Some years ago, in the city of Philadelphia, there lived an ingenious
locksmith, named Amos Sparks. Skilled as a maker and repairer of
locks, he was particularly celebrated for his dexterity in opening
them, when it was necessary to do so in cases of emergency. Like many
men of talent in other departments, Amos Sparks was poor. Though a
very industrious and prudent man, with a small and frugal family, he
merely obtained a comfortable subsistence, but he never seemed to
accumulate property. Whether it was that he was not of the race of
money-makers, whose instinctive desire of accumulation forces them
to earn and hoard without a thought beyond the mere means of
acquisition--or whether the time occupied by the prosecution of new
inquiries into still undiscovered regions of his favourite pursuit,
and in conversation with those who came to inspect and admire the
fruits of his ingenuity, were the cause of his poverty, we cannot
undertake to determine--but perhaps various causes combined to keep
his finances low; and it was quite as notorious in the city that Amos
Sparks was a poor man, as that he was an ingenious mechanic. But his
business was sufficient for the supply of his wants and those of his
family, and so he studied and worked on, and was content.
It happened that, in the autumn of 18--, a merchant in the city,
whose business was extensive, and who had been bustling about the
quay and on board his vessels all the morning, returned to his
counting-house to lodge several thousand dollars in the Philadelphia
bank, to renew some paper falling due that day; when, to his
surprise, he had either lost or mislaid the key of his iron chest.
After diligent search, with no success, he was led to conclude that,
in drawing out his handkerchief, he had dropped the key in the
street, or perhaps into the dock What was to be done? It was one
o'clock--the bank closed at three, and there was no time to advertise
the key, or to muster so large a sum of money as that required. In
his perplexity the merchant thought of the poor locksmith. He had
often heard of Amos Sparks; the case seemed one particularly adapted
to a trial of his powers, and being a desperate one, if he could not
furnish a remedy, where else were there reasonable expectations of
succour? A clerk was hurried off for Amos, and having explained the
difficulty, speedily reappeared, followed by the locksmith with his
implements in his hand.
The job proved more difficult than had been anticipated, and, fearful
of losing credit by the delay, the merchant offered five dollars'
reward to Amos if he would open the chest in as many minutes. Amos
succeeded. The lock was picked, and the chest flew open. There the
merchant's treasures lay, but they were not yet in his possession. As
he enjoyed but a poor reputation for uprightness of dealing, Amos
could not trust to his promise of payment. Holding the lid in his
hand, he respectfully requested the sum which had been offered; and,
as he had expected, it was refused. A much less sum was meanly
proposed in its stead, on the plea that it was surely sufficient for
a few minutes' work. Amos was indignant and inexorable. The merchant
shuffled and fumed. In an instant down went the lid of the chest,
and, fastening by a spring, it was again locked as securely as
before.
The merchant looked aghast at Amos, and then darted a glance at the
clock: the hand pointed to within twenty minutes of three, and seemed
posting over the figures with the speed of light. What was to be
done? At first he tried to bully, but it would not do. Amos told him,
if he had sustained any injury, he might sue as soon as he pleased,
for that his time was too precious just now to be wasted in trifling
affairs; and, with a face of unruffled composure, he turned on his
heel and was leaving the office.
The merchant called him back--he had no alternative--his credit was
at stake--he was humbled by the necessity of the case; and handing
forth the five dollars, 'There, Sparks,' said he, 'take your money,
and let us have no more words.'
'I must have ten dollars now,' replied the locksmith. 'You would have
taken advantage of a poor man; and, besides opening your strong box
there, I have a lesson to offer which is well worth a trifling sum.
You would not only have deprived me of what had been fairly earned,
but have tempted me into a lawsuit which would have ruined my family.
You will never in future presume upon your wealth in your dealings
with the poor, without thinking of the locksmith, and those five
dollars may save you much sin and much repentance.'
This homily, besides being preached in a tone of calm determination,
which left no room to hope for any abatement, had exhausted another
minute or two of the time already so precious. The merchant hurriedly
counted out the ten dollars, which Amos deliberately inspected, to
see that they belonged to no insolvent bank, and then deposited them
in his pocket. Having thus made quite sure of his reward, he
dexterously opened the lock, and placed the merchant in possession of
his property, in time to save his credit at the bank.
About a month after this affair, the Philadelphia bank was robbed of
coin and notes to the amount of fifty thousand dollars. The bars of a
window had been cut, and the vault entered so ingeniously, that it
was evident the burglar had possessed, besides daring courage, a good
deal of mechanical skill. The police scoured the city and country
round about, but no clue to the discovery of the robbery could be
traced. The public mind was powerfully excited. Everybody who had
anything to lose, felt that daring and ingenious felons were abroad,
who might probably pay them a visit; all were therefore interested in
the discovery and the conviction of the perpetrator of so daring a
deed. Suspicions at length began to settle on Sparks; but yet his
poverty and known integrity seemed to give them the lie. The story of
the iron chest, which the merchant had hitherto been ashamed, and
Amos too forgiving, to tell--for the latter did not care to set the
town laughing at the man who had wronged him--now began to be told.
The merchant, influenced by a vindictive spirit, had whispered it to
the directors of the bank, with sundry shrugs and innuendoes; and of
course it soon spread far and wide, with all sorts of exaggerated
variations and additions. Amos thought for several days that some of
his neighbours looked and acted rather oddly, and he missed one or
two who used to drop in and chat almost every afternoon; but not
suspecting for a moment that there was any cause for altered
behaviour, these matters made but a slight impression on his mind.
In all such cases, the person most interested is the last to hear
disagreeable news; and the first hint that the locksmith got of the
universal suspicion was from the officer of the police, who came with
a party of constables to search his premises. Astonishment and grief
were the portion of Amos and his family for that day.
'Cheer up, my darlings,' said Amos, who was the first to recover the
sobriety of thought that usually characterised him--'cheer up--all
will yet he well; it is impossible that the unjust suspicion can long
hover about us. A life of honesty and fair-dealing will not be
without its reward. The real authors of this outrage will probably be
discovered soon, for a fraud so extensive will make all parties
vigilant; and if not, why, then, when our neighbours see us toiling
at our usual occupations, with no evidences of secret wealth or
lavish expenditure on our persons or at our board, and remember how
many years we have been so occupied and so attired, without a
suspicion of wrong-doing even in small matters attached to us, there
will be good-sense and good-feeling enough in the city to do us
justice.'
There was sound sense and much consolation in this reasoning: the
obvious probabilities of the case were in favour of the fulfilment of
the locksmith's expectations. But a scene of trial and excitement--of
prolonged agony and hope deferred--lay before him, the extent of
which it would have been difficult, if not impossible, for him then
to have foreseen. Toiled in the search, the directors of the bank
sent one of their body to negotiate with Amos--to offer him a large
sum of money, and a guarantee from further molestation, if he would
confess, restore the property, and give up his accomplices, if any
there were. It was in vain that he protested his innocence, and
avowed his abhorrence of the crime. The banker rallied him on his
assumed composure, and threatened him with consequences; until the
locksmith, who had been unaccustomed to dialogues founded on the
presumption that he was a villain, ordered his tormentor out of his
shop, with the spirit of a man who, though poor, was resolved to
preserve his self-respect, and protect the sanctity of his dwelling
from impertinent and insulting intrusion.
The banker retired, baffled, and threatening vengeance. A
consultation was held, and it was finally determined to arrest Sparks
and commit him to prison, in the hope that, by shutting him up, and
separating him from his family and accomplices, he would be less upon
his guard against the collection of evidence necessary to a
conviction, and perhaps be frightened into terms, or induced to make
a full confession. This was a severe blow to his family. The
privations forced upon them by the want of the locksmith's earnings
were borne without a murmur--and out of the little that could be
mustered, a portion was always reserved to buy some trifling but
unexpected comfort or luxury to carry to the prisoner.
Some months having passed without Sparks having made any confession,
or the discovery of any new fact whereby his guilt might be
established, his prosecutors found themselves reluctantly compelled
to bring him to trial. They had not a tittle of evidence, except some
strange locks and implements found in the shop, and which proved the
talent, but not the guilt, of the mechanic. But these were so
various, and executed with such elaborate art, and such an evident
expenditure of labour, that but few, even of the judges, jury, or
spectators, could be persuaded that a man so poor would have devoted
himself so sedulously to such an employment, unless he had had some
other object in view than mere instruction or amusement. His friends
and neighbours gave him an excellent character; but on their
cross-examination, all admitted his entire devotion to his favourite
pursuit. The counsel for the banker exerted himself with considerable
ability. Calculating in some degree on the state of the public mind,
and upon the influence which vague rumours, coupled with the
evidences of the mechanic's handicraft exhibited in court, might
have on the mind of the jury, he dwelt upon every ward and
winding--on the story of the iron chest--on the evident poverty of
the locksmith, and yet his apparent waste of time--and asked if all
this work were not intended to insure success in some vast design? He
believed that a verdict would be immediately followed by a
confession, for he thought Amos guilty, and succeeded in making the
belief pretty general among his audience. Some of the jury were half
inclined to speculate on the probabilities of a confession, and,
swept away by the current of suspicion, were not indisposed to
convict without evidence, in order that the result might do credit to
their penetration; but this was impossible, even in an American court
of justice, in the good old times of which we write. Hanging persons
on suspicion, and acquitting felons because the mob think murder no
crime, are modern inventions. The charge of the judge was clear and
decisive. He admitted that there were grounds of suspicion--that
there were circumstances connected with the prisoner's peculiar mode
of life that were not reconcilable with the lowness of his finances;
but yet of direct testimony there was not a vestige, and of
circumstantial evidence there were not only links wanting in the
chain, but, in fact, there was not a single link extending beyond the
locksmith's dwelling. Sparks was accordingly acquitted; but as no
other clue was found to direct suspicion, it still lay upon him like
a cloud. The vindictive merchant and the dissatisfied bankers did not
hesitate to declare, that although the charge could not be legally
brought home, they had no doubt whatever of his guilt. This opinion
was taken up and reiterated, until thousands, who were too careless
to investigate the story, were satisfied that Amos Sparks was a
rogue.
Amos rejoiced in his acquittal, as one who felt that the jury had
performed a solemn duty faithfully, and who was glad to find that his
present experience had strengthened rather than impaired his reliance
on the tribunals of his country. He embraced his family as one
snatched from great responsibility and peril; and yet Amos felt that
though acquitted by the jury, he was not by the town: he saw that in
the faces of some of the jury, and most of the audience, which he was
too shrewd an observer to misunderstand. He wished it were otherwise;
but he was contented to take his chance of some subsequent
revelation; and if it came not, of living down the foul suspicion.
But Amos had never thought of how he was to live. The cold looks,
averted faces, and rude scandal of the neighbours, could be borne,
because really there was some excuse in the circumstances, and
because he hoped that there would be a joyful ending of it all at
some future day. But the loss of custom first opened his eyes to his
real situation. No work came to his shop; he made articles, but he
could not sell them; and as the little money he had saved was
necessarily exhausted in the unavoidable expense of the trial, the
family found it impossible, aided by the utmost exertion and economy,
to meet their current outlay. One article of furniture after another
was reluctantly sacrificed, or some little comfort abridged, until,
at the end of months of degradation and absolute distress, their bare
board was spread within bare walls, and it became necessary to beg,
to starve, or to remove. The latter expedient had often been
suggested in family consultations, and it is one that in America is
the common remedy for all great calamities. The Sparkses would have
removed, but they still clung to the hope that the real perpetrator
would he discovered, and the mystery cleared up; and, besides, they
thought it would he an acknowledgment of the justice of the general
suspicion if they turned their hacks and fled. They lived upon the
expectation of the renewed confidence and companionship of old
friends and neighbours, when Providence should deem it right to draw
the veil aside. At length, to live longer in Philadelphia became
impossible, and the whole family prepared to depart. Their effects
were easily transported, and as they had had no credit since the
arrest, there was nobody to prevent them from seeking a livelihood
elsewhere.
Embarking in one of the river boats, they pushed up the Schuylkill,
and settled at Norristown. The whole family being industrious and
obliging, they soon began to gather little comforts around them; and
as these were not embittered by the cold looks and insulting sneers
of the neighbourhood, they were comparatively happy for a time. But
even here there was for them no permanent place of rest. A traveller
passing through Norristown, on his way from the capital to the Blue
Mountains, recognised Sparks, and told somebody he knew that he
wished the community joy of having added to the number of its
inhabitants the notorious locksmith of Philadelphia. The news soon
spread. The family found that they were shunned as they had formerly
been by those who had known them longer than the good people of
Norristown, and had a fair prospect of starvation opening before
them. They removed again. This time there was no inducement to
linger, for they had no local attachments to detain them. They
crossed the mountains, and, descending into the vale of the
Susquehanna, pitched their tent at Sunbury. Here the same temporary
success excited the same hopes, only to be blighted in the bud by the
breath of slander, which seemed so widely circulated as to leave them
hardly any asylum within the limits of the State. We need not
enumerate the different towns and villages in which they essayed to
gain a livelihood, and failed. They had nearly crossed the State in
its whole length, been driven from Pittsburg, and were slowly wending
their way further west, and were standing on the high ground
overlooking Middleton, as though doubtful if there was to be rest for
the soles of their feet even there. They hesitated to try a new
experiment. Sparks seated himself on a stone beneath a spreading
sycamore--his family clustered around him on the grass: they had
travelled far, and were weary, and, without speaking a word, as their
eyes met, and thinking of their prolonged sufferings and slender
hopes, they burst into a flood of tears, in which Sparks, burying his
face in the golden locks of the sweet girl who bowed her head upon
his knee, joined audibly. At length, wiping away his tears, and
checking the rising sobs that shook his manly bosom--'God's will be
done, my children,' said the locksmith; 'we cannot help weeping, but
let us not murmur. If we are to be wanderers and fugitives on the
earth, let us never lose sight of the promise which assures us of an
eternal refuge in a place where the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary are at rest. I was perhaps too proud of that skill of
mine--too apt to plume myself upon it, above others whose gifts had
been less abundant. My error has been that of wiser and greater men,
who have been made to feel that what we cherish as the means of
obtaining earthly blessings, sometimes turns out a curse.'
To dissipate the gloom which hung over the whole party, and beguile
the half hour they intended to rest in that sweet spot, Mrs Sparks
drew out a Philadelphia newspaper which somebody had given her upon
the road, and called their attention to the deaths and marriages,
that they might see what changes were taking place in a city that
still interested them, though they were banished for ever from its
borders. She had hardly opened the paper when her eye glanced on an
article which she was too much excited to read. Amos, wondering at
the emotion displayed, gently disengaged the paper, and read: 'Bank
robber--Sparks not the man.' His own feelings were as powerfully
interested as those of his wife, but his nerves were stronger; and he
read out, to an audience whose ears devoured every syllable of the
glad tidings, an account of the conviction and execution of a wretch
in Albany, and who had confessed, among other daring and heinous
crimes, the robbery of the Philadelphia bank, accounting for the
disappearance of the property, and exonerating Sparks, whose face he
had never seen. These were tidings of great joy to the weary
wayfarers beneath the sycamore; their resolution to return to their
native city was formed at once, and before a week had passed, they
were slowly journeying to the capital of the State.
Meanwhile, an extraordinary revulsion of feeling had taken place at
Philadelphia. Newspapers and other periodicals which had formerly
been loud in condemnation of the locksmith, now blazoned abroad the
robber's confession--wondered how any man could have been for a
moment suspected upon such evidence as was adduced on the
trial--drew pictures of the domestic felicity once enjoyed by the
Sparkses, and then painted--partly from what was known of the
reality, and partly from imagination--their sufferings, privations,
and wrongs in the pilgrimage they had performed in fleeing from an
unjust but damnatory accusation. The whole city rang with the story.
Old friends and neighbours, who had been the first to shun them, now
became the loud and vehement partisans of the family. The whole city
was anxious to know where they were. Some reported that they had
perished in the woods; others that they had been burned in a prairie,
which not a few believed; while another class averred that the
locksmith, driven to desperation, had first destroyed his family, and
then himself. All these stories of course created as much excitement
as the robbery of the bank had done before, only that this time the
tide set the other way; and when the poor locksmith and his family,
who had been driven like vagabonds from the city, approached its
suburbs, they were met, congratulated, and followed by thousands: in
fact, theirs was almost a triumphal entry. And as the public always
like to have a victim, Sparks was advised on all hands to bring an
action against the directors of the bank: large damages would, they
knew, be given, and the banker deserved to suffer for the causeless
ruin brought on a poor but industrious family.
Sparks was reluctant to engage in any such proceeding. His character
was vindicated, his business restored. He occupied his own shop, and
his family were comfortable and content. But the current of public
opinion was too strong for him. All Philadelphia had determined that
the banker should suffer. An eminent lawyer volunteered to conduct
the suit, and make no charge if a liberal verdict were not obtained.
The locksmith pondered the matter well. His own wrongs he freely
forgave, but he thought that there had been a readiness to secure the
interests of a wealthy corporation by blasting the prospects of a
humble mechanic, which, for the good of society, ought not to pass
unrebuked. He felt that the moral effect of such a prosecution would
be salutary, teaching the rich not to presume too far upon their
affluence, and cheering the hearts of the poor while suffering
unmerited persecution. The suit was commenced, and urged to trial,
notwithstanding several attempts at compromise on the part of the
banker. The pleadings on both sides were able and ingenious; but the
counsel for the plaintiff had a theme worthy of the fine powers he
possessed. At the close of a pathetic and powerful declamation, the
audience, who had formerly condemned Amos in their hearts without
evidence, were melted to tears by the recital of his sufferings; and
when the jury returned with a verdict of ten thousand dollars damages
against the banker, the locksmith was honoured by a ride home on
their shoulders amidst a hurricane of cheers.