Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
AT WAR WITH SOCIETY;
OR,
TALES OF THE OUTCASTS.
BY
JAMES M'LEVY,
(EDINBURGH POLICE DETECTIVE STAFF,)
AUTHOR OF "ROMANCES OF CRIME."
CAMERON AND FERGUSON, PUBLISHERS.
GLASGOW: 88 WEST NILE STREET.
LONDON: 12 AVE MARIA LANE.
GLASGOW:
DUNN AND WRIGHT,
PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. THE INGENUITY OF THIEVES 1
II. THE ORANGE BLOSSOM 16
III. THE BLUE-BELLS OF SCOTLAND 33
IV. THE WHISKERS 49
V. THE WHITE COFFIN 62
VI. THE SEA CAPTAIN 75
VII. THE COBBLER'S KNIFE 88
VIII. THE COCK AND TRUMPET 105
IX. THE WIDOW'S LAST SHILLING 117
X. THE CHILD-STRIPPERS 129
XI. THE TOBACCO-GLUTTON 140
XII. THE THIEVES' WEDDING 151
XIII. THE PLEASURE-PARTY 162
XIV. THE CLUB NEWSPAPER 174
XV. A WANT SPOILS PERFECTION 187
XVI. THE COAL-BUNKER 203
XVII. THE HALF-CROWNS 221
XVIII. THE SOCIETY-BOX 238
XIX. THE MINIATURE 251
XX. THE WRONG SHOP 265
XXI. THE MUSTARD-BLISTER 276
The Ingenuity of Thieves.
INTRODUCTORY.
It would not be a hopeful sign of the further triumph of the good
principle over the evil if the devil's agents could shew us many
examples where they have beaten us, and been enabled to slide clean off
the scale. Since my first volume was published, I have been twitted with
cases where we have been at fault. I don't deny that there are some, and
I will give one or two, of which I have something to say. In the
meantime, I have consolation, not that I have contributed much to the
gratifying result in being able to point to the fact, that, since the
year 1849, the Reports of the General Board of Prisons have shewn a
gradual and steady decrease of the population of our jails. I am free to
confess that this result is only, to a small extent, due to us, and the
reason is plain enough. The old rebel has had the advantage of us. We
have, until very recently, been acting against him on the principle of
those masters and mistresses, who, with a chuckle in their hearts, lay
pieces of money in the way of suspected servants to catch
them,--something in the Twelvetrees way, only they don't wish their
unwary victims "to die on the spot;" nay, having caught them, they only
turn them off to rob and steal elsewhere. Yes, in place of our
philanthropists meeting the arch-enemy at the beginning, when he is busy
with the young hearts, detecting the first throb of good and turning it
to a pulse of evil, we have been obliged to wait until the young sinner
was ripe and ready for our hardening mould of punishment. There was no
Dr Guthrie there--a good way cleverer than the enemy, I suspect, and
capable of checkmating him by nipping the canker in the early bud; and
then we have been hampered by our legal governors, who have been, and
still are, always telling us we must keep a sharp look out for what they
call, in their law jargon, an "overt act," the meaning of which, I am
informed, is, that we must wait until the rogues are able to do some
_clever_ thing, sufficient to shew us they have arrived at the age of
_discretion_, and become _meritorious_ subjects for punishment.
With this advantage over us, it is no great wonder we are sometimes
outwitted; nay, the wonder rather is, that we succeed so often as we do,
and I think it might be a great consolation to our philanthropists
working among the Raggedier ranks, when I tell them, as I have already
done, that I don't hold the enemy at so much count as many do. His
terrible reputation is due to our own laxity. We let him into the camp,
hoof and horns, and then complain that we can't drive or pull him out,
whereas we have the power, if we would only exercise it, of _keeping_
him out. To my instinctive way of looking at things in those days of
improved tactics in war, it seems something like folly to trust to the
strength of the wild boar's tail in dragging him out when we can so
easily barricade the hole.
Viewing crime even in its diminished extent, there is another
consideration which has often opened my eyes pretty wide. We are always
a-being told that the human heart has really some good soil in it--(I
don't go with those who think that people inherit evil as they do
sometimes six toes)--and that, though the devil has always a large
granary of tares, we have an abundance of good seed from Jerusalem. I
would just ask what use we have been making of that good seed? Have we
not been keeping it _in_ the bushel just as we keep the light _under_
the bushel? In my beat I see a routh of the tares; then I get a sickle
put into my hands, and I cut away just as the gardeners do when they
prune in order to make the old branches shoot out with more vigour, and,
behold, the twisted saplings, how stiff and rigid they become!
But I suspect I am here getting out of my beat. I set out with stating
that I had got thrown in my teeth cases where, by the ingenuity of
thieves, we have been defeated. They are not cases of mine, any how. I
may take one or two that relate to one of the most successful artists of
the tender sex that ever appeared in Edinburgh, viz., the well-known
Jean Brash. I knew her very well, but, strange as it may appear, her
ladyship always contrived to keep out of my hands; not that she came
always scaithless out of the hands of others, any more than that her
victims came without damage out of hers, but that she usually, by her
adroitness, achieved a miserable success, sufficient to form the
foundation of a romantic story. At an early period, she could boast of
some attractions, but she could boast more of making these run along
with her power of _extraction_; yea, she had three wonderful powers,
viz., those of captivating her cullies, retaining them if she chose, and
of losing them by capturing their means. Of the last of these she was
more proud than of the others, and if she could, in addition, enjoy the
triumph of deceiving an astute constable, she got to the top of her
pride--a creature or _fiend_, otherwise strangely formed, for if she
seduced and robbed by instinct, she strengthened and justified the
inborn propensity by a kind of devil's logic, to the effect that, as she
had ruined her immortal soul for the sake of man, she was not only
entitled to receive from him the common wages of sin, but also to take
from him whatever her subtle fingers could enable her to lay hold of by
way of compensation. On one occasion, when, as I think, she resided in
the Salt Backet, and when I had occasionally my eye upon her with a look
of official love, which she could return with a leer of rather a
different kind from that wherewith she wrought her stratagems, she had
sallied out, after night-fall, to try her skill on hearts, gold watches,
or little bits of bank paper. Doubtless, no more now than on any other
occasion, did she imitate the old sirens of whom I have read somewhere.
She did not sing them into her toils, that is, her art was not thrown
out any more than when a cat purs at a mouse-hole. Her power could be in
reserve, and yet be available, so that a man in place of being a _dupe_,
might flatter himself that he was a _duper_ seeking for her charms in
the shape of shrinking modesty. So probably thought the happy Mr C----,
a mercantile traveller in the hard goods line from Birmingham, but not
himself a Brummagem article of false glitter,--a sterling man, if one
might judge from the value of the money he carried. In her demureness,
Jean appears a real jewel, and he would secure the prize, yet not in the
way of an "_un_commercial traveller," for he could and would purchase,
and surely in so modest-looking a creature he would make an excellent
bargain. Look you, here is a little consolation for us, as we wander
about seeking for the vicious to catch them and punish them into virtue.
We see occasionally the vicious prowling, in the shades of night,
seeking the vicious to deceive them into further vice, and yet sure to
be deceived in turn and brought to ruin, while they are trying to make a
capital of pleasure out of a poor wretch's necessity. So it has always
been: voluptuousness gets hysterical over modesty (Jean Brash's
modesty!) and how can we be sorry when we see it choked with the
wind-ball of its desire? Then, look ye, is it not a little curious to
see vice so conservative of virtue as to become a detective?
Well, Jean is caught by the commercial traveller, how unwittingly the
reader may pretty safely guess, and not only caught, but led as a kind
of triumph to the Salt Backet, where resides one of those "decent women"
who take pity on errant lovers; probably if Jean had said that the house
was her own, he might have doubted of a modesty which could belie itself
at home among friends. Then, as they say love has quick wings where
there is a shady grove in prospect--not always of sweet myrtle--not
seldom of common pine firs, with a good many nettles and thistles
growing about the temple--so they were speedily under the auspices of
the decent priestess. How long it was before the heart of this lover,
which had only been for a little absent from his commercial interests,
returned to these so as to make him alive to the conviction that he had
been robbed of a hundred-pound Bank of England note, I cannot say, for I
was not in this case; but certain it is, that rather quiet part of the
town soon echoed to a cry of horror, to the effect that he had been
relieved from the anxiety of carrying about with him a bit of paper of
that value.
Of all this I have no doubt, because I was perfectly aware that Jean was
a woman who could confer the boon of such a relief from anxiety as
easily as she could transfer that anxiety to herself; nor could any one
who knew her doubt that she could contrive to make the care a very light
one. Even the more romantic part of the story which "illustrates" the
memory of this remarkable woman, I have no proper right to gainsay--how
the commercial traveller rushed down stairs and bawled out at the top of
his English voice for a constable--how the constable made his appearance
while the traveller kept watch at the door--how they hurried up-stairs
to seize when they should discover the money--how they found Jean quite
in an easy state of conscious innocence--how she adjured the constable
to search the house and her own body, and satisfy himself that the
unfortunate man was in error--how, for that purpose, she quietly handed
to him a lighted candle placed in a brass candlestick, and well fixed
there by a round of paper not to oscillate in the way of unsteady
lights--how the constable searched for the missing note with this
candle, so fixed by the paper roll at the end thereof, all the while
that Jean was muttering to herself, "The fool has taken the wrong
end"--how he failed in his search, and how the traveller gave up all
hope, if he did not suspect that he had lost his note elsewhere, and
therefore resolved to avoid the fearful exposure of committing the
woman--and how Jean was at length left quietly in her state of
innocence. The reader may guess that Jean at her own time undid the
piece of paper from the end of the candle, thus rescuing the "Governor
and Company of the Bank of England" from their temporary degradation,
and enjoying a quiet chuckle at her successful ingenuity.
Now, I confess I never liked very well to hear this romantic bit of
Jean's history, and simply for this reason, that I was not there to hold
the candle.
On another occasion--though I am bound to say I have heard the credit of
the adventure ascribed to a young unfortunate of the name of Catherine
Brown, who lived in Richmond Street--our Jean was pursuing her _nomade_
vocation in Princes Street. The night was dark enough, and the hour late
enough, to inspire adventurers with sufficient confidence to flirt a
little with the coy damsel, without being detected by curious friends.
There are always numbers of these shy and frolicsome fish who are fond
of poking their noses into the dangerous meshes, without any intention
of entering the seine, where they would be pretty sure to be caught. The
regular tramps, such as our heroine, are quite up to these amateurs,
hate them heartily, and sometimes make them pay, and very deservedly
too, golden guineas for silvern words. I can't say I have much sympathy
for them when they fall into misfortune, and ask our help to get money
restored to their pockets, which pockets they voluntarily placed within
the range of curious fingers. Why, if these fingers are delicate enough
to be fondled and kissed without recompense, the men shew a bad grace
in complaining that the same fingers fondled in their turn a bit of gold
or paper supposed to be beyond their reach. Of course we do our duty,
but always with a feeling in such cases that the victims did not do
theirs, and impose upon us the trouble of rectifying the results of
their folly, if not vice. Such fire-ships shew enough of light to enable
these gay yachtmen to steer sufficiently aloof. (Were I able to be
fanciful myself, I would not need to borrow the words of one of our
well-read Lieutenants.) These young men play round the rancid
candle-light of impurity, which at once enables them to see reflected in
their self-conceit their immunity from danger, and imparts a little heat
to their imagination. Rather fine language for me, but I see the sense
of it.
With one of these gaudy night-moths our famous heroine had forgathered;
and thinking probably that if he did not choose to consider her soft
hand sacred from his squeeze, she was not bound to esteem his pocket
tabooed against the prying curiosity of her fingers, she made free with
the contents thereof. At least the youth thought so; for on the instant
he bawled out to the passing bull's-eye that he had been robbed. The
constable, who knew Jean--as who didn't--immediately laid hold of her,
and as there were no passers-by to complicate the affair, the money
would of course be got upon the instant. It was no less than a
five-pound note, at least so said the young man; but Jean, whose
coolness never forsook her, simply denied the charge.
It was a matter of short work for the constable to search her so far as
he could,--an act in which he was helped by the young man. Her pockets
were turned out, but with the exception of a scent-bottle, a white
handkerchief, and some brown pawn-tickets, nothing was found there. All
round the pavement the light of the lantern shewed nothing in the shape
of the valuable bit of paper, and there was no sympathiser to whom she
could have handed it.
"You must be under a delusion," said the policeman.
"Impossible!" cried the youth. "There are as many folds in a woman's
dress as there are loops and lies in her mind. March her up."
To all which Jean replied with her ordinary laugh of consummate
self-possession, if not impudence. Nor was she at all unwilling to
march--rather the contrary. She knew what she was about.
"Come away," she said, "and we shall see who is right and who is wrong."
And so away they went. Nor was it long before Jean was examined by one
of the female searchers of the Office. No five-pound note was found upon
her; and though the young man raved incessantly about the absolute
certainty of the theft, the policeman, and not less the lieutenant on
duty, was satisfied that there must have been a mistake,--a conclusion
which the redoubted Jean confirmed by a cool declaration, in all
likelihood false, that she had seen the young gentleman in the company
of not less scrupulous women a very short time before. There was only
one thing to be done--to set Jean free.
"And who is to pay me for all this time?" said she, as she turned to the
lieutenant a face in which was displayed a mock seriousness, contrasting
vividly with the wild, anxious countenance of the youth. "I could have
made five pounds in the time in an honest way, so that I am the real
loser; and who, I ask again, is to pay me?"
A question to which she no more expected a reply than she did the
payment of her lost gains in an honest way. And with head erect, if not
indeed with an air of injured innocence, she marched out of the office.
Yet nothing would satisfy the young man that he had not been robbed; and
he too, when he saw that he had no hope, left with the conviction that
he was a greatly injured innocent.
The matter died away, leaving only the impression of some unaccountable
mistake or indetectible priggery, though probably the presumption was
against the woman, whose genius in this peculiar line of art was known
to be able to find her advantage in a mystery through which the most
practised eye of official vision could see nothing.
A day or two passed. No more was heard of the young man, who no doubt
had made up his mind to the loss of the five pounds; nor did the
constable, who was again upon his beat about the same hour, think any
more of the mystery, unless perhaps the place brought up a passing
thought of wonder how the bit of paper could have disappeared in so very
short a time. A woman came running up to him. It was Jean, and she was
all of a bustle. Laying hold of the man by the left hand--
"What now," said the constable, who knew well that something not
altogether useless to Jean was coming. "In one of your high jinks?"
"No; I have a secret for you, man."
"What is it?"
"Oh, you're such peaching fellows, one can hardly speak with you. Would
you like the young sprig's five-pound note? He can't afford to lose it,
and my conscience is queezy."
"Ah, ha!" cried the constable, "Jean Brash's conscience!"
"Aye, man, even Jean Brash's conscience," replied she, a little grandly.
"A queer thing maybe, but still a thing. Aye, man, I would tell you
where the five-pound note is if you would keep me out of the gleg's
claws."
"Well, I will," replied he, getting into official cunning. "Tell me
where the note is, and I will do my best for you."
"Ah, I know you won't, and so I can't trust you with an admission which
you would use against me; but suppose I were to make a sign, eh? A nod
is as good, you know, as----"
"Well, well, give me the nod to lead me to the note."
"And you will say nothing? Well, who's your tailor?" she cried,
laughing.
"What has that to do with the note?" responded the man.
"Something that may astonish you," said she, as she still held his arm,
and fumbled about the cuff of his coat. "He gives you a deep cuff. Very
convenient as a kind of wee pawn."
"Nonsense. Get off. You are trifling."
"Not just," she replied, again laughing and thrusting her nimble
fingers, so like instruments of legerdemain, deep into the cuff--"not
just. Suppose you were to find the note in here after I am gone, would
you just say you got it there, and nothing of me?"
"Perhaps I would."
"Then search your cuff," she cried, swinging his arm to a side, "and you
will find it."
And running away, she threw behind her the words: "But be sure and act
honourably, and give it to the prig."
The constable was a little confused, but he did not fail to begin to
search the cuff, from which Jean, while pretending she had deposited the
£5 in the receptacle, had absolutely extracted the spoil,--the identical
note which she had placed there at the instant of her seizure on the
night it was stolen, and which he had carried about with him for two
days, altogether unconscious of the valuable deposit.
The man could swear, as in a rage he searched and found nothing, but he
couldn't detect, and I don't think he ever knew the trick played off
upon him; for it came out long afterwards when Jean was safe, and in one
of her fits of bragging, how she did the authorities.
These are not _my_ experiences, and I can give no guarantee of their
truth; but, as I have said, I should have liked to be the man who held
the candle, supported in the socket by such a valuable bit of paper; and
I must add, that I should have liked also to be the man who wore the
coat with the deep cuff.
So much for such talk as goes on amongst us. But I have had enough of
experience of Jean to enable me to say that she was the most "organic
thief" of my time. So much was her _make_ that of a thief, that I doubt
whether training in a ragged school would have had much effect upon her.
The house she occupied in James' Square was a "bank of exchange,"
regularly fitted up for business. In the corner of a door-panel of every
bedroom, there was a small hole neatly closed up with a wooden button,
so as to escape all observation. Then the lower panels were made to
slide, so that while through the peep she could see when the light was
extinguished, she could by the opened panel creep noiselessly in on all
fours and take the watch off the side-table, or rifle the pockets of the
luckless wight's dress. She made occasionally great catches, having once
"done" £400; but she was at length "done" by the paltry sum of 7s. 6d. I
have heard that she is still alive in Australia, and married, perhaps
driving, like a pastoral Arcadian, "the yowes to the knowes."
The Orange Blossom.
However assiduously I have plied my vocation, I have never thought that
I was doing the good which our masters expect of us in stopping the
sliders on the slippery scale of criminal descent. They only commence
again, and when they slide off altogether others rise to run the same
course. If I have taken credit for a diminution, I suspect that Dr
Guthrie has had more to do with it than I. Sometimes I have had qualms
from a conviction that I have been hard on many who could scarcely be
said to be responsible. I have been, no doubt, often an unwelcome
intruder upon merry-makings and jollifications, but then it may be said
for me that these merry-makers were merry at the expense of others.
Well, "you have stopped marriages where one of the parties was
innocent." True, but the innocent party was attracted by the glitter of
stolen gold, and why should a resetting bridegroom escape a loss any
more than a resetting pawnbroker? A dowried thief in stolen orange
blossom may be a pretty object to a loving snob--to me, however, she is
nothing else but a thief, and if I am bound to tear her from his arms,
I have just the satisfaction that I transfer her to the arms of justice,
who will hug her a good deal closer.
In 1842, our office was inundated with complaints of house enterings by
false keys. There had been no fewer than sixteen in six weeks, and not a
trace could be discovered.
"Why, M'Levy," said the Lieutenant one day to me, "we will lose caste.
Aberdeen will mock us, and Berwick hold up the finger at us. What's to
be done?"
"There's a difficulty," replied I. "In the first place, I am satisfied
there is only one thief; in the second place, there is only one place of
deposit; in the third place, I am only one man; and, in the fourth
place, I am not an angel. Yet, notwithstanding, I have a hope."
"What is it founded on?"
"This little bit of swatch," replied I, shewing him a paring of print
not larger than two crown pieces.
"Why do you place faith in a rag like that?"
"I got it," replied I, "from Mrs ----, the proprietor of a house in
Richmond Street, the last one operated on, and Mrs Thick, the broker in
the Cowgate, thinks she will be able to match it."
"That promises something."
"I think I have the sex too," said I, with an intention to be jocular.
"Man or woman?"
"Woman," replied I.
"Oh, something peculiarly in the female line," said he. "I hope not an
object in the _greening_ way?"
"No; something preparatory to, and going before that. Can't you guess?"
"No--yes--let me see--orange blossom?"
"Yes, orange blossom," said I. "The thief wants to be married. She has
laid in the dowry from the same house in Richmond Street, and finished
off with the bride's badge."
Our conversation terminated with a laugh, for, after all, we were
scarcely serious, and I repaired to Mrs Thick, a fine specimen of her
class, who, rather than pocket a penny from stolen goods, would have
surrendered her whole stock, amounting to hundreds of pounds. As I went
along I continued my former ruminations on this wonderful succession of
robberies. That they were all done by one hand I had, as I have said,
little doubt; but, considering the short period of time, the difficulty
of watching and accomplishing even one house, the multiplied chances of
being seen, the obstructions of locks, the accidents so rife in pledging
or disposing by sale, the many inquiries and investigations that had
already been made by sharp people, I could not help being filled with
admiration at a dexterity so unexampled in my experience. And then, if I
was right in my whimsical conjecture as to sex, what a wonderful
creature of a woman she must be!
"She is worthy of me anyhow," I said to myself; and as we illiterate
people are fond of a pun, I added, just for my own ear, "I will catch
her through _thick_ or _thin_."
Now, don't be angry at my wit; it is better than you think; for don't
you remember of one of the name of Thin, with the three balls above his
door?
And not insensible to the effect of my solitary effort at being clever
out of my sphere, I entered the shop of the broker.
"Now, Mrs Thick," said I, "have you got a match for my swatch?"
"Indeed I think I have," replied the good woman, although she knew she
would in all likelihood be a heavy loser by her honesty. "Here's the
gown," and, taking the pattern out of my hand, "see, it's just the
thing--aye, just a bit o' the self-same. Whaur in a' the warld got ye
the swatch? Surely it's no canny to meddle wi' you, you're an awfu' man;
but, do ye ken, I canna think after a' that that gown was stown."
"I never said it was, Mrs Thick."
"Aye, but it's a sign o' dead hens when the farmer rins after the fox
that has loupit the yett."
"And I never said it was not," replied I, for I had reasons to be
cautious.
"Weel, to be honest, Mr M'Levy, I really dinna think it was."
"And why?"
"Just because it was brought to me by that industrious creature Lizzy
Gorman."
"That's the handsome hawker, as the young chaps call her?" said I.
"Just the same."
"And what makes you have so much faith in Elizabeth?"
"Just because I have kent her for years; and naebody could look into her
bonny face, sae simple and sweet, without being sure she's an honest
creature. Then she has hawked sae lang through Edinburgh, that had she
been dishonest, she would hae been fund oot."
"Well, she does look like an honest girl," said I. "Have you had many
articles from her besides the gown?"
"Just a heap," replied she. "But ken ye what, Mr M'Levy?"
"If I knew the what, I could perhaps tell," said I, keeping my friend in
humour.
"This is Elizabeth's marriage-day," she whispered in my ear.
"Orange blossom!" muttered I.
"Aye, orange blossom," repeated Mrs Thick; "Lizzy's as far up as even
that."
Now I had no wish that Mrs Thick should have heard my muttering, but the
answer satisfied me I had muttered to some purpose.
"And who is the happy man?" inquired I; though I would not have given
the sprig of orange blossom for the other sprig.
"Just a snab," replied she; "but then Elizabeth has money, and a full
house, a' by her ain industry, and she says she'll set him up."
"Well, the affair looks promising," said I, adding, as I meditated a
little, "unless the swine runs through it."
"Oh, it's ower near now for the sow; you're no Scotch, and maybe dinna
ken the auld rhyme--
'Lang to woo, and then to marry,
That's the way to mak' things miscarry;
But first to marry, and then to woo,
Is the surest way to keep out the sow.'
Aye, the beast seldom comes on the marriage-day to scatter the ribbons
and the orange blossom."
"Not sure," said I, somewhat absent. "But letting the marriage of this
most industrious girl alone, I have a favour to ask of you. Will you
take care of this gown, and all the other articles Elizabeth has brought
to you?"
"I will," replied she; "but the Lord kens how I'm to get them a'
collected. There's a cart-load o' them; but I hae nae fear they're a'
honestly come by."
"I hope so," said I, as I left the shop, with the intention of returning
to the Office for a list of the property stolen from the sixteen houses,
and then perhaps to call and see the bonny bride.
And as I went along, I began to gather up the fragments of my prior
knowledge of my handsome hawker. She was pretty well known for several
peculiarities. Her face was that of a gipsy, with the demureness of the
race mixed with a simplicity which they seldom exhibit; and her dress,
plain almost to Quakerism, had all that dandyism which extreme care and
an excellent taste can bestow on very plain things. Quite an exception
to the crowd of town-hawkers, she was far above their baskets and
bundles of troggan. We see these every day. Some are enveloped in a
mountain of shining articles of tin,--others are surrounded with a whole
forest of wicker-work in the shape of baskets and reticules,--others
rejoice in a heap of black tin shovels,--many are devoted to kitchens,
where they shew their white caps to the servants out of a basket neatly
covered with a white towel,--the apple and orange troggars are
everywhere, the red-herring female merchants being probably at the foot
of the tree. Despising all these, Elizabeth was seldom burdened with
more than a neat paper parcel. Even that she was often without, and
indeed I had heard it often remarked that no one knew what she hawked.
Yet the readiness with which she was admitted at pretty high doors was
remarkable, and once in, the secret article, probably drawn from under
her gown, was an easy sale--at to her, no doubt, a remunerating
price--under the charm of a winning simplicity, aided by the ready tale
of the interesting orphan. A little consideration of these things soon
brought me to the conclusion that it was only by such an adept,
thoroughly acquainted with the inside of so many houses, by means of a
daring eye and a quick ear, that all these sixteen entries in six weeks
could have been effected. Nor would it be too much to say that the
orange blossom was not accidental, if it was an object which she had
known to be in the house where a marriage was on the _tapis_, and of
which she had obtained the knowledge by a prior visit.
I had now got thoroughly interested in my pretty hawker. Her movement on
the scale was now upwards. It is seldom that thieves slide up to Hymen's
bower; and if I had had no other motive than simply to see the young
woman who could perform such miracles, I would have gone twenty miles to
see her in her marriage dress, orange blossom, and all. I soon got my
list completed; indeed, I was now somewhat in a hurry. The apathy with
which the Lieutenant had charged me was changed into enthusiasm. Strange
perversity of the human heart! I felt a jealousy of the snab. He was
unworthy of such perfection. The bride must be mine at all hazards, even
if I should be obliged to renounce my beauty to the superior claims of
the Colonial Secretary.
Having got my list, I made again for the Cowgate, where, as I passed the
stair-foot leading to the room of the intended, I saw the beginnings of
the crowd which was to honour this match between the son of Crispin and
the daughter surely of that famous goddess who got her skeleton keys
from Vulcan for a kiss. I would pay due attention to the crowd by and
by, and gratify it perhaps more than by the raree-show it was gaping to
see. It was Mrs Thick I was now after; and having again found her at her
old post, I went over with her as quickly as I could the long list, and
became quite satisfied that her estimate of a cart-load was not much
below the mark.
"Now, you are upon your honour," said I to her. "You must be careful to
retain all those articles for an hour or so, for I am sorry to inform
you I must take them from you."
"And can it be possible!" she exclaimed, no doubt with reference to the
guilt of her industrious protegé; and then relaxing into a kind of
smile, "Surely, surely you're no to act the animal we were speaking of.
The bride's dressed, the bridegroom is up, the minister is waited for,
and the crowd is at the door. Poor Lizzy, poor Lizzy, could ever I have
thought this of you!"
"Well, I admit that I intend to be at the marriage anyhow," said I.
"They have not had the grace to invite me; but I am often obliged to
overlook slights from my friends."
And leaving my honest broker in the very height of her wonder--if not
with uplifted hands and open mouth--I made my way to the house of
rejoicing, shaded as all such are with that quiet decorum, if not
solemnity, which the black coat and white cravat have such a power of
casting over leaping hearts and winged hopes. The crowd had by this time
increased; and among the rest was my assistant waiting for me--though
ostensibly there to overawe the noisy assemblage. The Irish boys and
girls were predominant, shouting their cries, among which "The snab and
the hawker, hurra," would not sound as an honour up-stairs. When I say
Irish boys and girls, I mean to include adults of sixty, grim and
shrivelled enough in all save the heart, which is ever as young and
green as an urchin's. Then who does not feel an interest in the
evergreen of marriage, albeit its red berries are often full of
bitterness and death? The young look forward to it, and the old back
upon it--the one with a laugh, the other with a sigh; but the interest
is ever the same. Nay, I'm not sure if the sigh has not a little hope in
it, even to that last dripping of the sands, when even all other
"pleasure has ceased to please." Excuse me, it is not often I have to
sermonise on marriage, except those between the law and vice, where the
yoke is not a pleasant one, and yet perhaps less unpleasant than many of
those beginning with love on the one side, and affection on the other.
And now I am the detective again.
"Are the constables ready?" I whispered to my assistant.
"Yes; they're in the stair-foot beyond the meal-shop on the other
side."
"Then keep your post, and have an eye to the window."
"For _ha'pennies_?" said he, with a laugh.
"I'm just afraid I may reduce the _happiness_," replied I, not to be
outdone in Irish wit on a marriage occasion, however bad at it.
And pushing my way among the noisy crowd, whose cry was now "M'Levy!"
"He's to run awa' wi' the bride!" "The snab has stown his varnished
boots!" "The bride is to sleep in a police cell!" and so forth, I
mounted the stair till I came to the marriage-hall. Uninvited as I was,
I made "no gobs," as they say, at entering, but, opening the door, stood
there among the best of them. A more mysterious guest perhaps never
appeared at a marriage before since the time of the famous visitor at
Jedburgh, where the king danced; but I had no attention to bestow on
expressions of wonder. The scene was of a character to be interesting
enough to any one. To me the chief object of attention was the head of
the bride, where the orange blossom ought to be; and there to be sure it
was, set off, as it ought to have been, with green myrtle. With this I
was so much occupied, that I cannot say it was just then that I scanned
Elizabeth's dress--a fine lavender glacé silk, adorned with as many
knots as would have bound all the lovers in the room in silken bands;
collar and sleeve of lace, of what kind goes beyond my knowledge; grey
boots, necklace, and armlets; white kid gloves, with no doubt a good
many rings under them. These notices came rather afterwards, my
practical eye ranging meanwhile--the party being dead silent as
yet--round the room, where, according to my recollection of my list, I
saw a perfect heaping up of all manner of things collected from the
sixteen opened houses, which the pretty bride had so industriously
entered.
My survey was the result of a few rapid glances, and I recurred to the
parties. The amazement was just at its height, yet strange to say the
only one who stood there unmoved, and with no greater indication of
internal disturbance than a cast-down eye, overshaded by its long
lashes, was Elizabeth Gorman. That she understood the object of my
visit, I had no doubt; nor was I surprised that a creature of her nerve,
capable of what she had done, should stand before me in the midst of all
her friends, and in the presence of her intended husband, as immoveable
as a lump of white marble--no additional paleness, no quiver of the lip,
no hairbrained glances of fear.
"And who are you?" at last cried the souter _futur_; "you are not
invited."
"No; I have taken the liberty to come uninvited," replied I, as I threw
my eye over the body of the young snab arrayed in absolute perfection,
from the glossy cravat to the shining boots, so spruce and smart that
the taste of Elizabeth must have been at the work of preparation. Nor
was he without some right, if one might judge of the number of houses
laid under contribution for a dowry which was to be his, and by the help
of which he was to become a master.
Whereupon there arose a perfect Babel of voices--"No right;" "M'Levy has
no right here;" "Turn him out." To all this I paid little attention; I
was more curious about a movement on the part of Elizabeth, whose right
hand was apparently fumbling about her pocket. A pocket in a bride's
dress!--ay, just so. Elizabeth Gorman was a bride of a peculiar kind;
she had a _pocket_ even as a part of her bridal apparel, and there was
more there than a cambric handkerchief.
"I will help you to get out your napkin, Elizabeth," said I.
And putting my hand into the sacred deposit, I pulled out two
check-keys.
With these two keys, she had opened (I speak in anticipation) the whole
sixteen houses. I managed this movement in such a manner that I believe
no one could know what I abstracted except Elizabeth herself, who seemed
to care no more for the discovery than she had as yet done for any part
of the ceremony.
"And the orange blossom," said I, "I have a fancy for this too," I said,
as I, very gently I hope, took off the wreath, and, in spite of the
necessary crumpling of so expressive an emblem of bliss, put it in my
pocket.
The hubbub was now general, and Crispin thinking that his honour was
touched, waxed magniloquent. He even put himself into a fighting
attitude, and sparred away with all the valour of a gentleman called
upon to protect injured innocence. Nor Dowsabell, nor Dulcinea, nor any
other heroine of romance, had ever so formidable a champion; but then I
did not choose to take up the snab's gage. I contented myself with
stepping between one or two of the guests to the window, gave two or
three knocks, and then took up my station by the side of Elizabeth. The
door opened, and in came my assistant.
"I choose to claim this young woman for my bride," I said, with a little
of an inward chuckle. "I will dispose of her property; meanwhile, all of
you leave the room. Clear-out, officer," I added, as they seemed to
loiter and murmur.
And so to be sure, my assistant, to make short work of emptying the
room, hurried them off, the last loiterer being the snab, whose look at
Elizabeth carried as much of what is called sentiment as might have
touched even her, who, however, received the appeal with the same cold
indifference she had exhibited all through the strange scene. I do not
say she did not feel. It is hardly possible to suppose that a young
woman dressed for marriage, and in the hands of the police, with
banishment before and shame behind, could be unmoved; but the mind of
these creatures is so peculiarly formed that they make none of nature's
signs, and are utterly beyond our knowledge. That something goes on
within, deep and far away from even conjecture, we cannot doubt; but it
is something that never has been known, and never will be, because they
themselves have no words and no symbols to tell what it is. When thus
left alone with her, it might have been expected that she would give me
some token that she was _human_, but no; there she stood in all her
finery, unmoved and immoveable, her gipsy face calm, if not placid, her
eye steady, and without uttering a single word. "And now, Elizabeth," I
said, "I daresay you know the reason of this intrusion; you are accused
of having entered no fewer than sixteen dwelling-houses, and stealing
therefrom many valuables, and I must apprehend you."
"Very well."
"Have you any more keys than those I have got?"
"No more."
"Were these all you used?"
"You can find that out; I confess nothing."
"Well, then, make yourself ready to go with me; get your shawl and
bonnet."
And without further sign of being even touched with any feeling of
remorse or shame, she proceeded calmly to put on these articles of
dress.
"I am ready."
"Too serious," thought I, as I looked to a side-table and saw the wine
and the cake. I wanted to give things a more cheerful look.
Was ever bride taken away without the "stirrup-cup," even a glass of her
own wine?
But no, it wouldn't do. Elizabeth would neither take nor give, and so I,
too, went without my glass.
"Keep the house," said I to my assistant, "till I return. I will post
the constables at the foot of the stairs."
And, taking Elizabeth by the arm, I sallied forth amidst a noise that
roused the whole Cowgate; and no wonder, perhaps such a scene was never
witnessed there before, certainly not since. Mrs Thick's hands were
uplifted as we passed; nor was the wonder less among the other
neighbours, who looked upon Elizabeth as a pattern of industry and
strict behaviour.
After depositing my bride I got arrangements made for clearing the house
of the stolen property. Every thing was removed except the table,
chairs, and frame of the bed, and pages would not contain a catalogue of
the fruits of this young woman's industry. But the recovery from Mrs
Thick was a different process. I was up till four in the morning getting
out and identifying the numerous articles of all kinds stored away in
her premises.
By and by, my bride was tried before the High Court; and here I may be
allowed a remark on the apparent calosity of people of her stamp. I have
often noticed that these dumb, impassable victims are more ready at the
end to give way than your loquacious asserters of innocence. I take this
peculiarity for a proof that they bleed inwardly, and that while we are
angry with them for being what we call unnatural, they are paying the
forfeit in another shape. This extraordinary girl, after all her silence
and apparent indifference, pled guilty to ten different cases of
house-entering, and they were all effected by the two keys I took out of
her pocket at the scene of the contemplated marriage. Fourteen years'
transportation was her punishment, and she heard the sentence without a
sigh or a tear.
I need scarcely add, that this was the only thief I ever discovered
through the means of orange blossom.
The Blue-Bells of Scotland.
There are apparently two reasons that influence some of our Edinburgh
gentry in locking up their houses and ticketing a window with directions
about keys when they go to the country. The first is, that they save the
wages of a woman to take charge of the house; and the second, that they
may tell their less lucky neighbours that they are able to go to the
country and enjoy themselves. No doubt they trust to the watchfulness of
a policeman, forgetting that the man has no more than two eyes and two
legs, with too often a small portion of brains, which he uses in silent
meditation--a kind of "night thoughts," not always about housebreakers
and thieves. I have heard of some of the latter making fun out of these
inviting locked-up mansions. "Bill, there's a ticket in the window about
keys, but it's too far off to be read, and besides, you know, _we can't
read_." "No, and so we'll use a key of our own; we can't help them
things."
I don't suppose that Mr Jackson, of Coates Crescent, entertained any
such notions when, in June 1843, he locked up his house on the occasion
of a short absence of some five or six days; but certain it is, that
when he returned he found all outside precisely as he had left
it--blinds down, shutters close, doors locked. All right, he thought, as
he applied the key and opened the door; but this confidence lasted no
longer than a few minutes, when he discovered that his top-coats which
hung in the lobby were gone. Now alarmed, he hurried through the house,
and wherever he went he found almost every lock of press, cabinet, and
drawer, either picked by skeleton keys or wrenched off, wood and
all--the splinters of the torn mahogany lying on the carpets. All right!
yes, outside. If he had been cool enough he might have thought of the
good man's cheese of three stones, laid upon the shelf for the
christening, and when taken down (all right outside) weighed only the
avoirdupois of the skin, the inside having been enjoyed by artists
scarcely more velvet-footed; and yet the parallel would not have been
true, for the thieves here had been most fastidious gentry--even
refined, for, in place of carrying off most valuable articles of
furniture, they had been contented with only the fine bits of jewellery,
gold, and precious stones, such as they could easily carry away, and
easily dispose of.
Finding his elegant lockfast pieces of furniture thus torn up, Mr
Jackson had no patience to make inquiry into the extent of the
depredations before coming to the Office and reporting the state in
which he had found his house. When I saw him he was wroth, not so much
at what might turn out to have been stolen as at the reckless
destruction; but the truth was, as I told him, that there was no
_unnecessary_ breakage. The thieves behoved to steal, and they behoved
to get at what they wanted to steal. Few people understand the regular
housebreaker. In almost all cases the clay is moulded, in infancy,
moistened with the sap of stolen candy or fruit, and the glare of angry
eyes only tends to harden it. We always forget that the thief-shape is
the _natural_ one, for can it be denied that we are all born thieves? I
know at least that I was, and I suspect you were no better. If you are
not a thief now, it's because you were by good monitors twisted and torn
out of that devil's form; and how much pains were taken to get you into
another, so that it is only at best a second nature with you to be
honest. In short, the thief is a more natural being than you are,
although you think him a monster. Nor is it any wonder he's perfect, for
your laws and habits have only wrought as a direct help of the character
he got from the mother of us all, and probably his own mother in
particular. Any obstruction he meets with is, therefore, something that
ought to give way, simply because it shouldn't be there; for how can you
prove to him that an act of parliament has greater authority than the
instinct with which he was born. No doubt he won't argue with you. If
you say you have a right to lock up, he won't say that he has a right
to unlock down, but he'll do it, and not only without compunction, but
with the same feeling of right that the tiger has when he seizes on an
intruder upon the landmarks of his jungle and tears him to pieces.
On proceeding to Coates Crescent, I ascertained that the thieves had
obtained entrance by opening the outer main-door with keys or
pick-locks, and all the rest was easy. The scene inside was just what Mr
Jackson had described it--there wasn't a lock to an escritoir or drawer
that was not punched off. Every secret place intended for holding
valuables had been searched; and it soon appeared that these _artistes_
had been very assiduous, if not a long time at the work. It would not be
easy for me to enumerate the booty--valuable gold rings, earrings with
precious stones, brooches of fine material and workmanship, silver
ornaments of price, pieces of plate, and articles of foreign bijouterie.
They had wound up with things they stood in need of for personal
wear--top-coats, boots, and stockings; and, to crown all, as many
bottles of fine wine as would suffice to make a jolly bout when they
reached their home. I have not mentioned a small musical box, because by
bringing it in as I now do at the end, I want to lay some stress upon
it, to the effect of getting it to play a tune.