THE MORGUE.
There is located on the East river side of the great city, an
establishment which has been but lately introduced. It is the Morgue,
or Dead House, and is modelled after the famous place of the same name
in Paris. Bodies found in the streets, or in the harbor, are brought
here and left a certain time for identification. Each article of
clothing found upon them, or any trinket, or other property, which
might lead to the discovery of the name and friends of the dead, is
carefully preserved. Bodies properly identified are surrendered to the
friends of the deceased. Those unclaimed are interred at the expense of
the city, and their effects are preserved a much longer time for
purposes of identification.
It is a gloomy looking building, this Morgue, and it is rarely empty.
In a dark, cheerless room, with a stone floor, there are rows of marble
slabs supported by iron frames. Over each one of these is a water jet.
Stretched on these cold beds, are lifeless forms, entirely covered with
a sheet except as to their faces, which stare blankly at the dark
ceiling. A constant stream of fresh water falls on the lifeless
breasts, and trickles over the senseless forms, warding off decay to
the latest moment, in the vain hope that some one to whom the dead man
or woman was dear in life may come and claim the body. It is a vain
hope, for but a few bodies are claimed. Nearly all go to the potter's
field, where they sleep well in their nameless graves.
The dark waters of the rivers and bay send many an inmate to this
gloomy room. The harbor police, making their early morning rounds, find
some dark object floating in the waters. It is scarcely light enough to
distinguish it, but the men know well what it is. They are accustomed
to such things. They grapple it and tow it in silent horror past the
long lines of shipping, and pause only when the Morgue looms up coldly
before them in the uncertain light of the breaking day. The still form
is lifted out of the water, and carried swiftly into the gloomy
building. It is laid on the marble slab, stripped, covered with a
sheet, the water is turned on, and the room is deserted and silent
again. Shall we tell you the story, reader, of this unfortunate man.
Step back with us, and look at the face lying so cold and white under
the trickling water. It is that of a young man; there is a deep gash in
the forehead, and the sheet over the breast is stained with blood.
Only two days ago this young man, in high health, and full of life and
spirits, left his home in a neighboring State for a visit to the great
city. A mother's blessing and a sister's kiss hallowed his departure,
and even his faithful dog seemed loth to part from him. He laughed at
the fears of his dear ones, and gayly promised a speedy and safe
return. [Footnote: The reader will find this story told with inimitable
fidelity in our illuminated title page, the scenes embodied in that
engraving explain themselves, and convey no uncertain warning.] He
reached the city, and his business was soon transacted. He had heard
much in his country home of the dangers to which unsophisticated
strangers were apt to fall in the Metropolis, but he had laughed at the
idea of his being so silly as to allow himself to be treated so. He
would take just one glance at the shady side of city life, to satisfy
his curiosity, and have something to talk about at home, and would then
start on his return. He would merely be a looker on.
A gaudy transparency in front of a cellar caught his eye, and invited
him to come and enjoy the hospitalities of Madame X----'s Varieties. An
inward voice bade him shun the place, but as he was only going for
curiosity, he silenced the faithful monitor, and boldly entered. He
would not have liked to have any friend see him there, and he entered
the hall timidly. Not knowing what else to do, he seated himself at a
neighboring table. The room was full of girls, whose very appearance
made him blush for shame, and with men who eyed him with no friendly
looks. In a moment, two girls came and seated themselves beside him,
and bade him "be sociable." Not wishing to appear "verdant," the young
man, whose rusticity was evident to every one in the room, threw off
his timidity, and boldly ordered liquor. He drank deeply, to keep up
his courage, and, determining to "have his fun out," commenced a lively
conversation with the girls. A man and a woman soon sought the same
table, and the party became the very merriest in the room. The young
man, who had come only through curiosity, was determined to enjoy
himself. At a late hour, he left the hall, with just enough of reason
remaining to know what he was doing. As he reached the street he was
joined by two men, who had followed him from the saloon. Accosting him,
they told him they were glad he had left the hall.
"Why?" he asked in surprise.
"Because," he answered, "those girls you were with had laid a plan to
make you drunk, and rob you. They know you are a stranger in the city,
and they are after your money."
The young man's liquor had robbed him of his discretion, and he
answered, thickly, that he had over two hundred dollars with him, that
he had collected that day. A look of intelligence passed between the
two men. One of them asked the young man if he would not go into a
neighboring barroom and drink with them. He muttered something about
wanting to go to his hotel, but they assured him that, after a friendly
drink, they would take him there. He went with them. Glasses were
filled and drained, and the young man was in high spirits with his new
friends. If the bar-keeper suspected anything, he held his peace.
The three men then left the "Gin palace" together, and the young man,
relying upon their promise to conduct him to his hotel, went with them
without suspicion. They led him down dark, crooked streets, assuring
him that he was almost at his lodgings. The air grew fresher and
fresher, and at last the low ripple of the waves was heard as they
dashed in upon the shore. A momentary ray of prudence flashed through
the drunken helplessness of the doomed man, and, alarmed by the
strangeness of the scene and the sight of the river, he stopped short,
and declared he would go no further.
His prudence came too late. In an instant, he was felled to the ground
by a heavy blow from one of his companions. At the same moment, they
were joined by two other men, who came up so suddenly that they almost
seemed to spring out of the darkness. A handkerchief was tied tightly
over the victim's mouth, and, catching him up in their arms, the four
men bore him rapidly out to the end of one of the most deserted piers.
The sense of his danger roused the poor fellow from his drunken stupor,
and almost sobered him. He struggled violently to free himself from his
assassins, but they held him down with grips of iron. A heavy blow on
the forehead from a "billy," rendered him senseless, and a well-aimed
knife-thrust sent him into eternity. The murderers, accustomed to such
work, quickly rifled his pockets of money, watch, and other valuables.
Then there was a heavy splash in the dark water, and the secret was
confided to the keeping of the silent stars.
The harbor police found the body, as we have described, and conveyed it
to the Morgue.
Weary with waiting and watching, the friends of the young man will come
hurriedly to the city, and the police authorities, who know well where
to look for such missing ones, will take them to the Morgue, where
their lost darling lies waiting for them.
Young man, if curiosity tempts you to seek to penetrate the secrets of
the great city, remember that you may learn them only to your cost.