara,
confirmed his statements respecting the Arabs,--he has been regarded
very differently. And it may be supposed, that if Sir Walter Scott had
known of the remarkable confirmation given by Benyouski, to Drury's
account of Madagascar, he would not have expressed his doubts of the
latter's veracity.[12] When writers, unacquainted with each other's
productions, are found, by incidental allusions, to agree in minute
particulars, the evidence is almost irrefutable. Paley has made an
admirable use of this species of proof in his _Horae Paulinae_.
Another mode of judging of an author's credibility is sometimes
furnished, by learning whether any of his alleged facts have been
contradicted by persons acquainted with them, especially if they are
such as these persons would be glad to contradict. If a person is
charged with being an accomplice in a crime, and he fails to rebut the
accusation, we may infer that he is unable to do so. Or, if the narrator
give place and date to certain memorable transactions, which, if false,
might easily be shown to be so, a similar inference may be deduced, when
it can be shown that others are interested in such exposure.
Now, on bringing the works under notice to these different tests, we
shall have tolerably strong presumptive evidence of their being, in the
main, worthy of credence. Vaux's Memoirs contain nothing that may not be
credited on the score of probability, while the circumstances detailed
are remarkably coherent; they seem to arise naturally from each other.
Vidocq's, on the contrary, contain so many marvellous escapes from
prisons, so many perils from contests with ruffians and bravoes, and
such varied turns of fortune, that the reader is necessitated to
ask,--can this be true? Here, however, both Vaux and Ward offer him some
assistance; the similarity of their accounts, though destitute of so
many wonders, corroborating the probability of his. The three narratives
are quite in keeping. We find in each the same restlessness, the same
blind passion impelling to deeds of vice and desperation, and the same
proofs of treachery amongst their companions. Each, too, has furnished
so many means of detection, by names of persons, dates, and places,
that,--no attempt at refutation having been made by persons
implicated,--we are to believe that they must, at any rate, contain much
that is true. Neither Ward's nor Vidocq's Memoirs are so connected as
Vaux's; but in Ward's case, this may be attributed to a want of
scholarship, as he is evidently an ignorant man; and in Vidocq's, to a
fondness for the marvellous, in consequence of which he has introduced
many episodes. These episodes, accordingly, detract from the merit of
the work, considered as a veritable narrative, they being garnished with
more of the romantic than the regular account of his own performances.
After all, a degree of suspicion will attach to each of them, from the
consideration that they are all avowed liars. If, indeed, there was
proof, either external or internal, that they had become reformed
characters, and, of course, abhorrers of deceit, we might value their
self-condemnation as evidence of truth; for what man of moral feeling
would proclaim that he had been an habitual liar, except conscious that
the avowal was incumbent on him to substantiate the truth? This was done
by Bunyan, the author of the Pilgrim's Progress, and by Cowper, the
truly Christian poet:--they are respected accordingly. But in these
narratives, except a little cant in Ward's, we find nothing approaching
to a sense of shame or remorse. Vidocq, like Homer's Ulysses, has a lie
ready for every occasion, and appears, like that hero, to regard himself
as "the man for wisdom's various arts renowned." Vaux is almost equal to
him in this respect, and exults in the success of his deceptions. If
cunning were wisdom, Ulysses, Vidocq, and Vaux, would form a trio of
eminently wise men. But this sort of wisdom, how much soever valued by
pagans, must be regarded by Christians, enlightened by the Gospel, as
utterly unjustifiable, even when employed as a means for the attainment
of some good; since they are never to do evil that good may come.
Accordingly, those persons who make lies their refuge, must be liable to
be doubted, even when they speak the truth. Still, it is possible, that
a man's conscience may be so obdurate, as not to perceive the pravity of
mendacity, when exercised for his supposed benefit, while he yet retains
a regard for truth when engaged in relating his exploits to others.
This, we think, is partly the case with our heroes. Their acknowledgment
of their disregard of truth, while prosecuting illegal measures, is,
indeed,--so inconsistent is human nature,--some guarantee for the
fidelity of their narratives. A solitary vice is a thing unknown; as
Lillo expresses it, in his tragedy of George Barnwell,--"One vice as
naturally begets another, as a father begets a son." Who, then, could
believe a practised villain, if he professed himself untainted by
mendacity? But if, after a plain avowal of his constant resort to it, we
find nothing contradictory in his relation, we may reasonably yield a
qualified assent to it; since, as Lord Bacon remarks in his Essays,
which "come home to men's business and bosoms," a liar had need possess
a good memory to prevent his contradicting himself. Where he is
consistent throughout a long narrative, the natural deduction is, that
he has mainly depended on his memory, rejecting, for the occasion, his
temptation to beguile.[13]
After these preliminary considerations, the relevancy of which is
obvious, we proceed to furnish our readers with a few extracts; not
doubting, that to such of them as lead domestic, retired lives, it will
afford gratification to learn something of the ways of others, who are
entirely opposite in their habits,--as opposite as the two electric
poles, and, like them, "repelling and repelled." One of the most
observable points in these volumes, is the contamination of jails. When
men are thrown together in a place where reputation is valueless, they
have no inducement to conceal their vices. What is the consequence? They
delight in recounting to each other their nefarious exploits: thus
conscience is more and more corrupted, and the young and inexperienced
are initiated into the skilful manoeuvres of adepts. Whoever has read
the _first_ edition of Ellwood's Life, (for the subsequent editions do
not contain the passage,) may remember the amusing account he has given
of the state of the common side of Newgate in the reign of Charles II.
Ellwood was imprisoned in that persecuting reign, for adherence to his
religious convictions as a Quaker, and had an opportunity of becoming
acquainted with the ordinary behaviour and conversation of thieves in
jail. He saw and lamented the evils incident to a promiscuous assemblage
of old and young, of hardened villains and juvenile delinquents; but the
remedy was reserved for the present age. That the remedy ought not to
have been so long deferred, will be evident to every one who attends to
Vaux's account of his first incarceration.
"On entering the gates of the gloomy receptacle to which I was
now consigned, and which, on many accounts, has not been
unaptly named the Bastile, the sensations I felt may be more
easily felt than described. Besides that this was the first
prison I had ever entered, every thing around me had an air of
unspeakable horror. After being viewed and reviewed by the
surly Cerberuses of this earthly Hell, I was conducted up some
stairs to a long gallery, or passage, six feet wide, having on
either side a number of dismal cells, each about six feet by
nine, formed entirely of stone, but having a small grated
window near the roof, at the further end, which admitted a
gloomy light, and overlooked a yard, in which other prisoners
were confined; there was also a similar grate over the door;
but, owing to their height, both these apertures were very
difficult of access. The cells on the other side the passage
were exactly similar, but overlooking another yard, and the
doors were immediately opposite to each other. The only
furniture of these dreary apartments was an iron bedstead, on
which were a bed, blanket, and rug, but all of the coarsest
kind. My conductor having given me a pitcher of water, without
vouchsafing a word, locked the door, and left me in utter
darkness.
"In order to amuse my mind during this solitary week, I climbed
up to the grated aperture over the door of my cell, and
listened to the conversation of the neighbouring prisoners;
and, from their discourse, I acquired a more extensive
knowledge of the various modes of fraud and robbery, which, I
now found, were reduced to a regular system, _than I should
have done in seven years, had I continued at large_. I was
indeed astonished at what I heard; and I clearly perceived
that, instead of expressing contrition for their offences,
their only consideration was, how to proceed with more safety,
but increased vigour, in their future depredations. And here I
was struck with the fallacious notions entertained by the
projectors of this prison, which was reputed to be upon the
plan of the benevolent and immortal Howard, who had recommended
the confinement of offenders in separate cells, in order to
prevent the effects of evil communication among persons who had
not all attained an equal degree of depravity. This object,
however, was not effected here; for, being within hearing of
each other, they could, by sitting up over the door as I have
described, converse each with his opposite neighbour, and even
form a line of communication, where the discourse became
general, from one end of the gallery to the other. As a proof
of what I have advanced, I knew several of the prisoners, then
confined with me in this passage, who were at that time but
striplings, and novices in villainy, and who, after several
years continuance in their evil courses, at length became
notorious offenders, and, having narrowly escaped a shameful
death, are now prisoners for life in this colony."
As this subject is of great importance, we shall give a few more
extracts connected with it. Crime, as Mr. Buxton has shown in his
valuable Inquiry, is promoted, instead of being repressed, by such
indiscriminate association. Corruption spreads by it, as surely as
decomposition is assisted by heat and moisture. Ward thus describes the
Baltimore jail:--
"About this time, I was ordered by the sheriff to be put into
the criminal apartment, along with untried prisoners, hardened
offenders, debtors, and among characters of the most abandoned
and vicious stamp;--men of all nations and all colours. Among
this mass of vile and depraved men, I had to take up my abode.
There was no example of moral rectitude here exhibited _but
that of my own_! No restraint was put by our keepers, on their
profane and vile language and conduct. Every one indulged to an
excess in every species of the most disgusting practices,
profaning and scandalizing every thing holy."
Vidocq's description of the Bagne at Brest, corresponds with the
above:--
"The Bagne is situated in the bosom of the bay; piles of guns,
and two pieces of cannon, mounted at the gates, pointed out to
me the entrance, into which I was introduced, after having been
examined by the two guards of the establishment. The boldest of
the condemned, however hardened, have confessed, that it is
impossible to express the emotions of horror, excited by the
first appearance of this abode of wretchedness. Every room
contains twenty night camp couches, called bancs (benches,) on
which lie six hundred fettered convicts, in long rows, with
red garbs, heads shorn, eyes haggard, dejected countenances,
whilst the perpetual clank of fetters conspires to fill the
soul with horror. But this impression on the convict soon
passes away, who, feeling that he has here no reason to blush
at the presence of any one, soon identifies himself with his
situation. That he may not be the butt of the gross jests and
filthy buffoonery of his fellows, he affects to participate in
them; and soon, in tone and gesture, this conventional
depravity gets hold of his heart. Thus, at Anvers, an ex-bishop
experienced, at first, all the outpourings of the riotous jests
of his companions; they always addressed him as _monseigneur_,
and asked his blessing in their obscenities; at every moment
they constrained him to profane his former character by
blasphemous words, and, by dint of reiterating these impieties,
he contrived to shake off their attacks. At a subsequent
period, he became the public-house keeper at the Bagne, and was
always styled _monseigneur,_ but he was no longer asked for
absolution, for he would have answered with the grossest
blasphemies."
To complete the picture, we shall now transcribe Vaux's account of his
being on board a prison-ship, with what he witnessed there.--
"I had now a new scene of misery to contemplate; and, of all
the shocking scenes I had ever beheld, this was the most
distressing. There were confined in this floating dungeon,
nearly six hundred men, most of them double ironed; and the
reader may conceive the horrible effects arising from the
continual rattling of chains, the filth and vermin naturally
produced by such a crowd of miserable inhabitants, the oaths
and execrations constantly heard amongst them; and above all,
from the shocking necessity of associating and communicating
more or less with so depraved a set of beings. On arriving on
board, we were all immediately stripped, and washed in large
tubs of water; then, after putting on each a suit of coarse
slop-clothing, we were ironed and sent below; our own clothes
being taken from us, and detained, till we could sell, or
otherwise dispose of them, as no person is exempted from the
obligation to wear the ship-dress. On descending the hatchway,
no conception can be formed of the scene which presented
itself. I shall not attempt to describe it; but nothing short
of a descent to the infernal regions, can be at all worthy of a
comparison with it. I soon met with many of my old Botany Bay
acquaintances, who were all eager to offer me their friendship
and services; that is, with a view to rob me of what little I
had; for, in this place, there is no other motive or subject
for ingenuity. All former friendships and connexions are
dissolved; and a man here will rob his best benefactor, or even
messmate, of an article worth one half-penny. If I were to
attempt a full description of the miseries endured in these
ships, I could fill a volume; but I shall sum up all by
stating, that, besides robbery from each other, which is as
common as cursing and swearing, I witnessed, among the
prisoners themselves, during the twelvemonth I remained with
them, one deliberate murder, for which the perpetrator was
executed at Maidstone, and one suicide."
These horrible accounts must, we suppose, convince every one of the
necessity of keeping criminals separate from each other. In vain do you
hope by classification, labour, discipline, and moral instruction, to
reclaim men from their vices in prison, so long as you allow them to
associate freely together. No compromise will do, short of preventing
their conversing with each other. Whether solitary confinement, as
practised in Pennsylvania, or public labour in silence, as in New-York,
be the better mode of punishment, may admit of argument; but that either
is incomparably superior to promiscuous intercourse, is unquestionable.
And we do conjure magistrates and legislators in every part of the
United States, to rouse themselves from apathy on this momentous
subject. It is due to their country and to posterity, to strive to
remove an evil, which, like the Upas, extends its pestiferous influence
in every direction. Let them reflect that the object of punishing
criminals is to protect society. This object may be promoted by the
reformation of the transgressor; but if he is placed in a situation
where contagion is inevitable, the punishment, however severe, is not
conducive to that result. A severe punishment may, indeed, be
influential in deterring others from pursuing similar courses; but if
he, on obtaining his release, instead of being disposed to conform to
regularity of conduct, is only determined to practise more skilfully the
very crime that was the cause of his commitment; or if, from his moral
sense being deadened, in consequence of having heard others boast of
their villainous exploits, he is ready to engage in new and more
desperate attempts, the influence which his punishment may have had on
others, is in danger of being overbalanced. What, in such a case, does
society gain by the severity of the law? Is it not clear, that all the
expense, trouble, and loss of time attendant on the prosecution, are
almost fruitlessly bestowed? And here, it is impossible not to lament
the accumulated evils arising from the slow operation of law. A man is
charged, perhaps innocently, with petty larceny. The tribunal before
which he is to be arraigned is not in session; accordingly, unable to
procure bail, he is committed to jail, there to lie for three, or
perhaps six months, and all the time uncertain whether he is to be
acquitted or condemned. In the mean time, his character has deteriorated
while his enjoyment has been abridged. Can such a method be consistent
with civilization? Would it not be preferable, at the hazard of some
injustice, to revert to the summary process of barbarism? Can it be
right, that a magistrate shall be empowered to incarcerate a man for
months, while he is debarred from pronouncing definitively on his guilt
or innocence? There is an incongruity in all this, of which savages
might be ashamed. We trust that the time is approaching when a better
system will be established. Consolatory is it to consider, that in
various countries of Europe, as well as in America, the subject of
prison discipline, and of criminal jurisprudence, occupies the attention
of philanthropists and statesmen to a degree never before witnessed, as
from their simultaneous exertions much good may be anticipated. One of
the causes assigned by Dr. Robertson and other historians, for the
resuscitation of Europe from the intellectual degradation of the middle
ages, is the discovery at Amalfi, in the twelfth century, of the
Pandects of Justinian. Would it not then be irrational to conclude, that
the improvements now taking place in law, will not be followed by a
correspondent amelioration in society, since it is obvious that a much
higher degree of civilization is attainable by man, than any country has
yet exhibited?
To those who wish for information on the subject of prison discipline,
we recommend a perusal of the correspondence between Mr. R. Vaux of
Philadelphia, and Mr. Roscoe of Liverpool; also of the account of the
Auburn prison contained in Captain Hall's travels in the United States.
In reference to the latter work, it gives us satisfaction to say, that
the chapter referred to is unexceptionable. We wish we could say as much
for the rest.
We now proceed to furnish some specimens of the modes of life which
thieves and swindlers fall into, that our _honest_ readers may have an
opportunity of contrasting them with their own. In so doing, they will
doubtless congratulate themselves on the possession of moral principle,
satisfied that predatory propensities would have disturbed that calm
which belongs only to virtue. The following is Ward's account of his
first act of dishonesty.--
"Finding it impossible, as I thought, to withstand the
impetuosity of my inclinations and desires for freedom and
pleasure, I resolved, even against my better judgment, to leave
Mr. Pusey and seek my fortune. My hopes were raised to the
highest and most pleasing prospects of independence, ease, and
affluence; and having in my earliest life cultivated the
principle, that in all cases which require secrecy, we should
never divulge to a friend what we wish to conceal from an
enemy, I concealed my intentions from every body, determining
to embrace the first opportunity favourable for prosecuting my
first, long-cogitated, and, as I thought, exceedingly cunning
plan. Accordingly, during the autumn of 1806, on a Sabbath
afternoon, I determined to execute my scheme. Near home, there
was a store kept by Mr. Kinsey, in copartnership with Mr.
Pusey. I was on terms of the greatest harmony and friendship
with Mr. Kinsey; and, taking advantage of this confidence, I
had ascertained where his cash was kept. I entered the store,
and found no difficulty in obtaining every cent. All the family
being from home, I concluded to let the house take care of
itself, as, having done thus much, I must inevitably make my
departure. Having saddled Mr. Pusey's best horse, I mounted,
and, with saddle-bags and clothing, started from the house.
Being certain I should be pursued as soon as the robbery was
discovered, I thought it would be proper to take a course, on
which I could most advantageously travel by night as well as by
day. I accordingly took my way towards Lancaster; but about
four miles from home, I was seen by some person who knew me.
Now I was likely to be defeated in all my calculations. At
dark, I arrived at Witmer's Bridge, within two miles of
Lancaster, having ridden sixteen miles in two hours. I stopt
there only a few minutes to water and feed my horse, and,
remounting, I rode to near daylight next morning, when I
arrived at Anderson's Ferry on the Susquehanna. There I was
detained some time by the negligence of the boatmen; and I had
not proceeded more than half way across the river, when I heard
the horn blow as a signal for them to hurry back. Although I
trembled at the dread sound and alarm of the approach of my
pursuers, I vainly hoped it was impossible for them to be so
close after me. However, I determined now that I would give
them every trouble, let them take me or not. I did not stop for
breakfast, and as I had ridden the whole night, my horse became
fatigued and slow, so that about noon I was overtaken by
another horseman, whom I found to be my own cousin. He desired
me to stop immediately and return, he himself having been
suspected of the very act I had committed. As my horse was
tired down, I sprang with all my might, to secure myself by
taking to the woods. Here again my hopes were frustrated; for
my foot caught in the stirrup, and I was forced to yield to
superior strength. On our way back, he explained the cause of
his overtaking me. Having ridden his horse down, he had hired
fresh ones at regular distances. This mode of pursuit I had not
thought of; but, alas! I was told of it now, when it was too
late! Every measure that I had thought most fitly adapted for
my clearance, seemed now only to aggravate my folly. Shame for
my guilt filled my mind with the keenest remorse.
Mr. Pusey sent for a constable, and informed me I must go to
jail. Attended by the constable, and another as an assistant, I
started with a heavy heart. We travelled on foot, and very
slowly, so that when night came on, we had eight or nine miles
yet to go. The constable being negligent, permitted me at times
to be twenty or thirty yards from him; and of these
opportunities I designed to avail myself. Accordingly, on
reaching a place where the road made a short turn, I dashed
from them into the bushes, where I hid myself. After they had
passed me unnoticed, I cut a large club, and travelled my own
way a short distance, when I met a man who eyed me in a
scrutinizing manner. I immediately asked him, whether he had
seen a fellow running that way from the constables who were
taking him to jail? He answered that he had, and that he
believed I was the very fellow! 'Well,' said I, 'if you think
so, you are welcome to take me.' But fearing my large club, he
left me to pursue my journey. Travelling a little distance, I
came to a tavern, and looking through the window, saw the
constable and his assistant eating their supper. Their horses
resting under a shed, I was about to take one; but seeing a
barn at a short distance from me, I abandoned my intention. I
went into it, and retired to rest for the night. I arose next
morning after a refreshing sleep, and pursued my journey to my
father's, and arrived at Strasburgh about breakfast time. On
entering the tavern, I saw an elderly lady who had lived with
Mr. Pusey. She asked me how I was, and where I was going? I
told her to visit my parents. She answered, that she really
believed I was running away! Apprehensive of danger, I resumed
my journey towards my father's, and on the road I met him. From
my relation of the affair, he gave it as his opinion that it
would be imprudent in me to return again; for he had not the
least doubt that I should be arrested, and dealt with according
to my offence; so, after remaining at his house a short time, I
bent my course to Reading. I confidently believe, to this very
day, that if I had not escaped punishment for this crime, I
never should have committed another in my whole life."
Another of his escapes we shall here insert, premising that he had been
apprehended for stealing a horse.
"He brought with him a blacksmith, who had a load of chains
upon his shoulder. The smith put a collar round my neck, and
shackles on my ankles. Between these was a small chain for the
purpose of making me fast to any thing by a padlock. Mounted on
horseback, this chain was passed to the one attached to my
collar, and there locked; besides this I was hand-cuffed. Thus
equipped, we repaired towards Georgia, through a country mostly
inhabited by Indians. On arriving within two days' journey of
home, we took lodging at a public house, the first we had seen.
Dismounting, my chain was in part wrapped round one of my legs,
and the others around my neck. In this situation we took supper
with the family, and sat a considerable time after the table
was removed. As it was determined we should remain here for the
night, which was dark and rainy, I had hopes that I could some
way or other make my escape. Having called to a servant to
bring me a basin of water to wash my feet, I took care to wind
the chain closely around my leg. I then asked her to open the
front door for me, as though I intended only to throw out the
dirty water; this I did, and finding there were no fears of my
going out, I walked a few times across the floor. This gave me
a chance to put on my hat unnoticed, when, taking the advantage
of a minute, I dashed out and jumped the yard fence; but in so
doing, I lost my hat. Having no time to lose, I made a straight
course from the house. I soon heard them all in confusion, and
saw some of them out of doors with a light. The landlord having
a large dog, they brought him in pursuit of me. He took my
track, and had nigh taken me when I just reached a creek, into
the waters of which I waded some distance, turning with the
stream from the place I entered at. Here I stood, leg deep, for
some time, hearing all their conclusions respecting me.
Thinking I had crossed there, they gave me up, and returned to
the house again. I immediately made my retreat from a place
surrounding and threatening me with so many dangers. After
running and walking about four miles, fatigued and lost, I lay
down and slept till morning. I then steered my course across
the country, avoiding houses and settlements, hoping to see
some slaves in the fields to help me to take off my irons, but
could see none. Near noon, I came in sight of an old house
which I discovered was inhabited. I approached it at the side
where there was no window. I went to a wagon, and taking from
it an iron bolt and a linchpin, I made to the woods, where,
with much difficulty, I succeeded in extricating myself from my
collar and chains. I placed them in a pile at the root of a
large tree, near which I lay down and slept till evening, being
afraid to travel in the day-time. At dark I arose, and made my
way towards South Carolina, walking the whole night, and by
morning was thirty miles from where I started. My greatest
difficulty was having no hat. Coming, however, to a river, I
saw a bridge that crossed it a little below me. I went on it,
and stood leaning over its wall, till I saw a traveller coming
the other way. As soon as he approached me, I told him, with
much concern, that I had met with bad luck; for I had just been
looking over the wall when my hat fell off, and went rapidly
down the stream, the sides of which were so dangerous I could
not possibly get it again:--would he be so kind as to tell me
where I could buy another? He told me he would conduct me to a
store; I went with him and purchased one."
The life of a thief is one of perpetual anxiety, yet with many it
becomes a sort of passion. The earnings of honest industry, even when
sufficient to keep them in comfort, are not sufficient to keep them
satisfied. The recollection of dangers escaped, the chance of similar
fortune again, the prurience of activity,--all urge to a renewal of
their lawless pursuits; and as a thoroughbred sportsman despises the
practice of catching game by snares, deeming it unworthy of a skilful
marksman, so, we suspect, do thieves regard the reward of industry, when
compared with the booty of a dangerous encounter. In Vaux's Memoirs we
find much to lead us to this conclusion. Several times was he well
settled in the way of obtaining, not only an honest livelihood, but of
participating in elegancies, luxuries, and agreeable society. Still, as
if impelled by destiny, he continually risked the loss of all, to
gratify his bad propensity. Ward, on the contrary, had been perpetually
unfortunate in realizing his visionary hopes; he was entreated by his
wife to forsake his evil courses; but it was all in vain. "Resorting
occasionally," he says, "to the company of some adepts in crime, _it
seemed to afford me pleasure_." And in the narratives of the other two,
we find evident delight manifested at the success of a hazardous,
fraudulent undertaking, while the guilt of the action, and the pain and
misery it may have occasioned, are overlooked or lightly regarded, just
as a military hero, exulting in a victory, laments the loss of neither
friends nor foes. Human happiness, in truth, is connected in the minds
of different persons with the most opposite deeds and qualities.
Diogenes in his tub, and Alexander at the head of an army, was each
pursuing his gratification; and who shall decide which was the more
successful? Hume, in one of his Essays, remarks, that there is no
question that a boarding-school miss has often experienced as exquisite
delight on finding herself the idol of a ball-room, as an orator when
receiving the rapturous applauses of a delighted audience; and Colley
Gibber says, that on hearing an old actor express admiration at one of
his early performances on the stage, he felt so proud of the
commendation, that he doubted whether "Alexander himself, or Charles
XII., when at the head of their first victorious armies, could feel a
greater transport in their bosoms." After reading this, some may perhaps
think that Pope's epigram on Cibber[14] was not unmerited; but when they
consider that thieves feel a similar exultation, they may rather be
inclined to pity poor human nature. In exemplification of what we have
advanced, we request attention to the following extract from Vaux. Some
of his acquaintances in Newgate had informed him that Mr. Bilger, a
jeweller and goldsmith, was a _good flat_.
"About 5 o'clock in the evening, I entered his shop, dressed in
the most elegant style, having a valuable gold watch and
appendages, a gold eye-glass, &c. I had posted my old friend
and aid-de-camp, Bromley, at the door, in order to be in
readiness to act as circumstances might require, and
particularly to watch the motions of Mr. Bilger and his
assistants on my quitting the premises. On my entrance, Mrs.
Bilger issued from a back parlour behind the shop, and politely
inquiring my business, I told her I wished to see Mr. Bilger;
she immediately rang a bell, which brought down her husband
from the upper apartments. He saluted me with a low bow, and
handed me a seat. I was glad to find no other person in the
shop, Mrs. Bilger having again retired. I now assumed the air
of a Bond-street lounger, and informed Mr. Bilger, that I had
been recommended by a gentleman of my acquaintance to deal with
him, having occasion for a very elegant diamond ring, and
requested to see his assortment. Mr. Bilger expressed his
concern that he happened not to have a single article of that
description by him, but if I could without inconvenience call
again, he would undertake in one hour to procure me a selection
from his working-jeweller, to whom he would immediately
despatch a messenger. I affected to feel somewhat disappointed;
but, looking at my watch, after a moment's reflection, I said,
'Well, Mr. Bilger, I have an appointment at the Cannon
coffee-house, which requires my attendance, and if you will,
without fail, have the articles ready, I may probably look in a
little after six.' This he promised faithfully to do, declaring
how much he felt obliged by my condescension; and I sauntered
out of the shop, Mr. Bilger attending me in the most obsequious
manner to the outer door. After walking a short distance,
Bromley tapped me on the shoulder, and inquired what conduct I
meant next to pursue; for he had viewed my proceedings through
a glass-door in the shop, and saw that I had not executed my
grand design. I related to Bromley the result of my
conversation with Mr. Bilger, and added that I meant to retire
to the nearest public-house, where we could enjoy a pipe and a
glass of negus, until the expiration of the hour to which I had
limited myself. We accordingly regaled ourselves at a very snug
house, nearly opposite Bilger's, until about half after six,
when I again repaired to the scene of action, leaving Bromley,
as at first, posted at the door. Mr. Bilger received me with
increased respect, and producing a small card box, expressed
his sorrow that his workman had only been enabled to send three
rings for my inspection, but that if they were not to my taste,
he should feel honoured and obliged in taking my directions for
having one made, and flattered himself he should execute the
order to my satisfaction. I proceeded to examine the rings he
produced, one of which was marked sixteen guineas, another nine
guineas, and the third six guineas. They were all extremely
beautiful; but I affected to consider them as too paltry,
telling Mr. Bilger that I wanted one to present to a lady, and
that I wished to have a ring of greater value than the whole
three put together, as a few guineas would not be an object in
the price. Mr. Bilger's son, who was also his partner, now
joined us, and was desired by his father to sketch a draught in
pencil of some fancy rings, agreeable to the directions I
should give him. The three rings I had viewed, were now removed
to the end of the counter next the window, and I informed the
young man that I wished to have something of a cluster, a large
brilliant in the centre, surrounded with smaller ones; but
repeated my desire that no expense might be spared to render
the article strictly elegant, and worthy a lady's acceptance.
The son having sketched a design of several rings on a card, I
examined them with attention, and appeared in doubt which to
prefer, but desired to see some loose diamonds, in order to
form a better idea of the size, &c. of each ring described in
the drawing. Mr. Bilger, however, declared he had not any by
him. It is probable he spoke truth, or he might have lost such
numbers by showing them, as to deter him from exhibiting them
in future. Without having made up my mind on the subject, I now
requested to see some of his most fashionable brooches, or
shirt-pins. Mr. Bilger produced a show-glass, containing a
great variety of articles in pearl, but he had nothing of the
kind in diamonds. I took up two or three of the brooches, and
immediately _sunk_ a very handsome one, marked three guineas,
in my coat sleeve. I next purloined a beautiful clasp for a
lady's waist, consisting of stones set in gold, which had the
appearance and brilliancy of real diamonds, but marked only
four guineas. I should probably have gone still deeper, but at
this moment a lady coming in, desired to look at some
ear-rings, and the younger Mr. Bilger immediately quitted his
father to attend upon her at the other end of the shop. It
struck me that now was my time for a decisive stroke. The card
containing the diamond rings, procured from the maker, lying
very near the show-glass I was viewing, and many small articles
irregularly placed round about them, the candles not throwing
much light on that particular spot, and Mr. Bilger's attention
being divided between myself and the lady, to whom he
frequently addressed himself, I suddenly took the three rings
from the card, and committed them to my sleeve, to join the
brooch and lady's clasp; but had them so situated, that I
could, in a moment, have released and replaced them on the
counter, had an inquiry been made for them. I then looked at my
watch, and observing that I was going to the theatre, told Mr.
Bilger that I would not trouble him any further, as the
articles before me were too tawdry and common to please me, but
that I would put the card of draughts in my pocket-book, and if
I did not meet with a ring of the kind I wanted, before Monday
or Tuesday, I would certainly call again, and give him final
directions. I was then drawing on my gloves, being anxious to
quit the shop while I was well; but Mr. Bilger, who seemed
delighted with the prospect of my custom, begged so earnestly
that I would allow him to show me his brilliant assortment of
gold watches, that I could not refuse to gratify him, though I
certainly incurred a great risk by my compliance. I therefore
answered,--'Really, Mr. Bilger, I am loath to give you that
unnecessary trouble, as I have, you may perceive, a very good
watch already, in point of performance; though it cost me a
mere trifle, only twenty guineas; but it answers my purpose as
well as a more valuable one. However, as I may probably, before
long, want an elegant watch for a lady, I dont care if I just
run my eye over them.' Mr. Bilger replied, that the greater
part of his stock were fancy watches, adapted for ladies, and
he defied all London united, to exhibit a finer collection. He
then took from his window a show-glass, containing about thirty
most beautiful watches, some ornamented with pearls or
diamonds, others elegantly enamelled, or chased in the most
delicate style. They were of various prices, from thirty to one
hundred guineas, and the old gentleman, rubbing his hands with
an air of rapture, exclaimed,--'There they are, sir,--a most
fashionable assortment of goods; allow me to recommend them;
they're all a-going, sir--all a-going.' I smiled inwardly at
the latter part of this speech, and thought to myself,--'I wish
they were going, with all my heart, along with the diamond
rings.' I answered, they were certainly very handsome, but I
would defer a minute inspection of them till my next visit,
when I should have more time to spare. These watches were
ranged in exact order, in five parallel lines, and between each
watch was placed a gold seal or other trinket appertaining to a
lady's watch. It was no easy matter, therefore, to take away a
single article without its being instantly missed, unless the
economy of the whole had been previously deranged. I contrived,
however, to displace a few of the trinkets, on pretence of
admiring them, and ventured to secrete one very rich gold seal,
marked six guineas. I then declared I could stay no longer, as
I had appointed to meet a party at the theatre; but that I
would certainly call again in a few days, and lay out some
money in return for the trouble I had given. Mr. Bilger
expressed his thanks in the most respectful terms, and waited
upon me to the door, where he took leave of me with a low
_conge, a la mode de France_, of which country he was a native.
I now put the best foot foremost, and having gained a remote
street, turned my head, and perceived Bromley at my heels, who
seized my hand, congratulating me on my success, and
complimenting me on the address I had shown in this exploit;
for he had witnessed all that passed, and knew that I had
succeeded in my object, by the manner in which I quitted the
shop. He informed me that Mr. Bilger had returned to his
counter, and without attending to the arrangement of the
articles thereon, had joined his son, who was still waiting
upon the lady, and that he, Bromley, had finally left them both
engaged with her."
Who can fail to perceive, in the above narrative, the satisfaction of
the author in displaying his adroitness? His vanity seems to be as much
gratified, as if he had been relating some performance meriting
approbation. The feeling of shame is altogether alien to him. And thus,
by Vidocq's account, it always is with thieves, they glorying as much in
detailing their successful exploits, as if no ignominy could attach to
them. Amongst his confederates too, and all of the same class, his
reputation is proportionate to his daring and skill. Of this, take the
following instance related by Vidocq.--
"The incredible effrontery of Beaumont, almost surpasses
belief. Escaped from the Bagne at Rochefort, where he was
sentenced to pass twelve years of his life, he came to Paris,
and scarcely had he arrived there, where he had already
practised, when, by way of getting his hand in, he committed
several trifling robberies, and when, by these preliminary
steps, he had proceeded to exploits more worthy of his ancient
renown, he conceived the project of stealing a treasure. No
one will imagine that this was in the Central Office, now the
Prefecture of Police!! It was already pretty difficult to
procure impressions of the keys, but he achieved the first
difficulty, and soon had in his possession all the means of
effecting an opening; but to open was nothing; it was necessary
to open without being perceived, to introduce himself without
fear of being disturbed, to work without witnesses, and go out
again freely. Beaumont, who had calculated all the difficulties
that opposed him, was not dismayed. He had remarked that the
private room of the chief officer, M. Henry, was nigh to the
spot where he proposed to effect his entrance; he espied the
propitious moment, and wished sincerely that some circumstance
would call away so dangerous a neighbour for some time, and
chance was subservient to his wishes. One morning, M. Henry was
obliged to go out. Beaumont, sure that he would not return that
day, ran to his house, put on a black coat, and in that
costume, which, in those days, always announced a magistrate,
or public functionary, presents himself at the entrance of the
Central Office. The officer to whom he addressed himself,
supposed of course that he was at least a commissary. On the
invitation of Beaumont, he gave him a soldier, whom he placed
as sentinel at the entrance to the narrow passage which leads
to the depot, and commanded not to allow any person to pass. No
better expedient could be found for preventing surprise. Thus
Beaumont, in the midst of a crowd of valuable objects, could,
at his leisure, and in perfect security, choose what best
pleased him; watches, jewels, diamonds, precious stones, &c. He
chose those which he deemed most valuable, most portable, and
as soon as he had made his selection, he dismissed the sentinel
and disappeared.
"This robbery could not be long concealed, and the following
day was discovered. Had thunder fallen on the police, they
would have been less astonished than at this event. To
penetrate to the very sanctuary! The holy of holies! The fact
appeared so very extraordinary, that it was doubted. Yet it was
evident that a robbery had taken place, and to whom was it to
be attributed? All the suspicions fell on the clerks, sometimes
on one, sometimes on another, when Beaumont, betrayed by a
friend, was apprehended, and sentenced a second time. The
robbery he had committed might be estimated at some hundred
thousand francs, the greater part of which were found on him.
"Beaumont enjoyed amongst his confraternity a colossal
reputation; and even now, when a rogue boasts of his lofty
exploits,--'Hold your tongue,' they say, 'you are not worthy to
untie the shoe-strings of Beaumont!' In effect, to have robbed
the police was the height of address."
We now proceed to make the reader acquainted with the habits and
exertions of police-officers, who perform exploits equal in craft and
danger to those of thieves. In order to detect the latter, they often
resort to the vilest places, and associate with the vilest of mankind;
assume various characters and occupations; and sometimes,
perhaps,--stimulated by the hope of reward,--lead others to commit
crimes in order to entrap them. Vidocq, however, professes in every case
to have acted without any desire to entice. He says that he himself
never proposed any scheme of robbery; but took care to concur in such as
were proposed by others. This declaration must, we suppose, be received
with some qualification, as without an occasional suggestion, he would
probably have been suspected in his designs. Be that as it may, he was
eminently successful in securing villains; for having practised villainy
himself, he knew their ways and devices, thus verifying the propriety of
the maxim,--"Set a thief to catch a thief." Some of the convicts at
Botany Bay make the best police-officers. Of this we have an instance
in Barrington, the famous London pick-pocket, who rendered such
essential services to the colony, that in his old age he was pensioned
by the government. By what means Vidocq, after all his devotion, came to
lose his office, he has not mentioned; an omission rather singular,
which lays his character open to suspicion, especially as he has given
the circumstances that first led him to offer himself to the police.
These circumstances it may be proper to glance at, as they exhibit a
view of the dangers attendant on a lawless course of life.
"At this period, it seemed as if the whole world was leagued
against me; I was compelled to draw my purse-strings at every
moment, and for whom? For creatures who, looking on my
liberality as compulsory, were prepared to betray me as soon as
I ceased to be a certain source of reliance. When I went home
from my wife's, I had still another proof of the wretchedness
affixed to the state of a fugitive galley-slave. Annette and my
mother were in tears. During my absence, two drunken men had
asked for me, and on being told that I was from home, they had
broke forth in oaths and threats, which left me no longer in
doubt of the perfidy of their intentions. By the description
which Annette gave me of these two individuals, I easily
recognised Blondy, and his comrade, Deluc. I had no trouble in
guessing their names; and besides, they had left an address,
with a formal injunction to send them forty francs, which was
more than enough to disclose to me who they were, as there were
not in Paris any other persons who could send me such an
intimation. I was obedient, very obedient; only in paying my
contribution to these two scoundrels, I could not help letting
them know how inconsiderately they had behaved. 'Consider what
a step you have taken,' said I to them; 'they know nothing at
my house, and you have told them all. My wife, who carries on
the concern in her name, will perhaps turn me out, and then I
must be reduced to the lowest ebb of misery.'--'Oh! you can
come and rob with us,' answered the two rascals. I endeavoured
to convince them, how much better it was to owe an existence to
honest toil, than to be in incessant fears from the police,
which, sooner or later, catches all malefactors in its nets. I
added, that one crime generally leads to another; that he would
risk his neck who ran straight towards the guillotine; and the
termination of my discourse was, that they would do well to
renounce the dangerous career on which they had entered. 'Not
so bad!' cried Blondy, when I had finished my lecture, 'not so
bad.' 'But can you, in the mean time, point out to us any
apartment that we can ransack? We are, you see, like Harlequin,
and have more need of cash than advice;' and they left me,
laughing deridingly at me. I called them back, to profess my
attachment to them, and begged them not to call again at my
house. 'If that is all,' said Deluc, 'we will keep from
that.'--'Oh yes, we'll keep away,' added Blondy, 'since that is
unpleasant to your mistress.' But the latter did not stay away
long: the very next day, at night-fall, he presented himself at
my ware-house, and asked to speak to me privately. I took him
into my own room. 'We are alone?' said he to me, looking round
at the room in which we were; and when he was assured that he
had no witnesses, he drew from his pocket eleven silver forks,
and two gold watches, which he placed on a stand. 'Four hundred
francs for this would not be too much--the silver plate and the
gold watches.--Come, tip us the needful.'--'Four hundred
francs!' said I, alarmed at so abrupt a total,--'I have not so
much money.'--'Never mind; go and sell the goods.'--'But if it
should be known!'--'That's your affair; I want the ready; or if
you like it better, I'll send you customers from the
police-office;--you know what a word would do;--come,
come,--the cash, the chink, and no gammon.' I understood the
scoundrel but too well: I saw myself denounced, dragged from
the state in which I had installed myself, and led back to the
Bagne. I counted out the four hundred francs."
Considering the danger in which Vidocq was placed, his offer to serve
the police was judicious. What could be more trying than to lie at the
mercy of rascals? Obliged to be continually supplying them with
hush-money, and yet always afraid of being betrayed by them, he was in
perpetual torment; but, his services once accepted by the police, all
this was at an end. He must have felt himself like a man escaped from a
wreck, and from the horrors of contending elements; like Ulysses, to
whom we have before compared him, when, having accepted the mantle
offered him by Leucothea, he reached the friendly shore of Pheacia. Like
him, too, his toils were to be renewed. He had enemies to cope with and
subdue, and who required to be encountered with as much subtlety and
resolution as Penelope's suitors. The following is his account of his
first capture.--
"One morning I was hastily summoned to attend the chief of the
division. The matter in hand was to discover a man named
Watrin, accused of having fabricated and put in circulation
false money and bank-notes. The inspectors of the police had
already arrested Watrin, but, according to custom, had allowed
him to escape. M. Henry gave me every direction which he deemed
likely to assist me in the search after him; but,
unfortunately, he had only gleaned a few simple particulars of
his usual habits and customary haunts. Every place he was known
to frequent was freely pointed out to me; but it was not very
likely he would be found in those resorts, which prudence would
call upon him carefully to avoid: there remained, therefore,
only a chance of reaching him by some bye-path. When I learnt
that he had left his effects in a furnished house, where he
once lodged, on the boulevard of Mont Parnasse, I took it for
granted, that, sooner or later, he would go there in search of
his property; or, at least, that he would send some person to
fetch it from thence; consequently I directed all my vigilance
to this spot; and after having reconnoitred the house, I lay in
ambush in its vicinity, night and day, in order to keep a
watchful eye upon all comers and goers. This went on for nearly
a week, when, weary of not observing any thing, I determined
upon engaging the master of the house in my interest, and to
hire an apartment of him, where I accordingly established
myself with Annette, certain that my presence could give rise
to no suspicion. I had occupied this post for about fifteen
days, when, one evening, at eleven o'clock, I was informed that
Watrin had just come, accompanied by another person. Owing to a
slight indisposition, I had retired to bed earlier than usual;
however, at this news I rose hastily, and descended the
staircase by four stairs at a time; but whatever diligence I
might use, I was only just in time to catch Watrin's companion;
him I had no right to detain, but I made myself sure that I
might, by intimidation, obtain further particulars from him. I
therefore seized him, threatened him, and soon drew from him a
confession, that he was a shoemaker, and that Watrin lived with
him, No. 4, _Rue des Mauvais Garcons_. This was all I wanted to
know: I had only time to slip an old great coat over my shirt,
and, without stopping to put on more garments, I hurried on to
the place thus pointed out to me. I reached the house the very
instant that some person was quitting it: persuaded that it was
Watrin, I attempted to seize him; he escaped from me, and I
darted after him up a staircase; but at the moment of grasping
him, a violent blow, which struck my chest, drove me down
twenty stairs. I sprung forward again, and that so quickly,
that, to escape from my pursuit, he was compelled to return
into the house through a sash-window. I then knocked loudly at
the door, summoning him to open it without delay. This he
refused to do. I then desired Annette, who had followed me, to
go in search of the guard; and, whilst she was preparing to
obey me, I counterfeited the noise of a man descending the
stairs. Watrin, deceived by this feint, was anxious to satisfy
himself whether I had actually gone, and softly put his head
out of the window, to observe if all was safe. This was exactly
what I wanted. I made a vigorous dart forwards, and seized him
by the hair of his head: he grasped me in the same manner, and
a desperate struggle took place: jammed against the
partition-wall which separated us, he opposed me with a
determined resistance. Nevertheless, I felt that he was growing
weaker; I collected all my strength for a last effort; I
strained every nerve, and drew him nearly out of the window
through which we were struggling; one more trial, and the
victory was mine; but in the earnestness of my grasp, we both
rolled on the passage floor, on to which I had pulled him. To
rise, snatch from his hands the shoemaker's cutting knife with
which he had armed himself, to bind him and lead him out of the
house, was the work of an instant. Accompanied only by Annette,
I conducted him to the prefecture, where I received the
congratulations, first of M. Henry, and afterwards those of the
prefect of police, who bestowed on me a pecuniary recompense."
The next account we shall transcribe, is one of his freeing the
community of a receiver of stolen goods. This man had been long watched
by the police; but all attempts to convict him had failed. Accordingly
M. Henry was desirous that Vidocq should use his endeavours, which he
readily did as follows.
"Posted near the house of the suspected dealer in stolen
property, I watched for his going out; and, following him when
he had gone a few steps down the street, addressed him by a
different name to his own. He assured me I was mistaken; I
protested to the contrary; he insisted upon it I was deceived;
and I affected to be equally satisfied of his identity,
declaring my perfect recognition of his person, as that of a
man who, for some time, had been sought after by the police
throughout Paris and its environs. 'You are grossly mistaken,'
replied he warmly; 'my name is so and so, and I live in such a
street.' 'Come, come, friend,' said I, 'excuses are useless; I
know you too well to part with you so easily.' 'This is too
much,' cried he, 'but, at the next police station, I shall
probably be able to meet with those who can convince you, that
I know my own name better than you seem to do.' This was
exactly the point at which I wished to arrive. 'Agreed,' said
I, and we bent our steps to the neighbouring guard-house. We
entered, and I requested him to show me his papers; he had none
about him. I then insisted upon his being searched, and, on his
person, were found three watches, and twenty-five double
Napoleons, which I caused to be laid aside till he should be
examined before a magistrate. These things had been wrapped in
a handkerchief, which I contrived to secure, and, after having
disguised myself as a messenger, I hastened to the house of
this receiver of stolen goods, and demanded to speak with his
wife. She, of course, had no idea of my business, or knowledge
of my person, and seeing several persons besides herself
present, I signified to her, that my business being of a
private nature, it was important that I should speak to her
alone; and in token of my claims to her confidence, produced
the handkerchief, and inquired whether she recognised it?
Although still ignorant of the cause of my visit, her
countenance became troubled, and her whole person was much
agitated, as she begged me to let her hear my business. 'I am
concerned,' replied I, 'to be the bearer of unpleasant news;
but the fact is, your husband has just been arrested, every
thing found on his person has been seized, and, from some words
which he happened to overhear, he suspects he has been
betrayed; he therefore wishes you to remove out of the house
certain things, you are aware would be dangerous to his safety
if found on the premises. If you please, I will lend you a
helping hand, but I must forewarn you that you have not one
moment to lose.' The information was of the first importance.
The sight of the handkerchief, and the description of the
objects it had served to envelope, removed from her mind every
doubt as to the truth of the message I had brought her; and she
easily fell into the snare I had laid to entrap her. She
thanked me for the trouble I had taken, and begged I would go
and engage three hackney coaches, and return to her with as
little delay as possible. I left the house to execute my
commission, but on the road, I stopped to give one of my people
instructions to keep the coaches in sight, and to seize them,
with their contents, directly I should give the signal. The
vehicles drew up to the door, and, upon re-entering the house,
I found things in a high state of preparation for removing. The
floor was strewed with articles of every description;
time-pieces, candelabra, Etruscan vases, cloths, cachemires,
linen, muslin, &c. All these things had been taken from a
closet, the entrance to which was cleverly concealed by a large
press, so skilfully contrived, that the most practised eye
could not have discovered the deception. I assisted in the
removal, and, when it was completed, the press having been
carefully replaced, the woman begged of me to accompany her,
which I did; and no sooner was she in one of the coaches, ready
to start, than I suddenly pulled up the window, and, at this
previously concerted signal, we were immediately surrounded by
the police. The husband and wife were tried at the assizes,
and, as may be easily conceived, were overwhelmed beneath the
weight of an accusation, in support of which there existed a
formidable mass of convicting testimony."
We must extract one more account from Vidocq, to show the desperate
hazards which police-officers sometimes run, in capturing criminals;
hazards which, when surmounted, they naturally exult in. Information had
been received at the police-office, that one Fossard, who had several
times effected escapes from jail, was living with his mistress in a
certain district of Paris; that the windows of his apartment had yellow
curtains; and that a hump-backed seamstress lived in the same house.
This was very indefinite; for neither the street, nor the number of the
house was known, and curtains might be changed. However, Vidocq was not
deterred from undertaking a search; accordingly, disguised as an
old-fashioned gentleman, he began the enterprise. He went from street to
street; ascended staircase after staircase till his limbs ached; called
at the doors of scores of seamstresses, but no hump-backed damsel
appeared;--all were as straight as arrows! Not more ardently, he says,
did Don Quixote pant for Dulcinea, than he for Humpina. Days rolled on
unsuccessfully: he began to despair. At length he resolved to change his
measures, and, instead of clambering up flights of steps, to station
himself near the stand of a gossiping milk-woman, and watch her
customers. Numbers of women came to buy their milk in the morning, but
not one adorned with the delectable hump. At length, in the evening, he
caught sight of one whose back had the desired ornament. He followed her
from the milk-woman's to the grocer's, from the grocer's to the
tripe-shop, and, finally, to her home; but when he got there, no yellow
curtains were to be seen. What was to be done? He resolved to speak to
her at all events; so, feigning himself to be a deserted husband, he
inquired of her whether Fossard and his mistress were occupants of any
part of the house? Her reply was disheartening:--they had quitted their
lodgings, and were gone, she knew not where. Still, the case did not
appear hopeless. He had employed a porter to carry his goods, and might
not that porter be found? A new search was requisite, and it terminated
successfully, by his tracing Fossard to a vintner's. Considering, then,
that it was advisable to have the vintner on his side, he called on him
in his usual dress, and informed him, from the police, that his lodgers
meditated robbing him. He and his wife were in consternation at the
intelligence; but Vidocq having pacified them, arranged his plans. The
grand difficulty to be overcome, arose from Fossard's always carrying a
loaded pistol in his hand, and which, they knew from his character, he
would assuredly discharge at the first man that laid hands on him. Here
Vidocq must tell his own tale, we premising, that Fossard's mistress
styled herself Madame Hazard.--
"At an early hour, on the 29th of December, I betook myself to
my station. It was desperately cold; the watch was a protracted
one, and the more painful as we had no fire. Motionless,
however, and my eyes fixed against a small hole in the shutter,
I kept my post. At last, about three o'clock, he went out. I
followed gladly, and recognised him; for, up to that period, I
had my doubts. Certain now of his identity, I wished, at that
moment, to put into execution the order for his apprehension;
but the officer who was with me, said he saw the terrible
pistol. That I might authenticate the fact, I walked quickly
and passed Fossard, and then returning, saw clearly that the
agent was right. To attempt to arrest him would have been
useless, and I resolved to defer it. On the 31st of December,
at eleven o'clock, when all my batteries were charged and my
plans perfect, Fossard returned, and, without distrust,
ascended the staircase shaking with cold; and, twenty minutes
after, the disappearance of the light indicated that he was in
bed. The moment had now arrived. The commissary and gend'armes,
summoned by me, were waiting at the nearest guard-house until I
should call them, and then enter quietly. We deliberated on the
most effectual mode of seizing Fossard, without running the
risk of being killed or wounded; for they were persuaded, that,
unless surprised, this robber would defend himself desperately.
My first thought was, to do nothing till daybreak, as I had
been told that Fossard's companion went down very early to get
the milk; we should then seize her, and, after having taken the
key from her, we should enter the room of her lover; but might
it not happen that, contrary to his usual custom, he might go
out first? This reflection led me to adopt another expedient.
The vintner's wife, in whose favour, as I was told, M. Hazard
was much prepossessed, had one of her nephews at her house, a
lad about ten years of age, intelligent beyond his years, and
the more desirous of getting money, as he was a Norman. I
promised him a reward, on condition that, under pretence of his
aunt's being taken suddenly ill, he should go and beg Madame
Hazard to give him some Eau de Cologne. I desired the little
chap to assume the most piteous tone he could; and was so well
satisfied with the specimen he gave me, that I began to
distribute the parts to my performers. The denouement was near
at hand. I made all my party take off their shoes, doing the
same myself, that we might not be heard whilst going up stairs.
The little snivelling pilot was in his shirt; he rang the
bell;--no one answered: again he rang;--'Who's there,' was
heard.--'It is I Madame Hazard; it is Louis: my poor aunt is
very bad, and begs you will be so very obliging as to give her
a little Eau de Cologne.--Oh! she is dying!--I have got a
light.' The door was opened; and scarcely had Madame Hazard
presented herself, when two powerful gend'armes seized on her,
and fastened a napkin over her mouth to prevent her crying out.
At the same instant, with more rapidity than the lion when
darting on his prey, I threw myself upon Fossard; who,
stupified by what was doing, and already fast bound and
confined in his bed, was my prisoner before he could make a
single movement, or utter a single word. So great was his
amazement, that it was nearly an hour before he could
articulate even a few words. When a light was brought, and he
saw my black face and garb of a coalman, he experienced such an
increase of terror, that I really believe he imagined himself
in the devil's clutches. On coming to himself, he thought of
his arms,--his pistols and dagger,--which were upon the table;
and, turning his eyes towards them, he made a struggle, but
that was all; for, reduced to the impossibility of doing any
mischief, he was passive."
From the above extracts, a tolerably correct idea may be formed of
thieves and police-officers;--men who co-exist in every civilized
community, but who lead lives requiring the cunning and personal bravery
of savages. The thief exults in the success of a daring exploit, and
prides himself on his skill in avoiding the meshes of magistrates and
lawyers: the police-officer is no less vain of his skill, in detecting
and dragging to justice the man who boasts of his superiority in
artifice, while he almost defies the arm of vengeance. In order that the
number of such characters may be reduced, all reasonable attempts should
be made to reclaim juvenile delinquents; prisons should be not only
places of terror, but places where the spread of corruption is
effectually prevented, by the prohibition of intercourse amongst the
inmates; and, above all, education, founded on a moral and religious
basis, should be extended throughout society. Facts bear us out in
asserting, that crimes of the greatest magnitude, such as murder,
burglary, and arson, considerably diminish with the spread of
civilization, which operates, like the circle formed by the pebble
thrown into water, in extending its influence in proportion to its
circumference. As philanthropists in many different countries are
labouring simultaneously to promote this great end, we are justified in
considering the present age as the harbinger of a better; and we may
rejoice in the anticipation. The progressive improvement of the human
family is a delightful subject for meditation, giving us, perhaps, a
prelibation of the joys of futurity, and animating us to contribute our
aid, trifling as it may be, to the melioration of the condition of our
country.
Before closing this article, we can scarcely forbear remarking, that the
translator of Vidocq has used various words which have been considered
by English writers as Americanisms; such as _to progress_, _to
approbate_, and _lengthy_; also _chicken-fighting_ for cock-fighting.
Whether he is an American or an Englishman we know not; but certain we
are, that nearly every one of the alleged peculiarities in language,
adopted by Americans, may be found either in old English authors, or are
known to have been used in one or other of the provincial brogues of
England. Captain Basil Hall notices the substitution of _fall_ for
Autumn; but he might have known, that though nearly obsolete in England,
it is still current in the west of England amongst the vulgar.[15] Even
the much laughed at _I guess_, is in vogue in Lancashire; so that with
the exception of _to tote_ for to carry, which, as Dr. Webster remarks,
was introduced by the negroes into the southern states, we do not know
whether a single word or expression supposed to be peculiar to the
United States, may be found, which cannot be traced to Great Britain or
Ireland. In the volume on Insect Architecture, issued by the Society for
the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, we notice the word _sparse,_ which,
till then, we had supposed to be of American formation; and a late
writer in Blackwood's Magazine says, that the New-England word
_tarnation_, is current in the county of Suffolk in old England. The
probability of its being introduced into Massachusetts from that part of
England, is confirmed by the great number of towns in Massachusetts
bearing the same names as towns in the counties of Suffolk and Essex,
and by the correspondence remarked by travellers between the dialects of
the two districts. Every one may have observed, that the
New-Englanders,--many even of the educated amongst them,--pronounce the
participle _been_, as if written _ben_; and this peculiarity, we are
assured, is prevalent in the part of England just mentioned.