A CONTINUATION OF GEORGE MULLHOLLAND’S HISTORY.
“Having served well the offices of felons and impostors, Hag Zogbaum
would instruct her girls in the mysteries of licentiousness. When they
reached a certain age, their personal appearance was improved, and one
by one they were passed into the hands of splendidly- dressed ladies,
as we then took them to be, who paid a sum for them to Hag Zogbaum, and
took them away; and that was the last we saw of them. They had no
desire to remain in their miserable abode, and were only too glad to
get away from it. In most cases they were homeless and neglected
orphans; and knowing no better condition, fell easy victims to the
snares set for them.
“It was in this dark, cavern-like den—in this mysterious caldron of
precocious depravity, rioting unheeded in the very centre of a great
city, whose boasted wealth and civilization it might put to shame, if
indeed it were capable of shame, I first met the child of beauty, Anna
Bonard. Yes!—the Anna Bonard you now see at the house of Madame
Flamingo. At that time she was but seven years old—a child of uncommon
beauty and aptness, of delicate but well-proportioned features, of
middle stature, and a face that care might have made charming beyond
comparison. But vice hardens, corrodes, and gives a false hue to the
features. Anna said she was an orphan. How far this was true I know
not. A mystery shrouded the way in which she fell into the hands of Hag
Zogbaum. Hag Zogbaum said she got her of an apple-woman; and the
apple-woman kept a stand in West street, but never would disclose how
she came by Anna. And Mr. Tom Toddleworth, who was the chronicle of the
Points, and used to look into ‘Scorpion Cove’ now and then, and inquire
about Anna, as if he had a sort of interest in her, they said knew all
about her. But if he did, he always kept it a secret between himself
and Hag Zogbaum.
“She was always of a melancholy turn, used to say life was but a burden
to her-that she could see nothing in the future that did not seem dark
and tortuous. The lot into which she was cast of necessity others might
have mistaken for that which she had chosen. It was not. The hard hand
of necessity had forced her into this quicksand of death; the
indifference of a naturally generous community, robbed her of the light
of intelligence, and left her a helpless victim in the hands of this
cultivator of vice. How could she, orphan as she was called, and
unencouraged, come to be a noble and generous-hearted woman? No one
offered her the means to come up and ornament her sex; but tyrannical
society neither forgets her misfortunes nor forgives her errors. Once
seal the death-warrant of a woman’s errors, and you have none to come
forward and cancel it; the tomb only removes the seal. Anna took a
liking to me, and was kind to me, and looked to me to protect her. And
I loved her, and our love grew up, and strengthened; and being alike
neglected in the world, our condition served as the strongest means of
cementing our attachment.
“Hag Zogbaum then sent Anna away to the house up the alley, in
Elizabeth street, where she sent most of her girls when they had
reached the age of eleven and twelve. Hag Zogbaum had many places for
her female pupils. The very best looking always went a while to the
house in the alley; the next best looking were sure to find their way
into the hands of Miss Brown, in Little Water street, and Miss Brown,
they said, sold them to the fairies of the South, who dressed them in
velvet and gold; and the ‘scrubs,’ as the old woman used to call the
rest, got, by some mysterious process, into the hands of Paddy Pie and
Tim Branahan, who kept shantees in Orange street.
“Anna had been away some time, and Mr. Tom Toddleworth had several
times been seen to look in and inquire for her. Mr. Toddleworth said he
had a ripping bid for her. At that time I was ignorant of its meaning.
Harry Rooney and me were sent to the house in Elizabeth street, one
morning, to bring Anna and another girl home. The house was large, and
had an air of neatness about it that contrasted strangely with the den
in ‘Scorpion Cove.’ We rang the bell and inquired for the girls, who,
after waiting nearly an hour, were sent down to us, clean and neatly
dressed. In Anna the change was so great, that though I had loved her,
and thought of her day and night during her absence, I scarce
recognized her. So glad did she seem to see me that she burst into
tears, flung her arms about my neck, and kissed me with the fondness of
a sister. Then she recounted with childlike enthusiasm the kind
treatment she had received at the house of Madame Harding (for such it
was called), between whom and Hag Zogbaum there was carried on a
species of business I am not inclined to designate here. Two kind and
splendidly-dressed ladies, Anna said, called to see them nearly every
day, and were going to take them away, that they might live like
fairies all the rest of their lives.
“When we got home, two ladies were waiting at the den. It was not the
first time we had seen them at the den. Anna recognized them as the
ladies she had seen at Madame Harding’s. One was the woman who so
kindly gave me the shilling in the market, when I was cold and hungry.
A lengthy whispering took place between Hag Zogbaum and the ladies, and
we were ordered into the back cellar. I knew the whispering was about
Anna; and watching through the boards I heard the Hag say Anna was
fourteen and nothing less, and saw one of the ladies draw from her
purse numerous pieces of gold, which were slipped into her hand. In a
few minutes more I saw poor little Anna follow her up the steps that
led into ‘Scorpion Cove.’ When we were released Hag was serving ragged
and dejected-looking men with gin and beer. Anna, she said when I
inquired, had gone to a good home in the country. I loved her ardently,
and being lonesome was not content with the statement of the old woman.
I could not read, but had begun to think for myself, and something told
me all was not right. For weeks and months I watched at the house in
Leonard street, into which I had followed the woman who gave me the
shilling. But I neither saw her nor the woman. Elegant carriages, and
elegantly-dressed men drove to and from the door, and passed in and out
of the house, and the house seemed to have a deal of fashionable
customers, and that was all I knew of it then.
“As I watched one night, a gentleman came out of the house, took me by
the arm and shook me, said I was a loitering vagrant, that he had seen
me before, and having a suspicious look he would order the watch to
lock me up. He inquired where my home was; and when I told him it was
in ‘Scorpion Cove,’ he replied he didn’t know where that was. I told
him it wasn’t much of a home, and he said I ought to have a better one.
It was all very well to say so; but with me the case was different.
That night I met Tom Farley, who was glad to see me, and told how he
got out of the lock-up, and what he thought of the lock-up, and the
jolly old Judge who sent him to the lock-up, and who he saw in the
lock-up, and what mischief was concocted in the lock-up, and what he
got to eat in the lock-up, and how the lock-up wasn’t so bad a place
after all.
“The fact was I was inclined to think the lock-up not so bad a place to
get into, seeing how they gave people something good to eat, and
clothes to wear. Tom and me went into business together. We sold
Heralds and Sunday papers, and made a good thing of it, and shared our
earnings, and got enough to eat and some clothes. I took up my stand in
Centre Market, and Tom took up his at Peck Slip. At night we would
meet, count our earnings, and give them to Mr. Crogan, who kept the
cellar in Water street, where we slept. I left Hag Zogbaum, who we got
to calling the wizard. She got all we could earn or pilfer, and we got
nothing for our backs but a few rags, and unwholesome fish and beer for
our bellies. I thought of Anna day and night; I hoped to meet in Centre
Market the woman who took her away.
“I said no one ever looked in at the den in ‘Scorpion Cove,’ but there
was a kind little man, with sharp black eyes, and black hair, and an
earnest olive-colored face, and an earnester manner about him, who used
to look in now and then, talk kindly to us, and tell us he wished he
had a home for us all, and was rich enough to give us all enough to
eat. He hated Hag Zogbaum, and Hag Zogbaum hated him; but we all liked
him because he was kind to us, and used to shake his head, and say he
would do something for us yet. Hag Zogbaum said he was always meddling
with other people’s business. At other times a man would come along and
throw tracts in at the gate of the alley. We were ignorant of what they
were intended for, and used to try to sell them at the Gibraltars.
Nobody wanted them, and nobody could read at the den, so Hag Zogbaum
lighted the fire with them, and that was the end of them.
“Well, I sold papers for nearly two years, and learned to read a little
by so doing, and got up in the world a little; and being what was
called smart, attracted the attention of a printer in Nassau street,
who took me into his office, and did well by me. My mind was bent on
getting a trade. I knew I could do well for myself with a trade to lean
upon. Two years I worked faithfully at the printer’s, was approaching
manhood, and with the facilities it afforded me had not failed to
improve my mind and get a tolerable good knowledge of the trade. But
the image of Anna, and the singular manner in which she disappeared,
made me unhappy.
“On my return from dinner one day I met in Broadway the lady who took
Anna away. The past and its trials flashed across my brain, and I
turned and followed her-found that her home was changed to Mercer
street, and this accounted for my fruitless watching in Leonard street.
“The love of Anna, that had left its embers smouldering in my bosom,
quickened, and seemed to burn with redoubled ardor. It was my first and
only love; the sufferings of our childhood had made it lasting. My very
emotion rose to action as I saw the woman I knew took her away. My
anxiety to know her fate had no bounds. Dressing myself up as
respectably as it was possible with my means, I took advantage of a
dark and stormy night in the month of November to call at the house in
Mercer street, into which I had traced the lady. I rung the bell; a
sumptuously-dressed woman came to the door, which opened into a
gorgeously-decorated hall. She looked at me with an inquiring eye and
disdainful frown, inquired who I was and what I wanted. I confess I was
nervous, for the dazzling splendor of the mansion produced in me a
feeling of awe rather than admiration. I made known my mission as best
I could; the woman said no such person had ever resided there. In that
moment of disappointment I felt like casting myself away in despair.
The associations of Scorpion Cove, of the house of the Nine Nations, of
the Rookery, of Paddy Pie’s-or any other den in that desert of death
that engulphs the Points, seemed holding out a solace for the
melancholy that weighed me down. But when I got back into Broadway my
resolution gained strength, and with it I wept over the folly of my
thoughts.
“Led by curiosity, and the air of comfort pervading the well-furnished
room, and the piously-disposed appearance of the persons who passed in
and out, I had several times looked in at the house of the ‘Foreign
Missions,’ as we used to call it. A man with a good-natured face used
to sit in the chair, and a wise-looking little man in spectacles (the
Secretary) used to sit a bit below him, and a dozen or two
well-disposed persons of both sexes, with sharp and anxious
countenances, used to sit round in a half circle, listening. The
wise-looking man in the spectacles would, on motion of some one
present, read a long report, which was generally made up of a list of
donations and expenditures for getting up a scheme to evangelize the
world, and get Mr. Singleton Spyke off to Antioch. It seemed to me as
if a deal of time and money was expended on Mr. Singleton Spyke, and
yet Mr. Spyke never got off to Antioch. When the man of the spectacles
got through reading the long paper, and the good-natured man in the
chair got through explaining that the heavy amount of twenty-odd
thousand dollars had been judiciously expended for the salary of
officers of the society, and the getting Brothers Spurn and Witherspoon
off to enlighten the heathen, Brother Singleton Spyke’s mission would
come up. Every one agreed that there ought to be no delay in getting
Brother Spyke off to Antioch; but a small deficiency always stood in
the way. And Brother Spyke seemed spiked to this deficiency; for
notwithstanding Mrs. Slocum, who was reckoned the strongest-minded
woman, and best business-man of the society, always made speeches in
favor of Brother Spyke and his mission (a special one), he never got
off to Antioch.
“Feeling forlorn, smarting under disappointment, and undecided where to
go after I left the house in Mercer street, I looked in at the house of
the ‘Foreign Missions.’ Mrs. Slocum, as I had many times before seen
her, was warmly contesting a question concerning Brother Spyke, with
the good-natured man in the chair. It was wrong, she said, so much
money should be expended, and Brother Spyke not got off to Antioch. So
leaving them debating Mr. Spyke’s mission to Antioch, I proceeded back
to the house in Mercer street, and inquired for the landlady of the
house. The landlady, the woman that opened the door said, was engaged.
The door was shut in my face, and I turned away more wounded in my
feelings than before. Day and night I contemplated some plan by which
to ascertain Anna’s place of abode, her pursuit in life, her wants.
When we parted she could neither write nor read: I had taken writing
lessons, by which I could communicate tolerably well, while my
occupation afforded me the means of improvement. A few weeks passed (I
continued to watch the house), and I recognized her one afternoon, by
her black, floating hair, sitting at a second-story window of the house
in Mercer street, her back toward me. The sight was like electricity on
my feelings; a transport of joy bore away my thoughts. I gazed, and
continued to gaze upon the object, throwing, as it were, new passion
into my soul. But it turned, and there was a changed face, a face more
lovely, looking eagerly into a book. Looking eagerly into a book did
not betray one who could not read. But there was that in my heart that
prompted me to look on the favorable side of the doubt-to try a
different expedient in gaining admittance to the house. When night
came, I assumed a dress those who look on mechanics as vulgar people,
would have said became a gentleman; and approaching the house, gained
easy admittance. As I was about entering the great parlors, a familiar
but somewhat changed voice at the top of the circling stairs that led
from the hall caught my ear. I paused, listened, became entranced with
suspense. Again it resounded-again my heart throbbed with joy. It was
Anna’s voice, so soft and musical. The woman who opened the door turned
from me, and attempted to hush it. But Anna seemed indifferent to the
admonition, for she tripped buoyantly down stairs, accompanying a
gentleman to the door. I stood before her, a changed person. Her
recognition of me was instantaneous. Her color changed, her lips
quivered, her eyes filled with tears, her very soul seemed fired with
emotions she had no power to resist. ‘George Mullholland!’ she
exclaimed, throwing her arms about my neck, kissing me, and burying her
head in my bosom, and giving vent to her feelings in tears and
quickened sobs-‘how I have thought of you, watched for you, and hoped
for the day when we would meet again and be happy. Oh, George! George!
how changed everything seems since we parted! It seems a long age, and
yet our sufferings, and the fondness for each other that was created in
that suffering, freshens in the mind. Dear, good George-my protector!’
she continued, clinging to me convulsively. I took her in my arms (the
scene created no little excitement in the house) and bore her away to
her chamber, which was chastely furnished, displaying a correct taste,
and otherwise suited to a princess. Having gained her presence of mind,
and become calm, she commenced relating what had occurred since we
parted at Scorpion Cove. I need not relate it at length here, for it
was similar in character to what might be told by a thousand others if
they were not powerless. For months she had been confined to the house,
her love of dress indulged to the furthest extent, her mind polluted
and initiated into the mysteries of refined licentiousness, her
personal appearance scrupulously regarded, and made to serve the object
of which she was a victim in the hands of the hostess, who made her the
worse than slave to a banker of great respectability in Wall street.
This good man and father was well down in the vale of years, had a
mansion on Fifth Avenue, and an interesting and much-beloved family. He
was, in addition, a prominent member of the commercial community; but
his example to those more ready to imitate the errors of men in high
positions, than to improve by the examples of the virtuous poor, was
not what it should be. Though a child of neglect, and schooled to
licentiousness under the very eye of a generous community, her natural
sensibility recoiled at the thought that she was a mere object of prey
to the passions of one she could not love.
“She resolved to remain in this condition no longer, and escaped to
Savannah with a young man whose acquaintance she had made at the house
in Mercer street. For a time they lived at a respectable hotel, as
husband and wife. But her antecedents got out, and they got notice to
leave. The same fate met them in Charleston, to which city they
removed. Her antecedents seemed to follow her wherever she went, like
haunting spirits seeking her betrayal. She was homeless; and without a
home there was nothing open to her but that vortex of licentiousness
the world seemed pointing her to. Back she went to the house in Mercer
street-was glad to get back; was at least free from the finger of
scorn. Henceforward she associated with various friends, who sought her
because of her transcendent charms. She had cultivated a natural
intelligence, and her manners were such as might have become one in
better society. But her heart’s desire was to leave the house. I took
her from it; and for a time I was happy to find that the contaminating
weeds of vice had not overgrown the more sensitive buds of virtue.
“I provided a small tenement in Centre street, such as my means would
afford, and we started in the world, resolved to live respectably. But
what had maintained me respectably was now found inadequate to the
support of us both. Life in a house of sumptuous vice had rendered Anna
incapable of adapting herself to the extreme of economy now forced upon
us. Anna was taken sick; I was compelled to neglect my work, and was
discharged. Discontent, embarrassment, and poverty resulted. I
struggled to live for six months; but my prospects, my hopes of gaining
an honest living, were gone. I had no money to join the society, and
the trade being dull, could get nothing to do. Fate seemed driving us
to the last stage of distress. One by one our few pieces of furniture,
our clothing, and the few bits of jewelry Anna had presented her at the
house in Mercer street, found their way to the sign of the Three
Martyrs. The man of the eagle face would always lend something on them,
and that something relieved us for the time. I many times thought, as I
passed the house of the Foreign Missions in Centre street, where there
was such an air of comfort, that if Mrs. Abijah Slocum, and the
good-natured man who sat in the chair, and the wise little man in the
spectacles, would condescend to look in at our little place, and
instead of always talking about getting Mr. Singleton Spyke off to
Antioch, take pity on our destitution, what a relief it would be. It
would have made more hearts happy than Mr. Spyke, notwithstanding the
high end of his mission, could have softened in ten years at Antioch.
“Necessity, not inclination, forced Anna back into the house in Mercer
street, when I became her friend, her transient protector. Her hand was
as ready to bestow as her heart was warm and generous. She gave me
money, and was kind to me; but the degraded character of my position
caused me to despond, to yield myself a victim to insidious vice, to
become the associate of men whose only occupation was that of gambling
and ‘roping-in’ unsuspecting persons. I was not long in becoming an
efficient in the arts these men practiced on the unwary. We used to
meet at the ‘Subterranean,’ in Church street, and there concoct our
mode of operations. And from this centre went forth, daily, men who
lived by gambling, larceny, picking pockets, counterfeiting, and
passing counterfeit money. I kept Anna ignorant of my associations.
Nevertheless I was forced to get money, for I found her affections
becoming perverted. At times her manner towards me was cold, and I
sought to change it with money.
“While thus pursuing a life so precarious and exciting, I used to look
in at the ‘Empire,’ in Broadway, to see whom I could ‘spot,’ as we
called it at the ‘Subterranean.’ And it was here I met poor Tom Swiggs,
distracted and giving himself up to drink, in the fruitless search
after the girl of his love, from whom he had been separated, as he
said, by his mother. He had loved the girl, and the girl returned his
love with all the sincerity and ardor of her soul. But she was poor,
and of poor parents. And as such people were reckoned nothing in
Charleston, his mother locked him up in jail, and she was got out of
the way. Tom opened his heart to me, said foul means had been resorted
to, and the girl had thrown herself away, because, while he was held in
close confinement, falsehoods had been used to make her believe he had
abandoned her. To have her an outcast on his account, to have her
leading the life of an abandoned woman, and that with the more galling
belief that he had forsaken her, was more than he could bear, and he
was sinking under the burden. Instead of making him an object of my
criminal profession, his story so touched my feelings that I became his
protector, saw him to his lodgings in Green street, and ultimately got
him on board a vessel bound to Charleston.
“Not many weeks after this, I, being moneyless, was the principal of a
plot by which nearly a thousand dollars was got of the old man in Wall
street, who had been Anna’s friend; and fearing it might get out, I
induced her to accompany me to Charleston, where she believed I had a
prospect of bettering my condition, quitting my uncertain mode of
living, and becoming a respectable man. Together we put up at the
Charleston Hotel. But necessity again forced me to reveal to her my
circumstances, and the real cause of my leaving New York. Her hopes of
shaking off the taint of her former life seemed blasted; but she bore
the shock with resignation, and removed with me to the house of Madame
Flamingo, where we for a time lived privately. But the Judge sought her
out, followed her with the zeal of a knight, and promised, if she would
forsake me, to be her protector; to provide for her and maintain her
like a lady during her life. What progress he has made in carrying out
his promise you have seen. The English baronet imposed her upon the St.
Cecilia, and the Judge was the first to betray her.”