"WE HAVE ANOTHER JOB FOR YOU."
About every second day I called on Murpurgo & Weissweller in Frankfort,
and talked over matters, and easily saw that everything would go right.
All that was necessary was to produce the bonds, and they would hand
over the cash. Here in America, though we scrutinized a man's garments,
the quality and fit of the same having a certain value, we never take
much stock in a stranger because an artist tailor has decorated him, or
because he has plenty of money. But in the seventies, all over Europe,
from the mere fact that a man was an American and had the appearance,
dress and manner of a gentleman, they always took it for granted that he
must be a gentleman.
Therefore, seeing that I was taken for a capitalist, and that no
question would be asked, I told the firm my deal in Austrian copper
mines appeared so certain to be completed that I had ordered the
securities I intended to dispose of to be forwarded from London. Giving
them a list, they gave me a memorandum offer for the lot. I accepted
their offer. The next hour was a very bad sixty minutes for me. There
was considerable delay, and my suspicions were fully aroused, and at one
time I thought they had made some discovery; but, as a fact, my
suspicions were wholly unfounded.
The banker and clerks were simply hurrying around, anxious to oblige me
and have the money out of the bank before it closed. At last the amounts
were figured up and verified by myself. One of the partners hastened
off to the bank and in five minutes returned with a very pretty parcel
of 200,000 gulden; but, in spite of the evident safety of the business,
I was nervous, and resolved to put a good distance between me and the
town as speedily as possible. Before 5 o'clock I was in Weisbaden, and,
going directly to the Casino, where they kept at all times a million
francs, in addition to German money, and where the possession of large
sums attract no attention, I readily exchanged my money for 350
one-thousand-franc notes.
* * * * *
Going to Rothschild's, I bought exchange on New York for $80,000, and
left the same night for London. Very many times I journeyed over that
route in after years, but never with so light a heart. I was young and
enthusiastic; all the glamour and poetry of life hung around me, while I
was too inexperienced to notice whither I was drifting, or to understand
the powerful current upon which I had embarked. In fact, I had sold
myself to do the devil's work, and day by day the chain would tighten,
while all the time I thought I could when I pleased stop short on the
downward grade and take the back track. More experience would have
taught me that every one who forsook the path of honor not only thought
the same, but had a purpose to even everything up some day and make
restitution. And to-day there is not a criminal but who, at the start,
looks forward to the time when he will no longer war against society,
but will go out and come in at peace with all men. But when one comes to
think of it, what a fool's game is that of a man who fights against
society!
[Illustration: "THEY FOUND A BODY, RAGGED, EMACIATED, FORLORN. IT WAS
BREA."--Page 120.]
The criminal has but two arms, very short and weak they are, and of
flesh, too. He has but two eyes that cannot possibly see around the
nearest corner, while society has a million arms of steel that can reach
around the world, and a million eyes which are never closed, that can
pierce the thickest gloom with sleepless vigilance. The poor, unhappy
criminal, by fortunate dexterity, may escape for a little, but at last
society lays her iron grasp on him, and with giant force hurls him into
a dungeon. As for the short-lived, tempestuous success that some few
criminals have, is there any sweetness in it? I say no; success won in
honest fight is sweet, but I know from my own experience that the
success of crime brings no sweetness, no blessing with it, but leaves
the mind a prey to a thousand haunting fears that make shipwreck of
peace.
There were no sleeping cars in all Europe then, so I sat up in a
compartment and really enjoyed the ride, viewing the country by
moonlight. At midnight we arrived at Calais, and took the boat for
Dover. Then the express for London. Arriving at Victoria Station I took
a cab to Mrs. Green's, where I had breakfast a l'anglaise.
I had a little adventure that night going down the Strand. At Bow
street, on the corner, is the "Gaiety," a famous drinking saloon,
flooded with light inside and out, with more than a half-dozen handsome
barmaids. Barmaids are a great institution in England--that is, they
have never more than one man behind a bar, none at all in the railway
bars. And a fearful source of ruin to the girls, as they are to
thousands of young men--I might say tens of thousands every year. These
girls are chosen for their beauty and attractiveness. Yearly, in London
and in other large cities of England, a "Beautiful Barmaid Show" is one
of the stated features, and is held in some public garden or monster
hall. These exhibitions are wonderfully popular, and thousands flock to
them. Various beauty contests are got up, and all the popular features
of voting, etc., are in vogue. Those of the young women who win the
prizes make their fortunes, for they are at once engaged at high
salaries for the more aristocratic barrooms. Fancy what an attraction
and even fascination the gin palace with lovely girls behind the bar
must have to the youth of a great city. Many of them strangers, busy
during the day, but with nothing to do at night, with the choice of the
street or a sombre room, but sure of a sweet smile of welcome from a
fascinating woman in the barrooms. How easily and how naturally, too,
does a young man become ensnared. But how if he has no money? No smiles
and no welcome for him! And then what a temptation to help himself to
his master's cash!
Happy for our country that our laws forbid women entering that
occupation!
While standing in the brilliant light of the Gaiety, watching the
thronging crowd of passers-by, with its sprinkling of unfortunates, I
saw one poor, bedraggled creature, wan-faced and hollowed-eyed, with
hunger and despair imprinted on every feature. Looking sharply at her
she caught my eye, and, crossing the street, she spoke to me. The poor
thing looked as if she had been dragged through all the gutters of
London. She said that herself and her baby were actually starving--that
her husband had been out of work thirteen weeks and had then deserted
her, owing twelve weeks' rent, and the landlady had just told her that
unless she paid her some rent before 9 o'clock that night she would be
turned out with her baby into the streets.
Those of my readers who have been in London know something of what it
would mean for this woman to be turned out into the streets of that
fearful Babylon. No wonder, then, the poor soul was frantic with
despair. In her poverty a shilling looked as big as a cartwheel, and
when I said to her: "Will you promise to go direct home if I give you a
sovereign?" she cried out: "Oh, sir, God forever bless you if you will!"
I gave her the $5, and as she started to run I caught her by the sleeve
and said: "I will go home with you to see if you have told me the
truth." She lived close by, in one of those teeming courts that run off
from the Strand. We found her baby naked on a heap of rags, in a small,
dirty room, containing two broken chairs for furniture. I felt that
there were in the large city thousands of similar cases, but this one
was brought home to me. I was young and impressionable--more than that,
I had other people's money to be liberal with; so I called up the
landlady, who, almost dumb with surprise, received the arrears of rent,
along with a month in advance. Eliza, for that was her name, told me she
could get work if she had clean clothes for herself and baby, which she
could buy for L2. I gave her five, and giving her my address in New
York, told her to find work and let me know how she got on. She did find
work in an eel-pie shop in Red Lion Square, High Holborn. I saw her two
years later in London, and possibly may refer to her again in this
story.
* * * * *
I went down to Liverpool and embarked on the good ship Java. Ten days
later we sailed through the Narrows.
During my last day in London I went to Westminster Abbey, and spent
three hours in that Valhalla of the Anglo-Saxon race. It made a
tremendous impression upon my mind. In no other work of human hands do
the spirits of so many departed heroes linger, certainly in no other
does the dust of so many of the great dead rest, and as I read memorial
upon memorial to departed greatness I realized that the path of honor
and of truth was the only one for men to tread. All through the voyage
the influences of the Abbey were upon me; I felt I was treading on
dangerous ground, and resolved I would have no more of it. Would I had
then resolved, when I met Irving & Co., to throw all the plunder in
their faces and say: "I'll have none of it, and here we part!" I felt
that I ought to do that, but weakly said: "I need the $10,000, and I'll
give the rogues their share and then see them no more." I had fully made
up my mind to that, knowing Irving would be on the wharf, eager to meet
me.
In sailing through the Narrows and past Staten Island I was making up my
mind as to the little speech I would make. We rapidly neared the wharf
in Jersey City, and I quickly recognized Irving standing on the edge of
the closely packed crowd, watching the steamer with a nervous look on
his face. A rogue suspects every one, and although by this time he had
become pretty well satisfied as to my good faith, no doubt he would be
happier when he had his share of the plunder safe in his pocket. I was
standing close to the rail between two ladies, and saw Irving before he
saw me. Waving my handkerchief, his eye suddenly fell on me. With a
smile and pointing significantly to my pocket, I gave him a salute. An
eager look came into his face, and waving his hand he cried out: "I am
glad to see you!" and no doubt he spoke the truth. When the gangplank
was thrown ashore, and I saw him making his way toward it, evidently
intending to board the steamer, I thought how surprised he would be when
I told him I would have no more of his game. He sprang on board, rushed
to me with a beaming face, grasped my hand, and putting the other on my
shoulder, led me toward the gangway. He had not spoken yet, but as we
were going down the gangplank he said: "My boy, you have done
splendidly," and then, putting his mouth close to my ear, whispered: "We
have got another job for you, and it's a beauty!"
I don't mean to pester my reader with a moral, or by too much
moralizing, although I am tempted to do so. There is ample material for
a course of sermons in that "we have another job for you" coming to me
just then. But, leaving my reader to draw his own moral, I must go on
with my narrative.
Going up the wharf with Irving, I was on the point of telling him I
wanted no more jobs, but weakly put it off, and by so doing, of course,
made it more difficult. He told me Stanley and White were waiting at
Taylor's Hotel on Montgomery street, a few doors up from the wharf. We
soon were there, and they gave me a warm and even enthusiastic
reception. Then I began to tell some of my adventures on the journey, to
which they listened with unfeigned admiration, and, opening my bag, I
produced the sixteen bills of exchange for $5,000 each, informing them
they should have their cash in ninety minutes. It was curious to see
these men handle the bills of exchange, passing them from one to
another, examining them with anxious care. But where were my good
resolutions, and what had become of them? Why, they, under the effect of
the wine and the magnetic influence of these three minds, had gone
flying down the bay, and under a favorable gale were fast speeding
seaward beyond the ken of mortal eye, not to be found by me again until
years after, when, with the toils about me, I found myself in Newgate.
Then the fugitives all came back, this time to stay.
My three graces who adorned the Police Department of New York were full
of matter of a new enterprise, which by my co-operation was to make the
fortunes of us all. But they were too evidently anxious, too eagerly
desirous to handle the greenbacks my bills of exchange represented, to
fix their minds upon anything else.
Stanley and White went away together, but first each once more told me
privately that he depended upon me to put in his own hands his share,
showing how these rogues suspected each other, and, indeed, were full of
suspicions of every one and every thing. Irving crossed the ferry with
me, but on the New York side dropped behind, and, although I paid no
more attention to him, no doubt he followed me. The excitement of
success and of being at home again banished any possible regrets or
fears over the course I had entered, and with a light heart and buoyant
step I quickly made my way to a friend of mine, a well-known broker in
New street, shook hands with him, and, telling him, very much to his
surprise, that I had just returned from Europe, asked him to step around
the corner to the office of the bankers and identify me. In a minute we
were there. Indorsing the drafts, I told them to make it in
five-hundreds; they sent out to the bank for them, and I was speedily on
my way to our rendezvous with 160 $500 greenbacks in a roll, and meeting
the three at the wineroom I made their eyes grow big when I flashed the
roll on their delighted orbs. The division was speedily made, I
retaining $10,000 for my share, and each promptly threw out a thousand,
and we shook hands all around and parted.
Here were four conspirators of us, and it was comical to see how anxious
we all were to get away so that each could stow his plunder in a safe
place. For my part I went home, but I shall say nothing of the meeting
with the members of my family. I told them I had made a lot of money in
a speculation, and not knowing the inside history, or suspecting
anything, they rejoiced with me and were proud and happy for their boy.
I spent about a thousand dollars making things comfortable for them, but
to their grief I told them that circumstances required me to take up my
former quarters at the St. Nicholas.
It would be interesting to tell of my reception among my acquaintances
on Wall street and other parts of the city. Rumor magnified my
resources, and it was reported I had cleared a hundred thousand dollars
in some fortunate deal. It was strange to see the new-found deference
all around, from my former employers down to my old waiter at downtown
Delmonico's, where I dined; but I will pass over all these matters and
proceed with my history of the Primrose Way.
The next few days I went about engaged in the to me very agreeable task
of paying all my debts. The largest debt I was owing was one of $1,300,
partly borrowed money and partly a long-standing balance due on a
speculation negotiated on my account, and which did not pan out, but
entailed a loss. Then I indulged pretty freely in many little
extravagances in the way of tailor bills, etc. Two friends struck me for
a loan, and, strange to say, both remain unpaid to this hour, along with
some twenty-five years' interest. So, within a fortnight of my landing I
found my $13,000 reduced quite one-half, and as I was cherishing visions
of unbounded wealth, I began to feel quite poor, and anxious to see some
outcome to this "other job" my friends said they had ready for me. It
was at the very door.
[Illustration: MANSION HOUSE, ILLUMINATED.]