THE FLOWERS IN THE PRIMROSE WAY ARE SWEET.
As narrated in an earlier chapter, I left England two days before the
first lot of forged bills were sent in. I left serene and confident of
the future. My departure was a happy event in a double sense. All my
negotiations had been carried on at a considerable expense of nerve, and
in leaving I left everything in such trim that success seemed certain,
with all chance of danger eliminated from the venture. I felt that the
trying toil was now all over, with nothing for me to do but to reap the
harvest, and that without effort or care on my part.
So, when the late November sun looked down on me--I crossed by daylight
this time--standing on the deck of that same wretched Channel steamer,
it looked on a happy man. I did not know then that success in wrongdoing
was ever a failure. The anxious toil of the London and Continental
negotiations was a thing of the past. Was I not young; wealth was or
soon would be mine; was I not in perfect health, body sound and
digestion good, and, above all, was not the woman I loved awaiting me in
Paris, to give herself to me, in all her youth and beauty, and then
somewhere across the Western waters would I not find in some tropic seas
a paradise, which gold would make mine, where I could bear my bride, and
there, turning over a new leaf, live and die with the respect of all
good men mine?
Here was a stately structure I was going to erect, but how rotten the
foundation! I, in my egotism, fancied, in my case, at least, the eternal
course of things would be stayed, and that justice would grant me a
clean bill of health. She did give me that, but it was long years after,
and only when she had had from me her pound of flesh to the very last
ounce.
I joined my sweetheart and her family at the Hotel St. James, Rue
Saint-Honore. She was an English lady, and for a whole year our
courtship had been going on, and now, our wedding day being fixed a week
ahead, we all set out sightseeing and having a good time generally. I
now engaged the coachman I had met before as my valet, and a very good,
all-around, handy man he proved to be. Of course I was anxious to hear
that the first coup on the bank had succeeded, but I was tolerably
confident it was all right. Had it fallen through it would have proved
awkward for me. In that event the Paris climate would have been too warm
for me, and I would have had to find a score of excuses to hasten our
marriage and leave for the Western World as speedily as possible.
I had a four-in-hand coach, and we drove everywhere in and around Paris,
once to Versailles and on to Fontainebleau, where we dined, a merry
party. What a strange world is this, what a stage it is, ever crowded
with tragedies, too! How absolutely in the dark we are as to the motives
and actions of men.
There I was, the centre of merry pleasure parties in gay Paris. A young
dude, driving my four-in-hand, and yet a criminal, waiting in hourly
expectation a telegram announcing success in a great plot which, when it
exploded, was destined to startle the business world, and to hurl me
from the summit of happiness, where I was reveling, apparently free from
care, to the misery of a dungeon, banishing the happy smiles from my
face and the joyous ring from my voice, leaving in place of the smiles
the sombre gloom of the prison, and in place of the snatches of song and
eager accents I was wont to speak with, the hushed voice subdued to
prison tones.
Late one morning, on opening my eyes, my first thought was: It will be
hit or miss at the Bank of England within the next sixty minutes. We had
engaged for a coaching party to Versailles and were to dine there. I
left for the drive that day with a dim fear that before the sun set I
might be under the necessity of leaving Paris in a hurry.
When starting for Versailles I left my servant behind to wait for the
expected telegram, and to bring it to me by rail. We were at dinner, and
I was just raising a glass of champagne to my lips when I saw my valet,
Nunn, crossing the esplanade. He entered the room and handed me a
telegram. Tearing open the envelope I read:
"All well. Bought and shipped forty bales."
That meant the first lot for $40,000 had gone through safely. It was
certainly a great relief. The next day I received $25,000 in United
States bonds, from George in London, my first share of the proceeds. I
sold the bonds in Paris, receiving payment in French notes.
On Thursday, the day before our marriage, I had a telegram from Mac and
George to meet them in Calais, and to Calais I had to go. I arrived
there at midnight, just before the Dover steamer got in, and was on the
pier to meet them. We exchanged warm greetings; as we did so Mac placed
a small but very heavy bag in my hands, and they began laughing over my
surprise. It contained L4,000 in sovereigns, and was stuffed with bonds
and paper money. We went to a hotel near by, and there they counted out
to me the very nice sum of $100,000 in gold, bonds and French money. As
they were going back on the same steamer, and I was to return to Paris
by the train carrying the passengers of the steamer just arrived, we had
only a brief half hour's talk. After giving me the money we went out
and sat down on the pier, and that conversation and scene are forever
impressed on my memory. I shall make no attempt to describe either, but
could both be put on the stage, with the audience in possession of a
full knowledge of the enterprise we were embarked in, there would be
seen a picture of human life such as the novelist or playwright never
had the imagination nor the daring to depict. To the earnest student of
human life it would have been a revelation.
There we were, three earnest, ambitious young men, enthusiastic for all
that was good and noble. I about to wed a pure-souled woman, who thought
me an angel of goodness, and about to fly with my plunder and bride to
Mexico. My two companions were returning to London to continue carrying
out a giant scheme of fraud against a great moneyed institution, but
there we were, with $100,000 in plunder at our feet, sitting under the
stars, listening to the dash of the waves, and talking not at all like
pirates and robbers, but much more like crusaders setting out on a
crusade, or like pilgrims going on a pilgrimage.
I told my friends I should go to the City of Mexico for a year or two,
and then meet them somewhere in America where we would unite our wealth
to inaugurate some scheme that would benefit thousands in our own
generation and millions in the generations to come. We would hedge
ourselves about with kindly deeds, so live as to win the respect of all,
and when under the sod live in the eyes and mouths of men.
Too soon the whistle sounded, and we had to say good-bye, which we did
in an enthusiasm that told how deeply we felt. We were walking in the
Primrose Way, its flowers and songs were sweet, and we thought their
perfume and melody eternal.
I again arrived in Paris at daylight, but early as it was, my
sweetheart, escorted by my servant, was waiting my arrival. It was our
wedding morning. During our drive to the hotel, radiant with joy, she
told me the separation had been a cruel one, and she was so happy to
know we should never be separated again!
At 4 o'clock that afternoon we were married at the American Embassy.
I had told every one I was going to leave the next day for Havre, to
embark for New York. Our baggage was all packed and placed in a van,
which I accompanied to the Havre station, and had stored there. Sunday I
purchased one ticket to Bayonne, one for Madrid and one to Burgos, each
from different agencies. On Sunday morning I took a van to the Havre
station, and transferring our baggage to the road into Spain, checked
all of it to Madrid.
My purpose was to sail by the Lopez & Co. steamer El Rey Felipe from
Cadiz to Mexico, which was advertised to sail ten days later.
We were married very quietly on Friday, and our friends, wisely
recognizing the fact that young married people like to be alone, the
next day said good-bye and returned to Normandy. We spent a quiet and
happy Saturday and Sunday, and on Sunday night we left--my wife, servant
and self--for Cadiz, via Madrid. My wife, like all English people, knew
little of geography, and had such hazy notions of America that she
thought it quite the thing to go to such an outlandish and far off
quarter of the globe as America via a Spanish port. Columbus, she knew,
had gone that way, and why should not we?
We had an all-night ride to Bayonne in one of those antiquated
compartments used in railway carriages all over Europe, but the ride was
not tedious, nor was the night long. This little earth had no happier
couple, and, talking of the happy years that lay before us, the night
rushed by like a fairy dream.
Where was my conscience? Why, my dear reader, I had sung it such a song
that it was delighted with the music, and had, I was going to say, gone
to sleep, but it had not. It was wide awake, and we were good chums. We
both--conscience and I--had persuaded ourselves it was a virtuous deed
to do evil that good might come. My conscience was perhaps as old as the
sun, but I myself was young and too inexperienced to see the fallacy of
the argument, since I myself was the doer of the wrong; but, of course,
I should have hotly denounced any other such philosopher as a villain
and rogue.
The night flew by, and to our surprise we found 240 miles had slipped
away and we were in Bayonne. Thirty minutes more and we were speeding
south, and soon crossed the Bidassoa, the boundary between France and
Spain. Then my wife saying, "Now I will sleep," laid her head on the
shoulder of the happiest man in or out of Spain, and in ten minutes her
regular breathing told me she was in the land of dreams.
The Pyrenees, in dividing France and Spain, stand between two distinct
peoples, and as the centuries go by the streams of national life meet,
but only to repel each other, never to mingle. One has but to cross the
bank to realize that he is among a different race. Dress, food and
cooking--social life, religious devotion, modes of thought--are all
different. To us here in America it is difficult to realize that so
slight a thing as a mountain barrier, easily traversed, crossed by many
defiles and good roads, should continue to separate two distinct
peoples. But so it is. Stranger still, for nearly all time the
inhabitants of the Spanish mountains have been more or less opposed to
the people of the Spanish plains, and every century has seen several
insurrections among the mountaineers. In 1872 and '73 the Carlists held
the mountains and more or less fusillading was going on. The possibility
of my way being blocked by the Carlists never entered into my
calculations.
The railway from Bayonne to Madrid is owned in Paris, and it seems that
the directors were paying blackmail to Don Carlos, ostensibly to him,
but really to several marauding bands who plundered under the name of
fighting for the Don, upon the understanding that the railroad was not
to be meddled with. The directors had been paying 100,000 francs a
month. As will be easily believed, there was a difficulty in the
distribution of the money among so many greedy and inartistic robbers,
and the discontented determined to hold up the railroad itself and stop
all trains. Unluckily, the train we were on was the one they proposed to
experiment on first, and they proposed drastic measures, too--in fact,
had blown up or down a short tunnel, and torn up the rails in front of
our train. As we crossed the frontier a French gendarme and Spanish
civil guard appeared, demanding passports. It was, of course, a sure
thing that I had them all right. It is a safeguard under the protection
of which the man who has anything to fear slips through the fingers of
frontier guards and police, while the honest man quite frequently
neglects the necessary formalities and is detained.
Our train crossed the bridge over the Bidassoa and we were on Spanish
soil. Soon we entered the gorges of the Pyrenees, and while speculating
whether I should awaken my wife to see the magnificent scenery all
necessity for awakening any one on that train was over. Three or four
musket shots rang out, our train was off the rail, and after a crash or
two came to a sudden stop, and then a babel arose, while the train was
surrounded by armed men. It was laughable. It seemed like an opera
bouffe, the real thing, this motley array of brigands, all trying to
maintain under difficulties the grave Spanish exterior.
One monkey of 18 or 19 years, armed, came to our compartment, and,
pointing to my chain, said he wanted it and my watch. None of us
understood Spanish, but we all comprehended his meaning readily. I
refused to make him a gift, and got rid of him easily.
We were all ordered to alight and our captors seemed inclined to be
ugly. Myself and party were about the only well-dressed people on the
train, and, seeing a priest close by, I went up to him, and ascertaining
he could speak French, I began, in very bad French indeed, to threaten
with very dire consequences Don Carlos and every band of Carlists who
dares to annoy an English Duke and Duchess, and demanded instant shelter
and a guard for my wife, the Duchess. We could hardly keep from
laughing, it was so very like a melodrama. My wife thoroughly enjoyed
the situation, and I should have done so too, had I not had such strong
reasons for quick passage through Spain to blue water on the South, for
I desired to speedily put some leagues of Neptune's domain between
myself and the Old World.
The priest, although a sallow, sombre fellow, was a very good one, and
seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, for, calling the chief
to him, he warned him to be careful. That gentleman came up, and drawing
himself up said very proudly: "Sir, we are soldiers, not robbers." I
said I was very glad to know it, and demanded to be informed if I was a
prisoner or not, and was told I was not, but with the same breath he
said he would be obliged to detain us for a few days. There was a fonda,
or inn, close by, and leaving my wife there, I finally managed by a
liberal use of money to secure an ox-cart, and by virtue of great
generalship on the part of myself and servant, got all our baggage out
of the wrecked train and safely up to the inn.
Spaniards are provokingly slow, but by riding mule-back five miles away
I succeeded in seeing the local commander of the Carlist forces, and he
promised to send me the next day a pass through the lines, going either
south or north. I got him also to include in the pass my fellow
passengers. I did this because there was a Portuguese family who had
tickets for South America. They were then on their way to embark at
Lisbon, and the old gentleman, the head of the family, was very weak and
ill.
My safe plan would have been to return to France, make my way to Brest
and embark from there to New York, and that would have been my course
had I had any conception of the slowness of the Spanish officials and of
the fierce storms and snows that dominate the passes of the Pyrenees in
Winter.
We were informed by many officials, railway guards, Custom House
officers, Carlists, etc., that by crossing thirty miles south we would
pass the lines and get to a little town on the railway where trains left
frequently for Madrid. The Spaniards about the place would never have
let us start out on that perilous trip had it not been for the money
there was in it. I had secured at a round price three century old
bullock carts, and in the afternoon of the second day we got off. I had
all the women and the sick Portuguese in one cart, with the two other
carts ahead heaped with luggage. Thus there were eight bullocks, four
mules and (unlucky number) thirteen men engaged.
I had very misty notions as to our destination, but took it for granted
the baker's dozen of natives I had with me knew what they were about.
Snow was everywhere, and we were mounting up, up, up, on wheels, but I
supposed the highest altitude was only four or five miles away, and that
the down grade would be easy until we reached some snug inn where we
would find shelter for man and beast. Then an early start by daylight
and our novel jaunt would come to an end in civilization and a railway.
But I did not know Spaniards, their country, the Pyrenees, nor what
blizzards can blow in sunny Spain.
Myself and my servant Nunn trudged on alongside the cart with the women.
It took an hour to get out of sight of the fonda, and then we struck a
fine, wide military road that wound in and around the mountains, but
always up and deep in snow. Three, four o'clock came and still no sign
of the summit, but with the road winding in and out for miles ahead. The
sky began to darken, and without warning down came the snow. Then
frequent halts of the caravan to rest the cattle. Deeper grew the snow,
and as the darkness began to settle down I realized the responsibility I
had unwittingly taken on my shoulders. I had four delicate women in my
forlorn party and found myself fast in the midst of a snowstorm, in a
wild pass of the Pyrenees. I recognized one blessing, however, and was
profoundly grateful--the air was calm--and though the snow fell thick
and fast it was not driven by a storm.
Nunn proved to be thoroughly reliable, helpful and full of cheer.
Between us we kept up the spirits of the party. But all hands began to
grow hungry. Fortunately I had in my baggage a large pate de foie gras.
That is a fat goose liver pie, and it was fat, happily so, as it went
the further. Then I got rugs and wraps out of my trunks for the women
and a couple of bottles of brandy, and administered liberal doses all
round. I soon had them happy and full of courage. It was certainly
better to have them full of Dutch courage in a fool's paradise than to
have them awake to their position, for I quite expected it would end in
a night camp-out in the snow and sending an empty cart for supplies. Two
hours after dark we came to a dead halt, and my guides--they were
beauties--said they could go no further; the oxen could not pull the
carts. There was a fonda, they said, two miles away, but did not show
any disposition to help to get there, and for that matter did not seem
to care whether we did or not. I ordered them to leave the middle cart
behind and divide the teams, one team to be added to the front cart and
one to be hitched in front of the mules. Our interpreter was one of the
Portuguese women, but we did not get on very well, the Spaniards
objecting to anything being done, all of them apparently waiting for
the Virgin or some of the saints to come to our aid; but as neither did,
Nunn and I were exasperated, and finally took the matter into our own
hands. By my orders, despite the energetic protests of the drivers, he
unhitched the oxen from the middle team, and between us we got them to
the mule cart, hitched them in front of the mules and pulled out and
past the other carts. Here the Spaniards halted us, and after an angry
altercation in the dark--and it was dark--they agreed to go on. So,
taking a yoke of oxen from our cart, they were put in front of the four
of the first cart, and off we started. Nunn volunteered to stand by and
guard the stranded cart; so giving him two blankets and a little brandy
we drove off in the darkness. But not until, in sight of all, I had
given him a revolver, and each of the unlucky thirteen a good nip of
brandy. My anxiety about serious results was over as soon we started,
and in an hour and a half we halted in front of a wretched mountain inn,
patronized by muleteers, with the first story for a stable, but none of
us were disposed to be particular. A supper of Spanish beans was soon
ready, and then a bed was made up on the floor, and the women were soon
asleep. After seeing that the mules and oxen were fed, I took half an
hour's nap. Then with two drivers we started back, taking three yoke of
oxen. What a tramp I had back through the snow and storm! I was very
happy, however, for I knew my wife and party were safely sheltered, and
the excitement of action kept one from being gloomy.
In due time we found our stray, hitched to and started, but it was hard
pulling and the exhausted oxen had to come to frequent halts. At last,
just as I was beginning to feel tired, we came to the fonda.
The snow had slackened, but the wind was beginning to blow, so Nunn and
I carried all the luggage and traps into a corner of the stable below,
and tumbling down into the hay we were soon in the land of dreams. In my
dreams I was on a shoreless sea in a bark that silently and swiftly
circled around. Dark clouds closed in on all sides, while my boat sailed
between ever-narrowing walls, the clouds still closing in, until a giant
hand grew out from a ragged edge of the cloud wall, which, seizing the
prow of my boat, pulled it into the gloom and darkness. I felt the
clouds brushing my cheek. I heard the roar of falling water, and felt
that my doom was sealed. I thought of my wife, and, trying to call her
name, was dumb. I looked behind. Far off and far up there was a glow of
rosy light, and within the aureole was her face, full of sorrow, looking
at me with pity in every feature. As I looked, her face was slowly
eclipsed by a cloud. Then with one cry I plunged into the sea--and
awoke.
That dream would easily have joined the long procession of forgotten
dreams, but it was recalled many a time during many years. And, try as I
might, I felt it to be a portent and a prophecy.
When I awoke in the morning I was dumfounded to find a blizzard blowing
that the cattle could not face, and with every appearance of
continuance. In reply to my inquiries I learned they sometimes blew in
those altitudes for a week. This was unpleasant news for me, and the
prospect made me nervous. It was now Thursday, the fourth day since our
departure from Paris. And what might have happened in London in that
time! Here was I as completely isolated from the outside world and from
all news about my companions in England as if on a desert isle. For all
I knew discovery might have been made, and full details of the fraud
might be blazing in the press of Europe. I began to fear I had run into
a trap. To make matters worse, the steamer El Rey Felipe was advertised
to sail Monday from Cadiz, and to miss her seemed danger indeed.
[Illustration: PRISONERS WAITING TRIAL, AT NEWGATE, RECEIVING VISITORS.]
I was a prisoner in a wretched inn in a defile of the Pyrenees, with a
civil war raging, and no telling what might arise to detain us. Our
objective point was only some thirty-five miles away, but with roads
deep in snow, with wretched cattle and more wretched Spaniards for
drivers, there was poor prospect of making headway. I felt it would
never do for me to suffer longer detention.
I determined to leave my wife and baggage in charge of Nunn, to put the
$120,000 I had in a bag and start back to the French frontier, cross
into France and catch the Saturday steamer from Havre to New York,
explaining to my wife that important business demanded my presence in
America, that she could follow on the next steamer and that I would meet
her on arrival.
In the mean time my unlucky thirteen were happy. For were they not
sheltered, with plenty of food and high wages, all out of the pocket of
the great lord the Virgin herself must have sent to them? In fact, they
were winning from me what to them was a fortune. I was paying each man a
dollar a day and $5 for each team and cart.
From my experience I must give the Spaniards a good name for honesty. Of
course, they were charging me cut-throat prices, but they were poor,
and wealthy lords did not often come their way. Aside from that they
were very honest. Many things, such as rugs, shawls, lunch baskets,
dressing cases, etc., that must have seemed of value to them, lay around
everywhere, but not a single article was missing during the entire trip.
All day long the blizzard blew. It was a novel situation, and how I
should have enjoyed it had I only possessed that greatest of all
blessings--a good conscience! As it was, I was in misery, and could find
no peace, not even in my wife's smiles and evident content to be
anywhere with me.
I saw that the cattle were well cared for and that the men had both food
and wine. Then my servant skirmished around and decapitated sundry
chickens he found. So we had roast chicken three times a day, and as I
had a case of brandy in my luggage, we did not suffer. Nunn roasted the
chickens, made the punch, got the Spanish men and women to dance for our
entertainment, and made himself generally of service. About midnight the
storm broke up, and to my great satisfaction the stars came out. That
night I slept in the same room with the women, with a sheet hung between
us.
At 5 o'clock I had all hands up and breakfast under way. I ordered the
drivers and hangers on to have the teams hitched up and ready at
daylight. They all ate breakfast heartily enough, but were not zealous
about starting out. They made all sorts of pretexts and excuses to avoid
leaving their comfortable quarters. Certainly the road was not an
inviting prospect, there being quite eighteen inches of snow, but I was
determined to start one way or the other, either south with the party or
north alone. After long argument they, thinking they had me at their
mercy, refused to hitch up the cattle to make the attempt. I at once
paid and dismissed them all. Determining to set out immediately alone
for the French frontier, carrying only a small bag slung over my
shoulder, and concealing the bonds and paper money on my person, I would
leave the greater part of the gold in charge of my wife. I knew Nunn
would be a trusty guard to her.
I had not given her any intimation of my purpose, but got my bag ready,
and, secreting about me the bonds and paper money, I took my wife into a
room, and, first telling her she must be very brave, explained my plan,
pointing out I must not miss the Saturday steamer. She should follow on
the next, and I would leave her $20,000. But she pleaded to go with me,
said she would be no encumbrance, would ride mule-back to the railway,
no matter how far away. I then called Nunn and told him I should leave
him in charge of the baggage, and that we were going to set out at once.
I praised his fidelity, and informed him I would make him a present
when he arrived all safe in New York with the baggage. But when the sick
man and his family were told we were going they raised a howl. The women
all hung on me crying and imploring me not to leave them to despair and
death. They would all perish, etc.
[Illustration: Henry Hawkins, Esq. Q.C. Hon. Sir. J. Kellog, KKT Judge
of the Queen's Bench Rt. Hon. Sir R. J. K. Cockburn, Chief High Justice
of England]
[Illustration: The Lord Chancellor. Sir C. Russell J.C. Queen's
Counsel.]
[Illustration: Witnesses. Clerk of The Old Bailey. "I object My Lord".]
I had secured a good saddle mule, but with a man's saddle, and my wife
was sensible enough not to make an outcry over the prospect of a ride
man-fashion. She came out warmly clad and mounted the mule, and I
strapped some rugs and a bundle of lunch behind the saddle. The owner of
the mule was at his head, halter in hand, ready to lead off. The entire
population were out staring open-mouthed. I delivered a speech to my
lucky-unlucky thirteen, telling them in the best way I could that I was
going in order to deliver them all over to the vengeance of the military
chief of the district. That I should accuse them as robbers and thieves,
and that they might look for anguish that would wring their hearts and
souls.
They were greatly moved, and, pulling out my watch, I informed them by
pantomime and bad Spanish that if they got the teams in harness and the
luggage all packed on the carts in twenty minutes I would take them into
my favor and resume our journey southward.
Spaniards are proverbially slow. But these Spaniards were not slow, and
a very few minutes saw us all once more mounted on our cart, with the
two baggage carts following, and on our rocky way southward.