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Title: Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years
in Solitude

Author: Austin Bidwell

Release date: March 2, 2008 [eBook #24739]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIDWELL'S
TRAVELS, FROM WALL STREET TO LONDON PRISON: FIFTEEN
YEARS IN SOLITUDE ***

Transcriber's Note:
Page 457 has missing text. It is shown in the text
with a mouse-hover popup.

BIDWELL'S TRAVELS.
FROM

Wall Street

To London Prison
Fifteen Years in Solitude.

FREED A HUMAN WRECK, A WONDERFUL SURVIVAL AND A
MORE
WONDERFUL RISE IN THE WORLD.
TO-DAY HE HAS A NATIONAL REPUTATION AS A WRITER,
SPEAKER
AND IS CONSIDERED AN AUTHORITY ON ALL SOCIAL
PROBLEMS.
HE WAS TRIED AT THE OLD BAILEY AND SENTENCED FOR LIFE.
CHARGED WITH THE £1,000,000 FORGERY ON THE BANK
OF ENGLAND.

THIS STORY SHOWS THAT THE EVENTS OF HIS LIFE SURPASS
THE
IMAGINATIONS OF OUR FAMOUS NOVELISTS, ITS THRILLING
SCENES, HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPES AND MARVELOUS
ADVENTURES
ARE NOT A RECORD OF CRIME,
BUT ARE PROOFS OF THAT

IN THE WORLD OF WRONGDOING SUCCESS IS FAILURE.

490 Pages. 80 Graphic Illustrations.
Copyrighted 1897 by BIDWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY, HARTFORD,
CONN.

Editorial New York Herald.

Referring to a Whole Page.

"If an American dramatist or novelist had taken for the ground work of a
play or work of fiction the story of the Bidwell family to-day related on
another page of the Herald, all European critics would have told him that
the story was too 'American,' too vast in its outlines, too high in its colors,
too merely 'big' in fact.

"The story has its lesson. The play is not a mere spectacle. The lesson is
that in the doing and undoing of wrong the Bidwell family expended
enough ability and energy to stock a good many reigning European
families for generations.
"Let the Comedie Humaine write itself and it will outwrite Balzac."
Hon. Lyman J. Gage.
Having read the Bidwell book I believe it will benefit every one to read
this marvellous history of human experience.
Aside from its dramatic interest there are great moral lessons involved of
especial value to young men and employees in positions of trust.
Therefore, I recommend this book as unique and a valuable acquisition for
home and office.
From Chas. M. Stead, Union League Club, New York.
"Dear Sir—I read your book with a good deal of interest, and would like to
change it for a higher-priced binding if you have one."
The Worcester Spy.
"Mr. Bidwell's book has been compared with Dumas' famous 'Monte
Christo.' The extraordinary character of its adventures, indeed, would
render it dramatic and powerful as fiction; as human truth, it is simply
overwhelming. No one can read this book unmoved. From every
conceivable standpoint, physiological, sociological, and literary, it is a
marvel."
Philip W. Moen.
Mr. Moen, of Washburn & Moen, Worcester, Mass., writes: "I have read
Mr. George Bidwell's book with the deepest interest. It is a book that
deserves to be widely read, and I am very glad to recommend it."
A Niece of Oliver Wendell Holmes
writes: "Few books have so stirred my mind for years as the book by
George Bidwell. Hearing of the book, prejudice immediately seized me
against it. The history given by himself, to be interesting at all must be
sensational, therefore disastrous to morals. So avowed prejudiced thought;

and, determined to find fault, I began this remarkable history. It is
impossible to find fault with the book, which is valuable and
wonderfully absorbing."

From Ira D. Sankey, Esq.
"Mr. George Bidwell, Dear Sir—I have read with great interest your
book, and believe it will do much good among young men wherever read.
Your life is a proof and your book a burning record of the truth that
'Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap.' I believe in throwing
light into all the dark places of this life, that men, seeing the dangers, they
may avoid them. I wish you success."
From Hon. Robert G. Ingersoll.
"George Bidwell, Esq.:
My Dear Sir—Knowing as I do that you will tell a candid story of your
career, I believe you will do good. Crime springs mostly from a lack of
intelligence and imagination. Only the foolish can think that the practice of
vice is the road to joy. As a matter of fact, the wrong does not pay. You
have, in your remarkable book, made this fact perfectly clear, and you will
enforce this great truth on the platform. In the world of crime success is
failure. Good luck to you."
Rev. Dr. Edward Beecher
writes; "I recommend this book to the friends of morality."
Office of Street's Insurance Agency, Hartford, Conn.
"Mr. George Bidwell, Dear Sir—A clergyman consulted with me
regarding his son, who had fallen into bad associations, taken part in many
small thefts, and seemed hardened against shame or dread of exposure. I
believe the mean, dangerous boy has become a man by reading your
book." Yours very truly,
F.F. Street, Hartford, Conn.
Hartford Daily Times.
"This autobiography is a story of thrilling interest."

CONTENTS.
A NEW YORK HERALD EDITORIAL.

CHAPTER I.
Brooklyn Public Schools in the Sixties—Old. No. 13 19
—Parents Suited to the Golden Age—A Curious
Preparation for the Battle of Life—Knew that Brutus
Slew Caesar—George the Third Was a Bad Fellow
Who Got a Tea Kettle Thrown at His Head In Boston
Harbor—My Model Home Library—An Innocent
Leaves Home.
CHAPTER II.
In a Broker's Office—A Nice Old Gentleman— 24
Situation in Wall Street—An Up-to-Date Young Man
—Visions of Wealth—Speculations—Wall Street in
the Sixties—The Hon. John Morrissey, ex-Pugilist—
His Famous Gambling House—I Try a Game of Faro
—Midnight Banquets—I Have Entered the Primrose
Way.
CHAPTER III.
Pleasure Before Business—Result of That Method— 28
On Financial Rocks—James, Otherwise "Jimmy,"
Irving—He Was a Model Chief of Detectives—
Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry Street, in the
Early Seventies—He Takes Me for a Drive out
Harlem Lane—A Trio of Detectives—They Make a
Startling Proposition—A $10,000 Temptation—
Mental Conflicts—I Dare Not Be Poor—C'est le
Premier Pas Qui Coute.
CHAPTER IV.
History of the Famous Lord Bond Steal—"On the 36
Office"—Three Sneaks Stumble on a Fortune—A
$1,250,000 Tin Box—Dazed Crooks—What to Do
with Their White Elephant—Excitement at Police

Headquarters—Bullard et al.—A Violin Virtuoso—
Superintendent of Police Kelso Presents a $500
Silver Punch Bowl to the Daughter of Boss Tweed—
Paid for with Stolen Cash.
CHAPTER V.
Police Protectors—New York Gangs—Irving & Co. 48
Give Me $80,000 Lord Bonds to Sell Abroad—A
Midnight Farewell—Alone on the Sea—When Jim
Fisk Owned Our Judges—Chief Irving Plans a
Famous Bank Robbery—His Three Burglar
Confederates.
CHAPTER VI.
The Bank Looted—Irving Notified by Bank Officials 58
—His Feigned Surprise—Hunts the Burglars, but
Divides the Plunder at His Own House—Count
Shinburne and His Palace on the Rhine—Twenty
Years Later.
CHAPTER VII.
I Arrive in Paris—Field of Waterloo—Meet the 65
Antwerp Chief of Police—He Is on Trail—A Dutch
Van Tromp and the Countess Winzerode—His
Dream of Bliss and Tragic Death—My Negotiations
in Frankfurt-on-the-Main.
CHAPTER VIII.
Marpurgo & Weisweller, Bankers—Francoise Blanc, 73
the Gambler King—His Casinos at Monte Carlo,
Homburg and Wiesbaden—I Meet Van Tromp's
Countess—Outlived Her Beauty—Now a Hanger-on
at the Rouge et Noir Tables—Takes My Advice—
Marries a Rich Burgher—Becomes a Good
Stepmother—Her Pious End and Epitaph.
CHAPTER IX.
I Sell the $80,000 Bonds—Reach London Safely— 84
Drifting—Success in Crime a Failure—A Desolate
Woman—Beautiful Barmaid Show—Westminster
Abbey—Good Resolutions—Sail Home—Irving at
the Wharf—Meet at Taylor's Hotel—The Total: "I
Have Another Job for You"—A Fool's Game.

CHAPTER X.
Edwin James, Q.C., and a Possible Lord Chancellor 94
of England—His Extravagance—On the Border
Land of Crime—He Oversteps—Disbarred—Comes
to New York—Richard O'Gorman's Great Heart—
The Brea Will Case—A Dark Plot—$20,000 out of
Wall Street—Jay Cooke & Co. Narrowly Escape
Loss of $240,000—Chief Irving in the Plot—
Detective George Elder Not in Our Ring—
Accidentally He Appears and Thwarts Our Plans.
CHAPTER XI.
Eastward Ho!—The James and Brea Exit—Ezra, the 114
Shrewd Lawyer—Three Unhappy Daughters—He
Marries One—Detects Forged Will—Flight of Brea
to Montana—A Sunrise Surprise at Butte City—
James Returns to London—Fills a Pauper's Grave
Instead of a Lord Chancellor's.
CHAPTER XII.
Bordeaux, Marseilles and Lyons "Donate" $50,000— 123
A Bad Quarter of an Hour—Eggs and Peasant
Women—"Sweets to the Sweet"—A Mysterious
Stranger Disappears Among the Tombs.
CHAPTER XIII.
A Starry Talk—Contrast Between Mac's Philosophy 132
and His Errand—A Financial Trip Through Germany
—From Leipsic Fair to London—Return Loaded
with Thalers.
CHAPTER XIV.
A Drive to Hampton Court—Send $10,000 Police 142
Tribute to New York—Discussing the Bank of
England in the Throne Room at Windsor Castle—
Believe It to Be a Fossil Institution—Greene, the
Tailor—Introduces Me to Bank—No References
Required—Joy That Ends in Sorrow.
CHAPTER XV.
Voyage to Rio Janeiro—The Lady of the Lucitania— 154
A Swedish Colonel's Party of English Engineers—A
Bibulous Chaplain—Modern Buccaneers—Scenes at

Bordeaux—Crossing the Line—Father Neptune's
Visit—Fun at Sea—Arrival in Rio—Maua & Co.—
Our Plans.
CHAPTER XVI.
Fifty Thousand Dollars on Bogus Letters of Credit— 160
Visit to a Coffee Plantation—Slaves Dining—
Dangerous Errors in Letters of Credit—A Nervous
Day—An Eagle-Eyed Hebrew—"Show Me Your
Letter of Credit"—Mac in a Corner—A Bold Coup—
Strategy—Can We Get Out of Brazil?
CHAPTER XVII.
Brazilian Law—Visit Police Headquarters—A 173
Douceur to the Chief—In a Tight Spot—A
"Doctored" Passport—A Detective on Trail. Who
Ingratiates Himself into Mac's Confidence—
Manoeuvres—The Detective on a "Wild Goose
Chase"—Safely on Board—A Distinguished Party in
a Rowboat—A Stern Chase—Off at Last.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Rio to Buenos Ayres—Return and Meet Mac in Paris 186
—Determine to Abandon a Dangerous Business—
Vienna—Watching the Game—Must Have More
Money—Good Resolutions Vanish—Return to
London—Determine to Assault the Bank of England
—Deposit $67,000.
CHAPTER XIX.
Bank of England Requires No References—Letter 193
from Paris—A Gilded American Young Man—
Duped into Marriage with a Parisienne Möndaine—
A Ghost at Monte Carlo—In a Greenwood
Mausoleum—Earthly Happiness and the World to
Come.
CHAPTER XX.
A Council of War—Description of Bills of Exchange 200
—Frederick Albert Warren, the Great American
Railway Contractor—The Great Bank Proves
Fallible—Discounts Bogus Bills of Exchange.
CHAPTER XXI.

Draw Fabulous Sums—Bags of Sovereigns by the 206
Cab Load—In a French Railway Wreck—Baron
Alfonse de Rothschild, Head of the Paris House—A
Famous £6,000 Draft.
CHAPTER XXII.
Last Call at the Bank of England—Noyes Arrives in 214
London—An Artful Plot—Introduce Noyes—Plan
Now Complete—Our Wise Forefathers—No Change
in a Century—Our Paper Is Discounted—Prepare for
Flight—Thou Shalt Not.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Fifty Thousand Dollars a Day—The Golden Shower 224
Continues to Fall—Operations Shrouded in Midnight
Darkness—No Possibility of Discovery—Finish and
Begin Again—Amazing Oversight—Pitcher Goes
Once Too Often—Noyes Arrested—Unparalleled
Excitement on the Stock Exchange.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Consternation—A Mob of Bankers—The Financial 236
World Shaken—Noyes Taken to Newgate—Mac
Cables Irving—His Flight to France—Sails from
Havre on Board Thuringia—Arrested at Quarantine
—The Pinkertons on Trail.
CHAPTER XXV.
Hunted Through Ireland—$2,500 Reward for My 248
Capture—Detectives "Spot" Me at the Cork Railway
Station—Obliged to Abandon Taking Passage by the
Ill-Fated Atlantic—A Game of "Hare and Hounds"—
Eluding a Detective "Trap"—English Misrule in
Ireland—Am Taken for a Priest—A Typographical
Thunderbolt at Lismore—An Early Morning Walk—
A Ride on an Irish Jaunting Car—"On the Road to
Clonmel"—Shelter in a "Shebeen"—How Thirsty
Souls Get the "Craythur" In Ireland—A Good Old
Irish Lady—Pursuit and Refuge in a Ruined Cottage
at Cahir.
CHAPTER XXVI.

An Unceremonious Call—"I am a Fenian Leader"— 261
A "Story" Told in the Dark—Maloy Helps My
Escape on an Irish Jaunting Car—Eggs—A
Policeman Anxious to Obtain the Five Hundred
Pounds Reward—Dublin Again—A Jewess' Blessing
—I Turn Russian, and Later Become a Frenchman—
Belfast Detectives—Escape into Scotland—The
Other Side of the Story—A Bow Street Detective's
Adventures While Hunting Me Through Ireland—
Cross-Questioning—My Jaunting Car Driver—"A
Cold Water Cure"—Hot on the Trail—Not in the Fort
—A Fruitless Hunt—Many Innocents Arrested—
Maloy Becomes a "Know-Nothing."
CHAPTER XXVII.
A Marriage at the American Embassy in Paris— 275
Anxious Moments at Versailles—Off for Spain—
Crossing the Pyrenees—Gunshots—Train off the
Track—Captured by Carlist Bandits—Released—
Through the Pass on Ox Carts—A Mountain
Blizzard—Camp in a Snowstorm—Mutiny—A
Morning Dream.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A Carlist Officer—A Picturesque Caravan—Arrival 292
at Burgos—Startling Telegrams—Revolution at
Madrid—The Railway Seized—My Party in a Trap
—Madrid Cathedral and a Bull Fight—A Special
Train Proves a Slow Train—No News Good News.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Arrival in Santander—Gloomy Forebodings—Sail 301
for Cuba—Watch the Pyrenees Sink in the Sea—Two
Sisters of Charity, Innocents on a Voyage—Circus at
St. Thomas—Sunset Gun in Havana—Thirty
Seconds Change My Destiny.
CHAPTER XXX.
Slavery in Cuba—Life in Havana—The Million- 312
Pound Forgery Discovered—My Opinion Asked—
Trip to the Isle of Pines—The Cuban Rebels—A

Battle Field—A Slave Cook—The Missionary and
the Cannibal—Going into the Interior.
CHAPTER XXXI.
On the Caribbean—A Motley Cargo—Turning 327
Turtles and Shark Fishing—A Dinner Party in
Havana Proves a Surprise Party—Capt. John Curtin
of the Pinkertons Appears on the Scene—
Consternation Among the Diners—Offer the Captain
$50,000 for Ten Minutes' Start—No—I Shoot Him—
Struggle and Capture—In the Arsenal.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Friendly Spanish Officials—Plots to Escape—Leap 338
for Liberty—Escape out of Havana—Travel the
Beach Nights—Refuge in the Jungle Days—
Construct a Raft—Food and Water Gone, but Pluck
at the Fore—I Will Join the Rebels And Win Military
Laurels—Man Proposes, but——
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Creeping Across a Bridge—Sentries Discover Me— 355
They Challenge: "Quien Va?"—They Fire—Flight
and Escape on the Raft—A Tropical Night Swim—
Sharks Everywhere—Knife Between My Teeth—
Regain the Shore—Nearing the Rebel Camp—The
Black Soldiers Surprise and Capture Me—I Strike
the Captain—He Dashes at Me with a Bayonet—
Stopped by a Woman—Desperation.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Back in Havana—Curtin's Story—Extradited—Spain 372
Delivers Me to England—Pinkertons Escort Me on
Board Steamer—Arrival at Plymouth—Newgate at
Last—When Time is Old and Hath Forgotten
Himself.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Life in Newgate—Legal Sharks—A Pattern Solicitor 383
—A Lame Defense—Before Lord Mayor Waterlow
—Trial at the Old Bailey—Thronging Crowds—
Days of Mental Torture—Jury Retires—Suspense—
Guilty.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
A Modern Jeffreys—Penal Servitude for Life—End 387
of the Primrose Way—A Resolve—Will Fortune
Ever Smile Again?—Newgate to Chatham Prison—
A Cocky Little Major—You Were Sent Here to Work
—In the Mud—Night and Silence.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Events of the First Day—Hopeless Outlook—Lack 401
of Mental and Physical Food—A Shakespeare Won
and Hope Dawns—In the Infirmary—Effects of
Prolonged Imprisonment.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Prison Management—Warders Under Military 404
Discipline—Their Long Hours and Small Pay—
Their Character and Antecedents—English Prison
System Not Reformatory—Turns Out Murderers—
Prison Pets—Rats, Mice and Beetles.
CHAPTER XXXVIX.
A Genius—Strange Story of Arthur Heep—Unwise 417
Parents—Driven from Home—Temptation and Fall
—In a Lunatic Asylum—Escapes Naked in a Storm
—Clothes Secured from a Scarecrow—Rearrested—
Serves Five Years—To America and Return—Again
Behind the Bars.
CHAPTER XL.
English Prisons Schools for Crime—Two Prison Aid 426
Societies—United States Laws Evaded—Snug
Berths for Reverend Barnacles—Contributions Go
for Salaries—No Benefit to ex-Prisoners—How
Discharged Prisoners Are Hustled to the United
States.
CHAPTER XLI.
Rev. Mr. Whiteley—How to Stop Influx of Foreign 430
Criminals—Foster an Example—Whiteley, Secretary
of Aid Society, Sends Foster to Sea—His Arrival in
Chicago—Meets an Old Prison Chum—Turns
Detective—Chicago Justices—Foster's Story—

Human Tigers—A Plot and $20,000—A Letter and
Diamond Pin—In the Toils Again.
CHAPTER XLII.
A Gettysburg Veteran—In the Wethersfield, Ct., State 436
Prison—Makes and Conceals a Set of Burglar's Tools
—Liberated—Returns and Burglarizes the Prison—
Boat Load of Plunder—Captured—Sixteen Years
More in Prison—Then Goes to England—Gets
Twenty Years—Joins Me at Chatham.
CHAPTER XLIII.
The Fenians at Chatham—Dr. Gallagher—McCarty, 443
O'Brien and Others—We Become Friends—
Excavating the Chatham Ship Basin—Starvation and
Despair—Self-Mutilation of an Arm or Leg to Reach
the Hospital—Release and Death of McCarty—
Gallagher Breaks Down—Speedy Release or Death
for Him.
CHAPTER XLIV.
Fenian Prisoners in English Prisons—McCarthy, 447
O'Brien—A Plan Miscarried—In the Tolls—Severe
Punishments—Curtin, Daly, Egan—Poor Dr.
Gallagher.
CHAPTER XLV.
A Dictionary and Life of the Prophet Jeremiah vs. a 453
Shakespeare—Prison Hospital Proves a Paradise—
Nature's Compensations—Reality Not So Terrible as
Imagined—Human Nature Unchangeable.
CHAPTER XLVI.
Public Opinion Within Says the Same as Outside—A 459
Sensible Fellow—Pluck Wins—Roses Scarce,
Thorns Plenty—Woe to Mutineers for "More
Bread"—Sentiment Banished—Resistance Crushed
—English Judges Are Autocrats—No Appeal.
CHAPTER XLVII.
Hard Lines—A Boaster—A Veneered Flunkey— 463
Billy Treacle's Aunt Dies Again—Frederic Barton
and His Vain Petitions—I Give Him a Pointer—His

Inherited Fortune Fake—Surreptitious Mail Route—
Warders as Letter Carriers.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Sixteen-Thousand-Acre Tea Plantation in India and 466
Sixty Thousand Pounds Imaginary Inheritance—
Barton Becomes a Great Man—The Plot Thickens—
Letters from London—Smith Discharged—Petition
for Barton—Smith Presents It at Home Office—
Home Secretary Swallows the Bait—Barton's
Triumphant Release—His Imaginary Fortune Does
Not Materialize.
CHAPTER XLIX.
Tantalizing the Home Secretary—Refused a Letter 471
Sheet—Petition the Home Office for One—Sarcasm
About Barton's Release on My Sub-Rosa Petition—
Good Conduct Fails—Feigned Wealth Wins Freedom
for Barton—Apropos Quotation from Goethe—Sir
Vernon Harcourt and His Opinion—I Tread
Dangerous Ground.
CHAPTER L.
Niblo Clark—The Mysterious Three R's—His 478
Characteristic Verses—My Tenth Anniversary at
Chatham—All Efforts Fail and Fifteen Years Gone
Forever—Despairing When Good News Comes—
My Sister in England—George Freed—Hope
Returns and Abides—George Gets James G. Blaine,
J. Russell and Others to Intercede—Fresh Failures—
Home Secretary Matthews Won't—George and My
Sister Will—Which Will Wear the Other Out—
George and Sister Win—Night and Gloom in My
Cell—These Walls Have Frowned on Me for Twenty
Years—Warder's Tramps on Stone Corridor Arouse
Me—Door Opens—"You Are Free"—First Sight of
Stars in Twenty Years—I Shout, 'Twas Like a Prayer:
"God Is Good."

NOTE TO THE PUBLIC

The Hon. Lyman J. Gage, Dr. Funk and hundreds of others have said that my
book should be put at a price which would place it within the reach of every
young man, etc.
Hitherto, it has been sold by subscription at $3.50, $5 and $10 per copy—the
five editions printed having been easily sold at those prices.
Notwithstanding the thousands of friends their circulation has made, I did not
care to have my family name go any further in this connection than financial
needs required in working for the release of the men still undergoing life
sentences in English prisons.
At last, however, certain influence causes me to let it go in the revised and
improved form here presented, and may it prove as valuable and engrossing to
the general public as it has to 20,000 subscribers to former editions.
GEORGE BIDWELL.

CHAPTER I.
HAD THERE BEEN WISDOM THERE?

We lived in South Brooklyn, near to old No. 13, the Degraw Street Public
School. To that I was sent, and there got all the education I was ever fated to
have at any school, except the school of life and experience.
I attended for some years, and even now I cannot recall without a smile the
absurd incompetency of every one connected with the institution and their utter
ignorance of the art of imparting knowledge to children.
At home I had picked up that grand art of reading, and went to school to learn
the other two R's, with any trifle that I might come across floating around
promiscuously.
I certainly hope our much-lauded public schools are conducted on better lines
now than then; if not, they are frauds from the foundation. The instruction in
No. 13 was so lax and radically bad that the whole governing body and the
principal ought to have been sent to the penitentiary on the charge of false
pretense for drawing their salaries and giving nothing in return. And yet I
remember when examination day came, instead of the committee investigating
the progress of the pupils, it usually turned into a mere hallelujah chorus upon
our "grand public school system."
Here is a remarkable fact: I seldom missed a promotion and passed from grade
to grade until within two years I found myself in Junior "A," the next to the
highest class in the school, just as ignorant as my classmates, and that is saying
much.
It was all very pitiful. My blood boils even now when I think of the traitors
chosen and paid to see me fully equipped and armed to begin the battle of life
who left me with phantom weapons which would shiver into fragments at the
first shock of conflict.
I left Junior A of old No. 13, with its algebra, logic, philosophy (heaven save the
word!) and advanced grammar, unable to write a grammatical sentence. I had
been taught spelling out of an expositor—a sort of pocket dictionary containing

about fifteen hundred words. Most of these, with their definitions, parrotlike, I
had learned to spell, but never once in all my school experience had I been
taught the derivation of a single word. Indeed, I took it for granted that in the
good old days Adam had invented the words much as he named the animals,
and, of course, supposed that he spoke good English. The knowledge of history
I gained at No. 13 was strictly limited and exceedingly primitive. I knew the
Jews in the old days were a bad lot. That Brutus had slain Caesar. That the
Mayflower had landed our fathers on Plymouth Rock. That wicked George III.
was a tyrant, and that the boys in Boston had thrown a tea-kettle at his head. I
knew all about our George and the cherry tree, and there my historical
knowledge ended.
So here I was launched out in the world a model scholar! Stamped as proficient
in grammar, history, logic, philosophy and arithmetic, but yet in useful
knowledge a barbarian, unable to spell or even write a grammatical letter and
unversed in the ways of the world—a world, too, where I would be cast entirely
upon my own resources.
My home life was happy. My father had lost his grip on the world, but his faith
in the Unseen remained. My mother, caring little for this life, lived in and for
the spiritual. To her heaven was a place as much as the country village where
she was born. She was never tired of talking to us children about its golden
streets and the rest there after the toils and pains of life. But, boylike, we
discounted all she said, and felt we wanted some of this world before we
knocked at the gates of the next.
We loved our mother, but her soul was too gentle to keep in restraint hot, fiery
youths like my brothers and myself. On the whole we were good boys, and I
suppose caused her no more pain than the average youngsters. Perhaps the
keynote of her character can best be found in the following incident, if that
which was of daily occurrence could be called an incident:
Every night of my life in those days she would come to my bed to pray over me,
ever saying, as she kissed me or clasped my hand: "My son, remember if you
were to pass your whole life here in poverty and hardship it would not much
matter so long as you attain to the Heavenly Rest." This teaching would have
been well had she only taught me some worldly wisdom with it, but that all-
essential knowledge was kept from me, I being left to learn the ways of man in
that terrible school of experience. The consequence being that when after some
months I was launched out in life I was a ripe and apt victim to be caught in the

world's huge snare. In fact, had my parents designed me to become a traveler in
the Primrose Way they could not have educated me to better purpose.
Save when in the school I had never been permitted to associate with other
boys, but was kept in the house, and up to my sixteenth year hardly dreamed
there was evil in the world. I was told much about the "wicked," but thought
that meant those who smoked tobacco or drank whisky. I hardly thought any
women came under that category, but if any, then it must mean those who came
around selling apples and oranges. The reader will see that when once away
from the shelter of home, in threading the world's devious ways, I would be
crossing the roaring torrent "on the perilous footing of a spear," all but certain to
fall into the flood beneath.
During my last year at school and for a long time after leaving it, my father and
mother were never tired of talking about my good education. Possibly they were
not very good judges, but I am confident that they, after all, did not realize the
importance of a boy being well equipped in that regard. Their thoughts and
minds were so bent on the other world, and things unseen bulked so hugely on
their mental vision, that there was small space left for things of this earth. They,
good, simple souls, were made for and ought to have lived in the Golden Age,
when all men were brave and all women true, where neighborly eyes reflected
the love and faith within; but in our utilitarian days they were sadly out of place,
and little wonder if they had lost their way in this world.
In their intense longing for the life beyond the grave, their passionate desire to
walk the streets of gold, they, by their actions, seemed to forget that we were on
this earth, and that we were here with many sharp reminders of the fact.
The same guilelessness was manifested in their choice of our home reading. The
books I was allowed access to in the house were "The Life of King David,"
"The History of Jerusalem," "Baxter's Saints' Rest," "The Immortal Dreamer's
Pilgrim" and Fox's "Book of Martyrs." His first martyr is Stephen, and such was
my gross ignorance of history that I always supposed Stephen had been
martyred by the Church of Rome. Here was mental food for a boy who had his
own way to make in the world.

A HOME CHRISTMAS DINNER VS. IN A CELL. "WHERE IS
OUR WANDERING BOY TO-NIGHT?"
Craving other mental food than "The Life of David," I used to club pennies with
a chum and buy that delectable sheet, "Ned Buntline's Own," then in fear and
trembling would creep to an upper room and read "The Haunted House" or
"The Ghost of Castle Ivy" until my hair stood on end in a sort of ecstatic horror;
or the stirring adventures of "Jack the Rover" or "Pirate Chief" until my brain
took fire and a mighty impulse stirred every fibre impelling me to follow in
their footsteps.
I had remained idly at home for some six months after my release from school,
when one night my father returned from New York and said: "My son, I have
found a situation for you." That was delightful news, and when I went to bed
that night I was too excited to sleep.
The future was full of color, red and purple, of course. Happily for me the future
in all its black misery was hidden behind those gilded clouds.
So now at sixteen I was about to sail out of harbor, and how equipped!
Absolutely without education, void of worldly wisdom, and in my boyish brain
dividing the world into two sections. In one was King David slaying the

Phillistines or dancing before the Ark. In the other was Jack the Rover and the
Pirate Chief. How easy to guess the rest! Yet I was not a bad boy—far from it. I
only needed wise guidance and good companionship, and as the ignorance and
crudity of my character dropped off, the innate virtue—mine by lawful heritage
—would have been developed. But pitchforked into the wild whirl of Wall
street and its fast set of gilded youth, the gates of the Primrose Way to
destruction were held wide open to my eager feet.

CHAPTER II.
"'TWAS EVER THUS." OF COURSE IT WAS.

The situation my father had obtained for me was with a sugar broker by the
name of Waterbury. He was a partner in a large refinery, his office being in
South Water street. He was a nice, conservative old man, and let things run on
easily. His chief clerk, Mr. Ambler, was every inch a gentleman, who, quickly
perceiving what an ignoramus I was, out of the goodness of his heart resolved
to teach me something.
There were two sharp young men in our office. They liked me well enough, but
used to guy me unmercifully for my simplicity and clumsiness. One of them,
Harry by name, was something of a scapegrace, and soon acquired quite a
power over me. I stood in much fear of his ridicule, and frequently did things
for which my conscience reproached me, rather than stand the fire of his
raillery. The greatest harm he did me was in firing my imagination with stories
of Wall street, of the fortunes that were and could be made in the gold room or
on 'Change. He made tolerably clear the modus operandi of speculators, and I
secretly resolved that some day I, too, would try my fortune.
My friend Mr. Ambler's health was bad, and frequent attacks of illness caused
him to be away from the office for weeks at a time, and that meant much loss to
me. When I had been there about a year, he resigned his position and went as
manager for a factory in New Haven. But before leaving he interested himself
so far in my welfare as to secure me a position with a firm of brokers in New
street, at a salary of $10 a week. My employers were good fellows, lovers of
pleasure and men of the world, not scrupling to talk freely with me of their
various adventures out of business hours. I had lost much of my awkwardness
and gauche manners, and under the $10 a week arrangement began to dress
fairly well. My employers did a brokerage business and speculated as well on
their own account. My duties were decidedly light and pleasant, and brought me
into contact with some of the sharpest as well as the most famous men in the
street. Among them was a brilliant young man of my own age, who took a great
fancy to me, and frequently proposed that we should start for ourselves. Being
doubtful of my powers, I shrank from risking my scanty funds in any
speculative venture. Much to my mother's concern, I had begun attending the

theatre, and one night, on my friend Ed Weed's invitation, I went with him to
Niblo's. After the performance we went to supper at Delmonico's, and I was
perfectly fascinated by the company and surroundings, going home long past
midnight a different man than I had last left it.
The next day Ed came to the office and invited me to lunch, where, after
making some disparaging remarks about the country cut of my garments, he
offered to introduce me to his tailor, who was never in a hurry for his money.
After business that day we walked uptown together, and, prompted by Ed, I
ordered $150 worth of garments, then went to his outfitter and ordered nearly an
equal amount in shirts, ties, gloves, etc.
One amusing result was that when, a few days later, I walked down to our
office, comme il faut in garb, my employers raised my salary to $30 a week, but
this left me poorer than when I had husbanded my poor little $10. Soon after,
piloted by Ed, I ventured $50 on a margin in gold. Unluckily, I won, invested
again and again, and within fourteen days was $284 ahead. I paid my tailor and
outfitter's bill, bought a $100 watch on credit, and gave a wine supper on
borrowed money. Soon after this I went to board at the old St. Nicholas, the
then fashionable hotel. From that time I began to drift more and more away
from home influences.
Soon after the wine supper episode I threw up my position, and Ed and I started
on our own account under the name of E. Weed & Co. My partner's parents
were wealthy, and his father had been well known in the street, which fact gave
us standing.
The years I speak of were fortunate ones for Wall street, stocks of every kind on
the boom, the general wealth of the country massing up by leaps and bounds,
and every kind of speculative enterprise being launched. Our firm history was
the usual one of broker firms in that tumultuous arena—the Wall street of those
days—commissions in plenty, a large income, but one's bank account never
growing, for what was made by day in the wild excitement of shifting values
was thrown away amid wilder scenes at night. Those, too, were, indeed, the
flush times for the professional gambler; for men were not content unless they
burned the candle at both ends. Day faro banks were open everywhere around
the Exchange, and enormous sums were nightly staked in the uptown games.
These were everywhere—all protected, and the proprietors invested their money
for rent, fixtures, etc., with as much confidence, and kept their doors open as
freely, as if embarked in a legitimate speculation. Hundreds who spent the

business hours of the day in the mad excitement of the Exchange flocked
around the green cloth at night, devoting the same intensity of thought and brain
to the turning of a card which earlier in the day they had given to the market
reports of the world. Small wonder that death cut such wide swaths in the army
of brokers. Statistics show that it was more fatal to belong to that army than to
an army in the field.
Ed loved to have me with him, and I used to accompany him to a game, then
quite famous, run by John Morrissey, who later became a member of Congress.
At this time I never ventured a single bet, and did not like to visit the place. But
Ed would beg me to go, and always promised faithfully not to remain more than
twenty minutes. Of course, his twenty minutes would lengthen into hours.
Frequently I would take a chair into a corner and go to sleep until he left the
game, that being almost any hour between midnight and morning. As usual, in
such places, an elegant supper was served free at midnight. The proprietor was
always rather attentive to me, and, to give him the credit due, seemed anxious
that I should not play. At supper he always reserved the chair next to himself for
me. One night while standing beside the roulette wheel, no one was playing,
and the dealer was idly whirling the ball, a sudden impulse seized me, and the
ball then rolling, I pulled a $20 bill from my pocket and threw it down on the
red remarking, "I'll lose that to pay for my suppers." Unhappily I won, and,
laughing, turned to the dealer and said: "Here, give me my money. I am done,"
and a moment later went out with my friend, fully determined never more to
gamble. But, being in there the next night, I, of course, ventured again. Again I
was so unfortunate as to win, and within a short time staked and lost or won
nightly. But something worse than gambling was ahead of me, just at the very
door.

CHAPTER III.
A LICENSED PIRATE.

We had latterly somewhat neglected business—our real business being at night,
when we made the pursuit of pleasure hard work. Soon the finances of our firm
not only ran low, but were on three several occasions exhausted, so that we not
only had recourse to borrowing, but were barely saved from bankruptcy by
liberal donations from Ed's parents. His father was a fine, jolly old gentleman,
and took it quite a matter of course that it was his duty to help us off the rocks
when we ran on them. My partner took everything easy, but I, having no
indulgent parent behind me ever ready to draw a check, began to be uneasy over
the financial situation. Strangely enough, however, it never occurred to me to
cut down my personal expenses, and I continued living at the same extravagant
rate as when money was plenty—dining and wining and being dined and wined.
Just here an important character, one destined to have an influence for evil on
my future life, came upon the scene, and I will halt for a moment in my
narrative to give some account of him.
This man was James Irving, popularly known as Jimmy Irving, chief of the
New York Detective Force, and a bad-hearted, worthless scamp he was. I was
with several friends in the Fifth Avenue Hotel one cold January night when he
came in, and one of our party, knowing him, introduced us. He was a man of
medium height, rather heavy set, blond mustache, pleasant eyes, but with a
weak mouth and chin, and a flushed face, telling a tale of dissipation. It was
when Boss Tweed ruled supreme in New York and the whole administration
was honeycombed with corruption. Except under similar political conditions
could such a man attain to so responsible an office in a great city as that of chief
of the detective force—a position which at that time invested him with all but
autocratic power. An old rounder and barroom loafer, without one attribute of
true manliness and not possessed of any quality which would point him out as a
fit man for the place. Nevertheless, when the position became vacant his
political pull caused his selection. From being a mere detective on the staff he
became chief. And truly this meant something in those days. The great civil war
had but lately ended, and the country was still reeling from the mighty conflict.
The flush times, resultant from the enormous money issue of the Government,
kept everything booming. The foundations of society were shaken and vice no

longer hid itself in the dark caves and dens of the great city. The Tenderloin,
with its multifarious and widereaching influence for evil, was then created, and
the police of the city reaped a royal revenue from its thousand dens of vice for
their protection. To be captain of the Tenderloin precinct meant an extra weekly
income of $1,000 at least. He had the lion's share; about an equal amount went
to Headquarters, to be divided between the Chief of Police and the gang, Irving
being one of the half dozen who had pull enough to get in the ring. The
Tenderloin lieutenant, roundsman and sergeant came in for about $100, $50 and
$25 a week, while the common patrolman got what blackmail he could on his
own account from the unhappy women of the street. These were considered
lawful game, and woe betide the poor unfortunate who refused to pay the tax.
Too well she found it meant a violent arrest, accompanied with brutal treatment,
a night in a filthy cell, and then to be dragged before the magistrate, who was
some ward heeler, hand in glove with the police. The form of a trial and a
speedy "six months on the island" from the lips of the judge followed.
From Spring street to Tenth, Broadway was full of night games—faro—each
and all paying large sums for protection. This money, however, did not all go to
Police Headquarters, there being a host of parasites aside from the police. The
shoulder-hitter politicians, each with his pull, and each having a claim to his
percentage. Most of the Broadway games were known as square games, but
then there was the host of skin games in the Bowery, Chatham square, Houston,
Prince and other streets. The Eighth Ward and all Broadway were considered
the lawful happy hunting grounds for Headquarters detectives, and this by long
prescription. Outside of that they had no claim save only to a percentage from
the Tenderloin. But the protection money paid by the swindling games around
Chatham square, Bayard street, and the whole length of the Bowery, by a sort of
sacred prescription, belonged to the captains of those precincts, save only that
part absorbed by the politicians of the district who had a pull. These usually
were the Aldermen and Councilmen with their henchmen.

"PULLING OUT A $20 BILL, I
THREW IT DOWN."—Page 27.
But to return to my friend, Capt. Jim Irving, who, before our party separated,
had opened three bottles of wine. Before leaving I had asked him to call on me
at the St. Nicholas. The next day he came and invited me to take a drive with
him to Fordham the following Sunday. On Sunday he appeared behind a fast
trotting horse, and in every respect an elegant turnout. During our drive he
casually remarked that he had paid a thousand dollars for the rig, and as his pay
was some two thousand dollars per annum I easily figured that his rig and
diamond pin had cost him about a year's salary. It was a lovely morning, not
cold, but bracing, just the day for a ride. We started for Fordham, but changed
our minds and drove to the High Bridge, through Harlem lane, and well out into
Westchester County. Returning, we stopped at O'Brien's Hotel for dinner. We
fared sumptuously the whole day through, our dinner being particularly fine,
my companion paying for everything, and really it was all highly enjoyable. He
had a vast fund of anecdote, and many strange stories of city life and adventure,

which naturally would be expected from one in his position. Many of those we
passed or met during the day were personally known to him, and some, both
women as well as men, who were then clothed in purple and fine linen, had
histories, and many had at some period of their lives looked on life from the
seamy side, having passed through strange vicissitudes.
Soon after dark we returned to my hotel, and after dinner, lighting our cigars,
we started for Police Headquarters. There he attended to some routine business,
having introduced me to two of his chief detectives. Many who read this will
recognize the men, but in this narrative they will be known as Stanley and
White. I will not further describe them now; as they will appear in the story
from time to time, the reader will be able to judge what manner of men they
were.
For the next eight weeks my life went on much the same as usual. In our
business we made some money, but by one unfortunate investment lost our
entire capital, and what proved worse for me, my partner's health began to fail.
Dissipation, late and heavy dinners and irregular hours began to break a not
over-strong constitution; consequently one Saturday he abruptly announced his
intention of withdrawing from the partnership to take a trip to Europe. There
was nothing to divide save the furniture in our office, which he presented to me.
The following Wednesday he sailed with two members of his family. I saw him
off, bidding him what proved to be a last farewell. I left the wharf feeling very
lonely and miserable. It may be well to remark here that he died a year later in
Italy, one more victim of a fast life, while I was spared, but took no warning
from his fate. In truth, I was in the Primrose Way, which is ever found a most
tormenting and unhappy thoroughfare.
How I grieved all through the twenty years of captivity that I had not had the
moral courage to start afresh upon a basis of truth, sobriety and honorable
endeavor.
Instead of cutting down my expenses, I rather became more extravagant, fearing
my companions would suspect I was pressed for money. How much more
manly had I called them together and told them we must part company.
Meeting Irving from time to time, he was most flattering in his attentions, while
I was young enough and silly enough to be pleased with his notice. One evening
about this time I met him while coming out of Wallack's Theatre. Shaking hands
warmly, he invited me to supper at what was then known as upper Delmonico's.
After supper, walking to the St. Denis Hotel at Broadway and 11th street, we

found Detectives Stanley and White. Here wine was ordered, and long after
midnight we parted, they first having exacted a promise to dine with them the
following night at Delmonico's, at the same time stating that they wished to
make me a business proposition.
The next evening White came in and said we would dine at a restaurant at Sixth
avenue and 31st street, instead of at Delmonico's; then he left me, upon my
promise to be on hand.
At eleven I arrived, and entering the restaurant was at once recognized by a
waiter, evidently on the lookout, and ushered into a private room upstairs. Only
White had arrived, but soon Irving and Stanley came, and supper was ordered.
With such gentry as these wine is always in order. Then they became
confidential, and the conversation turned to the subject of making money. Very
skillfully they extracted the confession that I had none. When excited by the
talk and the wine I cried out, "By heaven, I want money!" Stanley grasped my
hand and said: "Of course you do; a man's a fool without it." Irving interjected:
"Are you game to do us a favor and make ten thousand for yourself?" "But
how?" I gasped. "Go to Europe and negotiate some stolen bonds we have, will
you?"
For $10,000 to become accessory to a crime!
It was an appalling proposition, and I shrank from it with an aversion I could
not conceal any more than he and his confederates could conceal their chagrin
over the way I took it, and over the fact that their secret had been imparted to
another. More wine was ordered, and before we parted I had promised not only
secrecy, but, worse still, I had also promised to consider the proposition and
give my answer the following night.
As my evil genus would have it, that very morning I had a visit in my office
from the agent of my landlord, requesting arrears of rent, and from a tradesman
whom I was owing, demanding immediate payment of an overdue bill.
Pressed for money as I was, the $10,000 seemed a large sum and offered an
easy way out of my difficulties. I shall never forget that day nor how its slow
minutes dragged during the mental struggle. Time after time I said: "What could
I not do with $10,000?" How vast the possibilities before me with that sum at
my command! Then, after all, had not the owner of these bonds lost them
forever, and why should not I have a share instead of letting these villain

detectives keep all? And through all I kept saying to myself: "This, of course, is
only speculation. I will never do this thing."
At last the stars came out, and I started for a long walk alone up Broadway to
Fifth avenue and into the Park. Since that Park was formed few men have ever
passed its walks in whose bosoms raged such a tumult as in mine. I was young,
in love with pleasure, and poverty seemed a fearful thing. I kept saying; "I
cannot do this thing!" and then I would add: "How am I to keep up appearances,
and how am I to pay my debts?" Unhappily, I had taken an enemy into the
citadel. In the misery of the struggle I drank heavily.
In my excitement I exaggerated my poverty until it seemed impersonated and
assumed the guise of an enemy threatening to enslave me. From 8 o'clock to 11
I paced that mall, and then left it to keep my appointment with Irving & Co.,
with one thought surging through my brain, and that was that I dared not be
poor, the result being that before we parted, to their renewed question: "Will
you do this for us?" "Of course I will!" I cried, and my feet had slipped a good
many steps further down the Primrose Way to death.

BURNING RETURNED BANK NOTES.

IN FORT LAFAYETTE, NEW YORK HARBOR.

CHAPTER IV.
FOOLS STUMBLING ON FORTUNES.

The present generation has become tolerably familiar with defalcations and
robberies involving enormous sums. Previous to 1861 they were comparatively
unknown, the reason being that the currency of the country was strictly limited.
There were absolutely no Government bonds or currency, while the few bonds
issued by corporations were not usually made payable to bearer, and, therefore,
were not negotiable, and were of no use to the robber. But in 1861, to meet the
expenses of the war, the State banks were taxed out of existence and our present
national currency system came into being. In addition to the enormous issue of
greenbacks, bonds payable to bearer, amounting to hundreds of millions, were
issued by the general Government, by the individual States, counties, towns and
cities, all becoming popular investments. Patriotism, and profit as well, led
banks, corporations and individuals all over the world to invest surplus funds in
bonds, those of the Government being most popular of all. The various issues
authorized by act of Congress were known as "seven-thirties," "ten-forties,"
"five-twenties," etc., these terms denoting either the rate of interest or the period
of years, dating from the first issue, wherein it was optional with the
Government to redeem them. Everywhere, at home, in the theatres and public
resorts not less than on the Exchange, were heard animated discussions about
"seven-thirties" and "ten-forties." The business of the express companies of the
United States took a new phase, and for the first time in their history they began
to be the carriers of vast sums from city to city.
Then it was that those gentlemen who work without the pale of the law
discovered new prospects of wealth, and realized that even to crack a safe or
vault of a private firm would be rewarded by a find of bonds that might amply
repay all risks of robbery under police protection, while to execute a successful
raid on a car or even an express delivery wagon on the street would mean
wealth. To burglarize the vaults of a bank meant, if undetected, anything from
opening a magnificent bar or hotel in New York to a steam yacht and Winter
cruises in the tropics and Summer nights on the Mediterranean.
The first coup in this line, which at once became famous, was startling in its
ease and magnitude. It was known, and still is, as "The Lord Bond Robbery."

Lord was a very wealthy man, who had inherited his millions. His office was in
Broad street, where he managed his estates. He had invested $1,200,000 in
seven-thirty bonds, all payable to bearer. For the thief, if he had any knowledge
of finance, and knew how to negotiate them, such a sum as this in bonds was
better than the same amount in gold, it being more portable. One million two
hundred thousand dollars in gold would weigh upward of a ton, and would be
difficult to handle, but that sum in bonds would hardly fill a carpet-sack. In our
day, with safety deposit vaults everywhere, it seems strange that any sane man
would keep so vast a sum in an old-fashioned vault in his private office, but
Lord did so. His office was a very quiet one, with but few visitors, there being
no business transacted in it but that of his estate.

"BY HEAVEN, I WANT MONEY."—Page 33.

At this time there were three or four gangs in New York, all well known and
friendly with the police—that is, some or all were more or less under
"protection," and had pulls at Police Headquarters. But the pull could not be
depended upon at all times, particularly if the robbery made a noise and the
press took it up. Then there would be violent kicks at Headquarters, and a
general all-around scramble to get the thieves, and so far as safe, stick to more
or less of the plunder. The gang that got Mr. Lord's bonds was what in police
and thieves' slang was known as "On the Office," so named because they went
around visiting offices in the business part of the city, one of the gang going in
on pretense of making some inquiry and so engaging the attention of one of the
clerks. Then the second member would come in and endeavor to attract the
attention of any remaining clerks, while the third would try to get in without
attracting attention, and, if unnoticed by those now busy talking, would slip
around behind the counter to the money drawer or vault and carry off any cash
box or package visible which appeared to be of value. This gang consisted of
three men, Hod Ennis, Charley Rose and a man by the name of Bullard,
afterward made notorious by engineering the Boylston Bank robbery in Boston.
In the absence of Lord the office was under charge of two men, old-fashioned
fellows, who had grown gray in the service of the Lord estate. The bonds were
all in a tin box something larger than a soap box. The interest on the bonds
being due, the box had been taken out in order to cut off the coupons, and was
left in the door of the open vault. None of these circumstances was known to
these men; in fact, while "looking for chances," they stumbled on the prize. The
night previous they had spent at a well-known faro game and had lost their last
dollar. At 9 o'clock in the morning they met at a saloon on Prince street, where
none but crooks consorted, and, borrowing a dollar from the barkeeper, they
took a South Ferry stage and started downtown on one of many similar piratical
expeditions. Of course, each paid his own fare, as from the moment of starting
until their return they appeared to be strangers. Alighting at the ferry, they
started up Front street, Rose in lead, he being pilot-fish. From Front they turned
into Broad, and up Broad to No. 22, where there were a number of offices. Rose
mounted the staircase, it now being five minutes to 10, Bullard coming close
behind. Rose entered the first office to the left at the head of the stairs, which
was Lord's, and at once inquired by name for a member of a well-known firm
located a few doors down across the street. Lord was away. The clerk, in his
desire to serve the gentleman, went to the front windows to point out the
location of the firm. Bullard, who had lingered in the hall, entered, leaving the
office door open behind him, and at once engaged the attention of the remaining

clerk with a letter. Ennis, seeing the coast clear, slipped in, went softly to the
vault, and perceiving the tin box, seized and carried it out, unseen by all save
his companions. They, seeing him safely off, found a quick pretext to follow
without any suspicion arising in the minds of the clerks. As a matter of fact,
they did not miss the box for nearly an hour.
Ennis carried it to Peck Slip, closely followed by his chums, and there the three
boarded a Second avenue car, all unsuspecting as to what a prize they had. At
the corner of the Bowery and Bayard street they got out and entered that old red
brick hotel on the corner—I forget the name. They were acquainted and
occasionally rendezvoused there, hiring and paying for the room. They speedily
opened the box, and were amazed to find it packed full of bonds—five
hundreds, thousands, five-thousands, all payable to bearer. The very magnitude
of their plunder terrified them, and, knowing as much as I do about such men, I
am free to affirm that if a buyer of stolen property had appeared on the scene
and said: "Here, I'll give you $10,000 apiece," they would have closed the deal
at once and turned over the bonds, glad to get them off their hands. What they
did was this: Rose went out and bought a second-hand carpet bag and put the
bonds into it, save sixty five-hundreds, which they divided, and Bullard
resolved to leave the bag with a friend of his. This friend, strangely enough, was
the widow of a policeman and sister of two others. But she knew nothing of
Bullard's character, believing him to be a workingman. Ennis and Rose were
two ignorant fellows, without the remotest idea of how to negotiate bonds, but
Bullard had, and, realizing how important it was to get some cash before the
thing was noised around, he started out to sell some, agreeing to meet Rose and
Ennis at No. 100 Third avenue, a large beer saloon then, as now.
Going to different brokers' offices, he disposed of ten for $5,000 without any
difficulty, and stopped at that. He met his two friends and divided the $5,000
with them. Then, as a natural consequence with that class of men, all got drunk,
and before the next morning had spent, loaned or gambled away every dollar of
the $5,000.
I remember perfectly the tremendous sensation created when a rumor of the
robbery spread in Wall street and over the city, and what mystified and
intensified the matter was the fact that no complaint had been made to the
police. When Mr. Lord was interviewed by them and by reporters he would not
admit that he had been robbed, and said if he had been he would prefer to lose
the money rather than have a fuss made about the affair.

This was really the first of many great bond robberies, and it struck the popular
fancy; but if it stirred Wall street greatly, who shall describe the frenzy of
excitement that broke out at 300 Mulberry street—Police Headquarters—when
the first vague rumors of a gigantic robbery were fully confirmed, and it became
known that Hod Ennis and his gang had a million and more of plunder?
All rings and pulls and gangs were smashed, combined and recombined again,
while each and all were in an agony of fear lest the booty should be returned to
the owner—minus a percentage divided between the gang and the ring, or sold
to some clever fence, who would plant them away safely and sell them in
Europe from time to time, keeping all for himself and they to have no share.
What visions of diamond pins, of eight or twelve carats, all Brazilian stones; of
swift, high-stepping horses; of the heaven of Harlem lane on Sunday
afternoons, with a bottle or two under the vest, haunted the sleep of all the
detective force. I say the police knew Hod Ennis and his gang had stolen the
bonds, for in those days there was not a gang of confidence men, card sharpers,
bank burglars, counterfeiters or forgers traveling the country but that the gang
and every member of it was well known to the Police Department of each of our
large cities. Whenever a job was done a score of detectives all over the country
could say such and such a gang did the job, and they were almost always right.
Whether there was "something in" for the force to arrest and convict or not, as a
matter of fact the thieves were sooner or later hocus-pocussed out of their share,
either by the police, by some untrustworthy fence, or by some lawyer who was
pitched upon to work back the securities on a percentage. In case the thief
succeeded in saving part of the proceeds he immediately lost it at faro or in
revelry, and then risked his liberty for more.
I know two men who to-day walk the streets of New York, the types of
conservative respectability, members of many fashionable clubs, who, in the
sixties, were known as fences, and were always ready to invest cash for stolen
bonds. Both of these men compromised with their conscience by beating down
the price and giving the thieves but a moiety of their value. Both of them have
their fads; one is a connoisseur in violins, the other has a penchant for orchids,
and has much local fame for the rarities in his collection.
Before midnight of the day of the robbery it became known to the force and
many of the hangers-on of the gambling saloons and barrooms of the Eighth
Ward that Hod Ennis and his gang had money, and it was surmised that it must
be from the Lord business. In the mean time Bullard took the bag of bonds up to

Norwalk, Ct., and placed them for safe-keeping with a trusty friend, first taking
out one hundred bonds of five hundred each and fifty of one thousand each,
and, returning to the city, divided them with his comrades. During his absence
the photographs of the three men had been shown at Police Headquarters to the
two clerks, but they were unable to identify them.
Within the next few days the $100,000 in bonds were completely dissipated;
some were sold to buyers of stolen goods for a percentage of the value, some
were lost at the gambling games—mostly at Morrissey's, or at Mike Murray's
on Broadway, near Spring street, and probably some went Mulberry street way.
Matters were thickening, and, fearing arrest, Ennis fled to Canada, Bullard to
Europe and Rose went West to California. Eventually Ennis was convicted of a
crime committed some time before. He was sentenced to a long imprisonment,
and came out an old, broken-down man, without a dollar and without a friend.
Rose was sentenced to five years for another crime, and then disappeared.
Bullard settled down in Paris. He afterward returned and planned the Boylston
Bank affair in Boston. With his share of the plunder he went back to Paris and
opened an American bar at the Grand Hotel and flourished for some years; but,
wanting money, he committed a robbery in Belgium, was arrested, and is now
serving a long sentence for the same; no doubt, if he survives, he will emerge
friendless, penniless, a stranger in a strange world.
If I were inclined to indulge in reminiscences, what a catalogue could be given
of men who had, like myself, drifted into the Primrose Way, and all, or nearly
all, have paid a terrible penalty for their wrongdoing—none more terrible than
myself. As for our violin virtuoso, he seems to have conquered fate. So, too,
with the connoisseur in orchids; but let us wait until the end before we say all is
well with them.
Some time later on, meeting one of these detectives, now dead, who then ranked
as the best in New York, in the confidence of the bankers, he said: "I am getting
old and am now working for reputation, and consequently am not taking any
more percentages. Of course, I don't molest any of my old friends, but those
who are not under protection I run in and send them up the river (Sing Sing) as
fast as I get them to rights."
This need not be considered a condemnation of all detectives, for there were,
even in my time, a few honest ones of the Pinkerton and John Curtin class—the
latter being now one of San Francisco's most reliable, who, by unusually
considerate judgment, has made honorable citizens of a very large number of

clerks whom he had been called upon to detect and arrest. This he accomplished
by extracting a confession in writing, filing it among his secret papers, then
saying to the trembling clerk: "I shall have you reinstated in your position, but if
you go wrong again this confession will be made public."
The following incident will further enlighten the reader as to the way things
were done in those good old days:
When Boss Tweed was in the full zenith of his power and glory and of the
wealth so easily acquired by certain methods, his daughter was married. All of
the then chiefs and district officers of Tammany, city officials, judges and heads
of departments vied with each other in the presentation of wedding gifts, among
which was a check for $100,000 from the father. Seldom has any bride received
a more magnificent tribute, for, coming from such sources, they were nothing
less than a tribute. Especially was this the case with one much-admired gift
which was contributed by us just after an illicit operation of $40,000 in Wall
street, $4,000 of which was paid to Irving.
In the column list of wedding gifts in the next morning's papers was: "One solid
silver punch bowl, value $500, presented by Superintendent Kelso." Shortly
after paying Irving the $4,000 percentage we met him one evening at the St.
Cloud Hotel. Mentioning the approaching Tweed marriage, he suggested that it
would be the thing, and make us more solid with the Superintendent of Police,
for us to make a fine present to "the old man," one that he could use as a gift to
the bride. As $500 was not much to our party in those days, we assented, and
handed over that amount.
Tiffany's was then located down Broadway, and among other things on
exhibition in the window was a large, handsome silver punch bowl. This was
purchased with our money, which was known to have been obtained by forgery,
and presented to Superintendent Kelso. A few days later the bowl reappeared in
the window of Tiffany's thus inscribed:

TO CATHERINE TWEED.

Presented by

JAMES KELSO,

Superintendent of Police.
"May loyalty and love know no end."

CHAPTER V.
WHEN BOSS TWEED WAS NEW YORK'S OWNER AND JIM
FISK, PROPRIETOR OF OUR JUDGES.

What a look of relief and triumph swept over the faces of Irving, Stanley and
White when I gave my consent to their proposal to take the stolen bonds to
Europe and negotiate them there. We understood each other now, and casting
aside all reserve, their tongues wagged freely, and they eagerly told me how
confident they were of my ability to dispose of the bonds successfully, and also
of my good faith; and, furthermore, told me I was the only man they would
have trusted. Of course, they had no security save my word, for under the
circumstances they could hardly ask me for a receipt, and even had I given one
it would have been valueless had I chosen to retain the proceeds of the bonds.
Thus, becoming the important member of the firm, I told them to produce the
securities and I would sail immediately. It was finally settled that I should go by
the steamer Russia of the Cunard line, which was down for sailing at 7 a.m.
Wednesday, and they were to deliver the bonds to me on Tuesday night. Upon
my demanding cash to pay expenses, their faces fell, but quickly brightened
when I told them to give me a thousand-dollar bond and I would borrow that
amount from a friend, using it for security. There was no danger of the number
of the bond being inspected, and, of course, I would pay the note upon my
return and receive the bond again.

WALL STREET AND SOME OF ITS CHARACTERS IN MY TIME.—
Page 26.
They told me many amusing lies as to how the securities came into their
possession, and as to who were the rightful owners. The truth was, as I
afterward learned, they were a part of the stolen Lord bonds.
Bonds issued by our Government and held in Europe, chiefly in Holland and
Germany, were so enormous in volume and passed so freely from hand to hand,
that it was easy for a well-dressed, business-appearing man to sell any quantity,
even if stolen, as by law the innocent holder could not be deprived of them. One
great advantage a dishonest man had at that date in Europe, especially an
American, was that if he dressed well they considered he must be a gentleman,
and if he had money that was a proof of respectability—one they never thought
of questioning, nor how he came by it; then, again, it was an article of their
creed that all Americans are rich.
The next morning (Tuesday), Irving met me near the Exchange, and, with some
trepidation, drew from an inner pocket an envelope containing the thousand-
dollar bond. Without waiting to examine it, I walked off, saying: "I'll be back in
ten minutes." He was evidently alarmed, and, like all rogues, suspicious of
every one. He probably had some wild idea that I was laying a trap for him. In

his ignorance of money methods he thought it would be a long, perhaps
difficult, negotiation to borrow money on the bond, but, of course, I made short
work of it; and "Jimmy" was more than delighted when within the ten minutes I
walked in with ten one hundreds in my hand. A trifle like this made a great
impression upon Irving, and from that time on I had his entire confidence.
Tuesday evening I said good-bye to my mother, merely remarking in
explanation of my journey that I had a commission given me to execute in
Europe.
Leaving her, I went to our rendezvous, near Broadway and Astor place, where I
found Irving, who handed me over his "boodle" (as he termed it), remarking
confidentially that I was to give him on my return his share into his own hands;
and, singularly enough, each of the others did precisely the same thing. About
11 o'clock the other two came in, and after some parley White handed over his
bonds, and Stanley informed me he would give me his on board before the
steamer sailed the next morning. I had already paid my bill and sent my
baggage over to Jersey City, so about midnight I set out, they accompanying me
as far as the ferry, and there, after shaking hands a half dozen times, we said
good-bye. Having bought my ticket and engaged my cabin, I went direct to the
steamer and went to bed. In the morning Stanley appeared and gave me his
bonds. Ten minutes later the hawsers were cast off and we were steaming down
the bay. Two hours later Fire Island sank beneath the horizon, and we were
alone on the sea.
Alone on the sea! and a fitting place to tell the story of a famous New York
bank robbery.
In the good old days when Bill Tweed was New York's owner, when Jim Fisk
was the proprietor of our judges and Kelso sat in Mulberry street, the king of
those good men, the police, who defend our lives and property, this city became
a spectacle to gods and men such as we thought then could never be equaled.
We thought so then, but we were not endowed with second sight, nor with the
gift of prophecy, or we might, perhaps, have reserved our judgment. Still, our
masters were a unique collection, and if they have been equaled or surpassed
since, they held with easy grasp the pre-eminence among all American rulers
who had shone and flourished up to the time when those great men gave us new
ideas upon the science of government. The average and quiet citizen, shocked
as he might be and grumble as he did at the impudent plundering by our
masters, their contempt of public opinion and the cynical display of their luxury,
would doubtless have confined himself to grumbling and to calling for slow-

arriving thunderbolts to crash the oppressors who were despoiling him had he
felt certain that the plunder would be confined to them, that his property would
be safe, at least, from the attacks of those insignificant, despicable but
eminently dangerous plunderers who became known to the police as common
criminals. This, however, was not so. After being flayed by iniquitous taxes,
which he knew were destined to add to the stores of Tweed, Connolly &
Company, he had every day abundant proof that what the big rascals left him,
the little ones would soon try, by burglary or robbery, to ravish from him, and
that they would do it with perfect immunity, unterrified either by the fear of
present arrest or of later punishment. The Mulberry street office was divided
into three or four little pools, each with its clientele of dependents, all of whom
faithfully and immediately reported to their patrons the result of any little job
they had been engaged in, handing over to the representative of the pool the 20
per cent. of the result, which was Headquarters' established commission. This
was the ordinary rate when gentlemen skilled in transferring other people's
watches and portemonnaies from the pockets of their owners to their own, or
when others who had devoted their talents to demonstrating practically the
enormous power of the jimmy and wedge originated and carried out by
themselves the operations peculiar to those classes of industries.
It sometimes happened that special cases offered, for which special terms were
arranged. Such cases stood by themselves. They were confided only to the
acknowledged heads of the profession. Standing outside of all recognized rules,
they were treated apart. Headquarters men were always sent to the seat of
operations to prevent interference, and, in case of need, to protect their partners.
Many a mysterious robbery was perpetrated to which no clue was ever found;
many an anxious search was undertaken by the bloodhounds of the law to find
the robbers, that they might crack a bottle together and rejoice over the success
of their operations, and sometimes they were joined by men the mention of
whose names in such company would have excited incredulous and unbounded
amazement.
The gigantic heavings of the war were struggling to rest, but the men whose
minds were unhinged and thrown off their balance by the possession of large
sums flowing from transactions, a little irregular, perhaps, but which the
necessities of Government permitted, were endeavoring, by any means, to open
up new fountains of wealth in place of those which the close of the war had
exhausted.

One of the resources presenting itself most naturally to men in a position to
profit by it was speculating with other people's money, and very naturally the
result of such speculation was disastrous in the highest degree. When detection
became inevitable the defaulter generally fled, hoping to find in a foreign land
safety from the stroke of justice and a shelter from the reproaches of his victims.
Occasionally, one more resolute, dreading flight as much as detection, flung
himself into schemes which, if they failed, meant the most hideous and utter
ruin, but which, if they succeeded, rendered discovery impossible, and made his
position more solid than ever before. One day, late in the sixties, in the parlor of
a bank in Greenwich street, a gentleman was anxiously scanning the books of
the establishment. He alone in all the institution knew of a secret which would
horrify his brother officials and carry desolation to scores of homes, the first to
suffer being his own. Perhaps had it been possible to exempt this one home, the
misery of the others would not have greatly affected him. But suffering must be
kept from his own house, and all and any means to banish it would be and must
be good.
The gentleman in whose mind these thoughts were passing was the president of
the bank, who knew himself to be a defaulter to an enormous amount, and who
was now anxiously reflecting upon the means to cover up his robberies.
Fortunately for him he was acquainted with the one man who more than any
other in all America was able to help him. This was Capt. Irving. The president
was a man of nerve. He knew, as everybody else knew, the relations in which
the police stood to the thieves, and he felt that if he could arrange to have his
own bank robbed, his difficulties would vanish, and his share in the defalcations
be covered up.
Little time was left to him before the inevitable discovery, but the prompt and
skillful use he made of it to extricate himself from the fearful danger of his
position makes one almost regret that a man of such resolution and such
opportunities should prove to the world that high qualities may exist when the
moral sense is entirely wanting. Irving was quickly taken into his confidence,
the position explained, the proposition to rob the bank broached, all possible co-
operation in the way of leaving safes unlocked and doors open, or what, of
course, amounts to the same thing, of furnishing keys and information to open
everything, promised, and then Irving was asked if he could find men to carry
the job into execution. New York in those days was well supplied with such
artists, but the right men to carry out so momentous an operation had to be
sought. The difficulty, however, was not great, and Irving promptly assured the

honorable president that he might confidently count on the right men at the right
time.
Among the professionals who twenty-three or four years ago were considered
"valuable" men at Police Headquarters were Mike Hurley, Patsey Conroy and
Max Shinburn. These were the men whom Irving instantly determined to
employ, and whom he forthwith set about to find. That not being a matter of any
difficulty, the same night the three men met Irving at his own house, and were
delighted over the revelation he made to them.
One would like to know with what sentiment a man occupying an honorable
and responsible position, a Sunday-school superintendent, the head of a great
financial institution, well known in the money world and respected in society,
slunk to a midnight meeting with burglars.
Did no feeling of shame crimson his face, no sinking of disgust oppress his
heart, as he slipped into a house, where, although he kept aloof from actual
contact with the ruffians, the details of an enormous crime of which he was the
author were debated and settled?
Prudential reasons doubtless kept him from forming a personal acquaintance
with his agents. The risk of exposing himself to future blackmail must not be
incurred, and one may well believe that he shrank from clasping the hands of
these men, who were eagerly awaiting him. Whatever were his feelings, his
desperate position suffered no halting. The storm was ready to break at any
moment. In an instant he might be a wretched fugitive, with terror before him
and infamy howling behind. But one way led out of this labyrinth. He had
resolutely planted his feet in that way, determined to tread it to the end. He did
tread it to the end, and he came out victorious.
If the suspicions of any afterward pointed toward him, no syllable of the
suspicions was breathed. Who dared suspect that an honorable citizen had ever,
in the dead of night, crept like a robber to a meeting of outlaws, to concoct the
details of an outrageous breach of trust, of a crime which—none knew it better
than he—would carry life-long misery and suffering to the families of nearly
every man who trusted him?

"THE DETECTIVES SIGNALED THE BURGLARS: 'THE COAST
IS CLEAR.'"—Page 57.
"The evil that men do lives after them," but where does the responsibility of its
author end? Who will ever say what crimes may spring from the one act of
wrongdoing, crimes committed, it may be, by persons who were directly led
into them by the consequences of an act the perpetrator of which had never
heard of those affected by it? How far does the responsibility of the wrongdoer
extend? What weight of horror is he accumulating on his head?
Such questions may perhaps occur afterward, when the pleasure has been tasted
and is gone, and nothing remains of the detected crime but the ruin it has
wrought; but in the excitement of laying the plot, in the glamour which the hope
of success casts over the schemer, they probably never intrude, conscience is
smothered, and he is left to carry out his schemes to the end.
Doubtless no such thoughts disturbed the president, as he waited that night
while Irving acted as go-between, carrying messages from him to the agents and
from the agents back again to him. At last the arrangements were made.
Duplicate keys of the safe were to be provided, and a way, to be presently
explained, was to be left open to each of them. Whatever the robbers found in
the safes was to be theirs, and the task of getting it was to be of the easiest. This,
of course, was highly satisfactory to the thieves, but something more must be

prepared for the stockholders and the public. Bank safes are not so easily
emptied; there must be the appearance, at least, of great effort to effect the
robbery, and marks of the effort must be left behind.
It was, therefore, settled that powerful tools were to be provided, tools able to
tear open any strong-box in the world. Such articles are expensive, and the
burglars had no money to procure them. No man who knows those people will
be surprised at this, for, however much money they may obtain, they never have
anything. It melts out of their hands, and they would be themselves embarrassed
to say what becomes of it.
The president's first necessity, therefore, was to pay out about a thousand dollars
for the jimmies, wedges and all the paraphernalia of the burglars' industry. This
he did. Irving took charge of the money, and he had far too great an interest in
the scheme to suffer the cash to be squandered. The agreement was that on the
following day Conroy should present himself at the bank to hire a vacant
basement, the roof of which formed the floor of the room where the safes were
lodged. The president undertook to smooth any difficulties in the way of
requiring references, and promised that he should be accepted as a tenant.
This agreement was punctually carried out. Conroy made his application, the
basement was granted to him, the rent paid in advance for the edification of the
clerks, and he at once entered in possession. Hurley and Shinburne joined him,
and the following Saturday they removed so much of the ceiling that but a few
minutes' work was required to complete a hole which should serve as a doorway
to the vaults above when the bank closed in the evening.

MACHINE FOR WEIGHING GOLD.

CHAPTER VI.
CHEATED VISIONS AND VANISHED HOPES.

Saturday night was the time chosen to get into the bank, and the plunderers
were to remain there until Sunday. The members of Irving's ring were to keep
watch to prevent any officious interference from passers-by or from ward
policemen. Carriages were to be in waiting at some convenient place on Sunday
morning, and when the men inside received a signal from their police
accomplices on the outside, they were to leave the bank, abandoning their tools,
and carrying away nothing but the money and the securities they had stolen. So
far, the way was plain; the keys had long before been prepared, tested and found
to work properly; full instructions were given as to the way to use them, but the
way inside was not yet open.
A night watchman was employed on the premises, and he, of course, was to be
got rid of. Little ceremony was to be used in treating him. He was to be seized,
overcome by any means, bound, gagged and rendered helpless until Monday,
and the fact that he always passed Sunday in the bank, prevented any remark at
home upon his continued absence. The details of the plot were thus
satisfactorily settled, and at a late hour the conspirators separated.
In the early morning of that day the three burglars were standing in the cellar to
which they had lowered their booty, waiting for the signal to come out. At last it
was given, when the precious trio slipped out, carrying their precious bags. A
covered carriage was posted in an adjoining street, into which the whole party
entered, flurried and excited, and rapidly drove to Irving's residence. There the
contents of the bags were carefully examined. The actual cash was easily
disposed of, but what was to be done with the bonds?
The arrangement finally agreed upon, to be detailed presently, shows that if
there be circumstances in which a little learning is a dangerous thing, one of
them is not just after the perpetration of a gigantic burglary.
The Monday following its execution confusion and amazement reigned in the
bank. The clerks on their arrival were astounded to find the safe doors wide
open, torn and smashed by the tools which lay scattered over the floor, and the
night watchman, gagged and bound, was discovered, nearly dead, in a

neighboring room. One of the clerks jumped into a cab and rushed to Police
Headquarters in Mulberry street to report the robbery. Irving was sitting in his
office, busy with the night reports, when the messenger was introduced to tell of
the bank's calamity.
The excellent chief listened with breathless attention, and was naturally horror-
struck at the perpetration of such a crime. Calling a couple of his trusted sleuths,
he hastily communicated the surprising news, and the three hurried with the
clerk back to Greenwich street. Arrived there they minutely examined the
premises, and gave it as their opinion, judging from the style of the work and
from the tools which lay around, that the burglary had been committed by a
well-known burglar named Harry Penrose, and that the night watchman, whom
they immediately placed under arrest, must have been his accomplice.
The president had sent word to the bank that he was unwell, and would not be
able to attend to business that day, but the terrible news was immediately
telegraphed to him, and, in spite of his illness, he hurried to town. It is
impossible to describe his astonishment and distress at the sight which met his
eyes. In the presence of the clerks he held anxious consultations with the
detectives, who assured him that they had already taken the first steps to unravel
the mystery, and that every possible effort would be made to discover the
criminals. In the privacy of his own office he explained to the reporters that he
had left in the bank four hundred thousand dollars in cash and bonds, every
farthing of which had disappeared.
As soon as the news was published the excitement among the depositors and the
stockholders of the bank was, of course, immense. A run set in, which the
directors by the help of friends and of their own private resources were able to
meet, but the Wall street appreciation of the calamity was shown in the drop in
value of the bank's stock from 130 to 40.
I repeat, a little learning is a dangerous thing. Much knowledge is not to be
looked for among men who engage in such crimes, but one would fancy that the
everyday experience of Irving and his people would have given them some idea
of financial business. The fact is, they were, if possible, more ignorant than their
felonious partners. The financial ideas of the latter scarcely went further than
"making cheap pennyworths of their plunder, giving to courtesans and living
like lords till all be gone," so that negotiating the sale of bonds was a mystery
far too high for them—something which they could never hope to attain to. But
the company included one man who was a rare exception to the ordinary ride of

such society. This was Max Shinburne, a German, a man of considerable
education, who, in some inexplicable way, had fallen so far from honor and
respectability that when he saw a thief he "consented unto him."
How is it that such men are often found in the ranks of professional criminals?
They would probably have difficulty to explain it themselves. A want of savoir
faire, the fact that they have never been taught to make a practical use of their
acquirements, the pressure of temptation at a critical moment, the absence,
possibly, from harm, leading to the hope of immunity—all, perhaps, enter into
the explanation of the secret promptings which have led to the first false step, to
the first planting of the feet in the path which leads to destruction. Once the step
is taken, to retrace it seems impossible. The line which society draws, and
which it proclaims no man shall overstep without punishment, may be
approached very closely, but once on the wrong side, once the fateful step is
taken, the act is irretrievable; to attempt to retrace it is to attempt to undo the
past; it is all but impossible.
Thus probably it is that the fall of an educated man is more hopeless than that of
one who knows no better. A carpenter or a blacksmith who has got himself in a
tangle has only to move to another town, and if he shakes off perverted thoughts
and perverted influences, he is not much worse off than before. He has kept his
trade, and his trade will keep him.
Nobody is going to inquire about a workman who can do his work. The
employer requires nothing more than that the work be done, and if it be done he
neither thinks nor cares anything more about either it or the worker.
With the educated man the case is different. The sentiments of the class he
belongs to are less yielding, the fineness of his own feelings has been too
deeply wounded, and when he has stabbed his reputation, he is apt, foolishly, of
course, to fling the rest of his respectability after it.
With qualities and advantages which might have fitted him for a useful and
honorable position in life, Shinburne was at less than 30 years of age the
companion of outcasts. But whatever his moral failings, his knowledge
remained, and it was for him, at least, to be valuable.
To get rid of the bonds in America was impossible, except by sacrificing them
to a stolen goods receiver, who would have given but a small percentage of their
value.

A steamer was to sail for Europe that day, and it was agreed that Shinburne
should go by her, with one of the other robbers as company, sell the bonds
before the news of the robbery could get across the ocean, then return and fairly
divide the proceeds.
This was the arrangement, but Shinburne had already begun to have other
dreams and other ambitions. He saw a chance to restore himself, or, at least, to
snatch at a position which would give him weight to crush down sinister reports
or envious whisperings, and he determined forthwith to seize it. What the bank
president had done to save himself from infamy, Shinburne would do to recover
himself from infamy. It can be, therefore, easily understood that he accepted
without hesitation the other's proposal.
The steamer did not sail until noon. There was, therefore, plenty of time to
make preparations, and, besides, he had a little private business to attend to.
Leaving the securities in Irving's charge, with a promise to meet the party at 11,
he took his share of the cash and departed.
Some time before this, with a skill and forethought rarely to be found in the
class he then belonged to, he had bought some building lots near the park.
Fortunate, indeed, the speculation eventually proved to be. In the mean time,
placing his lots in the hands of a responsible agent, and taking drafts on Europe
for his money, he rapidly made the little preparation he needed, and at 11 joined
his party, there to receive nearly $200,000 in bonds, and to set out with Mike
Hurley for the steamer.
After hurried parting injunctions from the Headquarters men, the two travelers,
accompanied by Conroy, to see them off, were rapidly driven to the steamer.
Punctually to the hour the hawsers were cast off, and with barely time to say
good-bye the cronies parted. A moment after the screw began to turn, and the
Cunarder's bow pointed toward England.
Arrived in Liverpool, the pair proceeded at once to London. Hurley, who was as
ignorant of foreign travel as of everything else, was easily tricked by some tale
of no evening trains for the Continent. Shinburne plied him well with liquor,
taking care to mix the bottles, and when he had got him helplessly drunk he
took the bonds and with his little luggage slipped quietly off to the Continent,
never to see his dupe or his New York friends again.
He went to Germany, called himself "Count" Shinburne, bought an estate and
began to exercise large hospitality toward his neighbors.

No man on all the length of the Rhine was so popular as he. No man's house and
table, horses and gardens were so praised as his. In the eyes of the beggar
nobles of the Fatherland the man who could give such dinners and in such
succession, must belong to the choice members of the human race. Day by day
Max's position grew more solid. No breath was ever whispered against him, and
with a little prudence he might have kept up his state and died in the odor of
sanctity. But the taste of grandeur was too sweet, the incense of his little world's
flattery too precious to run the smallest risk of losing it. His display exceeded
his means, but for nothing in the world would he have curtailed it.
Matters were in this way until he awoke one day to find his account overdrawn
on his bankers. Then it was that he began to remember his operation in
Greenwich street, and he seems to have thought that if he succeeded in New
York, surely nothing could stand in his way in some sleepy town in Europe.

"WITH HORROR THE SISTERS SAW THE
COUNTESS AIRING THE HISTORIC
BRACELET."—Page 68.
He went to Brussels prospecting, and soon pitched upon an establishment which
he thought likely to reward his industry. But the result showed that to walk into
a bank when the way was left open, with the authorities anxious to see him
there, and to force his way in when the entrance was jealously barred with the
guardians determined he should stay out, were two very different things. He
made the attempt, was arrested and sentenced to sixteen years' imprisonment.
His German friends heard of his mishap, and his glory faded like the early dew.

Naturally, every one thought that the count's career had closed, that the star of
his fate had declined, that the bars of his prison house were about him forever.
They were greatly mistaken. After some twelve or thirteen years he succeeded
in getting a pardon and managed to make his way to America. His first visit was
to the agents in whose hands he had left the management of his park lots. He
went into their office, not knowing whether or not he was a pauper. He came out
knowing himself to be nearly a millionaire.
During the almost twenty years of his absence his lots had increased
enormously in value. Once more he was a rich man, once more he might
emerge from his eclipse and become a power of a certain kind in the class of
society he could get access to, but his experience had taught him something. His
advancing years had left him but little desire for display. He came back to a
world which knew him not: and few of those who notice a benevolent-looking
old gentleman, who often passes an afternoon in upper Broadway, suspect that
under an assumed name he hides the identity of Max Shinburne, the bank
burglar.
When Hurley awoke from his drunken fit in London and recognized that his
partner had both robbed and deserted him, he felt that his mission was over, and
that nothing remained but to return at once to America. Loud and long and
wrathful were the complaints over Shinburne's treachery. Whatever he did to
others, all felt that his dealings with them ought to have been "on the square,"
but there was no help for it. He had disappeared, and faint, indeed, was the
chance that they would ever see him again. The success of the crime, so far as
they were concerned, had, after all, been a failure. Vanished hopes and cheated
visions were their share, instead of the wealth they had anticipated, and in their
devouring rage they tried to console themselves with the thought of what they
would do to him if they ever met Shinburne.
The only man who had any real success from the scheme was the president.
Exposure had become impossible. He had taken good care not to leave too
much in the safes for his accomplices, and he was henceforth a wealthy man.
The bank, desperately shaken by the robbery, fell so greatly in the esteem of the
public that not long after it failed. The president gave up banking, and began to
speculate in real estate. He increased in riches and prospered in the world. He
called his lands after his own name. He thought his house would continue
forever, and men praised him, because he did well to himself. He settled his
children comfortably in life, and when he died, not so very long ago, all felt that

the world was better because he had lived in it, and that, although their loss
when he was taken was heavy, it was, nevertheless, his great gain.

CHAPTER VII.
GILDED SIRS WHO ARE NOT WISE.

After a pleasant voyage the Russia arrived, and one May morning I walked into
the Northwestern Railway station in Liverpool to take the train for London. The
bonds were in a little handbag, and I was free to look around. Everything was
novel and strange, and all things told me I was in a foreign land. I had, like most
young people, a particularly good opinion of myself and something of an idea
as to my own importance.
We arrived in London amid a drizzling rain, and I was much impressed with the
mighty roar of the traffic in the streets. We drove to Langham place, where I had
a regular English tea, and liked it immensely, too. The next night I left Victoria
Station for Dover, and crossing the Channel to Ostend, went through to Brussels
and stopped there, having wanted, ever since boyhood, to visit the field of
Waterloo. I looked through the city that day, visiting the famous City Hall and
one of the art galleries. Retiring early I arose early and drove out to the plain
immortalized by the giant struggle of those valiant hosts, but did not purchase
any of the relics which were freely offered. These have been sold by shiploads
to two generations of visitors. Returning to Brussels, I paid my bill at the Hotel
de Paris, and was amused over the inventiveness of the proprietor in making
charges—towels, candles, soap, attendance, paper, envelopes, being among
them.
Going to the station I bought my ticket for Frankfort—that old town I was
destined to see so much of during the next few years. On my journey I would
pass through Cologne, and from there the railway skirts the bank of the Rhine.
This being my first visit to Europe, I was intensely curious to see everything,
especially the Cathedral at Cologne, and was eager to linger a few days along
the banks of the Rhine. But I was more eager to complete the bond negotiations,
and wisely resolved to go direct to Frankfort, sell the bonds, then, with the
money in my pocket and all anxiety over, I would be in a state of mind to enjoy
a short holiday.
I traveled through Belgium and some parts of Germany by daylight, and was, as
most Americans are who travel on the Continent, shocked to see the

employment of women. Soon after leaving Brussels I saw the, to me, novel
sight of a number of women shoveling coal, handling the shovel like men. In
other places I saw them laboring in the brick yards, digging and wheeling clay,
and everywhere they were to be seen working at men's work in the fields.
A traveler in my compartment proved a most entertaining companion. He
described himself to me as one who "went about pottering over a lot of
antiquities and fooling around generally."
But my friend, the pottering old antiquary, gave me something of a surprise. At
Chalours all of our fellow travelers in the compartment left us. Two of them
were voluble French women, and they kept it up with amazing energy for the
six hours from Brussels to Chalours. At every unusual swaying of the car there
would be a volley of "Mon Dieus!" and ear-piercing exclamations, and it was
certainly a relief when they left.
Bringing out a box of cigars, and my companion producing a flask of wine, we
soon became confidential. Presently, to my great amusement, my Old
Antiquary, warmed by the wine, confided to me that he was a detective police
officer and chief of the secret service at Antwerp, that he was then working on a
famous case, and had been shadowing one of the ladies who had journeyed with
us from Brussels. Before leaving Brussels, he had discovered his quarry was to
quit the train, and as he had to go on to Mayence, he had turned the business
over to a confederate.
I was young, and no doubt he thought me innocent; certainly he did not
withhold his confidence. This is the case he was investigating:
There was a wealthy gentleman by the name of Van Tromp living in Antwerp, a
widower, 70 years of age, the father of a grown-up family, and many times a
grandfather. It had been his custom to go to Baden-Baden every Summer,
spending money freely both in pleasure and in the famous gambling resorts
there. The last time he had met a woman, the Countess Winzerode, one of the
many adventuresses to be found there, and speedily became infatuated. This
Van Tromp was a descendant of old Admiral Van Tromp, who, in the mighty
life-and-death struggle between Holland and Spain, and in the two wars with
England, the first when Cromwell ruled, the second when the Second Charles
was on the throne, held up the fame and glory of Holland. In one case he swept
the proud navies of Spain from the seas and carried the Dutch flag around the
world. In the other, he was only vanquished after stubborn sea-fights lasting for
days, and only ended then because the stout admiral lay on his deck with an

English bullet in his heart. This Van Tromp was the heir of the fame and the
wealth of all the Van Tromps, and both had gone on accumulating for 300 years.
The self-styled Countess knew all this, and, as the sequel shows, knew her man.
She was 40, had been beautiful, was still comely, with good figure, fair-haired,
but with steel-blue eyes. She spoke many languages and had dwelt in every land
from Petersburg to Paris. It is needless to tell how they first met or of the
intimacy that sprang up between them, but I will merely say in passing that
within five days of their first meeting he had given her a magnificent diamond
bracelet, which had been in his family more than a century. This alarmed his
two daughters, who were terrified at the mere suspicion that their father was in
earnest, and might possibly present them with a stepmother, above all, a
comparatively young stepmother, and, so far as physique went, a magnificent
animal, with promise of a long life—so long that her rights of dower would
make a cut in the Van Tromp estates and treasures, which might well cause the
old Admiral to rouse himself from his three-century sleep in Dordrecht Church
and once more walk these glimpses of the moon in protest of the sacrilege. Then
the scandal of a Countess-adventuress becoming a Van Tromp—- head of that
family, too! They knew of his penchant for the Countess, and cared nothing for
it, until, with a feeling akin to horror they observed at the dress ball one night
the Countess airing the historic bracelet. It would require a volume to relate the
scenes that followed in the Van Tromp domicile on this paralyzing discovery;
but prayers, tears and histrionic touches were all met by the stolid reply of Van
Tromp: "I please myself."
As a last resort the daughters appealed to the Countess, offering all their ready
cash and a pension if she would only disappear. But visions of the Van Tromp
diamonds and of the Van Tromp bank account were in her head and she was
deaf to every appeal. In fact, she despised these heavy, matter-of-fact Dutch
ladies, and rather gloried to think that she would soon be the female head of the
Van Tromp house and stepmother to these two highly respectable dames, who
would perforce have to live in her shadow. But then, of course, the Countess
was a woman, and it is to be feared that even good women love to triumph over
others. She, of course, could have no love for this portly old gentleman of
seventy. But it is pitiful to think he was madly infatuated. The poor old man, in
spite of his unromantic appearance, had warm blood in his veins and plenty of
romance in his heart. At last, in spite of gossip and opposition, they were
married, and then, instead of settling down, as the happy groom had hoped, to a
life of wedded bliss in one of his country houses at Dordrecht, Lady Van Tromp
insisted on spending her honeymoon in Paris. There they went, and the very day

of their arrival the bride resumed a liaison with a beggarly count, who, not
being an actual criminal, yet was written black enough in the books of the Paris
police, and for whom the Countess had as warm an admiration as one of her
cold, calculating nature was capable of feeling.
Van Tromp speedily found his dream of bliss blown to the winds, but he was not
so blind as not to see that his wife not only did not love him, but was false to
him as well. Poor old Van Tromp felt he had made his last throw for happiness,
and hoping against hope, dreamed she in time would learn to appreciate his
devotion and would love him, and so tried to persuade himself of her truth. The
first anniversary of the marriage found them at Baden-Baden, and there the
unhappy husband, thinking to give his wife a pleasant surprise, entered her
chamber at an unusual hour bearing a diamond necklace for a present, and
found her in a position which could no longer leave any doubt as to her
faithlessness. Seizing a chair he felled her companion, who never stirred again;
but the shock was too great for the husband, who himself fell to the floor and
instantly expired—the doctors said of heart disease, and I think they were right.
This event was only a few weeks old. The will had been read, and it was found
that he had literally left everything "to my wife, Elizabeth."
Here my friend, the chief of police and a distant relative of Van Tromp, came to
the front, determined quietly on his own account to investigate Lady Van
Tromp. He found this last was at least her third venture on the stormy sea of
matrimony. He had a fancy that some one of her husbands might still be living
and undiscovered. If this could be proved, then her marriage to Van Tromp was
no marriage, and the ducats, dollars and diamonds bequeathed by Van Tromp to
"my wife, Elizabeth," would instantly melt into air—into very thin air, so far as
the Countess was concerned; provided, of course, they had not actually passed
into her clutches. In fact, they were legally hers, for the will had been admitted
to probate. Those of the family objecting could offer no valid opposition, and
she had been put in possession, but, by a strange neglect on her part, left
everything intact, save a deposit of 300,000 gulden in the Bank of Amsterdam,
which she secured and set out for Naples with a new lover.

The detective—whom I will call Amstel—discovered that she had first been
married when only 15 years old to a young Swiss in Geneva, who soon left her
and fled to America. He had subsequently returned to Europe, but Amstel was
unable to discover his whereabouts or if he was living. He suspected that the

Swiss was not only alive but in communication with the Countess, and that she,
in fact, might be his legal wife. He had followed the Countess from Naples to
Paris. There she left her lover and was now on her way to Nuremberg, as
Amstel believed, to meet her first husband, but she had arranged to remain a
few days with some old friends of hers. Every movement she made there would
be watched, while Amstel, going on to Cologne to look up some clues, intended
to wait there until informed that she had departed, and when the train arrived at
Cologne he proposed to enter it and follow my lady on, hoping to witness a
meeting between her and the much hoped-for husband. Happily we had arrived
at Cologne at this point in the story, and as Amstel was to remain here we had to
say good-bye; but for the whole twenty minutes of my stay we walked up and
down the platform talking eagerly of the case. I had become much interested, so
deeply, indeed, that had I had leisure I certainly should have turned amateur
detective and joined Amstel.

LONDON POLICEMAN.—ST. PAUL'S IN
DISTANCE.
The train started, and, promising to write me in New York the outcome of the
case, we shook hands warmly and parted. He wrote me twice, and the following
year I returned to Europe and met Amstel at Brussels. We had a very delightful
time together, during which he told me the sequel of the Van Tromp episode.
Instead of one, the Countess had two husbands living; but the Van Tromps
preferred to buy off the woman at a good round sum rather than have a public
scandal.
Amstel interviewed the Countess, and gave her the choice between arrest and a
full release of all claims on the Van Tromp property for the sum of 100,000

gulden. She made a hard fight, but at last gave in gracefully. But my chapter has
grown too long already, and I will close it with the remark that I myself met the
lady at Wiesbaden in 1871, and became acquainted with the brilliant
adventuress. She will appear again in the sequel.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE MERRY SUMMER OVER AND NO HARVEST STORED.

From Cologne to Frankfort is about 140 miles, and swiftly our train sped along
up the Rhine—the lovely stream about which poets have raved for twenty
generations. What classic ground! What scenes have its waters reflected, its
mountains looked upon! In the old days its rolling floods made a deep
impression on the stout Roman heart. More than one army, carrying with it the
hearts of the Roman world, had crossed that river and plunged into the unknown
forests beyond, only to go down in the shock of conflict with the brave but
barbarian foe, leaving not one solitary survivor to carry back tidings to Rome of
the fate of her army. And down through all the linked centuries the history of
the Rhine has been the history of giant armies marching against each other, and
of brothers slaughtering brothers. To-day the plains of Germany and France bear
a million of armed men, ranged face to face, with only the Rhine between,
eagerly awaiting the signal to pour a deadly rain on each other. And for what?
The last face that I saw at the Cologne station was that of Amstel, lit up with
smiles as he waved his hand in adieu. Sitting cozily in the corner of the carriage,
eager to see all that was to be seen, I found, as all tourists do, much to charm
and delight. But my thoughts were on the bonds I had to sell, and I was glad
enough when at 5 o'clock our train drew into the depot at Frankfort.
Alighting I took a cab and drove to the Hotel Landsberg, and, although tired, the
scenes and surroundings were too novel for me to think of sleep. So I dined and
went out to view the city, but as I will have occasion to refer to the place again,
I will leave any description of it until another chapter.
In London there was an American banking house that has since failed, but
which at this time was doing a large business in the way of issuing letters of
credit. The firm was patronized chiefly by Americans. It issued credits, or letters
of credit, without inquiry, to any one applying for them. While in London I
called at their office, 449 Strand, and paying $750 was given a credit for £150,
which I took under an assumed name. I wanted this letter to serve as an
introduction to some of the bankers at Frankfort, and to open the way for the
negotiation of the bonds. The Frankfort correspondents of the London firm were

Kraut, Lautner & Co., on the Gallowsgasse. The next morning I repaired to the
office of this firm, and producing my letter was very cordially received, and
invited to make my headquarters in their office during my stay at Frankfort,
which for the next day or two I did. However, I called on several other bankers,
also feeling the way, and finally selected the firm of Murpurgo & Wiesweller,
bankers widely known and of enormous wealth. I had several talks with
Murpurgo, and told him I was arranging to purchase a number of copper mines
in Austria, and if the deal was closed I should sell a large block of American
bonds and use the cash I realized to pay for the purchase of the mines. I suppose
he thought to make a good thing out of it, and was eager to purchase.
My reader will recall that payment upon all United States bonds payable to
bearer, as mine were, could not be stopped, and so far as the innocent holder
was concerned he was perfectly secure. But the custom among bankers was,
whenever any bonds were lost by theft or fraud, to send out circulars containing
the numbers, asking that the parties offering them might be questioned and held.
But as American bonds were sold in millions all over the Continent, and were
passing freely from hand to hand, as a matter of fact, little or no attention was
paid to such circulars, but, of course, had strangers of disreputable appearance
offered bonds in large sums, the lists might have been scrutinized and awkward
questions asked. Therefore I felt a trifle nervous, and determined to run no
chance of losing my bonds—at least not all of them. So I resolved to go to
Wiesbaden, some fifteen miles away, stop at some hotel under a different name,
leave the bonds there, and take the morning train for Frankfort, conduct my
negotiations, and return to Wiesbaden every evening. It was at this time easy to
lose one's identity in Wiesbaden, for the town then was, along with Baden-
Baden, the Monte Carlo of the Continent, and adventurers, men and women,
from all over Europe flocked there in thousands to chance their fortune in the
gambling halls. Although a little in advance of this portion of my history, I will
here relate an adventure of mine there, some years after the period of which I
am speaking.
I will, however, preface my narrative with a brief account of the history of the
place. The city of Wiesbaden, previous to the Franco-German war of 1870, was
the chief town of one of those petty principalities which were plentifully
sprinkled over the face of Europe. Since the old Roman days the town had been
famous for its hot springs, and consequently for its hot baths, and a good many
people—during the Winter particularly—resorted there to bathe and to drink the
waters. As a matter of course, the townspeople, as the custom of such places is,
have recorded many a marvelous cure, ranging all the way from headache to

hydrophobia. But still the town was of little importance save locally. The petty
ruler, with a title longer than his income, lived in the pretentious castle,
beguiling the time by smoking cheap cigars or ordering on banquets whose
piece de resistance consisted of Gebratene Gans und Kartoffeln, the unlucky
bird being tribute in kind from the farmyard of some peasant subject living in a
miserable hut on black bread.
But a change was impending. A mighty wizard had visited the place, with an
eye quick to see the possibilities of the situation, with a brain to plan and a hand
to execute. His name was Francois Blanc, the head of the great gambling
establishment at Homburg. Vast as were his ambition and achievements, he was
a man of the simplest tastes.
To see him—as I often have—in his seedy coat, his old-fashioned spectacles on
the tip of his nose, one would have taken him for a country advocate whose
wildest dreams were of a practice of two thousand thalers a year, with an old gig
and wheezy mare to haul him around the country side from client to client.
Before his Wiesbaden days he had been the guiding spirit in the direction of the
splendid gambling halls, the Casino at Homburg. Blanc was impervious to
flattery; a hard-headed, silent man, a man without enthusiasm and without
weaknesses, who kept a lavish table and ate sparingly himself, who had a wine
cellar rivaling that of the Autocrat of All the Russias and yet contented himself
with sipping a harmless mineral water; who kept and directed a huge gambling
machine—a mighty conglomeration of gorgeously decorated halls, wine parlors
and music rooms, crammed day and night by giddy and excited throngs, but
himself never indulging in anything more exciting than an after-dinner game of
dominoes or a quiet drive with his wife through the country lanes.
Thus this Francois Blanc, with perfect equanimity, watched the thousand
thousands of butterflies and moths of society scorch their wings in the terrific
flame that glowed in his Casino, while he looked on, a cynical observer,
despising the fools enraptured with roulette and fascinated with rouge-et-noir.
But one thing he was not afraid of, and that was spending money. To compass
his business ends he laid it out lavishly, and in the end he drew all Europe to
Wiesbaden. Still broader and still deeper he laid the foundations of the fortune
that ultimately grew to colossal proportions. But he did not make Wiesbaden
famous without keen opposition. He made the fortune of the beggarly Prince
Karl and the whole hungry crowd of royal highnesses in spite of themselves. At

every fresh opposition he simply opened his purse and a golden shower fell on
them.
It required a hard head to withstand the attacks made on him when it became
known that he had bought up both prince and municipality, and proposed to
make Wiesbaden par excellence the gambling city of the Continent. But, despite
of all, he pushed on his plans to wonderful success. A great park was laid out
and stately buildings arose, all dedicated to the goddess of chance. Slim was the
chance the votaries of the game had in his gorgeous halls. He threw out his
money in millions, but he knew the weak, foolish heart of man, the egotism of
each and every one of us, that leads us to ignore for ourselves the immutable
law of numbers. So he counted upon his returns, and never counted in vain.
As I say, he had a hard head to withstand the attacks made upon him. Every day
the post brought hundreds of letters containing propositions of threats from
people who had lost their money and demanded its return with fierce threats,
pitiful supplications and warnings of intended suicide, place, date and hour
carefully specified, so there could be no mistake, and more than one attempt
was made upon his life. But the equanimity of Francois Blanc was equal to all
adventures. Threats, prayers, temptations, left him untouched. This man of ice,
self-possessed, cold, indifferent to the ruin of the thousands of victims of his
will, had a fad or fancy. It was for raising red and white roses, and while the
mad throngs were fluttering in frenzy around the tables in his halls at Homburg,
Wiesbaden and Monte Carlo, he, hoe or trowel in hand, would be training and
transplanting his roses, solicitous over an opening bud or deploring the ravages
of an insect; or, again, refusing all invitations, would sit down with his wife to a
dinner of boiled turnips and bacon, washed down with a glass of Vichy water
and milk. This was the town and these the scenes constantly occurring there.
Now for my adventure. In 1870, just before the war cloud burst, covering all
that part of the world, I was stopping for some weeks at the Hotel Nassau. It
stands in the main street, opposite the park gate leading to the Casino. All the
world went to Wiesbaden to be amused. However fashionable frivolity and vice
may be elsewhere, here it was strictly de rigueur, and to pretend to decency and
sobriety would be to stamp one's self a heathen and barbarian, all unversed in
the glorious flower-wreathed Primrose Way of our orb.
The daily routine for the throng began with coffee in bed at 8 a.m., then
dressing gowns were donned, and the bath in underground floors of the hotel
were sought and a bath had in the hot mineral waters, which were conducted to

all the hotels direct from the hot springs of the town. Half an hour in the bath,
then a light breakfast, preparatory to sallying out for an hour on the Spaziergang
around the Quellen to drink the water, listen to the band, see and be seen, but,
above all, to gossip and tell lies. At 11 a.m. the gambling began in the Casino,
and with a rush the seats around the tables would be filled. Then speedily there
would be rows behind rows of eager players or spectators, and what a sight it all
was to the cool-headed observer.
With what keen interest all watched the result of the first turn of the card at the
card tables and the color of the first hit at roulette. For all gamblers are
superstitious, and are devout believers in omens. Those whose luck or
pocketbooks held out gambled steadily on, or, if luck turned against them,
would leave the table, go to do some fantastic thing to change their luck and
then return. At 2 p. m. the band (a very fine one) played in the Musik Saal, and
most of the idlers and morning players gathered there to listen to the music and
to drink and dine. Here in this hall the intrigues begun on the promenade or in
the gambling-rooms were helped along by the ample opportunities of meeting,
with the passions stimulated by the music and the wine. At 4 o'clock many took
an afternoon nap. Then came the chief event of the day, the ponderous table
d'hote. At 9 p. m. every one flocked to the Casino, and the game went merrily
on until midnight. Then to bed, each and all with more or less Rudesheimer or
Hochheimer stowed away.
At the time of which I speak many were my idle days, in which I was free to
seek pleasure. I used to find much enjoyment in frequenting the Casino to watch
the people and to play the role of "looker-on in Vienna," which, by the way, is a
star role and therefore rather agreeable. One evening while watching the rouge-
et-noir I noticed a lady just in front of me, magnificently dressed in all, save that
there was an entire absence of jewelry. She was literally dressed to kill, and,
although near 50, yet to the casual observer she seemed no more than 40, or
even less. She was a well-preserved woman of the world, and was known as the
Countess de Winzerole. This was the adventuress who had married Van Tromp
some two years before. What a career had been that of this woman!
She had been mistress from first to last of a dozen men, noblemen, diplomats,
soldiers, but being an inveterate gambler, one after another saw, with dismay,
the cash, estates, diamonds, carriages, costly furs and laces he showered upon
her all go whirling into the ever-open maw of the Casino, or in the drawing-
room games of the bon-ton in Paris or Petersburg. One brave youth, an officer
in the Prussian Guards, had, in his infatuation for the Countess, and

impregnable, as he thought, against bankruptcy by reason of his great fortune,
tried to satisfy her cravings for splendor of entourage and her infatuation for
gambling. The result was that one day the crack of a pistol-shot was heard in the
Countess' chamber, and the servants rushing in found the young bankrupt dead,
lying across the bed, with a bullet through the heart. The next day a horde of
clamorous creditors besieged the house, where the Countess calmly told them
she had sent for her bankers and on the morrow they would be paid. That night
his comrades buried their dead friend with military honors. At midnight the
cortege passed the hotel, and all eyes watched the lovely Countess robed in
white as she appeared, her bosom heaving with emotion, while she waved a
farewell to her dead lover. Ten minutes later she fled through the back door and
over the garden wall, falling into the arms of another lover waiting there. He
himself did not go the way of the last, but half of his fortune did; so one
morning, leaving a polite note of farewell, he, taking for companion the
dressing maid of his mistress, embarked for America.
At the time I met her the Countess' reputation was too well known and her
beauty too much fallen off for her to make any more grand catches. A local
banker at Wiesbaden became very friendly. However, the friendship lost all its
warmth when the banker's stout wife one day caught them together, and having
already provided herself with a whip in anticipation, visited them both with a
jealous woman's rage and a sound thrashing.
Now, the Countess spent her time around the tables, following the winners and
getting douceurs from them. These were by no means small—most of them
being gifts pure and simple, given from mere goodness of heart or sheer
prodigality for there were too many gay and beautiful women flocking around
ready to smile on winners in the game for the Countess now to make even a
temporary conquest. However, at this period she lived well—even extravagantly
—but, of course, saved nothing. As related, I first met the Countess here at the
table where the game was going on. She had just staked and lost her last gulden.
She was betting on the black, and four times in succession the red had won. She
turned, and looking in my face, implored me to bet a double Frederick on the
red. I instantly placed the money on the red and won. She begged me to transfer
the stake to the black. I did so, and black won. Placing her hand on the stake,
she said: "Sir, leave it; black will win again." Sure enough, it did. She seized the
cash, $80, and handing me a double Frederick, said in her most bewitching
manner: "Oh, sir; be generous and let me keep this!" I said: "Certainly,
madame." She promptly staked it, and in two turns of the cards it was gone.

We met several times the next few days, but merely bowed without speaking.
One afternoon, entering the Musik Saal, I took a small table, and, ordering a
bottle of wine, sat down to listen to the music and watch the throng. The
Countess came in, and seeing me alone, came straight to me, shook hands
warmly and sat down. I, of course, invited her to have a glass of wine. We soon
finished that bottle and ordered another. We had what was to me a most
amusing talk. She was a character—had been everywhere and spoke all the
modern languages. She assured me that I was a very charming gentleman. In
paying my bill I incautiously displayed a gold piece or two, and, seeing she was
going to ask me to give her one, I saved her the trouble by placing one in her
hand. In time we became quite good friends. Twice I paid her board bill in order
to rescue her wardrobe from the clutches of her landlord, and once I saved her
from the hands of an irate washerwoman. When, after a time, I left Wiesbaden, I
left her as gay, as prosperous and as extravagant as ever.
I did not see Wiesbaden again for over two years, but the second week of
January, 1873, found me there. The Prussian Government now ruled in the
town, and refused to renew the license of M. Blanc. It had expired fourteen days
before my arrival. What a change had fallen on the town! The Casino was
gloomy and cold, the gay crowds had fled. All the life and movement of the
street and promenade was forever a thing of the past. I had located there simply
as a precaution, disposing of large amounts of bonds in Frankfort, fifteen miles
away, and returning to Wiesbaden each night. At this time I put up at the Hotel
Victoria, near the railroad station. One Saturday, going up to Frankfort rather
late, my business detained me until after dark. On reaching the station I
happened to look into the third-class waiting-room, and there I spied a figure
alone that looked familiar. I soon recognized the Countess. From her appearance
and surroundings it was plain that there was now no wealthy lover at her beck
and call. Because she looked so unhappy I gave her a cordial greeting, which
she returned rather wearily. It was very cold, and I was clad in furs from head to
foot; besides, I was, apparently, on the full floodtide of fortune, having with me
then a very large sum of money, some of which she could have had for the
asking.
I said: "Come, Countess; let us go together first class to Wiesbaden." She
replied that she lived at Bieberich, a small town on the Rhine, four miles below
Mayence, and four miles from Wiesbaden. As the train was starting I bade her
good-bye, but asked permission to call on her the next day. She consented,
giving her address as Hotel Bellevue.

The next morning was very cold, but I enjoyed that, so, after a light breakfast, I
started over the hills for a walk to the town, arriving there soon after noon. I
found the hotel, a fifth-rate one, and entering, was shown to the room of the
Countess. What a change for her from the past! Her room was a small one,
plastered, but unpapered, and with a few articles of furniture of the cheapest.
The poor woman was too evidently in a state of frightful depression, and well
she might be. Hers had been a butterfly existence, life all one Summer holiday,
no hostages given to fortune, no bond taken against future wreck or change.
Like the butterfly, she had roamed from flower to flower, sipping the sweet
only, or, like the cricket, had merrily piped all the Summer through, thinking
sunshine and bloom eternal. Even when youth and beauty had fled, and lovers
no longer stood ready to attend and serve, she still found a good aftermath in
her happy harvest field on the floors of the Casino, but when the Casino lights
at Wiesbaden went out, then, for the Countess, had the Winter indeed come.
My walk had given me something of an appetite, and it now being 2 o'clock I at
once proposed to have dinner. To my surprise she said she had already dined,
and upon my remarking that it was early for dinner, she replied that it was, but
as she was owing quite a hotel bill she feared to give any trouble lest the
landlord might present his bill, and in default of payment she was liable to
arrest and a very considerable imprisonment. I need hardly tell my readers that
they do these things differently in Germany than with us. I could easily afford to
be generous with other people's money, and did not mean to see the Countess
suffer for a hotel bill. Ringing the bell, I told the waiter to bring me some dinner
and a bottle of wine. The Countess looked very uneasy over my order. Of late
years she had seen life from the seamy side and had observed so much of the
falseness and cruelty of men that she had apparently lost all faith in them, and
no doubt thought me an adventurer, one who might possibly dine and order
expensive wines, leaving her to face an angry landlord. While dinner was being
prepared she told me she was in the greatest distress; had not even a single
kreutzer to pay postage, and, worst of all, was owing for two weeks' board. She
had no means to fly, no place to fly to, and if she remained incarceration
awaited her. She had for weeks been writing everywhere to every one she had
known, former lovers, distant, but long-neglected relatives. The result—dead
silence; no response from anywhere. She at last was alone, caught in the world's
great snare, with no friendly hand to shelter or save. It was a sight to read this
woman's face. There swept over it all the conflicting waves of regrets over
might-have-beens and the gloomy shades of despair. Both proprietor and waiter
appeared to set the table; it was for one, but wineglasses for two were brought

unsolicited. They were officiously anxious to please "Your Highness," as they
christened me. The Countess sat looking gloomily out of the window across the
Rhine, while I watched her face until an infinite pity for the shipwrecked soul
filled my mind. Dismissing the waiter I went to the window, and standing by
her chair I said: "Don't worry any more, Countess; I will pay your bill." At the
same time drawing from an inner pocket a book crammed with notes, I placed
seven 100-thaler notes in her lap, saying: "This one is for your board bill, and
the other six are for your pocket money." I need not attempt to picture her
amazement and delight. Certainly she appeared very grateful. We had a long
conversation and I was talking to her like a brother. Perhaps had she still been
beautiful and young my manner and language might have been less brotherly. I
told her she had danced and sung, but at last the time had come for toil, and
suggested she should go to Brussels, which is ever thronged with tourists, where
her knowledge of languages and her savoir faire could be made available in one
of the many shops where gimcracks are sold to travelers. I advised her to offer a
small premium for a position. This she said she would do.
In saying good-bye I promised to see her again the next night, but I found a
telegram awaiting me on my arrival at my hotel which called me to meet two of
my companions at Calais, and I was forced to leave by an early train. The next
time I saw the Countess was at Newgate. She visited me there, and was in
perfect despair over my position and her inability to serve me. For those who
may care to know more of her, I will say that, following my advice, she went to
Brussels and obtained a position in a Tourist Exchange and within a year
married the proprietor, who was a Councilman and a man of considerable local
importance. She made him a good wife and became a true mother to his five
daughters. When he died he made her guardian to both of them and his wealth.
She became very religious, and to the last was a devout member of the Roman
Church. She died in 1886, thirteen years after the episode at Rieberich. Her
ashes rest in the little graveyard of the Convent des Soeurs de Ste. Agnes, on the
Charleroi road, two miles from the city, and on her monument is engraved:

TO ELIZABETH, The Beloved Wife, Pious and True. She Served God and
Has Gone to Live with the Angels

"THE LOVELY COUNTESS WAVED A
FAREWELL TO HER DEAD LOVER."—
Page 81.

CHAPTER IX.
"WE HAVE ANOTHER JOB FOR YOU."

About every second day I called on Murpurgo & Weissweller in Frankfort, and
talked over matters, and easily saw that everything would go right. All that was
necessary was to produce the bonds, and they would hand over the cash. Here in
America, though we scrutinized a man's garments, the quality and fit of the
same having a certain value, we never take much stock in a stranger because an
artist tailor has decorated him, or because he has plenty of money. But in the
seventies, all over Europe, from the mere fact that a man was an American and
had the appearance, dress and manner of a gentleman, they always took it for
granted that he must be a gentleman.
Therefore, seeing that I was taken for a capitalist, and that no question would be
asked, I told the firm my deal in Austrian copper mines appeared so certain to
be completed that I had ordered the securities I intended to dispose of to be
forwarded from London. Giving them a list, they gave me a memorandum offer
for the lot. I accepted their offer. The next hour was a very bad sixty minutes for
me. There was considerable delay, and my suspicions were fully aroused, and at
one time I thought they had made some discovery; but, as a fact, my suspicions
were wholly unfounded.
The banker and clerks were simply hurrying around, anxious to oblige me and
have the money out of the bank before it closed. At last the amounts were
figured up and verified by myself. One of the partners hastened off to the bank
and in five minutes returned with a very pretty parcel of 200,000 gulden; but, in
spite of the evident safety of the business, I was nervous, and resolved to put a
good distance between me and the town as speedily as possible. Before 5
o'clock I was in Weisbaden, and, going directly to the Casino, where they kept
at all times a million francs, in addition to German money, and where the
possession of large sums attract no attention, I readily exchanged my money for
350 one-thousand-franc notes.

Going to Rothschild's, I bought exchange on New York for $80,000, and left the
same night for London. Very many times I journeyed over that route in after
years, but never with so light a heart. I was young and enthusiastic; all the
glamour and poetry of life hung around me, while I was too inexperienced to
notice whither I was drifting, or to understand the powerful current upon which
I had embarked. In fact, I had sold myself to do the devil's work, and day by day
the chain would tighten, while all the time I thought I could when I pleased stop
short on the downward grade and take the back track. More experience would
have taught me that every one who forsook the path of honor not only thought
the same, but had a purpose to even everything up some day and make
restitution. And to-day there is not a criminal but who, at the start, looks
forward to the time when he will no longer war against society, but will go out
and come in at peace with all men. But when one comes to think of it, what a
fool's game is that of a man who fights against society!

"THEY FOUND A BODY, RAGGED,
EMACIATED, FORLORN. IT WAS
BREA."—Page 120.
The criminal has but two arms, very short and weak they are, and of flesh, too.
He has but two eyes that cannot possibly see around the nearest corner, while
society has a million arms of steel that can reach around the world, and a
million eyes which are never closed, that can pierce the thickest gloom with
sleepless vigilance. The poor, unhappy criminal, by fortunate dexterity, may
escape for a little, but at last society lays her iron grasp on him, and with giant
force hurls him into a dungeon. As for the short-lived, tempestuous success that
some few criminals have, is there any sweetness in it? I say no; success won in
honest fight is sweet, but I know from my own experience that the success of

crime brings no sweetness, no blessing with it, but leaves the mind a prey to a
thousand haunting fears that make shipwreck of peace.
There were no sleeping cars in all Europe then, so I sat up in a compartment and
really enjoyed the ride, viewing the country by moonlight. At midnight we
arrived at Calais, and took the boat for Dover. Then the express for London.
Arriving at Victoria Station I took a cab to Mrs. Green's, where I had breakfast a
l'anglaise.
I had a little adventure that night going down the Strand. At Bow street, on the
corner, is the "Gaiety," a famous drinking saloon, flooded with light inside and
out, with more than a half-dozen handsome barmaids. Barmaids are a great
institution in England—that is, they have never more than one man behind a
bar, none at all in the railway bars. And a fearful source of ruin to the girls, as
they are to thousands of young men—I might say tens of thousands every year.
These girls are chosen for their beauty and attractiveness. Yearly, in London and
in other large cities of England, a "Beautiful Barmaid Show" is one of the stated
features, and is held in some public garden or monster hall. These exhibitions
are wonderfully popular, and thousands flock to them. Various beauty contests
are got up, and all the popular features of voting, etc., are in vogue. Those of the
young women who win the prizes make their fortunes, for they are at once
engaged at high salaries for the more aristocratic barrooms. Fancy what an
attraction and even fascination the gin palace with lovely girls behind the bar
must have to the youth of a great city. Many of them strangers, busy during the
day, but with nothing to do at night, with the choice of the street or a sombre
room, but sure of a sweet smile of welcome from a fascinating woman in the
barrooms. How easily and how naturally, too, does a young man become
ensnared. But how if he has no money? No smiles and no welcome for him!
And then what a temptation to help himself to his master's cash!
Happy for our country that our laws forbid women entering that occupation!
While standing in the brilliant light of the Gaiety, watching the thronging crowd
of passers-by, with its sprinkling of unfortunates, I saw one poor, bedraggled
creature, wan-faced and hollowed-eyed, with hunger and despair imprinted on
every feature. Looking sharply at her she caught my eye, and, crossing the
street, she spoke to me. The poor thing looked as if she had been dragged
through all the gutters of London. She said that herself and her baby were
actually starving—that her husband had been out of work thirteen weeks and
had then deserted her, owing twelve weeks' rent, and the landlady had just told

her that unless she paid her some rent before 9 o'clock that night she would be
turned out with her baby into the streets.
Those of my readers who have been in London know something of what it
would mean for this woman to be turned out into the streets of that fearful
Babylon. No wonder, then, the poor soul was frantic with despair. In her
poverty a shilling looked as big as a cartwheel, and when I said to her: "Will
you promise to go direct home if I give you a sovereign?" she cried out: "Oh,
sir, God forever bless you if you will!" I gave her the $5, and as she started to
run I caught her by the sleeve and said: "I will go home with you to see if you
have told me the truth." She lived close by, in one of those teeming courts that
run off from the Strand. We found her baby naked on a heap of rags, in a small,
dirty room, containing two broken chairs for furniture. I felt that there were in
the large city thousands of similar cases, but this one was brought home to me. I
was young and impressionable—more than that, I had other people's money to
be liberal with; so I called up the landlady, who, almost dumb with surprise,
received the arrears of rent, along with a month in advance. Eliza, for that was
her name, told me she could get work if she had clean clothes for herself and
baby, which she could buy for £2. I gave her five, and giving her my address in
New York, told her to find work and let me know how she got on. She did find
work in an eel-pie shop in Red Lion Square, High Holborn. I saw her two years
later in London, and possibly may refer to her again in this story.

I went down to Liverpool and embarked on the good ship Java. Ten days later
we sailed through the Narrows.
During my last day in London I went to Westminster Abbey, and spent three
hours in that Valhalla of the Anglo-Saxon race. It made a tremendous
impression upon my mind. In no other work of human hands do the spirits of so
many departed heroes linger, certainly in no other does the dust of so many of
the great dead rest, and as I read memorial upon memorial to departed greatness
I realized that the path of honor and of truth was the only one for men to tread.
All through the voyage the influences of the Abbey were upon me; I felt I was
treading on dangerous ground, and resolved I would have no more of it. Would I
had then resolved, when I met Irving & Co., to throw all the plunder in their
faces and say: "I'll have none of it, and here we part!" I felt that I ought to do
that, but weakly said: "I need the $10,000, and I'll give the rogues their share

and then see them no more." I had fully made up my mind to that, knowing
Irving would be on the wharf, eager to meet me.
In sailing through the Narrows and past Staten Island I was making up my mind
as to the little speech I would make. We rapidly neared the wharf in Jersey City,
and I quickly recognized Irving standing on the edge of the closely packed
crowd, watching the steamer with a nervous look on his face. A rogue suspects
every one, and although by this time he had become pretty well satisfied as to
my good faith, no doubt he would be happier when he had his share of the
plunder safe in his pocket. I was standing close to the rail between two ladies,
and saw Irving before he saw me. Waving my handkerchief, his eye suddenly
fell on me. With a smile and pointing significantly to my pocket, I gave him a
salute. An eager look came into his face, and waving his hand he cried out: "I
am glad to see you!" and no doubt he spoke the truth. When the gangplank was
thrown ashore, and I saw him making his way toward it, evidently intending to
board the steamer, I thought how surprised he would be when I told him I would
have no more of his game. He sprang on board, rushed to me with a beaming
face, grasped my hand, and putting the other on my shoulder, led me toward the
gangway. He had not spoken yet, but as we were going down the gangplank he
said: "My boy, you have done splendidly," and then, putting his mouth close to
my ear, whispered: "We have got another job for you, and it's a beauty!"
I don't mean to pester my reader with a moral, or by too much moralizing,
although I am tempted to do so. There is ample material for a course of sermons
in that "we have another job for you" coming to me just then. But, leaving my
reader to draw his own moral, I must go on with my narrative.
Going up the wharf with Irving, I was on the point of telling him I wanted no
more jobs, but weakly put it off, and by so doing, of course, made it more
difficult. He told me Stanley and White were waiting at Taylor's Hotel on
Montgomery street, a few doors up from the wharf. We soon were there, and
they gave me a warm and even enthusiastic reception. Then I began to tell some
of my adventures on the journey, to which they listened with unfeigned
admiration, and, opening my bag, I produced the sixteen bills of exchange for
$5,000 each, informing them they should have their cash in ninety minutes. It
was curious to see these men handle the bills of exchange, passing them from
one to another, examining them with anxious care. But where were my good
resolutions, and what had become of them? Why, they, under the effect of the
wine and the magnetic influence of these three minds, had gone flying down the
bay, and under a favorable gale were fast speeding seaward beyond the ken of

mortal eye, not to be found by me again until years after, when, with the toils
about me, I found myself in Newgate. Then the fugitives all came back, this
time to stay.
My three graces who adorned the Police Department of New York were full of
matter of a new enterprise, which by my co-operation was to make the fortunes
of us all. But they were too evidently anxious, too eagerly desirous to handle the
greenbacks my bills of exchange represented, to fix their minds upon anything
else.
Stanley and White went away together, but first each once more told me
privately that he depended upon me to put in his own hands his share, showing
how these rogues suspected each other, and, indeed, were full of suspicions of
every one and every thing. Irving crossed the ferry with me, but on the New
York side dropped behind, and, although I paid no more attention to him, no
doubt he followed me. The excitement of success and of being at home again
banished any possible regrets or fears over the course I had entered, and with a
light heart and buoyant step I quickly made my way to a friend of mine, a well-
known broker in New street, shook hands with him, and, telling him, very much
to his surprise, that I had just returned from Europe, asked him to step around
the corner to the office of the bankers and identify me. In a minute we were
there. Indorsing the drafts, I told them to make it in five-hundreds; they sent out
to the bank for them, and I was speedily on my way to our rendezvous with 160
$500 greenbacks in a roll, and meeting the three at the wineroom I made their
eyes grow big when I flashed the roll on their delighted orbs. The division was
speedily made, I retaining $10,000 for my share, and each promptly threw out a
thousand, and we shook hands all around and parted.
Here were four conspirators of us, and it was comical to see how anxious we all
were to get away so that each could stow his plunder in a safe place. For my
part I went home, but I shall say nothing of the meeting with the members of
my family. I told them I had made a lot of money in a speculation, and not
knowing the inside history, or suspecting anything, they rejoiced with me and
were proud and happy for their boy. I spent about a thousand dollars making
things comfortable for them, but to their grief I told them that circumstances
required me to take up my former quarters at the St. Nicholas.
It would be interesting to tell of my reception among my acquaintances on Wall
street and other parts of the city. Rumor magnified my resources, and it was
reported I had cleared a hundred thousand dollars in some fortunate deal. It was

strange to see the new-found deference all around, from my former employers
down to my old waiter at downtown Delmonico's, where I dined; but I will pass
over all these matters and proceed with my history of the Primrose Way.
The next few days I went about engaged in the to me very agreeable task of
paying all my debts. The largest debt I was owing was one of $1,300, partly
borrowed money and partly a long-standing balance due on a speculation
negotiated on my account, and which did not pan out, but entailed a loss. Then I
indulged pretty freely in many little extravagances in the way of tailor bills, etc.
Two friends struck me for a loan, and, strange to say, both remain unpaid to this
hour, along with some twenty-five years' interest. So, within a fortnight of my
landing I found my $13,000 reduced quite one-half, and as I was cherishing
visions of unbounded wealth, I began to feel quite poor, and anxious to see
some outcome to this "other job" my friends said they had ready for me. It was
at the very door.

MANSION HOUSE, ILLUMINATED.

CHAPTER X.
A NINETEENTH CENTURY PRODIGAL.

Let no man who may be tempted to commit a crime ever fancy that if he takes
the first step down hill he will stop until he reaches the bottom. If one of my
readers flatters himself he can go one step, with no more to follow, on the
downward road, let such an one read this story to the end and then forever
abandon such an idea as a fancy born of inexperience. For this history is as a
handwriting on the wall, full of warning to all and every one who may be
tempted to take one step in any other path than the path of honor.
In 1865 there lived in London a famous Queen's Counsel, Edwin James. Fame
and fortune were his. A born orator, a talented scholar, he rapidly pushed his
way from the very bottom of the legal profession to all but its topmost height.
At 40 he found himself facile princeps of the English Bar, and public opinion,
that potent factor in popular government, had already singled him out for the
high position of Attorney-General. That secured, only one step remained to
place him in the seat of the Lord Chancellor. Truly, an imperial position—one
that satisfied the proud ambition of a Wolsey and fitted the genius of a Thomas
a Becket. It carries with it the position of keeper of the conscience of Her
Majesty, giving the possessor precedence in all official functions over the
English aristocracy, next to royalty itself.
But about this time dark whispers began to fly about through the clubs of
London. Soon it became known that Edwin James, the Lord Chancellor to be,
was in the toils, and it shortly transpired that, in spite of the fact that his income
from his profession was nearer twenty than ten thousand pounds per annum, it
had proved insufficient and he was heavily in debt, and worse.
It would seem he was keeping up what in the polite language of society are
known as dual houses. A woman of brilliant beauty presided over one, and the
marvelous beauty of its mistress was only equaled by her extravagance. He also
had a fondness for associating with younger men than himself, and had got into
a particularly fast set of young lords and army men. At his club he had lost large
sums at baccarat and loo, and, in an unhappy hour for himself and his, he
stooped from his high position and—miserable to think of—committed a crime.

This, in the expectation that he would relieve himself from some of the more
crushing obligations he had heaped upon himself, either through the extravagant
vagaries of his imperious mistress, or by his own rashness in trying his luck
among a lot of titled sharpers. He had among his clients one fast, even madly
extravagant youth, heir of an historic name and of a lordly estate. To supply his
extravagance "my lord" had applied to the money lenders—those sharks that in
London, as elsewhere, fatten on such game. These gentry were eager to lend the
young blood money upon what are known in English law as post-obits, which
loans in this particular case carried the trifling interest of about 100 per cent. per
annum. James was cognizant of his friend's excursions among the money
lenders, and no doubt he thought the young spendthrift, when he came into his
fortune, would never know within a good many thousands how much he had
borrowed, nor even the number of post-obits he had given.
I will just explain that a post-obit is a form of note or due bill given by the heir
of an estate (usually of an entailed estate), which matures the moment the
drawer of the document enters into that estate. That is to say, the tender-hearted
son discounts his father's death to provide fuel to feed his flame. So Edwin
James, driven to his own destruction, stooped from his imperial position into
what one might call ankle-depth of crime.
How little he dreamed there was a beyond—a huge, seething sea of crime; an
ocean whose billows are of ink, and which would soon sweep him from his high
place into the black waters, there to be buffeted until, honor and hope all gone,
he would, throwing his hands to heaven, with one despairing cry, sink into its
inky depths, adding one more ruined life to the millions already engulfed. In
that long, sad catalogue of the dead there is probably not one, who, when taking
the first step into crime, ever thought a second would follow the first.
But to come back to our gilded sir. He made out two post-obits for £5,000,
wrote his client's name at the bottom of each, gave them to the money lenders,
who, never doubting that the prodigal son had signed and given them to his
counsel, made no question, but gave James the money for them at once. But
James had reckoned without his host, for this nineteenth century prodigal was
made of keener metal than he of the first. Strange to say, and utterly unexpected
as it was to all who knew him and had looked upon his riotous living, he kept
his books straight, and knew to a single guinea how much and to whom he was
owing.

His discovery of the forgery was accelerated by the sudden and most
unexpected death of his father, his return home and stepping into his estate.
The various post-obits were presented and placed before him. He instantly
pronounced the two for five thousand pounds each to be forgeries, and the
crime was easily laid at the door of the Queen's Counsel. The heir indignantly
refused to condone the offense, and, revealing the fatal secret to a few, within a
month it was known in every clubroom in London. From there it got into the
newspapers, and they, under a thinly disguised alias of a "distinguished member
of the Bar," gave more or less accurate details of the damning truth. His former
client eventually said he would not prosecute the forgery if the criminal left
England; if not, he would immediately go before the Grand Jury, procure an
indictment, and have this man, who had moved a prince among men, arraigned
in the dock at the Old Bailey, there to plead and stand trial like any common
criminal.
And he fled. Of course, like all fugitives from justice throughout the Old World,
he looked to America for a city of refuge, and here he came. Not to keep my
readers too long from the main narrative, it will suffice to say that soon after his
arrival he applied for admission to the Bar of New York, but first he won to his
cause the high-souled Richard O'Gorman, then a leader of his profession.
It was for Edwin James a lucky stroke, for at this time O'Gorman was in full
possession of his magnificent powers. Few could resist his magic. His great
heart was stirred, and he took up the cause of his friend as if he had been his
brother. The English lawyer's reputation was known to every member of the Bar
of New York, and there had been and still was a bitter opposition to his
admission; but when it became known that their eloquent leader was his
champion, many began to feel that after all "the poor fellow ought to be given
another chance," and when at the next meeting of the Bar Association
O'Gorman in a set oration brought all his splendid eloquence into play the cause
was won.
Great-hearted O'Gorman had helped this lame dog over the stile, but the dog's
heart was not in the right place, and, as my reader will see in the sequel, he soon
went lame again. * * *

In the rear room of a somewhat luxurious range of offices in a building on
Broadway, facing the City Hall, four men were engaged in discussing what was
evidently an exciting topic. The door of the main office bore the sign "Edwin
James, Counselor-at-Law and Register in Bankruptcy." He was one of the four.
He had failed lamentably in his efforts to secure a practice. The effects of
O'Gorman's eloquence had in the gray light of commonplace day faded away,
the more so when the ideal his magic had created in the minds of men was in
hourly contrast with the man himself and his history. His professional brethren
looked upon him with suspicion, and there was a general impression abroad that
his escapades were not over yet.
He had launched out in his office and home somewhat extravagantly, and now,
once again pressed by clamorous creditors, he had once more drifted upon the
borderlands of crime, and was here with his companions planning a criminal
transaction in order to pay his more pressing debts.
One of these four was Brea, who, with a keen eye to business, had married the
discarded daughter of a wealthy but not over-respectable New York family, and
he had, unsuspected, pulled the wires so that James had been employed as the
family lawyer, and in that capacity had drawn the will of the mother. She was an
imperious, hot-tempered body, one who, when aroused, was accustomed to use
language more vigorous than polite, and who not infrequently went to fisticuffs
with her daughters. The husband and father, the creator of the fortune, was dead
and the vast family property, in securities, stocks and lands, was vested
absolutely in the mother. In the old lady's will Brea's wife, the second daughter
of the house (there were no sons), was down in the very first paragraph for the
magnificent sum of "one dollar lawful currency," and her name nowhere else
appeared in the lengthy document. The old lady was such a termagant and so
implacable in her hatreds that it was a moral certainty she would never relent
and change her purpose toward her daughter. But James had also drawn up a
second will of his own and Brea's concoction, and a precious piece of villainy it
was, in which the wife was down for legacies amounting; to $750,000. The
genuine will James kept in his own possession, ready to destroy the very
moment word came that the old lady was an immortal, while the spurious will
was kept in the vaults of the Safety Deposit Company, there to remain until the
death of the testatrix, when, of course, it would in due time be produced.

BANK OF ENGLAND PARLOR.
Brea had been introduced to the other three men, and cultivated their
acquaintance in the belief that they would some day be useful to him. He had a
few days before introduced them to James. As a matter of precaution he had
concealed from them all knowledge of the will. At the same time he gave them
a hint that there was something in the wind, but that some way must be found to
secure at once a few thousands, enough for a year or two, until the good time
came when fortune was to lavish her favors on them all with a liberal hand. But
money must be had at once, for Brea and James were in sore straits, particularly
James, who had been threatened with arrest, and was so far involved that he
always entered and left his house at night in order to escape importunate
creditors. This was James' second interview with the men, and the first time he
had been alone with them. He saw at once that he had to do with able, clear-
headed men, took them into his confidence, and, in order to excite their hopes
and to bind them to him as well, he confided to them the plot of the forged will,
producing the genuine for their inspection. He assured them that it was a sure
and speedy fortune, as the lady was old and frail in health, and he also promised
they should share between them $100,000, provided they would stand by to
give a hand in the somewhat improbable event of the other heirs disputing the

will, but above all, if they would devise some means to furnish him at once
$10,000, or at least $5,000. Money he must have, and he could no longer do
without it.
The result of our conference in James' office was that the very next day an
office downtown was engaged under a fictitious name, and a simple,
unsuspicious fellow hired as porter and messenger. After some little negotiation,
we obtained particulars of parties banking with the then great firm of Jay Cooke
& Company, corner of Wall and Nassau streets. Briefly told, the result was that
four days later a messenger walked into their banking house with a check for
$20,000, purporting to be signed by another firm, who banked with them. Along
with the check went a letter bearing a signature well known to the cashier,
asking him to pay the check to bearer. The result of all being that five minutes
thereafter we were walking unconcernedly up Broadway, and sending a
message to James to meet us at Delmonico's, corner of Broadway and
Chambers street, we sat down awaiting his arrival. He had anxiously been
looking for news, and almost before we had seated ourselves he entered, eager
and anxious-looking; but, when he glanced at our faces, a happy expression
came over his own, and without a word he put out his hand. After a warm
greeting, I produced the roll, and, to his delight, I handed over to James ten five
hundreds. On the morrow I went to the office, and, paying my messenger a
week's wages, besides making a small gift, told him he need not come any
more.
With this twenty thousand coup we fondly thought all our troubles and all our
unlawful acts were ended. We now had a few thousands, sufficient to last until
the $5,000 we had invested in the will case should bring in a dividend that
would mean a fortune for us all. So we took things easy about town, and
altogether thought ourselves pretty good fellows, and this world a very good
sort of place to be in.
Thus the Winter passed by and the Summer was at hand. Our thousands of the
year before had dwindled to hundreds, and the old lady whose heirs we had
constituted ourselves seemed to have renewed her youth, and threatened to
outlive us all.
Besides this there had grown up a repugnance in our minds to the business, and
when one day my friend Mac remarked it was a scoundrelly business to rob the
heirs of an estate, and they women, George and I heartily acquiesced; and we
vowed we would take no part in the matter, and then and there resolved we

would throw both James and Brea over, but first to use Brea and James for our
own purposes. Once more we found ourselves planning a coup in Wall street.
Talking the matter over, we three soon had a plan, and, being dowered with
intense energy, it promised a successful termination. Audaciously enough we
determined the lightning should strike once more in the same place—that is, to
make Jay Cooke & Company again the victims. Irving and his honest fellows
were to co-operate by watching everything, and, if any arrest threatened, to be
on hand to make it themselves; and then let the prisoner escape. Most important
of all, when the bankers drove up in hot haste to Police Headquarters to give
information, James, Honest James, would be on hand to receive them, would
call in his two trustys to get with him full particulars of the robbery and a
description of the men. Then the bankers would be sent away with assurances
that "we know the men and will have them," but at the same time warning them
to keep the matter a secret in order better to enable them to catch the villains.
If successful, the detectives were to receive 25 per cent. between them. Our plan
required James to play an important part, and, although no confederacy could be
fixed on him, yet he would hardly escape questioning and a very considerable
degree of suspicion, so much so that it probably would put an end to any
lingering remnants of character he had on hand or in stock. But he was tired of
America, and determined to go to Paris with his share of the plunder. Our visits
to James had always been in his private office, and his clerks had never seen
either of us or Brea.
Our plan was to make use of James' office in a way that will appear later. As
related, he was suspected by his profession, but the general public thought him
a very great man. He had appeared as (volunteer) counsel in two or three
murder cases and had delivered powerful addresses which had attracted
considerable notice in the papers.
One day, soon after our plan was matured, Brea went to Philadelphia, and, by a
mixture of audacity and finesse, procured from Jay Cooke himself (the parent
house of the New York firm of Jay Cooke & Co. was in Philadelphia) a letter of
introduction to the manager of the New York firm. He wanted the letter
ostensibly in order to consult the manager about certain investments which he,
as executor of an estate, desired to make for his wards.

The transaction was made to appear as one of considerable magnitude, in which
there would be large commissions paid. With the grand send-off of a letter from

Jay Cooke to his subordinate in New York, the speculation opened well—so
well that we at once decided what we would do with the money when we got it
—a case in point for the old proverb. We had ascertained the name of a Newark
manufacturer who had recently failed in business. I will call him Newman. On
the morning after his return from Philadelphia, Brea presented himself at James'
office—it being arranged that James himself be out, so Brea told the clerk that
his name was Newman, that he had lately failed in business, and intended to
employ Mr. James to put him through the bankruptcy court. The clerk told him
to come again at 12, and he would find Mr. James in. At 12 he came; the clerk
introduced him. James kept the clerk conveniently near, that he could hear the
conversation. Brea, as Newman, told James he had used in his business
$240,000 belonging to his wife and her mother, and that in scheduling his assets
he proposed to use enough to make those amounts good, intending to conceal
the fact from his creditors. He determined to invest the amount in bonds—so
ran his story—and was going to deposit the money in the bank that very
afternoon, at the same time producing his letter of introduction from Jay Cooke.
All of this, of course, being for the eye and ear of the clerk, who might be
required as a witness of his employer's good faith.

"MAC AND GEORGE WERE WITHOUT, AND WERE STRICKEN
WITH CONSTERNATION, FOR A MINUTE'S OBSERVATION OF THE
GATHERING CROWD AND THE RUSHING INTO THE BANK OF
EXCITED PEOPLE CONVINCED THEM SOMETHING UNUSUAL WAS
IN THE WIND, AND THEY KNEW NOYES MUST BE IN DEADLY
PERIL. MAC RUSHED INTO THE BANK IN HOPE "TO WARN OR TO
BE OF HELP."—Page 236.

Brea-Newman also paid James, in presence of the clerk, a retaining fee of $250,
which was privately returned. James banked in Jersey City, and when Newman
said, "Introduce me at your bank, as I want a small credit handy," James said,
"My bank is in Jersey City." The clerk's brother was paying teller at the
Chemical Bank, and, as was expected, he at once spoke up, saying: "Let me
introduce Mr. Newman in the Chemical Bank," so down went Newman and the
clerk, and in ten minutes our man had the Chemical Bank checkbook in his
pocket and $5,000 to his credit in the bank. The same afternoon he presented his
letter of introduction at Jay Cooke & Co.'s, and was cordially received. He, of
course, told a totally different story there. In this case a relative, lately deceased,
had left him an estate of great value. He was, he said, realizing on his real
estate, and buying bonds as fast as his money came in, and he wanted to invest a
million in various railway bonds. At present he had $240,000 on hand, which he
wanted to invest in Government bonds. He then left for the time being, leaving
a good impression, which his refined manner and appearance confirmed.
So far all was well; that is, all was well from our point of view. The next two or
three days Brea paid several visits to the Chemical Bank, getting small checks
for $500 and $1,000 certified, and now had his account drawn down to $1,000.
The day before he had called on Jay Cooke & Co. and told them he would take
$240,000 in seven thirties, "Bearer" bonds, and that he would call the next day
and pay for them. At the same time he got them to give him a proforma bill for
them.
The eventful day had come, and James, to get his head clerk out of the way, sent
him to the Admiralty Court to take notes of the evidence in a case going on
there.
At 10 o'clock Brea sent a messenger with a note to the bankers, requesting them
to send the bonds to Edwin James' office, and he would pay for them on
delivery. He could not come himself, as he was in consultation with the
executors of the estate.
In the mean time a check for the full value of the bonds, $240,000, had been
made out. It was drawn on the Chemical Bank, and was, in fact, similar to those
always given between bankers on bond transactions.
Brea had drawn his own check for $240, and had it in his hatband with the
$240,000 dummy check. The plan is palpable enough. When the messenger
brought the bonds Brea, or Newman, was going to say: "All right, I have the
check here; bring the bonds and we will go to the Chemical Bank and get them

to certify my check." Then when at the bank he would take out both checks,
letting the messenger only get a glimpse of one, and that would be the small
$240 one, which Brea would pass in through the window with a request to have
it certified. This would be done, and when handed out, of course, Brea was to
change it and hand the messenger the big one of home manufacture.
It seemed impossible for the scheme to fail, and success in it meant on the
surface comparative wealth for us all, with, perhaps, in the not distant future an
entrance through the McAllister-guarded portals of the Four Hundred.
But here we have a vivid instance of how easily an elaborate scheme can by the
merest accident fall to pieces.
The night before the expected coup we met James for a final full-dress rehearsal
for the morrow, and after everything was settled adjourned to the uptown
Delmonico's for supper. It so happened that Detective George Elder was there.
This Elder was a bright fellow, was in a ring—but not in our ring—and, of
course, had his bank account, diamond pin and turnout for the road. He had had
some acquaintance with me, but the rest of the party were strangers. I did not
see him at the time, but it would seem he was curious, even suspicious, from
some scraps of conversation he overheard. However, neither his curiosity nor
suspicion would have been of any consequence or concern to us had it not been
that, in going out, Brea left on the table with some papers the memorandum or
pro forma bill of the bonds given him the day before by the bankers. Strangely
enough, the body of the bill alone was intact. The heading bearing the name of
the firm and purchaser had been torn off and destroyed.
Elder picked it up and, having some vague suspicions of a plot somewhere, he
determined to go around among the hundred or more bankers and brokers in and
around Wall street and investigate quietly, without making any report to his
superiors, his immediate superior being, of course, our honest friend, the worthy
chief of the detective force, who was anxiously looking for his percentage of the
deal. The whole force was split up into cliques, each intensely jealous of every
other, each with its own stamping grounds, and each strictly protected his own
preserves.
At 9:30 the next morning Elder started around carrying the fragment of the
memorandum he had picked up from bank to bank and from one broker to the
other. He had spent over an hour making inquiries, and walked into Jay Cooke
& Co.'s office just as the messenger was leaving with the bonds for James'
office. Fifteen minutes more and the game was ours! Elder produced the

memorandum, and they at once recognized it as their own. Elder asked them if
they knew their man and were sure it was all right. They said it was perfectly
right, that Mr. "Newman" had been introduced by the head of the firm in
Philadelphia, and was also a client of Edwin James; but then it was strange the
bill should be mutilated. Elder averred his belief that a fraud was intended, and
suggested that he and the manager should accompany the messenger with the
bonds. This alarmed the manager, and he directed Elder and the messenger to
await his return. Seizing his hat, he started for James' office to investigate.
James was there, and Brea (the pseudo Newman) was in the private office with
the two checks ready, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the messenger with the
bonds.
Myself and all the other members of our party were nearby, watching and
awaiting developments. The manager, considerably perturbed, entered the
office, and James saw at once the business was a failure, for he knew, of course,
that any suspicion as to good faith would be fatal to the success of the plot.
Brea, hearing the voices and supposing it was the messenger with the bonds,
opened the door of the private office and was vexed to see the manager, who,
shaking him by the hand, told him the bonds would arrive soon, at the same
time saying: "I suppose you will pay currency for the bonds?" To which Brea
replied: "I will go to my bank with you now and get my check certified for the
amount and give it to you, or leave it until the messenger comes with the
bonds."
This offer, along with Brea's coolness, apparently disarmed all suspicions, and
he said: "Oh, all right, the messenger will go to the bank with you." He left the
office, but stopped in the hall for a moment, then turned and hastily re-entering,
said: "By the way, Mr. Newman, please draw the currency from the bank, and
pay the notes to the messenger upon delivery of the bonds."
So the grand coup had failed, ignominiously failed, and through what appeared
a trivial accident. More such "accidents" at critical periods will appear before
this history is ended.
The dummy check was still in our hands, and was at once destroyed, so, with
nothing to fear, we coolly walked up Broadway to dinner, and talked of the
future over a bottle of wine. At last we fixed upon a definite plan. Clinking our
glasses, we drank to "Eastward, Ho!"

MERCHANTS EXCHANGE, ILLUMINATED.

CHAPTER XI.
"CRACK THE LAWYER'S VOICE THAT HE MAY NEVER
MORE FALSE TITLES PLEAD, NOR SOUND HIS QUILLETS
SHRILLY."

The Eastward Ho was a hint of a project we had frequently talked over as a
possible speculation. Here we see how men are led on step by step from bad to
worse when once they set out on the Primrose Way.
In returning from Europe with the $10,000 commission in my pocket, I vowed
never again to engage in any unlawful speculation. I was through! No criminal
life for me! Then came the day when we struck for the $20,000 and won, and
we were all happy in the thought that our last unlawful deed was over.
Then we took the third step we had vowed never to take, and had discussed the
$240,000 project. We had spent money on it, had laid our plans cunningly and
deep, and were confident of success. We had even planned how to invest our
thousands in an honest business, and so win the esteem of all good men, and, of
course, in some happy future would make restitution. But that is a future which
never comes in the history of crime. These three wrong steps had been taken
only after convincing ourselves that the circumstances justified each separate
act.
Such is the contradiction of human nature that even when planning crime we
not only intended to make restitution, but despised all other wrongdoers and
reprobated their crimes. Each wrongful act of ours was to be the last, and it was
with something like despair that we began to realize that there was no stopping
place on the dangerous road we were treading.
My $13,000 commission from the European trip had melted away. Our share of
the $20,000 got from Jay Cooke & Co. was fast going. Our deep-laid plot to
win $240,000 had miscarried, and now the necessity was upon us of engaging
in another illegitimate operation if we would continue in our life of ease and
luxury.
For the next few days we did little but dine and plan. Discussion followed
discussion, and through them all we clung to the general proposition that we

would not do any more in our particular line in America. At last we resolved to
go to Europe and realize the fortune that seemed to elude our grasp at home.
We resolved to tell Irving in a general way that we were going to Europe to
make some money, and would pay him and his two fellows their percentage.
Then we could (apparently) work with impunity; for, of course, if we committed
a forgery in Europe and were recognised as Americans—as probably we would
be—the foreign police would report the case to the New York police—that is, to
Irving—and we should be safe in New York.
Edwin James and Brea had dropped out of our lives for good, but as my readers
will be curious to know of their fate in after times, I will relate it in this chapter.
The morning our scheme on Jay Cooke & Co. fell to pieces, as soon as the
manager left the office, telling Brea he was to pay cash for the bonds in place of
the check, it was recognized at once that the game was up, and the only thing
remaining was to shield James as much as possible. So Brea left the office, but
first instructed the clerk to tell the messenger when he came that he had gone
for the money, and would call for the bonds. This was done, the messenger
arrived, being accompanied by Detective Elder all the time, and took the bonds
back again.
At 2 o'clock James went down to the bankers, where he was well known, and
inquired for Mr. Newman. Being told he was not in, he said he had made an
appointment to meet him there. Invited into the inner office, the manager asked
him if he had any personal knowledge of this Mr. Newman, and James said no
further than that he had called and given him a retaining fee of $250, and had
engaged him as legal adviser, etc. Then the manager produced a telegram he had
received in answer to one he had sent to the Philadelphia house, inquiring about
Newman, and asking if his letter of introduction was genuine or not. James read
the reply; it said the letter was genuine, but that they knew absolutely nothing
about the man, and warned him to be cautious. James pretended astonishment,
and feigned to be very indignant, declaring that if Mr. Newman did not put in an
appearance within half an hour he should begin to fear a fraud had been
attempted. When the closing hour came at 3 o'clock, the manager announced to
James that he should give the whole matter to the press, but would keep his
name out of it.
So they parted with warm congratulations over their escape, the manager
pretending to believe James was an innocent tool, but no doubt with a shrewd
suspicion that he intended to have a finger in this pie, had the pie ever been

baked and divided. Had the bankers been victimized they would have striven
with all their power to keep the fact a secret and forbidden their employees to
breathe a word about it to any one. But now the case was different. All the
morning papers had long accounts of the transaction. They were absurdly
inaccurate, but all agreed as to the extreme cleverness of the manager, and
noticed how he had suspected, etc., while poor Elder, who both expected and
really deserved all the glory, was not even mentioned in the newspaper
accounts. However, his feelings were soon after solaced, as Irving informed us
that Elder had stood in on a deal that paid him well.
The $5,000 we gave James eased up matters for a time. Practice he had none,
but managed to hold on in the hope of realizing on the Brea will matter, but
getting deeper and deeper in debt. One night, four years later, the old lady,
Brea's mother-in-law, had a more than usually furious outbreak of temper, and
fell to beating the three daughters still living with her. Before it was over she
had attacked and seriously injured the eldest, and then flew to her room in a
passion. Not appearing at breakfast the next morning her daughter went to her
room, but she was not there, and the bed was undisturbed. Going to the room
that served for office and library, they found the door, as usual, locked. Bursting
it open the poor old maids found their mother huddled in a corner of the room
dead.
Truly a happy relief for the daughters. Poor girls, theirs had been a hard life.
Every suitor who tried to cultivate their acquaintance had been driven from the
door by the mother, who never spent a dollar on their education, and her death
found them all unused to the ways of the world. The result was that all became
victims of fortune-hunters, and the unhappy ladies only changed the tyranny of
an unnatural mother for the tyranny of a husband, who in each case wedded for
wealth alone, and all three husbands were uncultured men. What an experience!
Two of the three still live. How sweet the rest of the grave will be to them!
The genuine will was destroyed and the "family lawyer," James, immediately
after the funeral, produced and read "the last will and testament" of the dead
woman. The four sisters and a host of poor relations were present at the reading.
When Sarah, Brea's wife, heard her name read as chief heir of the vast estate,
she was stunned, but if she was stunned, the rest of the family were paralyzed.
Legacies were left to many, small in amount, save in the case of the other three
sisters, who were to have a certain tenement and land in Harlem and three
thousand a year for life out of the estate. None of those present thought for a
moment of questioning either the genuineness of the will or the validity of the

testaments, save only a poor relation, a nephew, whose name was down for
$500. He was indignant with the old lady and loudly declared that he would not
put up with it. The next day he employed a briefless lawyer, one that had wit
and brass enough and who had his way to make in the world, and was
determined to make it.
Without waiting for the will to be probated or having legal authority to do so,
Brea and his wife, the very day of the funeral, moved into the house and took
possession. But before the week was out he had persuaded the three old maids
that they would be happier if away from the scene of their parent's death, so he
had them installed in their own house at Harlem, he remaining in undisturbed
possession, waiting only for the will to be probated in order to take possession
of upward of $200,000 in cash and bonds still in the custody of the old lady's
bank. He had full possession of the house, and with entire confidence waited to
be put in legal possession of all. But little did he dream that at that moment
there was one poor torn sheet of foolscap in the library, casually thrust in a
book, lying completely at his mercy to destroy, if he could only have known it,
which was going to tear all his wealth from his grasp and drive him forth a
foiled plotter, to become an adventurer and ultimately to perish a miserable
outcast.
The executors of the will (the same in the forged will as in the genuine) were
two simple shopkeepers living near. Eagan was the name of the nephew, and to
the surprise of the executors his attorney notified them he should contest the
will on behalf of his client, and warned them to dispossess Brea of the house
until such time as the law decreed it to be his wife's property. The attorney knew
the standing of James in his profession, and, being capable of pretty sharp
practice himself, he, by some extraordinary intuition, boldly asserted his belief
that the will was a forgery. The three sisters declared they would not contest the
will, and had Brea acted wisely by fixing it up to give the attorney a liberal fee,
and Eagan a paltry thousand dollars, it would have ended there. But, feeling
perfectly secure, no doubt he thought an appearance of firmness would
strengthen his position still more, and he was so rash as to denounce the
attorney as a shyster and blackmailer.
The attorney's blood was up; he frightened the sisters into supporting him in
disputing the will, and had Brea and his wife ousted from the house and the
sisters reinstalled. Brea then attempted negotiations with the attorney. Cautious
as he was, he said enough to convince the lawyer that for some reason he did
not want the case to come before the courts; still the attorney was half inclined

to join hands with Brea. In the mean time Ezra (this was the name of the man of
law) had acquired great power over the sisters, and they all looked to him both
as champion and protector. He resolved to be protector to one, at least, paying
assiduous court to Jane, the youngest. Although past 30 and without education
or accomplishments, she was warm-hearted and extremely sentimental, and a
thrill went through her tender heart when it became evident that Ezra's attention
pointed at her. She quickly made him a hero, and invested the thin-shanked,
narrow-chested, waspish attorney with a thousand tender attributes, and when,
after one month's acquaintance, she found herself alone with him in the poky
little parlor and he asking her to be his wife, her woman's heart overflowed, and
telling him she had loved him from the first hour they met she threw herself into
his arms, crying she was the happiest and most favored woman in the world. In
the midst of the happy lovers' talk she ran to the shelf, took down a book, and,
opening it, revealed a soiled sheet of paper and asked her lover what it was. His
love had given him a gift, indeed. His trained eye recognized it at once as a
draft of a new will, in the handwriting of the deceased mother, and dated the
very night of her death. It was a rough draft, but across the bottom was drawn
the bold, masculine signature of the old lady. There were no signatures of
witnesses, but Ezra was lawyer enough to know it would stand and that it
revoked all previous wills. Calling in the two elder sisters he read the will to
their amazed ears, and then and there wrote out a full statement as to the
circumstance under which it was found. All four attached their signatures to the
document, and when Ezra kissed his love a tender good night and went home,
he hardly felt the paving stones under his feet, for he had carefully tucked away
in the inside pocket of his vest, just over his heart, the little soiled piece of paper
which told him in unmistakable terms that his fortune was made, and the
wedding ceremony once over, that it was beyond all chance of change.
It would seem that the old lady, after her quarrel with her daughters, went to the
library in a rage and made the draft of a new will. The chief change in it, as
compared with the old genuine will which the conspirators had destroyed, was
that it was more favorable to Jane, Ezra's wife to be. But what gave Ezra the
greatest satisfaction was the fact that Brea's wife was down by name in the new
will for one dollar lawful currency. The will was promptly filed and probated.
Ezra gave bonds and was appointed one of the executors, and he had what to
him was the immense satisfaction of denouncing Brea to his face as a forger and
villain.
Before the discovery of the new will, while it was believed that Mrs. Brea was
an heiress and her credit good, she and her husband had made use of the fact,

and had incurred debts to a large amount. Brea got his wife to indorse his note
for $10,000, and he borrowed that sum from the bankers, but as soon as the true
state of the case was known, his creditors became clamorous and had him
arrested on civil suits. Unable to give bonds, he was locked up in Ludlow Street
Jail, and there he remained six months, until, acting upon Ezra's advice, the
sisters agreed to pay all his debts and give him and his wife $1,000 each if they
would live west of Chicago. This they were forced to accept, and went to
Montana. Brea opened a saloon at Butte City, but he never recovered his spirits
again. He became his own best customer, and that, of course, meant ruin, but
what, after all, killed him was the knowledge that he had been for more than a
score of days in full possession of that old house and had spent scores of hours
alone in the old library, and yet had not discovered and destroyed the new will
lying there at his mercy.
The Sheriff soon sold out his saloon, while his wife eloped with his best friend.
Ruined in pocket, health and character, poor old Brea was left bare to every
storm that blew. One morning, as the sun was rising over the town, surprising
half a dozen belated gamblers in Ned Wright's saloon as they were getting up to
leave, they found lying across the threshold the body of a man, ragged,
emaciated, forlorn. It was Brea.
As soon as James had read the will he insisted upon having $5,000 from Brea at
once, and he got the money. But when that thunderbolt of the new will fell on
the two men, James sadly recognized that fortune and he would shake hands no
more, so far as this world is concerned, and he resolved to chance returning to
London before the whole of the $5,000 he had from Brea was gone. To London
he went; he lived a few years in extreme poverty, driven to all manner of
miserable shifts, and at last died. This man died who ought to have been buried
in Westminster Abbey, so adding one more brilliant name to the long line of
illustrious Lord Chancellors from Thomas a Becket and Cardinal Wolsey down;
but he, hating his own soul, took the first step in wrongdoing, and, instead of
resting in the mighty Abbey and bequeathing his dust as a precious legacy to
succeeding generations, perished forlorn and alone, and was buried in a pauper's
grave.

GARRAWAY'S.

CHAPTER XII.
RESTEZ ICI, MES ENFANTS.

We all landed in Liverpool in the highest spirits, and at once took the train for
London, enjoying the novelty of everything.
It was settled that George should pursue the venture alone in France, while I
should go with Mac to Germany to act as his second there. To keep entirely
clear myself, but at the same time to watch everything, to exchange the German
notes he obtained and to be ready to help if any one should attempt to detain
him.
Therefore, after completing certain preparations which required skill and
considerable business knowledge, we departed to execute this new and, of
course, last shuffle for fortune.
We had selected Berlin, Munich, Leipsic and Frankfort as the scenes of our
operations in Germany. In France we sought to operate in Bordeaux, Marseilles
and Lyons. At 8 p.m. Saturday we all crossed to Calais together, where George
said good-bye, and, leaving us to take the train eastward to Berlin, he started
west to Bordeaux. We were not to meet again until after our hurried rush
through the Continent and our return to London with the proceeds. Before I give
an account of Mac's adventure and my own for the next three days I will here
give George's narrative in his own language, as related to us when we all met
again in London:
After saying good-bye to you I arrived in Paris in due time, and sauntered about
for two hours until the train left for Bordeaux, where I arrived at 8 o'clock
Monday morning, and went at once to the Hotel d'Orient, and after a bath and
breakfast repaired to the bankers. As soon as I presented my letters of
introduction they received me with the greatest consideration, lavishing every
attention upon me, inviting me to dinner and to a drive through the city
afterward. I thanked them, and explained that I was obliged to decline, as my
agent was waiting for me at Bayonne, where I had purchased some real estate,
and, having been recommended to their firm, I should feel obliged if they would
cash my draft for £2,000 and indorse it on my letter of credit. The manager
replied that it was the custom of the French bankers to require twenty-four

hours' notice before drawing a check, and asked me if the next day would not
answer. "We shall be happy to assist you," said he, "in passing the time
pleasantly." This was a new custom to me, but I answered instantly, expressing
regret that the nature of my business precluded delay, it being necessary that I
should reach Bayonne that night. "I suppose," continued I, "that your bankers
will not mind your checking out a small sum without the usual notice. However,
if it occasions any embarrassment or inconvenience, I can easily procure the
money elsewhere." One of the partners replied that their bank would without
doubt honor their check, and the matter should be attended to at once. I sat
down for a half hour, conversing on a variety of topics. Of course, this was a
most trying period to me; the least show of haste or anxiety might have betrayed
me to those lynx-eyed, experienced men of business. In the midst of our
conversation an undercurrent of thought kept running through my mind thus:
"Who knows but they have sent a dispatch to the Union Bank of London,
merely as a matter of business precaution, and that they are delaying me to get a
reply? In that case I shall have a good opportunity to learn the pure French
accent while passing my days in the Bagnio at Toulon." At last, however, the
amount was paid over to me in French bank notes. I deliberately counted them
and took leave, lighter in mind and heavier in purse by 50,000 francs.

THE RIGHT HONORABLE SIR SIDNEY
WATERLOW, Lord Mayor of London in 1873, in
official costume.
I had arranged that I would send all the money I obtained to the Queen's Hotel,
London, by post at the earliest possible moment after receiving it, that in the
event of any accident to myself the money should be safe.
After receiving the money I inclosed it in a large envelope, addressing it to the
hotel in London. I also wrote on the envelope: "Echantillons de papier" (i. e.,
samples of paper), after which I threw it into the postoffice.
As I wished to reduce the risk as much as possible (the train for Marseilles not
leaving for three hours), I took a carriage and told the driver to take me toward
the next station on the way to that city. After we were fairly out in the country I
got outside and sat with the driver, chatting with him about the country we were
driving through, arriving in the village about half an hour before the train from
Bordeaux was due. I dismissed my driver at a small village cabaret (tavern),

walked to the station, got aboard the train, and early the next morning was in
Marseilles. I breakfasted at the Hotel d'Europe, and looked over the papers to
see if the Bordeaux fraud had been discovered. As I could see no indication of
it, about 10 a.m. I took a carriage and went to call on Messrs. Brune & Co.
On making myself known I was, as usual, received with the utmost courtesy,
began to talk business, and one of the firm got into my carriage and rode with
me to his bank to effect the sale of my draft on London for the sum of £2,500.
Arriving at the bank I took a seat in the front office, while Mr. Brune went into
the manager's room to introduce the transaction; the clerks eyed me, as I
thought, suspiciously, but doubtless only curiously, because they perceived I
was a foreigner. Another thing which I noticed sent a shiver through me. After
Mr. Brune had been a few minutes in the manager's room, the bank porter
stepped to the outer door, closed and locked it. It being but 12 o'clock, I
imagined the precautionary measure must be due to my presence. "The
Bordeaux affair is discovered and has been telegraphed all over France," was
my first thought; "all is over with me. I am a candidate for a French prison,
sure."
These and a thousand other thoughts flashed through my mind during the
quarter of an hour preceding Mr. Brune's reappearance with his hands full of
bank notes. I could hardly believe my eyes. I had suppressed all signs of the
internal hurricane which raged during those prolonged moments of suspense.
Now the revulsion of feeling was so great that I nearly fainted. However, by a
mental effort, I recovered my self-possession and effectually masked all inward
convulsions.
Mr. Brune placed in my hands 62,000 francs, in notes of the Bank of France,
and we then descended to the carriage and drove to my hotel, where we parted. I
paid my bill, and at once made preparations to start for Lyons, which was to be
the next and last scene of my operations in France.
As my train did not leave for three hours, I got into a carriage at some distance
from the hotel and was driven toward the next station, located on the beautiful
bay a few miles from Marseilles.
After driving along the shore of the bay for some miles I remember we met two
women, dressed in the quaint costume common to that part of the country, each
carrying a basket of eggs. I stopped the carriage and endeavored to enter into
conversation with the pair, but could not understand a word of their patois. I

then took a couple of eggs, handed out a silver franc piece, and drove on,
leaving two astonished women standing in the road, gazing alternately at the
piece of money and at the back of my carriage. Arriving at the station I found it
would be an hour and a half to train time, and driving to a hotel on the shore I
ordered dinner to be served in the upper room of a two-story tower overlooking
the bay, with Marseilles in the distance. After dining I strolled along the beach,
looking at some queer fish not found north of the Mediterranean, their colors
vying in brilliancy with the plumage of tropical birds. Returning to the station I
took a ticket for Lyons, stopping off at Arles about sunset, as I wished to see the
amphitheatre and other relics of the Roman occupation.
I remained in Arles till midnight, then took the train, arriving in Lyons at 9 the
next morning. Repairing to the Hotel de Lyons I had breakfast, and on looking
over the papers became satisfied that as yet no discovery had been made.
Therefore, I resolved to carry out my third and last financial enterprise and then
return to London with all speed.
I called a carriage and drove at once to the establishment of Messrs. Coudert &
Co. I sat near the desk, conversing with the head of the firm, and opened a
dispatch I sent from Arles, and, after reading, handed it to him, saying: "I see
that I shall have use for 60,000 francs, and must ask you to cash a draft on my
letter of credit for that amount." He immediately stepped to the safe, took out a
bundle of 1,000 franc notes, and counting out sixty, gave them to me.
As it was almost certain that the Bordeaux fraud would soon be discovered, I
determined, now that my risky work was completed, to attempt an immediate
escape from France by way of Paris and Calais. I did not, therefore, take the
train direct from Lyons to Paris, but engaged a carriage and drove back to a
junction toward Marseilles. Here I took a train which intersects further to the
northward with another road leading through Lyons to Paris. After going the
roundabout route above described, I was back at the Lyons station at 9 p.m. in a
train bound for Paris, where I arrived without further incident.
The next morning (Sunday) as I left the railway station I thought detectives
were watching me, but, in all probability, it was only the imagination of a guilty
conscience. I was then wearing a full beard, and as a precautionary measure I,
that morning, had all shaved off save the mustache. Not daring to leave Paris on
the through express, which started at 3 o'clock p.m., nor to purchase a ticket to
either Calais or London direct, I went to the station and took the noon

accommodation train, which went no further toward Calais than Arras, a town
some thirty miles from Paris. I arrived there about 1 p.m.
As it would be a couple of hours before the express train was due, I went to a
small hotel and ordered dinner. To while away the time I took a stroll through
the main street, where were many mothers and nurses with children, nice black-
eyed French babies. As I was always a devoted lover of children and other small
creatures, I stepped into a shop and bought a package of confectionery, which I
distributed among the little ones and their smiling nurses, receiving therefor,
almost invariably, the grateful exclamation, "Merci, Monsieur!" I gave some to
children 8 and 10 years old, a crowd of whom soon gathered about me.
Perceiving that I was attracting too much attention, it was clear that I must get
rid of my young friends as soon as possible, or the police might also be
attracted, and their presence would lead to unpleasant results in case the frauds
had been discovered and inquiry was being made for an Englishman.
Purchasing a second supply of candies I hastily gave them out, and with a
"Restez ici, mes enfants," I passed through them and continued my walk up the
street. Quite a number followed at a respectable distance, and I was cogitating
how to double on them when I came to the gateway of the town cemetery,
through which I hastily entered. The children remained outside and watched me
as I walked up the slope and disappeared. At the rear of the cemetery I observed
an old man at work in the adjoining field. I climbed upon the stone wall, which
instantly crumbled away, and I was landed on the old Frenchman's domain
without leave, amidst a pile of stones. Startled by the racket, he looked up from
his digging, and, seeing a stranger uprising from the ruins of the fence, began
consigning him to "le diable," with a volley of vigorous French expletives
delivered in peasant patois. I listened to him, much amused for a moment, and
then held up a five-franc piece. As soon as he beheld it a wondrous change
came over him. He eagerly seized the silver and straightway showed me to a
lane which led almost directly to the railway station. I purchased a ticket for
Calais and took the Sunday afternoon express, and here I am.

OLD EDINBURGH STREET.

CHAPTER XIII.
WE TALK OF THE STARS AND DO THE OTHER THING.

After we saw George off to Paris on the train Mac and I walked up and down
the platform outside of the station, star-gazing. Mac, with his brilliant
scholarship, elegant speech, logical force and fiery enthusiasm, made a most
fascinating companion.
The study of mankind is man, the old proverb says, but like many other
proverbs there is a full measure of unreality in it. It takes a good amount of
arrogance and conceit for one to fancy he is going to study and understand men.
No man can understand himself, and by no amount of experience or study will
he ever come to understand that subtle thing he calls his mind or understand the
motives that sway him.
I only wish one of those scientists who amuse themselves by pretending to
study and understand human minds and motives could have sat in Mac's brain
that night, have thought his thoughts and heard his speech, while remaining
ignorant of our history and mission. Mac's mind was a storehouse of erudition,
his memory a picture gallery, whose chambers were gilded and decorated with
many a glowing canvas. As a child he was familiar with the Bible, the Old
Testament particularly, and, improbable as it seems, was still a diligent student
of Holy Writ. His mind was completely saturated with Bible imagery, yet there
we were with our pockets full of forged documents walking up and down that
platform star-gazing, while he talked with intelligent enthusiasm of those silver
flowers in the darkened sky, of stellar space, how in its infinity it proved the
presence of Deity. That with him there was no great and no little. That a thought
sweeping across the God-given mind of an infant was as wonderful and as
much an evidence of power as the millioned arch of radiant suns in the milky
way. While speeding through Belgium on our way to the Rhine, he continued
until the sun shone upon the horizon. It was something to stir one's enthusiasm
to see his sublime faith in the mighty destiny of man, and to listen to him tell of
the dignity and grace of every human soul and his sure faith that all would be
garnered in the mighty plains of heaven, and he meant and felt it all; yes, meant
all he said, believed all he said, believed that he himself was a potent factor in
the Divine economy, and, furthermore, believed it behooved every man to do all

things, to be all things good and true, yet on this Sunday morning we were fast
speeding to the scene of our contemplated schemes, and with light hearts looked
forward to a speedy return to London, fairly well laden with plunder.
We talked the whole night through, or rather Mac talked and I listened, and it
was a treat to be a listener, he being the speaker.
A period was put to his oration by the train stopping at Luxemburg, we being
summoned to breakfast.
On resuming our journey we took a nap, and when we awoke we found
ourselves nearing the Rhine; about noon we arrived at Cologne, and going to
Uhlrich platz, drank a bottle of Tokay in a famous wine cellar there, then
hurrying back to the station we traveled across the sandy plain that stretches
from near the Prussian border to the capital. We arrived soon after dark, and
Mac went at once to the Hotel Lion de Paris and registered. I waited across the
street in the shadow of the Empress Palace. Mac soon came out, and we went to
dine in a large cafe. We enjoyed the novelty of the scene, and were never tired
of marveling over the all-predominant militarism. Soldiers everywhere, all with
good lungs and loud voices. We spent the evening seeing the town; at midnight
we parted to meet and breakfast together at the cafe at 8. I then went to an
obscure hotel and soon was in the land of dreams. In the morning I awoke with
an anxious feeling, and found myself wishing it were night. At 8, the appointed
time, I met Mac. He may possibly have felt some anxiety; if so, it was invisible.
When an honest man makes a mistake he has not only sympathy, but can always
pick himself up again. With a rogue a mistake may easily be and almost always
is fatal. We feared the unseen and the unexpected. Above all, our imagination
magnified the danger while tormenting us with needless fears. In Germany the
banks open at 9 o'clock, and we knew they would receive soon after 8 the letter
we had deposited in the mail in London. We decided that it would be best for
Mac to enter the banker's at five minutes after 9. We had discovered the night
before the location of the firm. During breakfast Mac went carefully through his
pockets, taking out every scrap of paper and turning everything over to me; then
taking out from among the others in our bag the letters of credit and
introduction we made our last scrutiny of them. We had not settled upon the
amount he should ask for, but agreed that it should not in any case be less than
25,000 gulden ($10,000). If everything seemed favorable then Mac was to use
his own judgment and demand any sum under 100,000 gulden ($40,000). His
letter of credit was for £10,000, and we did not want to leave it behind. Of

course, if we drew any less sum than the amount the credit called for, the sum
we drew would be indorsed on the letter, and it would be returned to Mac and
be instantly destroyed. So with the documents in his pockets and giving me a
smile, out he went, and I followed after, keeping him in sight, and very anxious
I was. We were on Unter den Linden. Walking one square and turning to the left
half a block away were the bankers—Hebrew, by the way. I saw Mac saunter up
the steps and disappear from view. Outside of America money transactions are
carried on with the utmost deliberation; to an American with exasperating
slowness; so I thought it possible he might remain invisible for a whole half-
hour, and a long half-hour it would be to me. In order to have my anxiety
shortened by even a half minute we had arranged that when he came out if he
had the money he was to stroke his beard as a signal. If it was all right, but
delayed, he was to put his handkerchief to his face, but if everything was wrong
he was to clasp his hands across his breast for a moment.

"BOYS, THAT IS THE SOFTEST MARK IN
THE WORLD."—Page 145
In that event I was to keep a lookout to see if he was followed; if so, I was to
give him a signal, when he would go straight to his hotel—in passing through
would dispose of his tall hat, and put on the soft hat he had in his pocket—then
pass out the back entrance and hasten to a certain hat shop, where I would meet
him, and take a cab to a little town six miles away, called Juterbock, where all
trains going south, west and east stopped. While driving out, we would settle on
some plan; but this emergency did not arise. I had stationed myself in a little
shop across the street, and from that vantage ground was watching for Mac's
reappearance, and just as I had settled myself for a weary watch out he came,
smiling and stroking his beard. A moment's glance satisfied me he was not

followed. I hastened after, and, coming up with him as he turned the corner, he
merely said 2,600 pounds ($13,000). It seemed too good to be true, and I said:
"I don't believe you." He replied: "It is all right, my boy; here it is," at the same
time thrusting a big package containing gulden notes into my hand. We instantly
separated, I hastening to different but near-by brokers' offices, buying for nearly
the full amount French bank notes and gold. We went straight to the hatter's and
bought one of those broad-brimmed German student hats, which, when he had
placed it on his head, put on a pair of spectacles and parted his flowing beard in
the middle, made such a transformation in his appearance that I myself would
have passed him unrecognized. In the mean time I had picked out a cabdriver, a
stupid-looking, conservative-appearing old fellow, and engaged him to drive
"mich und meinen freund nach Juterbock." So we entered the cab, an open one-
horse affair, and started for that town. Our next objective point was Munich, but
as the train did not leave until noon we preferred to spend the time in a pleasant
drive, and at the same time make assurance of our escape doubly sure. Around
Berlin the country is flat and uninteresting. Our driver was a crabbed old fellow,
but we managed to extract some amusement out of him.
What pleased us greatly was to see him from time to time take out from under
his seat a loaf of black bread and cut off a slice for himself and one for his
horse, and then, seeing we were in no hurry, he would get down, and, walking
beside the horse, would feed him and himself at the same time. When we
arrived at Juterbock we had an hour to spare, so we drove to an inn, and
ordering a bottle of Hochheimer for ourselves and beer and pretzels for our
driver, we passed the time pleasantly. In the mean time we had touched a match
to the letter of credit, and at train time we went by separate routes to the depot.
Each purchased his own ticket; to Nuremberg mine was, his to some near-by
city, and at 12.30 we boarded the train and were off for Munich and more profit
there on the morrow.
Late at night we arrived, and after locating the bank we went to a theatre, where
a variety show was going on, and found the performances good; quite up, in
fact, to similar exhibitions here. When the house closed we separated for the
night, each going to a different hotel. Our plan was to secure all the cash we
could in Munich in time to take a train that left for Leipsic a little before 10
o'clock, arriving there soon after 1, in time to visit the Leipsic bank the same
day; then leaving the city that night we would be in Frankfort early on
Wednesday. We would then make all haste to escape from Germany to the
shelter of mighty London.

Tuesday morning at 7 we met at a restaurant, as agreed, and soon had over
again our Berlin experience; but the amount we obtained here was only 12,000
gulden (£1,000), Mac thinking it best to ask for a small sum, Munich not being
much of a commercial city. In cashing his credit, although the amount was in
gulden, the bank paid him in New Saxon thalers, the thaler being 70 cents. We
did not like the new thaler notes, and wanted to change them there, but there
was no time if we were to catch the 10 o'clock train. I had Mac's derby hat in a
box, and in three minutes he had the hat and spectacles on, and, with his beard
again parted, the transformation was complete, and he, a perfect picture of the
dreamy German student, sauntered down to the depot and bought his ticket for
Leipsic. I followed him, carrying all the cash and documents in my bag. We
arrived at Leipsic soon after dinner. Times were brisk, with plenty of bustle
there, for the great Leipsic fair was in full blast. Here was an opportunity
missed; we ought to have had three or four letters to as many banks. The place
was thronged and the banks were paying out and receiving money in thousands.
On the train I had sat apart from Mac, but in the same compartment, which was
filled. Arriving at Leipsic he left the train, and, walking up the street, entered a
wine room, where I joined him. He scrutinized his letters carefully, and, placing
them in his pocket, in five minutes was in the bank. Seeing the bank was full of
customers, instead of remaining outside to watch, I entered and stood among the
crowd, anxious, of course, but letting nothing escape.
Instead of waiting or trying to transact his business with a subordinate, Mac
demanded to see the head of the firm. He was received at once, and upon the
production of his letters was treated with the utmost consideration. He asked for
50,000 gulden ($20,000), which was given him at once. The amount for fair
time at Leipsic was not large. In a very short time the business was done. The
money being paid in gulden notes, it made a pretty big bundle. As agreed upon,
he went direct to the cafe, carrying the money, while I stopped at a broker's
office and bought French money, notes and gold, for my new Saxon thalers.
There the transformation scene was re-enacted, but we could not leave town
until 5 o'clock. We spent the time visiting the famous fair. Leipsic overflowed
with the fair. It was fair on the brain with every one. This annual fair has been a
yearly feature of the old city for four centuries, and draws to it people from all
over the European world, even from furthest Russia. Soon after 5 o'clock we
were on the train, but, for some reason which I now forget, we did not arrive
until 10 o'clock the next day at Frankfort.
Frankfort, the home and still the fortress of the Rothschilds.

In Frankfort the Bourse opens at 10 a.m., and closes at 2. During those hours
the bankers are to be found on the Exchange only, and not at their offices. Many
of the offices are then deserted and fast locked. It proved to be the case with the
firm to which our letters were addressed, and if we were to do any business in
Frankfort we had of necessity to wait until 2 p.m., but as it was now Wednesday
and the third day since our affair in Berlin, the first draft drawn on London, if
promptly mailed, would probably have been delivered at the Union Bank this
morning. Of course, as soon as the manager of the foreign department found a
draft for a large sum drawn by a stranger and made payable to their
correspondent in Berlin, he would at once surmise that a fraud had been
committed and undoubtedly would send a telegram to Germany to that effect.
The forgery once known in Berlin, the rumor of it, with a thousand
exaggerations, might easily fly to every Bourse in Europe, and I feared that by 2
o'clock the story might possibly become known on the Frankfort Exchange. So
far we had $43,000, the result of our two days' operations, but we had from the
first great hopes of Frankfort, chiefly because it was the money centre of the
Continent, therefore the bankers were used to handling large sums of money,
and so long as everything was all right they would hand out any sum, however
large. We really ought to have taken in Frankfort first. Had we done so, we
probably would have left the town with $50,000.
Soon as we arrived we went to a cafe, and, leaving Mac there and all the money
and papers in the bag, I hastened to the bankers, hoping to find them open and
ready for business. In that case I should have talked business—that is, about
having letters of credit, etc.—and I could probably have told by their actions if
any rumors of our transaction of the two preceding days had reached the city.
Had this been so the bankers would have betrayed it by their looks and
questions, and would have been anxious to see my credits. Had such questions
been asked, I would have simply said that my letters of credit had not yet
arrived from Paris. This would have, of course, thrown them off the track, and
given us time to move off.
But when I arrived I found the doors locked. I at once returned to Mac and said:
"We are through; let us catch the train for Cologne at once." He was anxious to
wait until 4 o'clock and make a dash. We both knew the Germans were slow,
and might not think of using the telegraph, and we agreed that we had more
than an even chance of success; but Mac said: "My boy, you are my manager,
and I leave it for you to decide." Then I said we were through, and that he
should take no more chances; so we settled it right there, in the little French-

German cafe, and taking out all the letters and every scrap of paper we
destroyed them.
This decision, of course, brought a great relief—for the strain had been greater
than either of us had been willing to confess to the other. So, easy in mind, we
ordered lunch. Of course, we would have no news of George until we met in
London. We had no anxiety about him; we felt certain he would come out all
right. While waiting for the train we discussed the future, and took it for granted
that he would secure as much as we had done. We counted ourselves possessors
of $90,000. Of this, fully $10,000 would go to our three honest detectives in
New York; we would spend about another $10,000, leaving us about $23,000
each. Making this calculation, we sat down, and with the cash safe in our hands
we began planning for the future. Did we say: "Now we have a sum of money
ample to start us in an honest business, and, as we have promised, we will
quit?" Nothing of the kind; we simply ignored our many promises and
resolutions. Our ideas had grown with our success, and we felt poor; so we
quickly came to the conclusion that it was the part of wisdom, since we were
already so far in, to secure $100,000 each, and then to call a halt; so there in
Frankfort, in the very hour of our success, we found ourselves planning new
schemes, and further down the Primrose Way.
Soon after the noon hour the train started, but first I took Mac's tall hat to the
hatter's and left it to be ironed, this, of course, to get rid of it, and leave no trace
behind; then, returning to the cafe, we started. I fell behind and we made our
way separately to the depot. Mac had absolutely nothing about him save $2,000
in French paper and gold. I had over $40,000 in notes and some gold in my bag.
He bought a ticket for Amsterdam, and I one for Belgium, both taking us
through Cologne. I saw him safe into a car, while I sauntered carelessly up and
down the station, swinging my bag and staring at everything; as the train was
about to start I entered another carriage. The railway from Frankfort to Cologne
follows the river bank for the entire distance. We quickly passed Bingen,
Mayence, Coblenz, and about dusk reached Cologne. This is an important
junction, and here we had to change cars, having twenty minutes to wait. Both
of us went direct to the cathedral. It is close to the station, and there we had a
few minutes' talk. Here Mac threw away his ticket to Amsterdam and I gave
him mine to Brussels. We agreed to take separate cars at the station, but at the
first stopping place I was to join him in his compartment, for we had before us
an all-night ride to Ostend (the rival port to Calais), where we would embark for
Dover. At the depot I purchased a ticket to London via Ostend. We left Cologne
all right, and at the first station out I alighted and joined him.

We had a pleasant all-night journey, arriving very early the next morning at
Ostend. How lovely the sea looked, with the morning sun shining on its restless
waves!
We got to Dover without accident, and two hours after the express landed us in
London, and we drove at once to our appointed rendezvous, the Terminus Hotel,
London Bridge. We had no news of George, but that evening, opening the door
in response to a loud knock, he walked in, receiving a boisterous welcome.

CHAPTER XIV.
I PLAY THE SILVER KING.

The next morning we all drove to Hampton Court, the creation of Wolsey, and
when tired we went to the Star and Garter. There we talked over matters, and
came to the conclusion we must have a hundred thousand apiece before we
could afford to settle down at home.
We resolved to send off the "percentage" to Irving & Company, and to pay all
debts we were owing at home.
Mac's heart went out to his father. He longed for a reconciliation, and he
determined to send him $10,000 and so make good the money his father had
given him to establish himself in New York, at the same time write the old
gentleman he had made a big strike in a cotton speculation, in order to explain
his having so large a sum to spare.
Our accounts were pretty well mixed up, and I hit upon a novel way to settle
them and give each of us an equal start. My proposal was that we should pool
everything. To put every dollar we had in the world on the table then and there,
and let the firm assume all obligations, purely personal as they were, save only
the Irving "percentage," and pay them from the general fund, then divide the
balance. This was agreed to, and the queerest balance sheet ever made out was
soon ready.

"THREE OR FOUR SHOTS RANG OUT, OUR
TRAIN WAS OFF THE TRACK."—Page 281.
We all had planned certain gifts and presents to friends in America, a
considerable sum in the aggregate; all the cost of this was assumed by the firm.
The main item was $10,000 to the New York police. When the balances were
finally struck nearly $30,000 had disappeared from our cash capital, but on the
whole it was a good plan. It drew us all closer together, consequently increased
our faith in each other and at the same time prevented all chances of future
dispute. This matter settled, we determined to have a little recreation by taking a
tour in Italy. After studying guide books and routes we resolved to take a
steamer from Southampton to Naples, spend a few days there in seeing the town
and visiting Pompeii, etc., then north to Rome.

We had made considerable preparation for our tour, when a circumstance arose
that not only changed our plans, but in the sequel changed our lives as well.
We had been paying another visit to Hampton Court, and in place of dining at
the Star and Garter we returned by boat on the Thames and dined at Cannon
Street Hotel. Before going to the hotel we took a stroll down Lombard street,
and, arriving at the intersection of streets opposite the Bank of England, we
came to a halt. While watching the human whirlpool in that centre of throbbing
life, I turned to my friends, and, pointing to the Bank of England, said: "Boys,
you may depend upon it, there is the softest spot in the world, and we could hit
the bank for a million as easy as rolling off a log." No response was made at the
time, and the casual remark was apparently forgotten. Well for us if it had been.
The next day we went for a drive to Windsor, and were to dine at a famous old
roadside inn. On arriving we, of course, visited the castle, and, while viewing
the decorations in the stately throne room, Mac stopped us with the remark that
something I had said the day before had been sticking in his mind. He went on
to say that we wanted a hundred thousand apiece in order to return home in
good shape; that the Bank of England had plenty to spare, and it was well for
the lightning to strike where the balances were heavy. The bank would never
miss the money, and he firmly believed the whole directorate of the fossil
institution was permeated with the dry rot of centuries. The managers were
convinced that their banking system was impregnable, and, as a consequence, it
would fall an easy victim, provided, as we suspected, the bank was really
managed by hereditary officials.
Here was a picture, indeed. Three American adventurers, two of them barely
past their majority, standing in the throne room of Windsor Castle, and plotting
to strike a blow at the money bags of the Bank of England!
The idea grew on us rapidly. After dinner we sat in the twilight of that old inn
and discussed the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street from a point of view from
which she had probably never been discussed before. I can imagine with what
scorn the idiotically puffed and bepuffed magnates of the bank would have
regarded us had they known of our discussion.
They afterwards boasted to me, as they had boasted for a century, that their
system was perfect, and as a proof that it was so they widely proclaimed they
had not changed it in a hundred years. They had proclaimed so loudly and so
long its absolute invulnerability that they not only believed it themselves, but all

the world had come to believe it as well. "Safe as the bank" was a proverb
everywhere underlying the English tongue.
In our discussion we speedily came to the conclusion that any system of finance
unchanged in detail for a century, belief in the perfection of which was an
article of faith not alone with the officials charged with its management, but
with the people of England at large, must, in the very nature of the case, lie
wide open to the attack of any man bold enough to doubt its impregnability and
resolute to attack.
What a figment of the imagination this boasted impregnability of the Bank of
England was the sequel will show. And as for those masters of finance, those
earthly Joves of the financial world who sat serene above the clouds, "the
Governor and Company of the Bank of England," they soon had the whole
money world shaking with laughter when they stood revealed the Simple
Simons they proved to be.
We wanted a hundred thousand apiece now, and had resolved to get it from the
Bank of England. Such was our confidence that we never thought failure
possible. Truly, if there ever was a plan laid in ignorant enthusiasm this was
one. Here we were, absolutely without any knowledge of the inner workings of
the institution, strangers in London, being under assumed names, without
business of any kind, and not only unable to give any references, but unable to
stand any investigation.
Exactly how we were to manipulate the bank we did not know. We were
inclined, now we had some fifty thousand dollars capital, to avoid so serious a
thing as forgery, but had an idea for one of us to obtain in some way an
introduction to the bank and to use all the money of the party to establish a
credit. In the mean time all were to get in the swim in or around the exchange,
and use the one who had the account in the bank for reference for the others. If
some good chance offered to go into a straightforward business we could drop
forever all thoughts of breaking the law again. This was the theory; in practice,
we were almost certain to try on the game we had of late played so successfully.
In conference it was determined an account should be opened with the bank,
anyway; after that was done we could decide what use to put it to.
As I had not yet shown up in the previous transactions, I volunteered to go to
the front in this; so, telling my two friends to go to the Continent—Italy, if they
liked—I would remain in London and manage to get the account started. They

took me at my word, and a day or two after sailed from Liverpool to Lisbon,
and passed through Portugal to Spain, visiting the chief cities of that country.
I was left alone in London and began prospecting at once, setting all my wits at
work to see how I could manage to get an introduction to the bank. I had only
$20,000 to start the thing with, as we did not think it policy to risk our entire
capital in one place. My first idea was to find some solicitor of standing who
kept his account at the Bank of England, to give him a retaining fee of £100 to
act as my legal adviser, telling him some fairy tales about establishing a branch
firm in London, and engage him, as soon as we started, to devote all his time to
our business at a fat salary. But there were many objections to having a lawyer
to introduce me, they being wide awake and liable to scrutinize too closely. If
one should depart so far from his policy of caution as to introduce a new client
he might after the introduction easily notify the bank that I was a stranger to
him and perhaps advise them to investigate, and investigation was the one thing
I must avoid. Of course, one is supposed to give reference, even if introduced.
Although I had no acquaintance with this bank's methods, yet I was confident
that all those at the top must be a stupid lot of red-tape sticklers, and I resolved
to do my business with them alone. I was pretty sure that the routine of an
introduction once well over, so as to give me access to the officials, they could
be easily satisfied and made to help on the fraud, in place of being obstacles.
The result proved my surmise correct, for such a lot of self-sufficient barnacles
no institution in the world was ever burdened with.
The dry rot of officialism permeated the bank through and through; even the
bank solicitors, the Messrs. Freshfields, were merely "highly respectable," and
sometimes when that term is applied in England it indicates mediocrity. The
Freshfields managed to spend four hundred and fifty thousand dollars of the
bank's money in our prosecution. That fact alone would have ruined the
reputation of any law firm in America, but the ring of toadies who control that
close corporation called the Benchers of the Inn was loud in its praise of this
firm for the extreme ability shown in working up the case for the bank.
I finally made up my mind to find some old established shopkeeper who kept an
account at the bank, and secure an introduction through him.
I determined to carry out the plan at once. The thing was first of all to find my
man; so at 2 o'clock that afternoon I stationed myself near the bank to watch
depositors coming out and then follow them. Four out of five depositors when
they take money to the bank come out examining their passbooks. That

afternoon I followed several; of these I selected three; one was an optician and
electrician, an old-established firm, doing a large business. Another was an East
India importing house. The third was Green & Son, tailors.
The next day I went to the optician and purchased an expensive opera glass, and
had him engrave on it "To Lady Mary, from Her Friend," and paid him for it
with a £100 note; then I went to the East India firm and bought a costly white
silk shawl and a lap robe fit for a prince, and looked at a camel's hair shawl at
one hundred guineas.
I had brought from America with me a Western hat, and as I had resolved to
play the Silver King, I wore it when going around among the tradesmen. The
English had, and still have, absurd ideas concerning that desirable article, "The
American Silver King." The stage article they take for the genuine, and
devoutly believe that the pavements are thick with them in America, all
marching around with rolls of thousand-dollar bills in their pockets, which they
throw out to bootblacks and bartenders.
Therefore, I resolved to play this role. After my purchase of the shawl and robe,
I drove in my brougham up to Green & Son, and entered, smoking a cigar, and
with my big hat pulled well down over my eyes. Soon as I saw the elder Green I
felt I had my man. Certainly I had hit well, for the firm (fathers and sons) had
been depositors in the Bank of England for near a century, and had considerable
wealth; but, English fashion, stuck steadily to business. This is a firm of ultra-
fashionable tailors, that, like the historic Poole next door, charge for their
reputation more than for the fit of their garments.
One of the firm and an attendant flew to wait upon me, but, paying no attention
to them, I started on a slow march around the establishment, examining the
array of cloths, they following at my heels. I went down one side and returned
on the other to the door. Arriving there I halted and, pointing first at one roll of
cloth and then another, said: "One suit from this, three suits from that, two from
that, a topcoat from that, another from that, another suit from that, one from
that. Now, show me some dressing gowns." The first shown was twenty
guineas. I instantly said that would do. One may be certain the tailor and his
assistant flew around, one to measure and the other to write the measurements
of this American sheep that Providence had led astray into their shop. When
asked my name and address, I gave F. A. Warren, Golden Cross Hotel, and then,
for fear I might forget my name, I made a memorandum of it and placed it in
my vest pocket. They bowed me out, evidently greatly impressed with my

taciturnity, and especially my big hat, confident also that they had hooked a
fortune in a genuine American silver king. I entered the brougham and drove
directly to the Golden Cross Hotel, Charing Cross, and there registering "F. A.
Warren" and securing a room I left for my hotel. This room at the Golden Cross
I kept for a whole year, but never slept there. It was the only address the Bank
of England ever had of their distinguished customer, Mr. Frederic Albert
Warren.
I did not trouble any more about the other two store people, but looked about
the town, amusing myself. In due time I called and tried the garments on, and,
when ready to deliver, I left the cash with the hotel people with orders to pay
the bill, which was done. There the matter rested for ten days, when I drove up
again, and, remaining in my carriage, the head of the firm came out to me and I
remarked: "I must have more garments; duplicate that order," and drove off.
A week after I called to have them tried on, and then said that as I was going to
Ireland for a few days' shooting with Lord Clancarty, I would send down a
portmanteau for the garments and call for it on my way from the hotel to the
station. So I bought the most expensive trunk I could find and sent it to the
tailor. When the day came for me to call I provided myself with six £500 bank
notes, five £100 and about fifty £5 notes to go on the bottom of the roll. Before
leaving my hotel I had a large trunk put on the cab, and then taking inside of it
all the dressing bags, rugs, silk umbrellas and canes in the whole party, I drove
to the tailor's, paid my bill with a £500 note and had the portmanteau put on the
cab. I turned to go, but, halting at the door, I remarked quite in a casual manner:
"By the way, Mr. Green, I have more money than I care to carry loose in my
vest pocket to Ireland; I think I will leave it with you." He replied, "Certainly,
sir," and as I was pulling the roll out of my vest pocket he said: "How much is
it, sir?" "Only £4,000; it may be £5,000;" to which he replied: "Oh, sir, I would
be afraid to take charge of so much; let me introduce you to my bank." He ran
for his hat, accompanied me to the Bank of England, and, calling one of the
sub-managers, introduced me as an American gentleman, Mr. F. A. Warren, who
desired to open an account. A check and a pass book were brought and the
signature book laid before me for my autograph, and I was requested to sign my
name in full, so I christened myself Frederic Albert. I drove to the North Eastern
station and telegraphed the boys at Barcelona that the thing was done and they
could, if they liked, curtail their excursion and return to England at once.
So the first step had been taken and successfully. We talked of now giving up all
further idea of breaking the law, and starting in London as brokers and

promoters of stock companies. The plan was for me to take the money of the
firm, £10,000, place it all in the Bank of England, and begin to buy and sell
stock and keep my money moving in and out of the bank. Then George and Mac
were to start an office and launch out as promoters and refer to Mr. Warren of
the Bank of England. This would place them on a footing at once, and I would
gradually drop out of the Bank of England after introducing George and Mac in
their right names. This was a grand plan, and had we only carried it out fortune
would have been ours, and honor as well, but we were too impatient of any
delay in securing wealth and overconfident of our success and cleverness.
Above all, we were anxious to get home again. But I have got somewhat ahead
of my story.
Soon after I had a telegram from George and Mac saying that they would arrive
in time for a late dinner, and for me to wait and dine with them. At the time I
was living at the Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria Station. We had a pleasant meeting
and a good dinner to celebrate it. I exhibited my check book, and they were
eager to know all details of my interviews, not only at the bank, but with the
tailor, and over the wine I related with great spirit the details of the little
comedy. I have to this very day a vivid recollection of the shouts of laughter
that arose from my companions during the recital. We laughed then, but we did
not laugh for the next twenty years, neither did we partake of any sumptuous
banquets. In the world of crime success is failure, and perhaps never had the
absolute accuracy of that statement been so fully confirmed as in our own lives.
That merriment of ours ended in anguish too deep for words. For twenty years I
never looked upon a star, nor saw the face of a woman or of a child; that is to
say, from my early years when the heart beats fast and the blood runs warmly in
the veins. That fearful gap of time was filled to the brim with the peltings of a
pitiless storm, hungry, driven, toiling like a galley slave under the Summer's
burning sun, or thinly clad exposed to every blizzard and all the whirling storms
of Winter, until my early manhood had vanished and the best years of my prime
were all melted away, and at last I came forth from my dungeon, but with the
mark of suffering and desolation burned deep upon me, to face a world of which
I could not but be ignorant.

THE "SUGAR-LOAF" IN THE BAY OF RIO.

CHAPTER XV.
PIRATICAL CRUISE IN TROPICAL SEAS.

The way to the bank vaults with their treasures had been laid open, but there
remained many matters of detail to be carried out before we could enter them.
There promised to be a delay of several months, but we were impatient over the
prospect of delay of even six months in securing the fortunes we wanted, and
which we had come to consider essential to our happiness.
Our plan to ease the bank of a million or two of her forty million sterling was,
roughly stated, to borrow from day to day large sums upon forged securities, the
bad feature of the plan, from our point of view, being the fact that the bank, as a
matter of course, would retain these documents, which could be produced at any
future time to found a criminal charge against us, provided justice ever had the
opportunity to weigh us in her balances.
Protected as we were by the police in New York, we felt that the chance of our
identity ever becoming known was remote. Still, there was an element of
chance we wanted to eliminate entirely. In our recent raid on the bankers of
France and Germany we never exhausted our letter of credit, but had the
amount of cash we drew indorsed upon it, and brought the actual forged
document away and instantly destroyed it. Had we been arrested in Europe, no
doubt, under the laws prevailing there, they would have made us suffer upon the
verbal statement of the banker; but in America to convict one of forgery the
document itself must be produced in court.
I paid several visits to the bank, depositing and drawing out various sums of
money. I had talks with the sub-manager, and, on various pretexts to get
information, I interviewed bankers and money men in the city. Finally, after
many conferences, we came to the conclusion that the boasted impregnability of
the bank was imaginary, and that the vanity and self-sufficiency of the officials
would some day prove a snare to the institution they ruled over.
The next conclusion we arrived at was that, easy as it might be to defraud the
bank, yet there was an infinity of detail which would require six months of
preparations to carry out. Then, again, the word forgery began to look black in

our vocabulary. We knew John Bull was an obstinate fellow when he once got
his back up, and we began to think it wise to keep beyond his dull weather eye.
Finally, as the result of many debates, we resolved to abandon the Bank of
England matter temporarily, possibly forever, because it was too dangerous, and
the delay would be too great. Our new plan was to go to South America on a
buccaneering expedition. There being no cable in 1872, and it took, as we
ascertained, forty days to send a letter from Rio de Janeiro to Europe and get a
reply; so that, if we executed an operation boldly and well, we might hope for
anything. We resolved to go to South America, but to leave my account stand in
the bank, and if our success was as great as expected, we would let the Bank of
England keep the million or two we wanted, and continue her century-long
slumber until the time came when some adventurous but unscrupulous mind
should accept the temptation she held out to seize some of her bags of
sovereigns.
Our plan was, in the main, similar to the one we had lately used with so much
success in Germany and France. Only in this case we proposed to use the credit
of the London and Westminster Bank, and, therefore, obtained the documents
required to carry through such an operation successfully.
The steamer Lusitania of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company was
advertised to sail on the 12th, and we determined to go by her. Our plan was to
go on the same steamer, to be ever within supporting distance of each other, and
yet pretend to be strangers, or if associating together, to act so as to make all
observers think our acquaintance merely casual.
Mac had his tickets in the name of Gregory Morrison. He carried letters of
introduction to Maua & Co., who had branches in all the coast cities down the
coast, including Montevideo and Buenos Ayres on the east coast, and Lima,
Valparaiso and Callao on the west.
The steamers of the Pacific Steam Navigation Company, leaving Liverpool,
touch at Bordeaux, Santander and Lisbon, then are off 6,000 miles away to Rio,
never slowing the engines for a moment during the voyage. Two days at Rio to
discharge cargo and take in coal, then off again to Montevideo, discharge cargo,
and coal again, then away round the Horn, and thousands of miles up the west
coast, touching everywhere to land mails and passengers; finally after 14,000
miles of sea travel they reach Callao, then take the home track for Liverpool.

Modern buccaneers, indeed, were we, engaged in a nineteenth century piratical
descent upon the shores of South America. Instead of the burly, much-
beweaponed pirate of other years, we were mild-mannered, soft-spoken,
courteous youngsters, yet our steel pen and bottle of ink were more deadly
instruments or at least of surer fire and of better aim, than the long toms and
horse pistols of the piratical braves of the seventeenth century. Our hopes of
gain were high, and we counted on an ample return for the trouble of our
adventure. I say trouble, for danger we feared none, so confident were we of our
ability to carry off everything with a high hand, and so complete was our faith
in each other that we had no anxiety as to the result, but simply regarded our
trip as a pleasant voyage into tropic seas—a happy change from the March wind
and sombre skies of England to the bright skies and balmy air of the tropical
world in the Winter months.
I had a balance in the bank of £2,335, and we, as a matter of policy, wanted to
have our capital ready at hand. The bank has a rule that a depositor must never
have less than £300 to his credit. My friends were somewhat skeptical as to
whether the bank did not regard their new customer, F.A. Warren, with some
suspicion and as a depositor to be watched. My personal relations with the bank
people convinced me everything was all right, but to convince my friends I
determined to give them a proof that the bank would break their rule on my
account.
The Monday before we sailed for Brazil I called at the bank and told the sub-
manager that I was going to St. Petersburg and on to Southern Russia for a time
to inspect some work I was doing there, and I purposed to withdraw my
account. He begged me not to do so, said many flattering things to me, and
urged that it would be convenient to have an open account in London.
"Well," I said, looking at my passbook, "I see I have £2,335 to my credit. I will
leave the odd £35 with you." He instantly acquiesced. Had he said: "No, you
must leave at least £300, as our rules require," I should have said "All right,"
and made it five hundred. I drew out the £2,300 at once, intending to deposit
£300 before leaving London, but in the haste of our preparations I neglected it,
and my balance at the bank stood £35 for all the weeks I was on our piratical
cruise to the Spanish Main.
Storing most of our baggage in London, we took the train to Liverpool, and,
purchasing tickets for Rio, we went on board the good ship Lusitania, but not
the "good" ship, for her first trip, this being her second, had won for her the

name of being unlucky, and Liverpool insurance men, no less than Liverpool
sailors, do not bank on an unlucky ship—their faith of ill luck following an
unlucky ship has been justified in thousands of instances, as it was in the case of
the Lusitania. But I am not going to relate the after history of the ship.
From the hour of our arrival in Liverpool we were outwardly strangers, and
during the voyage no one ever suspected that we were anything else. We soon
discovered we had a pleasant company of fellow voyagers, and as we steamed
out of the Mersey and headed southward we settled down to have a good time.
Boreas was friendly, and away we sped across the Bay of Biscay, rapidly neared
the mouth of the Garonne, on an estuary of which is situated the old city of
Bordeaux. Arriving there, the ship lay at anchor for some hours, taking in and
discharging freight, and receiving emigrants for various parts of South America.
When the steamer was about to leave, it was a strange and rather comical sight
to witness the farewells and leave-takings from the crowds of friends who had
come to see them off. The customary performance appeared to me so peculiar
that I will describe it as well as I can after so many years: Two men standing
face to face, one clasps the other round the body, the other passive, then leaning
back lifts the party clear off the ground once, twice or thrice, probably
according to the degree of relationship or amount of affection; then the
operation is reversed, the embraced becoming the embracer. In some cases the
ceremonial is repeated the second or third time, neither kissing nor crying being
the fashion there.
The next morning we were off the coast of Spain, watching the silvery gleam
from the ice-clad peaks of the Pyrenees—at least those of us who were not
engaged in the more disagreeable employment of discharging their debt to
Father Neptune. However, by the time the ship arrived at the small port of
Santander the passengers were mostly recovering from the mal de mer
occasioned by the rough water in the Bay of Biscay. While leaving this tiny
landlocked harbor, one of the propeller blades touched the rocky bottom, and
broke short off, but our ship continued her voyage with undiminished speed,
and within three days was steaming up the Tagus to Lisbon. Here the passengers
who wished to avail themselves of the opportunity had a few hours on shore;
then we were off for the long diagonal run across the Atlantic.
"The Lady of the Lusitania," as she was called, because there was no other lady
among the saloon passengers, was the wife of a captain in the British army, who
was going out for a few months' hunting on the pampas of Buenos Ayres, and,
of course, accompanied by many dogs, with an assortment of guns. There was

also a chaplain in the British navy who was going out to join his ship at
Valparaiso. A strange character was he; a big, burly man, about 28 years of age,
the most inveterate champagne drinker on board, and that is saying a good deal.
Whenever he met any of the "jolly" ones of the saloon passengers it was
"Come, old fellow, will you toss me for a bottle of fizz?" as he called his
favorite wine, and he had no lack of accepters. The majority in the saloon
consisted of a party of fifteen young Englishmen, civil engineers, who were
going under the leadership of a Swedish colonel to survey, for the Brazilian
Government, a railway line across the southern part of Brazil, from the Atlantic
to the Pacific. In all there were twenty-five young men, full of frolic and fun,
who made things rather lively about the ship. They went in for everything from
which any fun could be extracted. At the equinoctial line they roped in the
"greenhorns" to look through the field glasses at the line, and having fastened a
hair across the field of view, of course, we could all see it plainly. Father
Neptune came on board and those of the crew who had never crossed the
Equator were hunted out of their hiding places, dragged on deck, lathered with a
whitewash brush dipped in old grease, shaved with a lath-razor, and then
tumbled unceremoniously backward into a cask of water.
After a prosperous voyage of three weeks we arrived within sight of the famous
"Sugar Loaf," and were duly disembarked at the Custom House, our baggage
passed, and were off to our hotels, each going to a different one, and each
registering the name our letters of credit and introduction bore. While in Rio we
went by day in the parks or cafes, and spent our evenings together, having a
most enjoyable time.
This was our first experience of the tropics, and life under the Equator proved as
novel and as fascinating as it ever does to the inhabitant of a cold climate. The
show of tropical fruits in the markets was magnificent, and, although strangers
are warned not to partake of it, yet our health was so good and our digestion so
perfect that we disregarded all warnings and gratified our palates without stint,
with no bad results following.
However, we felt after all that we were there on business; we wanted plunder, in
fact, and not pleasure, in Rio. Our pleasure lay in Europe or America, there in
the good time just ahead, when, as moneyed men, we returned, and, surrounded
by those nearest and dearest, we would enjoy life to the full.
Mac was the grand swell of our party, and, wanting to excel us all in his
financial successes, was eager to go to the front. Accordingly, we fixed

everything so that he could everywhere strike the first and the heaviest blow.
Of course, on our twenty-two days' voyage we had ample time for discussion,
and before we passed the Equator had settled on our plan. First of all, it was
agreed that one of the party should keep his neck out of the noose, to stand by if
either of the others came to grief. Very much to my satisfaction, it was again
decided that I was the man to stand from under.

"AT 5 O'CLOCK ALL HANDS UP AND BREAKFAST READY."—
Page 290.

The firm of Maua in Rio was the most considerable in all South America, and
Mac's introductions were to this firm. The plan was for Mac to present himself
to Maua & Co., and to draw within twenty-four hours, at least £10,000, so as to
make sure of our expenses, and a day or two before steamer day to arrange for a
very large sum, twenty or thirty thousand pounds. As soon as that was obtained,
George was to go to the Bank of London and Rio de Janeiro, and secure as
much as he thought it safe to ask for, five or ten thousand pounds. This would
be paid in Brazilian paper money, which I was to exchange for sovereigns. Then
I was to buy a ticket for myself on the steamer going south, take the gold off

and stow it away in my stateroom. At the last moment, in the bustle and
confusion of sailing, Mac and George were to slip into my stateroom, conceal
themselves and sail with the steamer, and when once out of the harbor, to see
the purser, explain that they had arranged with a friend to purchase tickets; but,
as he had not put in an appearance, they would be obliged to pay a second time.
We purposed to go down the east coast and up the west to Lima. Visiting the
cities as we went from Lima, we would go to Panama, there catch the steamer to
San Francisco, and after a pleasant sojourn in California go overland to New
York with a million.
This was our plan, but, as all the world knows, there is a vast difference
between making plans and carrying them into successful execution.

CHAPTER XVI.
"SHOW ME YOUR LETTERS OF CREDIT."

Fate, Providence, call it what you will, seldom fails to upset wrongdoing,
making it rocky for the wrongdoer.
By an irony of fortune we carried with us that which was going to balk all, or
nearly all, our fine scheme.
In our letters of credit in some mysterious way the name of the sub-manager of
the London and Westminster Bank had been omitted, although this was
absolutely essential to the validity of the letters. There was also another error, an
error of such an extraordinary nature—that of spelling "endorse" with a "c"—
that it is enough to make any man contemplating an unlawful act despair of
success, since we could be defeated by such mysterious and unforeseen
accidents.
A few hours after our arrival Mac called at the bankers' and was well received
by the manager.
He told the manager his letters of credit ran from £5,000 to £20,000 each, and
that he should want £10,000 the next day. Would they have it ready?
The next day he went to the bank, George and myself being posted outside. In
ten minutes he reappeared with a square bundle under his arm. He smiled as he
passed us, and, turning a corner, entered a cafe, where he joined us. His bundle
contained £10,000 in Brazilian bank notes. He assured us that everything was
serene at the bank, that he could have £100,000 if he wanted to ask for it.
I had already been to the three largest money brokers and arranged to buy gold.
So, leaving Mac and George, I got a sole leather bag we had for the purpose,
and, hiring a stalwart black porter, went to the brokers. I bought sovereigns for
the whole £10,000. It was ten bags with one thousand pounds in each. The
weight was 168 pounds. The black fellow put it on his head, and followed me to
my hotel, and found it a pretty good load, too. So here we had one big fish
landed, and confidently counted on several more.

I related above how we had in some incomprehensible way omitted putting on
the letter of credit the sub-manager's name. How could we have committed such
a blunder? My answer is that this is only another example of the unforeseen
"something" ever happening to defeat any anticipated benefit from ill-gotten
gains.
The next day Mac went to the bankers again, and was requested by the manager
to show the letter of credit on which was indorsed the ten thousand pounds he
had drawn against it. Looking at the letter, the manager said: "This is singular;
there is only the name of Mr. Bradshaw, the manager, on this letter; J. P. Shipp,
the sub-manager's name, should be on the credit as well." And then he went on
to say that some time since they had been notified by the London Bank that all
letters issued by them would bear two signatures.
Mac was a man of nerve, but it required all he had not to betray his uneasiness.
He said he really could not say how the omission had occurred; he supposed it
must have been accidental, but he would examine his other letters as soon as he
went back to the hotel.
The look of chagrin and vexation on Mac's face when he came out was a sight
to see, and one that is as vivid in my memory now as in that far off day in 1872.
He went direct to the hotel, and there George and I soon joined him. We sat
down and looked at each other. The game apparently was up, and we were a
sorely disgusted party. We did not fall out with or reproach each other, but felt
we deserved a kicking. We did not ask each other any questions, but I know our
faces all wore a sadly puzzled look as we repeated mentally, "How could we
have made such an oversight?" But soon another blunder—the misspelled word
—was to crop up, that made this one of the omitted name seem as a fly to an
eagle.
Mac and I thought the game up, and were mentally planning for flight. But
George, being a man of extraordinary courage and resource as well, declared we
could and would retrieve the blunder. He declared a bold step must be taken,
that, as the bankers had only seen the one credit, the name of Shipp, the sub-
manager, must be instantly put on the others. We had the genuine signature of
J.P. Shipp on a draft, and Mac at once sat down to write it on all the letters. It
was a trying ordeal for him, Mac's nerves having had a wrench. He was a
temperate man, but under the circumstances we advised him to take a glass of
brandy to steady his nerves. Then placing the genuine signature before him and
the forged letters, he began to put in the name. The signatures were not well

written, but under the trying circumstances they were wonderfully well done.
All this had taken place within half an hour after he had left the bank.
It was a trying ordeal, but Mac was quite willing to do as George advised. That
was that he should take several of the letters and march boldly into the bank and
say: "Here are my letters; they are all right. Both signatures are on all my letters
but the one, and from that the second signature has been in some way omitted."
George's last word to Mac was: "Rely upon us to extricate you from anything.
Keep cool. Act up to the character you have assumed. They can never fathom
that the names could have been written in so short a time. Boldly offer them
more exchange on London, and if there is any hesitation say you will transfer
your business to the English Bank of Rio at once."

"SURELY THE CLERKS IN THE BANK
KNOW HOW TO SPELL."—Page 172.
He started on his decisive errand, followed by us, in a miserable state of anxiety.
He was not long in the bank, but returned empty-handed. Upon meeting at the
designated place, he informed us the manager was evidently agreeably surprised
when shown the letters with both signatures, and transferred the indorsement
from the letter that had but one signature to one with two. Once more we had
matters all right, and the broken place patched up again, but it behooved us not
to do so any more. But we did.
During our stay in Rio we saw much to interest us. The negro was very much in
evidence. Slavery was still the law of the land; all the toil and burden-bearing
falls to the poor slave's lot. One day we all three took an early train and alighted
at a small hamlet on the border of a stream about thirty miles from Rio, beyond
the ranges of mountains that hem in the city. We managed to find some saddle
mules and started to see the country. We rode for some miles through a land
covered with moundlike hills, no sooner coming to the bottom of one than we
were ascending another. These hills are covered with coffee bushes filled with
red fruit, about the size of a cherry, each containing two kernels. The coffee was
being picked into large flat baskets by slaves, which, when filled, they carried
away on their heads to the drying grounds.
The roads were bordered with orange trees loaded with luscious fruit, to which
we helped ourselves. After a time we turned into a bridle path and rode some
miles through a dense forest. We emerged upon the outskirts of a coffee
plantation, where the slaves were just on their way to dinner, and another half
mile brought us to the planter's residence. Thirty or forty slaves of both sexes
and all ages were grouped upon the grass, engaged in eating a black-looking
stew out of metal dishes, their fingers serving for knives, forks and spoons.
Seeing three horsemen ride out of the forest, they stared in stupid wonder, until
one more intelligent than the others went in search of the overseer. Presently a
white man appeared, and, in response to Mac's "Parlate Italiano," came the
smiling answer, "Si, Signor," proving, as we wagered he would be, a native of
beggarly, sunny Italy.
The overseer showed us over the place, and explained all the processes of
preparing coffee for the market. In one corner of a large, unpainted building was
what he called the infirmary, and a comfortless looking place it was. He said
there was no doctor employed, and that he dealt out medicine to the slaves

himself. After being served with coffee we thanked him for our entertainment
and returned to Rio by an evening train.
The mail steamer Ebro was advertised to leave Rio for Liverpool on Wednesday
of the week following the exciting events narrated in the last chapter. This was
the mail that would carry the draft for £10,000 on the London and Westminster
Bank, along with a letter from the Rio bank, stating that they had cashed Mr.
Gregory Morrison's draft upon the letter issued by them.
Twenty-two or three days after the steamer left Rio the London bank would
know their correspondents in Rio had been victimized, but 8,000 miles of blue
water was between them, with no way to bridge it but by steam; so we had at
least forty-four days more to gather in our harvest. I ought to say, apparently
forty-four more days, for by an amazing blunder we were about to bring a storm
upon our heads.
The steamer we purposed to load our money on and ourselves, too, was the
Chimborazo, advertised to arrive on Tuesday and to leave for the River Plate
and the west coast the next day. So it was agreed that on Monday Mac should
go to the bank and arrange to cash his letters for twenty or thirty thousand
pounds, and go the next day for the money. As soon as Mac came from the bank
and announced that all was well, another of us was to call at the Bank of
London and Rio and the River Plate Bank, present his letters of introduction and
ask in each bank to have the five thousand pounds or ten thousand pounds ready
the next day. They purposed to call about 11 o'clock, so as to give me time to
exchange the Brazilian bank notes for sovereigns, and to buy my ticket by the
Chimborazo, to secure my stateroom and to take the gold to the steamer, and,
above all, to get my passport vised by the police.
Monday came. We expected a nervous day, not such a paralyzingly nervous one
as it proved to be. In fact, a nervous Tuesday followed a nervous Monday. My
reader must remember that we were in the tropics, with a blazing sun looking
down on us with an intensity that made one long for Greenland's icy mountains
to cool us.
We went into the public park for our last consultation before our fortune, which
never came, was to come.
Mac had in the little morocco case in his pocket two letters each for £20,000.
Certainly no man in the world, save him, could have carried off such a game
played for such high stakes. Handsome in person, faultless in address, cool in

nerve, a master of all the languages spoken in Rio—Portuguese, Spanish, Italian
and French. Above all, he had a boundless confidence in himself. What an
honorable future might have been his but for his youthful follies! Truly he could
have achieved a wonderful success in any honorable career. Unhappily for him,
he, like thousands of our brainiest youth, had entered the Primrose Way. In our
youthful fire and thoughtlessness we saw only the flowers and heard the siren's
song, but at last the Primrose Way led us down into a gloom where all the
flowers withered and the gay songs turned into dirges.
Looking at his watch Mac jumped up, saying: "It is 10.45 and time to be off."
So he started for the bank, we following at some distance, our nerves all on the
stretch. We felt that our lives and fortunes were trembling in the balance. The
minutes dragged like hours. While watching we saw several persons enter or
leave the bank, and still our friend delayed his appearance.
To our suspicious minds there appeared to be strange movements about the
bank that boded ill for us. A thousand suspicions born of our fears came and
went through our minds, until at last, unable to endure the suspense, I entered
the bank myself, and stood there, pretending I was waiting for some one. I
sharply scrutinized every one and everything. Mac was somewhere out of sight
in the private offices. The clerks were gossiping together, and that fact to me
was suspicious. Then, to my alarm, a bank clerk entered from the street with an
eagle-eyed man, a Hebrew, evidently, of about 45 years of age. Both passed
hurriedly into the private office, leaving me in an agony of suspense. My only
relief at that moment was the thought that George and myself had not as yet
compromised ourselves, and could, in the event of Mac's arrest, manage to save
him, either by bribery or a rescue.
Without appearing to do so, I watched that dingy, mottled door leading into the
private office until every crack and seam in it was photographed indelibly on
my brain.
In the trying periods of one's life, when the heart and soul are on the rack, how
strangely trifling details of the objects about one will be noticed and
remembered. It seems some cell of the brain, quite separate from the cell of
feeling and sensation, works calmly and steadily on, photographing the material
of one's surroundings.
I can never forget a flower worn by a lady guest at my table, when, in the midst
of enjoyment and surrounded by friends, the hand of the law in the form of a
burly detective was laid on me in Cuba. In all the misery and humiliation of that

scene I remember the peculiar color of the wood of a cigar box standing on the
sideboard. Doubtless each of my readers will recall some similar phenomenon
in his own life.
At last, unable to endure the suspense, above all, the uncertainty, I went to the
little door, and, opening it, looked in. To my intense relief I saw Mac sitting
there apparently talking unconcernedly with Braga, the manager, and the
Hebrew. As I had not attracted attention I closed the door, went out in the street
and gave George the pre-arranged signal that all was well. Just then our partner
appeared but with telltale face. It was flushed with chagrin and vexation, and
there was gone from the contour of his body that indescribable port that tells,
better than words, of confidence and victory.
We went by different routes to our rendezvous, and I will leave it to the
imagination of my readers to picture our state of mind as we listened to his
recital of woe—the tale of Priam's Troy over again.
Mac had been cordially received by the manager, and had told him he would
require £20,000 the next day; would he please have it ready? The manager
replied that he did not require any more exchange on London, but that he would
send out for his broker, who would sell his bills on the exchange. He (the
manager) would indorse the bills of exchange and indorse the amounts on his
letters of credit. Of course, Mac could only acquiesce, and Mr. Braga sent a
clerk to his broker, Mr. Meyers, to come around. This was the sharp-eyed
Hebrew whom I saw enter.
The manager introduced Meyers to "Mr. Gregory Morrison," and explained that
he was to sell exchange for £20,000 on Morrison's credit, which the bank would
indorse. Meyers said: "Please show me your letters." Putting his hand into his
breast pocket and pulling out the little morocco case containing the two letters,
he handed the case and contents to Meyers, who, probably without suspicion of
anything being wrong, unrolled both letters, and holding them in his hands, ran
his sharp eyes down one of them and read right through the body of the letter.
They came to the "note," which read: "All sums drawn against this credit please
endorce on the back, and notify the London and Westminster Bank at once."
Here he suddenly halted, turned his hawk's eye on Mac and said: "Why, sir,
here's the word indorse misspelled. Surely the clerks in the London banks know
how to spell!"
Here was a thunderbolt, indeed, that pierced poor Mr. Gregory Morrison
through and through, but he showed no sign. He coolly remarked that he did not

care to have his bills sold on the exchange, but would go and see the people of
the London and Rio and River Plate Banks, as they probably would want
exchange and would doubtless let him have what money he required. Meyers
said very sharply, "Have you letters to those banks?" "I have," said Mac, at the
same time producing two, one to each bank, and each bearing the stamp of their
respective banks.
That he had these letters was a happy thing, and no one under forty days' time
could say for a fact that they were not genuine. The dramatic production of
these letters lulled the fast gathering suspicions, and would have called a halt
had they purposed any serious action, for the reason that during the forty days it
would take to communicate with London the credits could not be proved to be
forgeries. That such letters existed at all was due entirely to the foresight which
had provided to meet just such a contingency.
We all were for a brief few seconds utterly dumfounded, but quickly aroused
ourselves to the necessity of instant action to protect our comrade. We saw that
we must at once give over all thought of trying to do any more business in Rio,
and set all our inventions and energy at work to save the £10,000 and to
smuggle our companion safely out of Rio. But how?

CHAPTER XVII.
ONCE MORE WE SAIL THE SEAS OVER.

Here in our country we know nothing of the annoyances and humbuggery of the
passport system, but now, as in 1872, every person desiring to leave Brazil must
be provided with a passport—if a foreigner, from his own Government; if a
native, one from the government of Brazil. When ready to leave the country he
must take his passport to police headquarters and get it vised, at the same time
notifying the police of the steamer he proposes to sail on. Leaving the passport
with the agent from whom he buys his ticket, the latter, after ascertaining from
the police that the intending passenger is not wanted by the authorities,
transmits the passport to the purser of the steamer, who, in turn, hands it to the
passenger after the vessel is at sea.
It will be seen that these regulations make it difficult for a suspected person to
leave Brazil by the regular channels of communication, and there are no back
doors of escape in that country. Once in any seaport town you must, if you leave
at all, sail out of the harbor mouth, for in the other direction, that is, inland, one
is confronted by the mighty tropical forests, the greater portion of which has
never been looked upon by the eye of man; and between all the seaports the
same impenetrable forest stretches.
So, straight out of the harbor between the Sugar Loaf and Fort Santa Cruz Mac
had to sail. How he should do so with safety was the problem we had to solve.
In this venture it would not do to have any blunders. Without doubt the steamers
would be watched for him, and instant arrest and incarceration in the deadly
tropical prison would be his lot if discovered in the attempt to slip out of the
country.
To complicate the matter here it was Monday, and no steamer to sail until
Wednesday, so there were forty-eight hours of frightful anxiety ahead of us.
The Ebro, going to Europe, was in the harbor taking in cargo and coal. The
Chimborazo, going South, was not yet signaled, and we determined at all
hazards to get him off by the Ebro. We all had American passports, and by the
use of chemicals could alter the names and descriptions on them at will.

Of course, the names in our passports were the same as we had in our letters.
George went to police headquarters, and giving a douceur to an attendant, had
the "vise" put on his passport at once. Then going to the passenger agent he
bought a ticket to Liverpool by the Ebro, and by paying ten guineas extra had a
stateroom assigned to him alone. After this he took a boat and went out to the
steamer, carrying with him two bags of oranges and stowed them away under
the bottom berths.
To make the escape a success it was decided prudent for George as Wilson to
get the agent well acquainted with his face and appearance, so if the question
was asked, "Who is this Wilson?" the police would see by the description it was
not the man they were looking for. For the next forty hours George made the
agent very tired. At one time he would want to know if he could not get some
reduction in the passenger rate, or if the Ebro was seaworthy, or if there was any
danger of her engines breaking down, etc., until the agent got not only to know
"Mr Wilson," but wished him at the bottom of the sea.
When George started for the police office he left Mac and me alone in the park.

"POINTING TO THE GOLD, MAC SAID:
BOYS HELP YOURSELVES."—Page 244.
It was absolutely essential that Mac should put in one more appearance at
the bank. It was an ordeal, but one he had to undergo. He even dreaded to
return to his hotel, but go he must; so, just before the bank closed, he called
in and casually informed the manager that he should start the next morning
for S. Romao, a town in the interior of Brazil, to be absent a week. He was
then to go to the Hotel d'Europe, pay his bill, at the same time stating that
he was to leave Rio by the 4 o'clock train the next morning, for San Paulo.
As Mac had two trunks and other impedimenta befitting a man of his

importance, it was necessary to take a carriage to the station, which was
nearly a mile distant. It would be unsafe to go in a carriage belonging to the
hotel; therefore, he was to say that a friend would call for him. As it was
still two hours to sunset, I suggested that after he had arranged matters he
should saunter out, walk about the streets until dark, then return to the hotel
and be ready when George should call for him at 3 o'clock the next
morning.
After these arrangements we separated, George and I following to ascertain
if he was being watched or shadowed by detectives. When he entered the
hotel we remained in view of the entrance. It was not long before he
reappeared and walked leisurely along the street. A few seconds after we
saw another man come out, cross the street, and go in the same direction. I
followed him, and was soon satisfied that he was keeping Mac in view. This
sort of double hunt was kept up until dusk, when Mac returned to his hotel,
unconscious that a moment later his "shadow" entered the place also. Here
was a complication, indeed, though it was no more than we had anticipated
among the possibilities; still, I had indulged in the hope that the bank would
rely entirely upon the passport system, and take no further steps for a day or
two, which was all the time required to carry out our plan. Though Mac had
good nerve, it was already somewhat shaken, and surely the situation would
have unnerved most men. Therefore, fearing that the certain knowledge of
imminent danger might still further confuse him and cause some false
move, we determined to keep our discovery to ourselves.
George next proceeded to an obscure part of the town, and stopping at a
small but respectable looking tavern, he engaged a room for the next day,
also a carriage, with an English-speaking driver, to be in readiness at 3
o'clock the next morning. Promptly at the hour he was at the livery stable,
where he found the carriage ready, and was driven to the Hotel d'Europe.
Sending the driver up to the office on the second floor, Mac soon appeared
and informed him that he had promised to take to the station a man who
was stopping at the hotel. "He is going to S. Romao by the same train,"
continued Mac, "and seems a good fellow, for I had a long talk with him
last night." Upon seeing signs of disapproval in my face, he explained:
"Well, you know, he said he could not get a carriage at so early an hour in
the morning, and I thought it could do no harm to take him in, and he is
waiting upstairs."

Here I joined them, and it would be difficult for the reader to imagine the
effect of this surprising communication upon our minds, for it was clear
enough that this was the very person who had been "shadowing" Mac the
day before, and had skillfully ingratiated himself into his new friend's
confidence. I could but admire his nerve in asking a contemplated victim
for a ride to the station. I said to Mac: "What in the world can you be
thinking of? Don't you see you are blocking our whole plan? Go up and tell
him your carriage is loaded down with luggage, and express your regrets
that you cannot accommodate him."
During this time the baggage was being placed in the carriage, and as soon
as Mac had dismissed his "passenger," who for some reason did not show
himself, we started rapidly for the station. On the way I requested him to
avoid making any new friends until he should find himself well out at sea. I
said:
"It might be fatal to attract the attention of any one, or to let any one see
you leave the train. Of course, this new acquaintance of yours is only a
countryman, but it is not possible to foresee what disaster the least mistake
or want of caution might originate. These cars are on the English system,
divided into compartments. You must go into the station, stand near the
ticket office until your new acquaintance comes, then observe if he buys a
first-class; if so, you take a second, and vice versa. Pay no attention to him,
and let him see you get into your compartment, but keep an eye on his
movements. In case he comes to get in where you are, despite the different
class of the tickets, tell him the compartment is engaged. Everything
depends on how you carry yourself through the next twenty minutes. A
single false step, a word too little or too much, will surely prove fatal to all,
for if anything happens to you, we remain in Brazil."
In accordance with our pre-arranged plan, I stopped the carriage opposite
the station, it being still dark. Mac alighted, went straight inside, and in a
few minutes saw his "passenger" come puffing in, nearly out of breath.
Unquestionably supposing Mac's baggage to be already on the train, he
purchased a ticket, and after seeing his intended victim enter a
compartment, got into another himself just as the train began to move. This
was the vital moment for which Mac had been waiting, and, quickly
opening the door on the opposite side, he stepped off on that side, hastily

crossed to the other platform of the dimly lighted station, and made his way
unnoticed into the street. While this was passing, I sat in the carriage, and it
was not many minutes before I had the satisfaction of seeing Mac coming
back. But for the benefit of the driver we then had a dialogue somewhat as
follows:
"It is too bad. Our friends have not arrived. What shall we do?"
"Well, I suppose we must go back to the hotel and wait for the afternoon
train," I answered.
"But I have paid my bill there," said Mac, "and do not care to go back."
"Then," I replied, "meet me at the station, and I will look after the luggage."
In case they recovered the trail, the information obtained from the driver
would cause confusion and delay sufficient, I hoped, to enable us to get
Mac out of Rio.
I then told the coachman to drive me into the city. It was not yet daylight,
but after a while I saw a sort of eating house and tavern combined, and had
the carriage halted there. Alighting, I entered and said to the person in
charge that I did not wish to disturb my friends at so early an hour, and
would pay him for taking care of my baggage, as I wished to discharge the
carriage. The offer was, of course, accepted, the baggage housed and the
carriage dismissed. In the mean time Mac was waiting for us in an
appointed place not far away, where I joined him, and we went to the
obscure tavern where the room had been engaged. George was awaiting us.
So far our plan was successful. Mac was safely hidden away, while his
clever friend was speeding miles away on a wild goose chase. There was
only one train a day each way, and we knew the detective could not get
back to Rio until late. We felt certain that when he found Mac was not on
the train he would think his intended victim had slipped off at some way
station—possibly with a view of making his escape into the interior; even if
he sent a dispatch to the bank—an unlikely thing for a Brazilian to do—it
would doubtless be to the effect that his quarry had left Rio on the early
train that morning with him.

VIEW OF MONTEVIDEO.
We passed some trying hours together. Then George left to take Mac's
baggage off to the steamer. He engaged two stalwart porters; they stand on
every corner busily engaged in plaiting straw for hats while waiting for a
job. Dividing the baggage between the two he had it carried to the wharf,
and, taking a small boat, quickly had it stowed in the hold and the small
articles carried to the stateroom. Soon after he joined us on shore.
It was but 10 o'clock when he came, and it was with something like dismay
that we realized that the whole day was before us. Until the day before,
when Mac was in the bank, I had never known how long an hour was, but
this day we all came to know how long a day could be.
The Ebro was anchored out in the bay. Her coal was all stowed, but strings
of barges laden with sacks of coffee were alongside. She was advertised to
sail sharp at noon.
I went out once or twice to the bank and police headquarters, hanging about
for a few minutes to see if there was anything suspicious, but there was
nothing, and each time I hastened back to Mac.

Our presence cheered him up, and he could not brook our absence. At last
the long day drew to an end and the shadows, to our intense relief, began to
darken in our little room, where we were holding our watch. The tropic
night closes quickly in. Soon the city was shrouded in darkness, and we
sallied out to the beach at the head of the bay to find relief in movement.
The time passed quicker then, and at last we sat down on some wreckage
there and watched the tropic night as it revealed its wealth of stars, and
sitting there we began to philosophize, moralizing upon the destiny of man
and his relations to things seen and unseen, upon spiritual force; most of all
upon divine justice, which in the end evens up all things. But like so many
other philosophers who write the style of the gods and make a pish at
fortune, we failed to make a personal application of our philosophy.
Near by there was a boat stand from which we had resolved to embark for
the steamer about two miles away. The night was lovely as a dream, and we
knew that midnight would find a large number of passengers on deck, many
of whom would pass the night there. Forward was all the bustle and
confusion inseparable from receiving and stowing cargo.
At 9 o'clock I left them to go and get the remainder of the gold not yet on
board—some four thousand pounds. The street cars passed near by, and
within half an hour I returned with the gold in a bag swung from my
shoulder by a heavy strap. I also had with me a woman's wrap and a silk
shawl. We sat for an hour longer, and then securing a boat with two negro
rowers, we pulled for the ship. Three or four small boats were fastened to
the companion ladder, and our arrival attracted no attention. Two officials in
uniform—probably custom officers—stood at the companion way. It was an
anxious moment, but we slipped through the dimly lighted cabins and
passages, and were soon safely in the stateroom. Bidding both good-bye,
and promising to be on board again at 8 in the morning, I went ashore and
straight to bed, and soon was dreaming of starlit seas, of tropic woods and
Summer bowers, white and sweet with May blossoms. My health then, as
now, was perfect, and I awoke fresh and hopeful. After breakfasting on a
dish of prawns and another of soft-shelled crabs, I was off across the bay.
Soon after 8 I knocked softly at the stateroom door, was admitted and
presented the lunch I had brought. They gave me a warm greeting, but
neither had slept. The room had been hot and stuffy, and the noise of
stowing cargo had helped to banish sleep. Both were unnerved somewhat,

but I had just come off shore confident and cheerful, and my confidence and
spirits proved infectious.
I knew by sight the chief of police and those just under him. I also knew
Braga, the bank manager, by sight. They, of course, did not know me, and I
could, unsuspected, be a looker-on in Vienna. Soon the passengers, their
friends and many idle visitors came off in boatloads, while I, of course,
scrutinized every boatload as it came up the side of the ship.
At 9.30 I saw a boat coming, which, when half a mile away, I recognized as
containing the chief of police and several of his subordinates; ten minutes
after Braga and one of the bank officials came, the only passengers in their
boat, and at once joined the police on the after deck and stood with them
waiting and watching the boats as they arrived. In the mean time babel
reigned around the ship. About three score boats surrounded her, the owners
selling to the passengers everything from oranges to monkeys, snakes and
parrots.
I determined to conceal from George and Mac that Braga and the police
were on the ship, and about every twenty minutes I would slip down and
report "All's well;" but soon after 10 o'clock the enemy were joined by the
ticket agent from shore, and I could see they were contemplating some
movement. Slipping down to the cabin, I said: "Boys, everything is all
right; keep perfectly cool. Braga and the police are pulling to the ship and
may search it; if so, it will take half an hour to get here. I will keep
everything in my eye and give you ample notice." I then returned on deck
and stood among the officials. They conversed in Portuguese, which was
Greek to me; soon the agent dived below and reappeared with the manifest
of the passengers, and an enormous heap of passports. After some
conversation they sent the passports back; then, headed by the agent and
purser, manifest in hand, they began to verify the list and scrutinize the
passengers in the staterooms. Once more I hurried below and reported.
Mac was naturally very dignified, but divesting himself of coat, vest and
dignity at the same time, he planted himself under the berth. Very close and
very hot quarters he found it, and we put the bags of oranges in front,
disposing of them so as to make it appear as if they filled the whole space,
when in reality they were a mere screen.

Then we opened the door to the fullest extent. We had taken off our coats—
it being frightfully hot—and with a bottle of claret and a bowl of ice
standing on the little washstand and two glasses all in full view, we awaited
the arrival of our friends, the enemy.
Our door was flat against the partition, giving a full sweep of the room to
the eye of the passerby, and George and I waited confidently for the
inspection we knew was inevitable. I sat on the foot of the lower berth,
smoking and swinging my feet. George sat on a folding camp-stool, with
his face toward the door, but not obstructing the view. Soon the procession
arrived, with the ticket agent in front. When he saw George he at once
recognized him as the Mr. Wilson who had bought the ticket, and he simply
said: "How do you do, Mr. Wilson?" and passed on without looking in the
room. Braga and the police followed, casually glanced at us two, and were
gone. I put on my coat and followed the procession, and at 11.30 they went
up on the after deck, evidently satisfied that their man was not on the ship,
and contented themselves with watching new arrivals. I flew down, gave
them the good news that the search was over, and poor Mac, half-roasted,
came from behind the bags of oranges. Declaring he was roasted alive and
dying of thirst, he finished the bottle of iced claret.
Ten minutes before 12 the bell was rung and all people for shore were
warned to leave. Soon we heard the pleasant sound of the steam winch
lifting the anchor, and at noon precisely, to our relief, the screw began to
revolve at quarter speed, and the Ebro to respond by forging slowly ahead.
All boats fell off but ours and the police boat. At last, after giving a good
look up and down the bay, Braga and the police entered the boats, and,
casting off, soon were left behind. Once more and for the last time I flew
down to the cabin. They saw the good news in my face; then, shaking Mac's
hand in hearty farewell, we ran to the upper deck, down the ladder into our
boat, and a moment later the big ship, putting on full steam, left us astern,
we ordering the boatman to pull hard after the ship. Mac soon appeared on
the after deck, and waved his handkerchief to us in farewell. We gave him
three cheers, and, excited and happy, with our long anxiety over, we
returned to the shore.
With Mac sailing northward ho! with Wilson's passport and ticket in his
pocket, and all our money save two thousand pounds in his trunk, our

buccaneering expedition on the Spanish Main was over and all but a failure
when comparing the £10,000 we had captured with our magnificent
expectations.
Here was a gigantic and well-conceived scheme which had almost
collapsed through trifles, which, to an honest enterprise would have been
light as air, but which to us and to our plans were of crushing force, built
up, as all schemes of wrong doing are, on foundations of sand.
To conclude very briefly the narrative of this expedition, I will here add that
the day after Mac's departure, altering his passport to fit George's
description, we sailed on the Chimborazo south to Montevideo. Upon our
arrival we, with all other passengers for the town, were promptly put in
quarantine for ten days in a vile little island called in irony the Isle of
Flowers; but the mails were fumigated and sent through, as were two
additional mails arriving from Europe and Rio. When our quarantine was
over we were permitted to enter the city. We found that some advice or
rumor had reached there, and we feared to venture our letters of credit for
money. So, destroying all documents save our passports, we paid a visit to
Buenos Ayres, and then we embarked on a French steamer for Marseilles,
arriving there without any particular adventure, and the next day had a
happy meeting with Mac in Paris.

CHAPTER XVIII.
LITTLE FISHES WRIGGLING THROUGH GREEN
WAVES.

Once more together and our adventures since we separated related, the
question arose: What next?
We determined to abandon our dangerous business, for we had capital
sufficient to start in an honest career, and resolved to do so. For a long time
our attention had been turned to Colorado, and we had frequently talked
over a project of going to some growing city there, starting a bank and
building a wheat elevator and stockyards. Fifty thousand dollars would start
our bank, and $10,000, with some credit, the elevator and yards. This sum
we had, with an additional $10,000 to pay our way until profit came in from
our investments. Here was another great and honorable scheme—one easily
carried out had we only gone on with it. What a success we might have
made, particularly so when considered in the light of the development of
Colorado since 1872 and our energy and knowledge of business.
In Paris we all stopped at the Hotel Meurice, Rue Rivoli, and spent much
time sightseeing. We were particularly interested in viewing the battlefields
around Paris—so interested, in fact, that we read up the whole history of the
mighty struggle with Germany, which ended in throwing France into the
dust. We, like most of the world here, got our ideas of the war and the
battles from the current news of the day, as published in the newspapers,
and we had a general idea that the Frenchmen had not made much of a
fight. That conclusion could only be arrived at by a superficial knowledge
such as had been ours. Investigation upon the spot and a study of impartial
authorities soon opened our eyes to the fact that France only succumbed
after a mighty and most heroic struggle. The first few weeks of the war saw
her entire regular army captive, and transported prisoners across the Rhine.
That army had made a brave but unfortunate fight. Badly commanded, with
the transport and subsistence utterly demoralized, they were no match for
the mighty hosts that Germany poured across the Rhine. Perfectly equipped,

matchless in discipline since the palmy days of Rome, commanded by the
foremost military intellects of the age, they met the French, overmatching
them at every point of contact; enveloping their columns with masses of
infantry, or sweeping them with murderous storms of shot and shell, or
launching a magnificent cavalry at them, against which French valor—ill
directed as it was—proved futile, and that splendid array of 480,000 men
had to ground their arms, surrender their colors, and, to their own
unspeakable shame and humiliation, become captive to their foes, leaving
their beloved France defenseless. But the loss of their army, no more than
their thronging foes, dismayed France. The heart of the nation was stirred,
and from the Rhine to the Atlantic, from the Channel to the blue
Mediterranean, France rose as one man. They saw the entire military force
of Germany encamped on their soil, and in their undisciplined valor, hurled
themselves against it, and gave to their astounded foes an exhibition of
Titanic force and determined valor whose story, when known, will become
the admiration of all generations of men.
It was against the decree of Heaven that France should win in the struggle,
but she fell only to rise the higher for the fall. The year 1871 saw France in
the dust, with the armies of her foe encamped over more than half her soil,
with robber-like demands for huge sums of gold ere the modern Goths
would march home again. To-day she stands the marvel of the world. Twice
the France of 1870, with the busy hum of industry through all her borders,
an overflowing treasury, a contented people and an army and many which
are the awe of Europe. To-day the enemy that flung her to earth twenty-four
years ago, seeks safety from her attack in defensive alliances with all the
nations of the Continent.
We resolved to see Europe before returning to America, so the next few
weeks were spent in a pleasure jaunt.
In the course of it we visited Vienna, remaining there some time and
bringing away many and pleasant memories of that music-loving old city on
the Danube. We finally all returned to Wiesbaden together and visited the
Casino, watching the play and players with an interest that never flagged.
Here we saw such vast sums of money ever changing hands that we almost
insensibly began to think the thousands we had were as nothing, and when
divided up, the sum coming to each seemed almost beggarly.

Gradually we began to speculate as to the desirability of doubling our
capital once or twice at least, before we threw up our hands and gave up the
game. I need hardly tell the reader that what at first was a philosophical
speculation, an airy theory of a possibility, rapidly crystallized into steadfast
purpose and determinate resolve, and soon our brains were working, and
readily brought forth a new scheme. For was not there the Bank of England,
with uncounted millions in her vaults, and was not I, as Frederick Albert
Warren, a customer of the bank, and as such were not the vaults of the bank
at our disposition?
We rated our powers high and fondly thought that, speaking in a general
way, honesty was the best policy, yet in our case there was an exception to
the rule. We felt and acknowledged we were doing wrong, but since the
wrong (apparently) profited us, we would do wrong that good might come
thereby.
Finally we resolved to go on with our postponed assault upon the money
bags of the Bank of England, at the same time evolving a plan that seemed
to promise unbounded wealth and complete immunity for us all.
So we packed our baggage, bade farewell to Wiesbaden, and one early June
morning in 1872 saw us all once more in smoky London, resolved to rouse
that Old Lady called the Bank of England from her century-long slumber
spent in dreaming of her impregnability.
In Frankfort there are several firms, Fischer by name, all bankers, and as
soon as we determined to return to London, Mac wrote a letter in French to
the Bank of England and signed it H. V. Fischer, which, of course, would
leave the manager to suppose his correspondent was one of the Fischer
bankers. In the letter he said his distinguished customer, Mr. F. A. Warren,
had written him from St Petersburg, requesting him to transfer to his
account in the Bank of England the small balance remaining to his credit on
his (Fischer's) books, therefore he had the honor to inclose bills on London
for £13,500, payable to the order of the manager, said sum to be placed to
the credit of Mr. F. A. Warren.
I took this letter to Frankfort, and, having purchased bills of exchange on
London to the amount named, inclosed them and mailed the letter. A day or
so after I received a letter at Frankfort from the manager of the bank,

acknowledging the receipts of the drafts, and announcing that the proceeds
of the same had duly been placed to the credit of F. A. Warren. So I had
over $67,000 to my credit, and had now been a depositor for five months.
George took up his residence at a private house in the west end of London,
while Mac and I went to the Grosvenor Hotel.
This hotel was one of the very few then in England which were allowed by
the aristocrats of London society to be what they called highly respectable,
that is, exclusive, and, therefore, a fit dwelling place for their dainty selves.
In Dublin there is one of these highly respectable hostels, the Gresham, on
Sackville street. This hotel was a type of all of the sort I mention. I once
stopped at the Gresham for a week and became one of the "nobility and
gentry" that frequent these hotels. The waiters all wore full-dress suits,
faultless in cut and fit, and the chief event in their daily existence, the
serving of the table d'hote, wore white kid gloves. The bewildering changes
of varied colored dishes (I mean crockery ware), was something to make
one stare. Course number one brought on a soup dish of pale violet color,
quite a work of art, but its contents was a watery compound with an artistic
name. Course number two consisted of a unique plate, light green in color,
with little fishes wriggling through green waves, but bearing on it a small
insipid portion of a genuine inhabitant of the deep; and so on, course
followed course, each on a different colored plate. If the dinner was
intended for an exhibition of crockery, each one of the seven I had there
was a success, but, however gratifying to the eye the dinners might be, they
were lamentable failures so far as stomach and appetite were concerned; but
when I came to pay my bill I found the white kid gloves and the fancy china
again; they were all in it, and many more things as well. The bill was more
than a foot long, filled with such items as soap, sixpence; one envelope, one
penny; one sheet note paper, one penny; bath, two shillings; extra towels
and soap for same, sixpence, and so on through the line.
We found the Grosvenor another Gresham. However, as we wanted to stop
at a swell hotel, we concluded—so long as we were there—to remain; but
after a few days we found the cuisine "highly respectable;" that is, for
dinner one could get roast—either beef or mutton. As for vegetables, we
were strictly limited to turnips, cauliflowers, cabbage and potatoes, and, for

dessert, the famous apple tart of England, more deadly even than our mince
pie.

SOME NATIVES I MET IN TAWNY, SPAIN.—
Page 290.
The proprietor of a certain popular restaurant in New York has a fad for
hanging elaborately got-up Scripture texts—exhortations mostly—around
the walls of his restaurant. Interspersed with these are advertisements of his

eatables—also exhortations—such as, "Try our buckwheat cakes, 10 cents;"
"Try our doughnuts and coffee;" between the two exhortations, a third
bidding one flee from the wrath to come; but the most fetching of all are
two companion cards. On the one is the legend, "Try our hot mince pie;" on
the other is displayed the apropos warning, "Prepare to meet thy God."
So we resolved to sleep at the Grosvenor, but to avoid the apple tart. We
soon discovered a good restaurant near by, where we dined, and, as I am on
the subject of dining, I will finish this chapter with a little narrative, the
moral of which I will leave my readers to find: We were now settled down
in London, prepared to devote all our attention to that Old Lady—The B. of
E.—and, in accordance with a habit of ours, we began to look for some safe
place—hotel, cafe or restaurant—where we could meet, run in at any time
for consultation, or to write notes. Three things were requisite—nearness to
the money centre of the city, a room where we could be secluded from
people coming and going, and a proprietor clever enough not to be
inquisitive, with a genius for minding his own business. A man who has a
genius for that thing always carries it in his face, just as his opposite—the
busybody—carries the traces of his restless inquisitiveness in the face and
manner.
That same day we discovered, in a small street leading off Finsbury, a shop
with a sign over the door bearing the legend: "Licensed to sell spirits and
caterer." It had canned and potted meats, along with bottles of wine, in the
window, but was evidently fast going to seed. We pushed our way in and
found a bright, fresh-looking young Englishman, evidently a countryman,
but intelligent and civil, much like a gamekeeper. We knew at once we had
our place and man.
After some weeks we observed, now and then, a couple of sharp-looking
customers hanging about the place.
We feared being watched, and began to think it time to change, so suddenly
ceased calling at mine host's snuggery and took up new quarters in a private
house not far away. About two months later I happened to be near and
called. He received me warmly, and told me we had saved him from
bankruptcy. He had been a gamekeeper on a nobleman's estate, and his wife
had been a housemaid there. They married against the wishes of their

master, but they had five hundred pounds, and, coming to London, started
business on that. Custom was poor, and soon they were at the end of their
rope, when, happily for them, we came along and spent money enough in
his place to set him on his feet again.

BANK OF ENGLAND BULLION VAULTS.

CHAPTER XIX.
WITH NO REGRETS, WITH NO TORTURING REMORSE.

Although I had the very respectable balance of $67,000 at the bank, I had
not as yet, since my arrival in London, paid it a visit. This was in pursuance
of our plans. So far I had only done business with the supernumeraries, and
none of the people at the top had ever even heard of me. But we determined
that they should not long remain in ignorance of the great American
contractor, F. A. Warren.
Three months had elapsed since our departure from London on our piratical
tour to the Spanish Main. In all nearly five months had elapsed since Green
had introduced me to the Old Lady whose impregnable vaults we had now
at last determined to loot. That in itself was a favorable circumstance, as it
would give me a chance to flourish in a grandly indefinite way to the effect
that I had "for some time" been a customer of the bank, and none of the
officials would probably take the trouble to ascertain how very brief, in fact,
my acquaintance had been.
I left London by the night mail from Victoria Station for Paris, the first of
many hurried trips I took to the Continent on the business we had entered
upon. Truly, we worked hard, spent money lavishly, brought all our power
and genius to work—for what? To have the lightning fall on us.
Upon my arrival I drove at once to the Hotel Bristol, Place Vendome, a
swell hotel, where none but the great sirs o' the earth could afford to stop.
Here I registered as F. A. Warren, London, and at once sent off the
following letter:
P. M. Francis, Esq., Manager Bank of England, London.
Dear Sir: I am a customer of the bank, therefore I take the liberty of
troubling you in the hope to have the benefit of your advice.

Will you kindly inform me what good 4 per cent. stocks are to be had in the
market, also if the bank will transact the business for me?
I remain very truly yours,
F. A. WARREN.
By return mail came a letter wherein I was advised to invest in India 4 per
cents or London Gas. I wrote an immediate order to have the bank purchase
ten thousand pounds of India stock and sent my check for that amount, on
his own bank, payable to the order of the manager. I received the stock,
instantly sold it, and replaced the money to my credit, and the next day sent
off an order for ten thousand pounds gas stock, and repeated the operation
until I had made the impression I wanted to make on the mind of the
manager, so that when I returned to London for my decisive interview and
sent in my card he would at once recognize the name, F. A. Warren, as the
multi-millionaire American who had been sending him ten thousand pound
checks from Paris.
All the time of my stay in France I had nothing to do but enjoy myself, and
I entered upon a systematic sightseeing in and around Paris. There are some
strange contrasts in that old town. One day I made one of a coaching party
to Fontainebleau, twenty-one miles from the city. Every foot of the road
there is classic ground, and I had assiduously studied day by day the history
of France. That Paris is France is nearly a truth, and I had in my mind a
tolerably clear view of the history of the country and of the men who made
its history. I was right there on the scene of the history-making, and I found
an intensity of interest in my excursions such as I had never experienced
before. The driver of the coach was an Englishman by the name of Nunn. I
mention this here, as he eventually became my servant, and will appear
again in the narrative.
To the Parisian hotel proprietor and shopkeeper the American visitor is truly
a providence. "Mine host" looks to him for loaves and fishes, and is never
deceived. The antics of our rich countrymen in Paris are portentous in their
amazing prodigality, and I fear we are the laughing stock of the shopkeepers
there.

At the Cafe Riche and Tortoni's I have seen extravagances in ordering
expensive wines and viands by my countrymen that made me regret that the
fools who were being served were not forced to toil for the mere necessaries
of existence. Certainly they were unworthy stewards of the wealth heaven
or the other place had bestowed on them by inheritance. I remember one
boy there throwing away in vice and dissipation the fortune his father had
through years of a long life spent toilsome hours in accumulating. I sat at a
table near him on several occasions, when, after his banquet was half over,
he used to reward the waiter with a five-hundred franc note ($100), but the
proprietor was ever close at hand and would instantly despoil the garcon of
his prize. He was companioned by a member of the demi-monde, who,
when arrayed in male attire, as she was nightly, would cut up enough
monkey tricks in one night at the Valentino or Mabille to have made the
fortunes of all our comic paper artists had they been on the spot to catch her
antics with a kodak and then lay them before an admiring public.
The fortune this boy had inherited was unfortunately too vast and too well-
invested by his overfond and madly foolish father for the son to run through
it entirely. A very few years left him an imbecile in body and mind, to
become the prey of a parcel of sharks who, dressing in purple and fine linen
and faring sumptuously every day, held him in a state of abject slavery and
fear. One day, aboard his own yacht, off Naples, they married him to a
notorious woman. Under the guardianship of his wife and her villain
paramour he wandered like a spectre amid the scene of his former riot.
For long at Monte Carlo he lingered like a ghost, and at last died in
Florence. The American colony attended his funeral in a body, while his
widow, dissolved in tears, refused to be comforted. Although many dark
stories were whispered, the Americans there forgave her all, for her grief
and sorrow were so overpoweringly evident that it would have seemed a
crime to doubt her tender love for the departed. After having the body
embalmed, she embarked with her dead love for America, and to-day his
ashes rest in that mighty city of the dead, Greenwood, under a Greek cross
of white marble, bearing the date of birth and death. I went to see it last
Easter week. The grave was strewn with flowers, and the pedestal bears this
inscription:

"Too good for this world,
The angels bore him to heaven,
Leaving his heartbroken wife
To mourn her unspeakable loss."
Unopposed she succeeded to her husband's estate. It was large then; to-day
it has grown to enormous proportions. She is not, but easily might have
been, one of the Four Hundred.
At Saratoga last August I saw her sitting on the balcony of the United States
Hotel—fat, wrinkled, vulgar-looking, covered with diamonds. Nemesis
appears to have postponed her visit to the lady. Her life from her own
standpoint has been a tremendous success. She has been philosopher
enough to appreciate what an immense factor mere eating and drinking is in
the sum of human enjoyment. Born with a cold heart, a constitution of iron,
and the digestion of an ostrich, happily for her peace of mind she was
absolutely without imagination.

"IN MY DREAM I WAS ON A SHORELESS
SEA."—Page 286.

To fill the sum of human happiness (from her own standpoint) she only
required one other thing, a good bank account, and that, she said, heaven
had put in her way, so her life has been filled full of joy, and of the only sort
she cared for or could appreciate. In her early years, when her passions
were strong, lover and paramour followed in rapid succession. When her
blood grew cold she found her delight in the pleasures of the table, and

keeping the same cook, who was an expert, for twenty years, and exercising
freely, 1894 found her at 60 with a strong pulse, a perfect digestion and a
keen enjoyment of sport, racing in particular, and, on the whole, enjoying
life as well as any woman in the universe, with no regrets, no torturing
remorse, but with a serene faith that when done with this world she—never
having done anything very bad here—will have a pretty good time in the
world to come.

ENTRANCE TO BULLION VAULTS, BANK OF ENGLAND.

CHAPTER XX.
DETAILS NECESSARY, IF TEDIOUS.

After the events narrated in the last chapter, I returned to London. I arrived
early in the morning, and, meeting my companions, we had a long and
anxious talk over my near-approaching and all-important interview with
that great Sir of the London world, the manager of the Bank of England.
Happy for us if in that interview the manager had asked for the customary
references, or had used ordinary business precaution and investigated me,
or, indeed, had acted as any ordinary business man would have done under
ordinary circumstances. Our own conclusions were that the fact that I was
already a depositor, together with the impression made by the letters and my
£10,000 checks, would put the thing through. Yet we, of course, felt that a
thousand things could arise to block our way effectually. A look, a word too
much, a shadow, or a smile in my face might ruin all; but still, after
providing so far as possible for every contingency, after planning what was
to be said or left unsaid at the interview, after my companions filling me full
of advice, we felt after all that everything must be left to my discretion, to
say and to act as I thought best under the circumstances.
This council of war was held in my room in the Grosvenor. I had arrived
from Paris at 6 o'clock. Mac and I breakfasted together at 8. George joined
us at 9, and we talked until 10, then we set out together for the bank.
Arriving there, they remained outside, watching for my reappearance.
Entering the bank, I sent in my card (F. A. Warren) by a liveried flunkey,
and was immediately ushered into the manager's parlor. He has long since
gone over to the majority, so here I will not so much as name or describe
him. Sufficient to say, that as soon as I set eyes upon him I thought that we
would have no particular difficulty in carrying out our plans, save only so
far as details went.
The manager, who had been told that I was a railroad contractor, expressed
himself highly gratified to have me do my business through the bank, and
said they would do all in their power to accommodate me. I told him that, of

course, I was financing large sums, and would require more or less
discounts before the year was out. Then I came away, and meeting my two
friends outside of the bank, in answer to their eager inquiries as to what had
transpired, I told them that, so far as the bank officials were concerned, our
way to the vaults of the bank was wide open.
So ended the last scene of Act I.
The next day I went to the Continental Bank, in Lombard street, and bought
sight exchange on Paris for 200,000 francs, paying for it by a check on the
Bank of England. I was given a note of identification to the Paris agent of
the bank.
That night I left Victoria Station for Paris. At 10 the next morning I had my
money, and, going to the Place de la Bourse, near the Exchange, I
commissioned a broker, who was a member of the Exchange, to purchase
bills on London for £8,000. I cautioned him to buy bills drawn only on
well-known banking houses. About 3 o'clock he had the bills ready. I paid
him the amount, along with his commission, and, examining the paper,
found that he had purchased for me about what I wanted.
I will explain, for the benefit of any reader not conversant with financial
transactions, that if John Russell, cotton broker in Savannah, ships a
thousand bales of cotton to a firm in Manchester, England, the firm in
Manchester authorizes him to draw a bill of exchange on their firm, payable
at some London bank at three or six months' time, for the value of the
cotton. We will say the price is £10,000. Russell draws ten bills for £1,000
each, say payable at the Union Bank of London. He gives these bills to a
money broker in Savannah, who sells them on the Exchange and gets for
them whatever the rate of exchange may then be on London. The president
of the Georgia Central Railroad may have ordered a thousand tons of steel
rail in England for his road, and to pay for them he orders a broker to buy
for him bills on London to the amount of the cost of the rails. He purchases
the Russell bills, and these bills of exchange he sends in payment to the
steel rail manufacturers in England, so, as a matter of fact, the president of
the Georgia Central pays Russell for his thousand bales of cotton, but has
the bills of exchange. So, in place of £10,000 in gold being freighted twice
across the ocean, the ten pieces of paper cross only once. These ten bills for

£1,000 each, drawn on the Union Bank of London at six months, in due
time are presented, duly accepted and paid at maturity by the bank.
Instead of commercial notes or bills they are now known as acceptances,
and are just as good as a bank note. Therefore, if the owner—no matter who
it is—wants the money at once, any bank will discount all or either for the
face value less the interest. In every commercial centre of the world these
accepted bills are being discounted by banks and moneyed corporations for
enormous sums, but by no bank in the world in such huge amounts as by
the Bank of England. Their daily discounts run into the millions.
What our plan was will be made clear later.

A BILL OF EXCHANGE.

View larger image
The evening of the day of my arrival in Paris found me on the express
speeding to Paris. Two hours past midnight I was on the miserable little
passenger steamer that plies across the chopping channel, and which I
suppose has seen more of human misery than all the fleets that sail the
Atlantic, for the channel has stronger counter currents, and wind, tide and
currents seem ever to be in violent opposition, and here
"E'er across the main doth float
A sad and solemn swell,

The wild, fantastic, fitful note
Of Triton's breathing shell."
And Triton (old Neptune's t'other name) makes all passers over this part of
his realm pay ample tribute for "his fantastic, fitful notes."
The Paris night express lands one at early dawn in London, nearly always
weak on the legs, however. I breakfasted with Mac, and after that took the
bills to the various banks on which they were drawn, and leaving them for
their acceptance, I called again the next day and received them back,
bearing across the face, the magic words:

"London, Aug. 14,
1872.
"Accepted for the Union Bank of
London.
"E. Barclay, Manager.
"J. Wayland, Assistant
Manager."

Then I hurried to the Grosvenor, and we all looked at them with curiosity,
for it was upon the imitation of just such acceptances that our whole plan
was based. I intended to present this and many more batches of genuine
bills for discount at the bank until the officials should become accustomed
to discounting for me. In the mean time, as fast as I got genuine acceptances
and bills, we kept on making imitations of them for future use, only leaving
out the date until such time as we should be ready to put them in for
discount. Of course, the success or failure of our whole plan turned upon
this point. Is it the custom of the Bank of England (in 1873) to send
acceptances offered for discount to the acceptors for verification of
signatures?
This is always done in America, and had this very requisite precaution been
used by the Bank of England our plan would have been fruitless and we

should have been a few thousands out of pocket; but, if not, then we could
throw into the hopper enough acceptances of home manufacture so that
through the red tape routine of the bank millions of sovereigns would be
ground out into our pockets.
Taking my deposit book and the genuine bills, I went to the bank and left
the bills for discount. This was at once done and the amount placed to my
credit. I drew £10,000, and that night found me once more one of 500
unfortunates paying tribute to Neptune. This time I landed at Ostend and
took the train for Amsterdam. There I repeated the Paris operation, securing
£10,000 in genuine bills. I returned to London, and as before left them for
acceptance. Then my companion manufactured a lot of imitations and put
them away with those previously manufactured, to be all ready when the
day came to use them. The genuine bills were then discounted. Again and
again I went to the Continent, repeating the operation, until at last my credit
at the bank was firm as a rock, and we were ready to reap our harvest. But
these operations, simple as they seem, lasted over a period of six months,
and had been made at heavy cost. Our ordinary living expenses were not
less than $25 a day for the three, while our extraordinary expenses were
enormous. I probably traveled 10,000 miles over the Continent in my bill-
buying expeditions to Paris, Amsterdam, Frankfort and Vienna.
Another source of expense was the commissions paid to brokers for buying
bills on the exchange. Then we had many expenses purely personal, and,
enormous as it seems, the sum total from the day of our return from Brazil
until the day of our operations against the bank began to bring us in cash
were quite $500 a week, so that we had invested $15,000 in preparation, not
to speak of our hard work—and it was hard work, and trying, too, for there
were a multitude of details to be worked out.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE EGYPTIANS PASS OVER THE RED SEA AND THE
HEBREWS ARE DROWNED THEREIN.

All the details of events leading through the long Summer and Autumn days
of 1872 up to the hour when the golden shower began to fall on us are of
intense, almost dramatic, interest. I will not, however, lengthen the narrative
by giving here any further account of them, but will merely relate the story
of the last five days before the actual presentation of our home-brewed
acceptances.
The bank had been discounting for weeks comparatively large sums for me.
Many thousand pounds of the genuine article discounted had matured and
been paid, and more thousands were still in the vaults, awaiting maturity,
and would fall due, while our home-manufactured bills would be laid away
in the vaults, there to remain for four or five months until due. Of course a
full month or two months before that we could pack our baggage and be on
the other side of the world; I on some hacienda in Mexico, George and Mac
at some fashionable resort in Florida. They soon to knock at the gates of the
Four Hundred, I to spend a year or two in Mexico, playing "grand senor,"
until, under the skillful management of our friends, Irving, Stanley and
White, at Police Headquarters in New York, the affair had blown over, and
they invited me to return.
But, as the sequel will show, the reality took on a different complexion from
the ideal.

BOW STREET POLICE STATION.
My credit at the bank was solid as a rock. That means I had gone through
the red-tape routine. It only behooved us to use circumspection enough to
avoid making mistakes in our papers, and fortune was ours. I knew
everything was all right, but George, being a thorough business man
himself, could not comprehend that it could be quite right, and he insisted
upon one supreme test. Any single bill of exchange is seldom drawn for
more than £1,000, rarely for £2,000, and one of £6,000 is almost unheard
of. If a party in Bombay wanted exchange on London for £100,000, his
broker would probably furnish him with one hundred bills for £1,000 each.

But George had made up his mind that as a test, and to make an impression
upon the bank manager, I should go to Paris and get a bill on London from
Rothschilds drawn to the order of F. A. Warren direct. Could this be done it
would, of course, make it appear that I had intimate relations with the
Rothschilds, and as a minor consideration we could use the Rothschild
acceptance—a pretty nervy thing to do, as Sir Anthony de Rothschild, the
head of the London house, whose name we proposed to offer, was a director
of the Bank of England, and would have to pass his own paper for discount
—that is, paper bearing his name, manufactured by ourselves.
We tried to talk George out of this notion, which Mac and I regarded as a
freak, unnecessary in the first place, and impossible anyhow. But he was
persistent, and I had to start out and try. I expected an expense of $1,000
and a delay of two weeks, but fortune or the devil favored us. So,
purchasing at the exchange broker's in London 200,000 francs in French
paper money, once more I left Victoria Station for Paris. Once more, an
unwilling victim, I heard the "wild, fantastic, fitful note of Triton's
breathing shell." At Calais I took my place in what the French call a coupe;
that is, the end compartment on a car, which, by paying ten francs extra,
you can occupy alone. It is unlike the other compartments in that there are
no arms dividing it into seats; so one can lie full length on the cushion.
Before this night I speak of I had cherished a theory as to what I should do
in the event of an accident happening to any train whereon I was a
passenger. In such a case I proposed to catch on to some object and hold on,
leaving my body and limbs to swing freely. My theory ever since that night
has been that I will go just wherever the breaking timbers and flying
furniture send me. I had fallen into a sound sleep before the train started,
and was aroused from it to find myself hurled about the compartment much
as a stout boy would shake a mouse in a cage, and quite as helpless.
Our train was off the track. My carriage was near the engine, and the
momentum of the long train forced the car in the rear of mine up on end,
and it appeared as if it would fall over and crush me. I thought my hour had
come, and I cried out, "At last!" There was no fear or terror in it, but merely
the thought that after many months of almost incessant travel, and
necessarily of peril, "at last" my fate had come. It had not. How good
heaven would have been if it had sent me to my doom then and there!

The accident had occurred at Marquise, a small town sixteen miles from
Calais and four from Boulogne, the first stopping place of the express. It
was a very long train, but the carriages were all empty except two. A heavy
excursion train had left Paris, and the cars were going back empty. What
lessened the number of passengers was the fact that it was Sunday night.
The English do not travel on Sundays as a rule. So, fortunately, a great loss
of life was prevented. However, two were killed and half of the remaining
passengers injured. My own injuries were slight and consisted of trifling
cuts on the face and hands from flying glass. But, far worse than that, I had
received a nervous shock, which took some weeks to wear off, and during
the rest of my journey to Paris and return to London I was as nervous as a
timid woman. I stayed at Marquise until noon, when the express passing at
that hour made a special stop to pick me up.
In our glorious and free country the killing or mangling of a few persons
more or less is of no particular concern to any one beyond the friends of the
victims, least of all to the railway magnate or to his servant. But in France
an accident which results even in the wounding of a passenger is a very
serious matter to the road where it occurs and to its officials. They always
hasten to take the fullest responsibility, and if attention or the more solid
matter—cash—can comfort the sufferer, he will have no occasion to mourn
long. If one life be lost—even a servant of the road—a strict judicial inquiry
takes place upon the scene of the accident, by a high official of the State,
advised by experts, not as in this country, by some drunken country loafer
or ward heeler, who, all ignorant of the law, has been "elected" county
coroner, and one who is more anxious to procure free passes on the road
than he is concerned for the victim murdered by the neglect or parsimony of
inefficient railway officials.
The road from Paris to Calais is known as the Chemin de Fer du Nord, and
Baron Alphonse de Rothschild, head of the Paris Rothschilds, is the
president of the road. This fact occurred to me within a few minutes of the
accident, and I thought I might make use of the affair as a means to help me
in my business at Paris. I arrived about dark, went to the Grand Hotel, and
to bed at once. My nerves were so shaken that I was timid, even when in the
elevator, but I slept well and awoke at daylight feeling better.

At 10 o'clock, limping badly and leaning on a cane, I entered a carriage and
drove to the Maison Rothschild, Rue Lafitte. The banking house might well
be called a palace. The various offices open upon a courtyard, while the
whole architecture of the building would suggest the residence of an officer
of State or nobleman rather than a building devoted to finance. But the
currents which centre there are potent and far-reaching, and come richly
laden with tribute from the four quarters of the world. To win that tribute
slaves toil, and, toiling, die, in Brazilian diamond mines, and thousands of
coolies, entrapped by agents in China and India, enter into perfidious
contracts which commit them to hopeless slavery and send them to wear out
their lives in despairing toil amid the pungent and murderous ammoniacal
fumes of the guano islands of Chili and Peru. The Rothschilds, too, own the
Almaden quicksilver mine and others.
They control the quicksilver industries of the world, and to swell their
abnormal hoard, portentous in its vastness, other poor wretches, condemned
under form of law, are doomed to days of wearing toil, and, their bones
rotting from quicksilver absorption, to nights of racking pains. So, too, far
Siberia contributes its quota of human misery that the golden stream of
interest on century-old loans may have no interruption, but pour on
unceasingly into the vaults of the Rothschilds.
Alighting from the carriage and mounting the steps with difficulty, I entered
the English Department, and, seating myself, awaited the manager's
presence. He came, and expressing great concern when he learned I was a
victim of the Marquise disaster, asked what he could do for me. I replied I
wanted to see the Baron. He disappeared into a range of offices, and no
doubt told Baron Alphonse I was some important personage, doubly
important because injured on his road.
Soon a slight, sallow man of about 43 appeared, wearing an old-fashioned
stovepipe hat and a shabby suit of snuff-colored garments. The look of the
attendants testified that the deity was before me. Taking off his antiquated
chapeau he began a profuse apology for the accident, explaining that
accidents were most unusual events in France; that he would order his own
physician to attend me, that I should have every attention without the
slightest charge or expense to myself, etc., etc., and ended by saying I was
to command him if he could serve me. In return I told him since he was so

distressed over the accident and my plight, I should say no more about
either, but as I was too badly shaken to complete the business on which I
had come to Paris I should request him to instruct his subordinates to aid
me in transmitting the funds I had brought from London back again. He
called the manager and told him to accommodate me in anything, then,
shaking hands and with many expressions of regret, he withdrew.
I told the manager I wanted a three months' bill on London for £6,000. He
informed me that the house of Rothschild was not issuing time bills, but
since the Baron's order suspended the rule in my case, he would procure me
six bills for £1,000 each. These really were just as good for our purpose as
one bill for £6,000, but I had come to Paris on George's demand that I
should procure one bill for this unusual amount, so perforce I had to say
"No," that I wanted one bill only.
The manager began to remonstrate, saying it was unusual, and wanted to
explain the nature of a bill of exchange, but I cut him short, bidding him
recall the Baron at once. The thought of recalling that Jupiter to repeat an
order was enough to send a thrill through the entire staff, and he instantly
said: "Oh, sir, if you wish the £6,000 in one bill, you shall have it, but it will
involve some delay." So paying him 150,000 francs on account, I ordered
the bill sent to me at 2 o'clock precisely at the Grand Hotel, and drove off to
the Louvre, where I spent two hours in the picture galleries. At 2 o'clock I
was at the hotel, and an attendant came with the bill, and, pointing to a
signature on it, informed me it was that of a Cabinet Minister, equivalent to
our Secretary of the Treasury, certifying that the tax due the government on
the bill was paid. He explained the revenue stamp required upon a bill of
exchange was one-eighth of 1 per cent. of the face of the bill, making the
tax on my single bill 187 francs, or about $37. All bills are stamped in a
registering machine, which presses the stamp into the paper; but there were
no registering machines for a stamp of so high a denomination as 187 francs
either in the branch revenue office in the Rothschild bank or at the Treasury,
so the Baron had taken the bill to the Treasury himself and got the Cabinet
Minister to put his autograph on it—probably the first and only time in
history that such a thing had been done. I wanted very much indeed to keep
that bill as a curiosity, but then the necessity of the time was on me, and I
was not then a collector of curios.

I had been only eighteen hours in Paris, and by a happy fluke the business
was done over which I had counted upon spending a good part of the
month.
When I left London I was all at sea as to how I should carry out the objects
of my visit to Paris. One plan was to procure an interview by strategy with
the Baron Alphonse and try to cajole him, but without reference, and devoid
of all business relations or acquaintance in Paris, it was at best a
questionable expedient, and I probably would have had a take-down. But
the accident at Marquise came and smoothed the apparently insuperable
difficulties in my way. But I have found that something unusual does come
to help a man on his way to the devil when he is anxious to get there, which
he is pretty sure to do, if he is only diligent and careful to improve his
opportunities.
What diligence and strict attention to business do men exhibit when they
start out to wreck their own lives and break the hearts of those near to them!
In a play by a modern writer, one scene presents Satan flying at midnight
over one of our cities, while the drunken songs and joyous shouts of some
gilded revelers rise in the night. The merry songs and laughter are music to
the ears of Lucifer. He pauses in his flight to listen, and as the songs and
shouts increase in volume he looks down on the revelers and with a bitter
sneer soliloquizes thus of them:
"Ye are my bondsmen and my thralls,
Your lives I fill with bitter pain."
And that sums it up pretty well; but we must look straight away from the
entrance of the Primrose Way to the exit.
Well, I had successfully played my trump card on the Rothschilds, and, not
seeing the end, thought I had won, and cleverly won; so before sitting down
to dinner I went to the telegraph office and telegraphed to my partners:
"The Egyptians all passed over the Red Sea. But the Hebrews are drowned
therein."
Thinking this rather witty, I went to dinner well satisfied. An hour past
midnight the moon looked from behind a cloud and saw me, one of many

miserables, leaning over the bulwark of that wretched Dover steamer, again
paying tribute to Neptune.

CHAPTER XXII.
"ACCEPTED. LIONEL ROTHSCHILD."

When George and Mac received my telegram they, knowing the difficulties
of my mission, deemed it incredible that I had succeeded within a day, so
when my telegram came they thought I was attempting some jest. Upon my
arrival in London, walking into Mac's room—he being still in bed—I
announced that I had in my pocket Rothschild's bill for £6,000, drawn on
the London house. He flatly refused to believe me, but when he, and later
George, saw the bill, they were forced to believe. I at once took it down to
St. Swithin's lane, and, leaving it for acceptance, called the next day, when I
found scrawled across it in thin, pale ink the mystic words "Accepted.
Lionel Rothschild."
The bill itself was drawn on cheap, blue paper, on the same form as the
blank bills to be had at the Paris stationers', where I had bought some. From
Rothschilds' I went direct to the hotel where we had our rendezvous, and
the acceptance was so simple and easy that Mac had it copied on another
bill in ten minutes. The business methods of the bank were so loose that
there was no necessity for imitating signatures, but as a precaution this was
done to some extent. I then proceeded to the Bank of England for my last
personal interview with the manager. I must halt here for a brief space in the
narrative, in order to enlighten my reader upon some new developments,
also to introduce the new member we at this time brought into our firm.

"NOYES ESCORTED BY AN ANGRY MOB TO NEWGATE."—
Page 379

There was a friend, a very old friend, of mine residing in Hartford, Edwin
Noyes by name. We had known each other from our schoolboy days, and
there was a warm friendship between us. Our paths in life had been wide
apart, but we maintained a frequent correspondence and often met. He knew
nothing of my primrose life, but supposed, of course, from the style of my
living that I was the possessor of a handsome income from my business,
which lay, as he imagined, in that mysterious precinct known as "The
Street," which, of course, meant Wall street, and that my business was
speculating in stocks.
He was a trifle older than myself, of a steady, reserved nature, and a discreet
and safe friend. This was the new member of our firm. How he came to be
so I must explain. Up to this time, as the reader will have noticed, I was the
only one of the party known at the bank, and, of course, was the only one
who seemed to be taking any risk. Even in the event of discovery it would

apparently be necessary for me only to take flight. George and Mac, not
being known in connection with the fraud, could remain in London until
such time as they chose to go home. To make matters absolutely safe for me
as well we got up this scheme.
I told the manager of the bank that I had bought an immense plant and
shops in Birmingham to manufacture railway material, and that I should be
there superintending the work a good deal; therefore I might occasionally
send any bills I had for discount from there by mail. I had sent two or three
lots of the genuine bills in that way. If I could send the imitation bills the
same way, Mac and George could carry on the business through the mail in
my name and I could be at the other side of the world while the actual
operation was going on, so that, far from my ever being proved guilty, there
would be proof of my innocence, for how could I be guilty of a crime
committed in England at the very time I was on a pleasure jaunt in the West
Indies and Mexico? Thus it was arranged. Mac and George could do
everything and remain in the background themselves, provided we had a
safe man whom I could introduce at the bank as my clerk or messenger, also
to represent me in different places where I could introduce him as my
messenger before I left England.
The reader will see the extreme artfulness of the plot, but in all wrongdoing
there is sooner or later a slip up. Be the plot ever so artful, or however safe
the wrongdoing may appear, the unforeseen something will happen.
Of course, Mac and George not being known at the bank need not care, but
it might easily be serious for me.
When the explosion came, fifty people in and about the bank would
remember my face. But if I brought Noyes on the scene to act as my clerk I
need only introduce him to the paying teller of the bank, and to Jay Cooke
& Co., the American banking house, where I proposed to buy enormous
quantities of United States bonds, paying for them in checks on the Bank of
England. Of course, the bonds being all bearer bonds, would, with our
knowledge of finance, be as good as so much cash.
So, knowing Noyes, if he would embark in the enterprise, had plenty of
nerve and could never be bribed or bought into betraying us should he by
any failure of our plans happen to be arrested, we determined to send for

him. A short time before we arrived at this conclusion I had sent this
precautionary letter to him:
"Grosvenor Hotel,
"London, Nov. 8, 1872.
"My Dear Noyes: You will be surprised to hear from me from London, but
the fact is I have been here with George and a friend of ours for a year, and
have made a lot of money from several speculations we have embarked in.
In fact, we have been so successful that we have determined to make you a
present of a thousand dollars, which find inclosed. Please accept the same
with our best wishes.
"We may be able to give you a chance to make a few thousands, if you
would care to venture across the ocean. Perhaps we can make use of you. If
so, I will send you a cable. If I do, come any way, as we will pay all your
expenses should you determine not to go in with us on the deal. Be cautious
and preserve absolute secrecy when you leave home as to your destination.
Will explain the reason for this when we meet. Keep your weather eye open
for the cable. It may come any hour after you have this.
"Hoping you are quite well, I remain," etc., etc.

A few days later we sent him this cable (it was afterward produced in court
in evidence against him): "Edwin Noyes, New York. Come by Atlantic on
Wednesday; wire on arrival at Liverpool; meet at Langham."
He arrived ten days later, and at a little dinner given in his honor we told
him our plot. He was astounded, and for the remainder of the dinner, and for
the day, too, for the matter of that, he acted like a man in a dream, and we
three were amazed that he did not instantly fall into our plan.
Here was the dramatic representation of the poisonous effect of
wrongdoing. We three had by degrees become accustomed to look upon a
fraud committed by ourselves with equanimity. I say by degrees. Insensibly
we had been sinking deeper and deeper, until, our moral senses blunted, we
found excuses to our own consciences. But here was my companion and

friend; he was no Puritan, but, like ourselves but a few brief months before,
regarded crime with detestation, and now, when the men he trusted
proposed he should become a party to a crime, his mind revolted in horror.
Well for him had he yielded to the prompting of his own conscience and
fled from us and the fearful temptation of sudden wealth. At last he said he
would consider it. After a day or two of silence he began to question us as
to our mode of operation, then his mind became more and more
familiarized to the thought, until at last, fascinated by our association, he
acquiesced, saying: "I will do it. I want money badly. The Bank of England,
after all, will not miss it. So I'll go in for this once."
By our direction he went to an obscure hotel in Manchester square, and then
purchased clothes more suitable for his new position than the fashionable
tailor-cut suit he wore from New York.
On several occasions I had gone to Jay Cooke & Co. in Lombard street and
purchased bonds under the name of F. A. Warren and giving checks in
payment upon the Bank of England. So one day I went there with Noyes
and purchased $20,000 in bonds, giving my check for them. I then
introduced Noyes as my clerk, directing them to deliver any bonds I bought
to him at any time. The next day he called and they gave him the bonds
which I had given my check for the day before, so there was no necessity
any longer for me to come in person to make purchases. Noyes could
appear there any day, give an order for bonds, secure a bill for them, and in
half an hour bring a Warren check for the amount of the bill, pretending, of
course, that he had got it from me, but really getting it from Mac, leaving
the check for collection and to call the next day for the bonds.
The same day that I introduced him to Jay Cooke & Co. I took him to the
Bank of England at a busy time of day, and while drawing £2,000, I
casually introduced him to the paying teller as my clerk, requesting the
teller to pay him any checks I sent. Then for the next few days I had Noyes
take checks to the bank and had him order two or three small lots of bonds
from Jay Cooke & Co., so that they became familiarized with seeing him
come on my business.

"I DEMAND A GUARD AND SHELTER
FOR MY WIFE, THE DUCHESS."—Page
282.
The plan was complete at last. Everything was ready to carry out our
scheme in perfect safety to all, and, as related in the beginning of the
chapter, I was now on my way to the bank for my last visit, with the
Rothschild bill in my hand. Many accounts were given of this famous
interview in the English press just after the discovery of the fraud and prior
to my arrest, also when the details transpired at the trial. The facts were
simply these: I presented myself at the bank, and, sending in my card to the

manager, was ushered at once into his parlor. After a few remarks upon the
money and stock market, I produced the bill, remarking that I had a
curiosity to show him which had been sent me by a correspondent in Paris.
It was certainly a curiosity; it was a thing entirely unknown in the history of
the bank to have a bill of exchange bearing the signature of a Cabinet
Minister certifying that the internal revenue tax had been paid on it. This,
along with the circumstance that the bill was made payable to myself,
evidently made considerable impression on the manager and confirmed him
in his good opinion of his customer. The unusual features of this bill of
exchange led him to relate some of the inner events of the bank's history,
during which I asked him what precaution the bank took against forgery. He
told me a forgery on the bank was impossible. But I asked: "Why
impossible? Other banks get hit sometimes, and why not the Bank of
England?" To that question he gave a long reply, ending with the assertion
that "our wise forefathers have bequeathed us a system which is perfect."
"Do you wish me to understand you have not changed your system since
your forefathers' time?" I said. To which he emphatically replied: "Not in
the slightest particular for a hundred years." In conclusion I told him I
should be fully occupied looking after my different business interests, but
would give him a call if I found time. I also said I would have the bill
discounted and take the cash away with me, instead of having it placed to
my credit. He called an attendant, gave the necessary order, and the cash
was handed me. Bidding the manager good-bye, I repaired to our meeting
place and showed the notes for the discounted bill. Even George was
satisfied that my credit at the bank was good for any amount of discounts
on any sort of paper.
Everything now was ready for my departure from England. For some weeks
my partners had been busy preparing for the completion of the operation.
The first lot of bogus bills were ready to go into the mail at Birmingham as
soon as I was out of the way—it having been decided that I should then be
out of the country. So one Monday late in November I packed my baggage,
and, after many warm hand shakings, I bade my friends adieu. We had had
many talks about the happy future. We had planned pleasant things in the
future, and spoken confidently of our four-in-hands, our Summer cottages at
Saratoga and Newport, of our town house, fine suppers and our boxes at the
opera. After that I saw them for a brief hour on the coast of France and once

more said adieu. When we met again it was in Newgate. I need hardly say
that for the next twenty years we had no boxes at the grand opera, no four-
in-hands, nor yet any fine suppers, but all that which was merely external
passed away, consumed in that fierce flame, but all that was manly and true
remained; that is, our devotion and courage and our high resolve to conquer
fate and live for better things.
Before leaving London we had squared up our cash account. It was
something to make one stare to see how our money had melted away. It was
arranged to send in the first lot of bogus bills on Thursday, giving me two
full days out of the country. Here I made a fatal mistake in determining to
go to the West Indies, then on to Mexico. As George had planned I should
have gone at once to New York, stopped at the best hotel in the city and
registered in my right name. By taking this course I should have been safe
and could have laughed at any attempt of the bank authorities to extradite
me, for the first lot of bogus bills could have been held back until I had
actually arrived in America. Then there could not have been found a single
particle of evidence against me.
I say "if I had come to New York." But there is some mysterious spell over
men embarked in crime that blinds their eyes to the plainest dictates of
common sense or prudence. This has been proved in a thousand dramatic
instances, but never more forcibly than in our own. It would seem as if
clever, daring men do almost impossible things with ease, but there is a
Nemesis which blinds them to trifles, fatal if overlooked, causing them to
make mistakes of which a schoolboy would be ashamed.
When we first got our combination together I thought we had found a short
cut to fortune, and never doubted of our success to the very end, and amid
many mishaps, that either crippled or ruined our schemes and lengthened
this short cut to fortune, I maintained my confidence until on that day down
in blazing Rio, when the letter "c" in lieu of the "s" in indorse came to the
front to crumble our "sure thing" into ruin. I remember that in the
stupefaction which for a few minutes settled down on us, I felt we were
really fighting against fate. A fate that like the fiat of Deity says "Thou shalt
not," to all wrongdoing.

For some time after that "indorce" takedown a feeling took possession of
me that such short cuts to fortune were risky, and that if success did come
the success would in the end prove a failure. But there is so much in
companionship and such magnetism in human association that when we all
three met in Paris and went in and out together, then, under the stimulus of
our union, I forgot all my forebodings and began to think the unforeseen
fatal something would not happen, and that we could conquer fortune
whether she would or no, and by any method on which we chose to enter.
But, as will be seen in the sequel, when reveling in an unheard-of success,
literally loaded down with wealth, Nemesis appeared and by means even
more simple than our error in Rio stripped us of our wealth and dignity and
left us naked to every storm that blew.

CHAPTER XXIII.
SHOWERS OF GOLD FALL—AND THEN?

I shall try and condense into a single chapter the narrative of events in
London from the time of my departure until the day, some months later,
when our scheme exploded and all took to flight when Noyes was arrested.
Our expenses had been so enormous that we were anxious to make enough
to recoup them, so it had been agreed that the first batch of bogus bills
should not exceed the amount paid out since leaving Rio.
I left for Paris on Monday. On Wednesday, Noyes went to the bank and
drew out all the money to my credit, except three hundred pounds. The
same day he went to Birmingham and mailed lot number one of home-
manufacture bills representing £8,000.
The next twenty-four hours was an anxious time for my friends. The bills
would be delivered by the early mail on Thursday, and if all went right the
proceeds would be placed to my credit by 12 o'clock, and the bills
themselves would be stowed away in the vaults until they were due some
months ahead. George and Mac waited with the greatest anxiety until 2
o'clock. They had everything packed for instant flight, when at that hour
they sallied out of Mac's lodging and started for the bank to make the test.
They had filled out two Warren checks, one for £2,300 payable to Warren,
another for £4 10s., payable to bearer.
Noyes went on ahead, the others following, and took his stand on the steps
of a hotel in a side street not far from the bank. Keeping his eye out for a
suitable appearing party he finally stopped a uniformed messenger, and,
telling him to take the £4 10s. check to the bank, bring the money to him
there, and he would be paid for his trouble.
Of course, as soon as the messenger had turned his back Noyes bolted
around the corner to a place agreed upon, while Mac followed the
messenger to the bank and saw he was paid without question. He gave the

pre-arranged signal to George, who went with all haste to notify Noyes, and
when the messenger arrived with the cash, he found him standing on the
steps as cool and unconcerned as possible. Paying the messenger, all three
started to the bank, Mac on the way giving Noyes the £2,300 check, which
he presented. Nodding good day to the cashier he asked for £2,000 in gold
and the remainder in notes, which were handed him at once, and three very
happy men sat down that evening to dinner, because the day's operations
had conclusively proved that the Bank of England methods were fallible.
The next morning Noyes went to Jay Cooke & Co. and ordered $75,000 in
United States bonds, giving a check for them on the bank. The same
afternoon he went to Birmingham and mailed another letter, this one
containing £15,000 in bills, and later drew £2,000 in gold from the bank.
On Monday he went after the bonds, and the $75,000 was handed over to
him without questions. The whole operation was a repetition of these
tactics, but with an ever-increasing volume in the amounts of the bills. On
some days the mail brought to the bank letters with bills for $100,000,
sometimes for more, sometimes for less. So November and December
passed away, and the bank continued day by day and week by week laying
away in its vaults the worthless collateral of Mr. F.A. Warren in exchange
for its gold.
But why not be satisfied and stop while it was all right? That is the question
of a wise man, but who ever knew any man who wanted to do a thing,
whether he did it or not, who could not find half a hundred good reasons
why he should do it. But as Christmas came near Mac began to long for
home. He had repaid his father every penny of the large sum he was owing
him; there had been a reconciliation by mail, and each steamer that came
bore many long letters from parents and sisters, all speaking of their joy
over the happy turn of events that was going to bring the absent member of
the flock home within its walls again. The father's heart, long estranged,
grew very tender toward his boy, and with pride he thought his eldest had
thrown off the follies of his youth, and in manful strength was making
ample atonements for the thoughtlessness and the wanderings of his youth.
He and they were all destined to a terrible awakening. For soon the press of
the world was to teem with accounts of his son's arrest and incarceration for
participation in a gigantic fraud. When the blow fell it came with crushing
force on that home, and a shadow deep as night settled down on the

household; all joyousness and even hope itself fled when the cable bore the
news that their boy had been condemned to life imprisonment in a foreign
dungeon. And one by one the members of that family passed away from a
world that held no more for them since their good name had been tarnished.
In London the boys talked of spending Christmas at home, but the argument
to stay—and it prevailed—was that since the money came in so easily and
in such amounts it was a pity to run away from it. Then, again, by obtaining
an enormous sum and putting it in a place of absolute security, the bank
would be glad to compromise the matter in consideration of receiving a
million or two back again.
So they spent a pretty merry and an exceedingly expensive Christmas in
London, but later in February they determined to pack up and leave.
Everything smiled upon them. The gold and bonds they had, meant fortunes
for all. I was away in tropic islands leading an idle life with my bride amid
the cocoanut and palm trees. Mac and George had never appeared in the
transaction, and as for Noyes, not a soul in all America knew he was in
Europe, and in all Europe only three or four people had seen him, and knew
him as representing Warren.
The business was finished. All three laden with money were going to leave
England, leaving the bank to slumber on for weeks until the first bills
became due before there could be a discovery. By that time the cash would
have been safely stowed, and how or where or to whom could anything be
traced?
So in council they had decided to be content with the enormous amount
they had. The last batch of bills was in the mail. Only one day more and the
strain on the nerves would be over. That day Noyes bought bonds and drew
cash for more than $150,000. At 3 o'clock they sat down to lunch, their last
in London, and then went direct to Mac's apartments in St. James' place. All
the material for making fraudulent bills was there, and what could be
burned was to be thrown into the grate, and the rest to first be filed into
blank nothings and then thrown into the Thames. The three were there and
they were happy. They had engineered a gigantic scheme, had struck for
wealth and won. The short cut to fortune in defiance of fate had been
traversed and now they set about a grateful task—that of getting themselves

and their rich argosy out of England. Mac being the artist of the party, and
having executed the actual writing, drew the sealed box containing the
unused bills up to the fire and began throwing them in one by one. In doing
so he occasionally would throw some bill more elaborate than the common
run on the floor beside his chair. He had finished his task and took from the
floor those he had thrown there, looked at them for a moment, then
crumbling them together, raised his hand to throw them in the fire, but as
the devil always forsakes his friends at the critical moment, he stopped,
smoothed out the bills and turning to the others, said: "Boys, these are
perfect works of art; it is a pity to destroy them." From our point of view it
was, since it was only necessary to drop them into the mail and they would
coin us thousands. Then George said: "Suppose we send them in." The
others said "All right," and our doom was sealed.
There were in the lot nineteen bills of exchange for £26,000. A date had
been left off one of them! They failed to note it! Poor fools, we had sold
ourselves.
Was this an accident? No, it was Nemesis; it was anything you want to call
it, but it was not an accident.
So a letter was written, the bills, with memorandum, inclosed, the envelope
directed and stamped, and the three fools went to Birmingham, mailed the
letter, and then laughed over their success in the fight against society,
facilitated themselves that they had discovered the undiscoverable, that they
had safely traversed the short cut to fortune. There is no short cut by
wrongdoing to fortune, Boss Tweed and the long list of robber barons to the
contrary!
The bills were mailed on Monday. As that fatal letter slipped from their
fingers into the mail-box the last act of the deadly tragedy began. When it
ended the curtain fell upon us descending from the dock into the chill
dungeons of Newgate, never, so far as the sentence was concerned, to
emerge again.
On Tuesday morning the letter with the bills arrived at the bank. Following
the routine, they went to the discount department, were discounted and
placed to my credit. As I had a balance of £20,000, when the proceeds of

the bills were added to it, it brought up the whole to the handsome sum of
£46,000.

"THE DAY OF MY DESTINY IS OVER."—
Page 304.
When the bills arrived at the bank a strange thing occurred. The fatal
omission was made on an acceptance of Blydenstein & Co., a great banking
firm in London. The discount clerk noticed the omission of the date of
acceptance, but this being a mere formality, he thought it a clerical error on
the part of the bookkeeper of Blydenstein & Co. He made no report of the

matter, and it was discounted along with the other eighteen, which were put
away in the vaults with the batches that had preceded it, while he laid this
one aside until the next day, which was Wednesday. At half past ten he gave
it to the bank messenger, telling him when he went his regular rounds to
take the bill to Blydenstein's and request them to correct the omission.
At 2 p. m. on Tuesday Noyes went to Jay Cooke & Co. and ordered
$100,000 in United States bonds, and gave them a check on the Bank of
England for the amount. He was to call for the bonds next day, of course,
after the check had gone through the Clearing House and had been paid.
As soon as the bank opened on Wednesday, in order to test if everything
was all right, Noyes sent in a messenger with a small check, and the money
was thrown out as at all other times without remark. And that was a
complete demonstration that everything was all right. So it was then, but
within thirty minutes from that second the messenger was going to start
with the bill to Blydenstein's for correction.
This was 10 o'clock Wednesday. The bills had been twenty-five hours in the
possession of the bank, had been discounted and the proceeds placed to my
credit for twenty-four hours.
Who with intellect less than an archangel's could have divined the true
combination? First of all, that men brilliant and clever, gambling with their
lives, could have made such an omission, damning, fatal. Second, if made,
that the great Bank of England, thought absolutely infallible by the whole
world, conservative, supposedly cautious, would have discounted a bill for
£20,00 with the date out of the acceptance, and having done so, hold the bill
well on into the second day, without a discovery, and that, too, when the
firm whose acceptance was a forgery was not 100 yards away! So when at
10 o'clock on Wednesday Mac saw the small check paid without question to
the messenger it seemed he had an assurance doubly sure and a bond of fate
that all was well, and that the last batch of bills was packed safely away for
another three months in the vaults of the bank.
So Noyes went at once to Jay Cooke & Co., and as the check had been paid
at the bank they handed over, as in so many other occasions, the $100,000
in bonds to him.

Mac and George were outside. George took the bonds and gave Noyes a
£10,000 check, and one minute from his leaving Jay Cooke & Co., Noyes
was at the counter of the bank. The cashier counted out the $50,000 to him.
He walked out of the bank with a lighter heart and more buoyant step than
ever before, for was not the danger all over and the long strain on the nerves
at an end, the transaction complete and fortune won? He was never going to
the bank again.
They had arranged to meet at Garraway's Coffee House in Exchange alley.
This is the Garraway's that became so famous at the time of the South Sea
Bubble, and its fame continued down to the end of the wars of Napoleon.
Then its glory departed as a centre of speculations, but its renown as an old-
fashioned chophouse remained till 1873. Everywhere in contemporary
English literature, from Swift and Addison to Goldsmith and Johnson, one
meets references to Garraway's.
The Dean immortalized it in his well-known lines on 'Change Alley:
"There is a gulf where thousands fell,
Here all the bold adventurers came,
A narrow sound, though deep as hell,
'Change Alley is the dreadful name.

"Subscribers here by thousands float
And jostle one another down.
Each paddling in his leaky boat,
And here they fish for gold and drown.

"Meantime secure on Garraway's cliffs
A savage race by shipwreck fed,
Lie waiting for the foundered skiffs
And strip the bodies of the dead."
Dickens also makes it the scene of the writing of the famous chops and
tomato sauce letter from Mr. Pickwick to Mrs. Bardell.
One can imagine the elation of my friends as they sat around that little table
at Garraway's. It was only 10:35. Their income that morning had been
$150,000. And many more such days had gone before. All danger was over,

wealth was won. They saw themselves back in America, among the Four
Hundred, possessors of a fortune, however wrongfully obtained, yet
obtained in a way that would leave behind no ruined widows and orphans to
linger out the remainder of their blighted lives in poverty and misery. That
was a point which added zest to their enjoyment of the prospect.
"I am never to go to the bank again. Come, shake hands on that," said
Noyes. And in their excitement and wild delight they shook hands again and
again.
But they would have moderated their joy had they known that at the very
moment the bank porter, pale and frightened, was rushing past the room
where they sat, carrying the news to the bank that the two-thousand pound
bill was a forgery. Instantly all was confusion and excitement in the bank.
Telegrams were at once sent to the detective police, and at that moment
swarms of them were pouring out of the Bow street and Scotland Yard
offices.
That already stories of gigantic frauds, multiplied a thousand fold by rumor,
were flying everywhere that every bank in London was victimized. In ten
minutes the story reached the Stock Exchange and a scene of terrific
excitement ensued, and, through it all, our three innocents sat on in that
dingy old coffee-house, serenely unconscious of the fearful storm that was
rising. Still they were safe. Everything was confusion in the bank. The
terrified official, frantic with fear, could only describe a tall young man, an
American, who said his name was Warren.
Had my three triumphant friends only known what was up they might have
sat where they were the day through and drank porter out of the pewter
mugs in safety. There were a hundred thousand men in London who would
answer any description the bank could have given of Noyes, Mac and
George had never appeared in the transaction, and I, the F.A. Warren they
were looking for, was living quietly with my young wife in a lovely isle in
the tropic sea.
Surely then, these three high-toned financiers still had the game in their
own hands. They had nothing to fear. They had wealth. There was no clue
to their identity and the world was before them—a world which lays her
treasures and pleasures at the feet of him who commands wealth.

But that mighty Something had decreed otherwise, and a subtle spirit under
whose power they were but purposeless puppets inspired them to commit an
act of folly which was to hurl them from the fools' paradise wherein they
were reveling down to the pit of despair.
Upon Mac casually remarking that they had still a balance of $75,000 to
Warren's credit, Noyes spoke up and said: "Boys, that is too much money to
leave John Bull; suppose you make out a check for £5,000. I will run over
and get the cash, and it will do for pocket money." And the two others,
triumphant in success, became idiots and assented. Making out a check for
£5,000, Noyes started for the bank, check in hand, and entering, instantly
found himself with a hot and angry swarm of hornets about him.

A NEWGATE SCENE.—DON'T WANT HIS PICTURE TAKEN.

There were twenty-five detectives in and around the bank. Special
messengers had summoned the affrighted directors. The great bank parlor
was packed with a host of stockholders and directors, who were questioning
the manager and clerks. And excitement rose to fever heat when, with
twenty hands holding him, poor Noyes was hustled in among them. They

rushed at him like a pack of wolves. Had that been a bank parlor in festive
Arizona, they would not have endured the delay incidental to procuring a
rope, but would have ended it and him by gunnery at short range. Noyes
could not be shaken; his nerve never failed. He said a gentleman had hired
him as a clerk, and that was all he knew. He had left him at the Stock
Exchange; if they would let him go, he would try and find him and bring
him around to the bank. J. Bull is gullible, but not so much so as to swallow
that yarn.
So they held tightly to him, and a committee of indignant Britons escorted
him to Newgate.

A SENTRY.

CHAPTER XXIV.
POINTS FOR JUSTICE TO PICK UP.

Mac and George were without, and were stricken with consternation, for a
minute's observation of the gathering crowd and the rushing into the bank
of excited people convinced them something unusual was in the wind, and
they knew Noyes must be in deadly peril. Mac rushed into the bank in hope
to warn or to be of help. Everything there was in confusion. Unobserved in
the excitement, he made his way into the parlor and there saw what made
his heart stand still—Noyes surrounded by an angry crowd of officials.
With great presence of mind and great nerve he pushed through toward
Noyes, who saw him and knew he was there to help if he had a chance to
bolt from his captors; but there was no chance. As they were about starting
for Newgate, Mac slipped outside and told George what had befallen
Noyes, and discussed the possibility of a rescue when on the way to
Newgate with him. While they were waiting in the entrance Noyes came
out in custody. He saw and recognized them. They joined in the crowd and
were within arm's reach of him every rod of the short distance to Newgate,
but the crowd was packed so tight that one could hardly move, and a rush
for escape was hopeless. Arrived at Newgate, Mac in his desperation was
entering with the escort, when George pulled him away, and as they got out
of the crowd they heard the newsboys crying: "Great forgery on the Bank of
England by an American; £10,000,000 obtained." That afternoon Lionel
Rothschild, president of the Board of Directors, called on him at Newgate,
and offered him his liberty and £1,000 reward if he would tell all he knew;
but Noyes' nerve was not to be shaken. He said a gentleman, an entire
stranger, had hired him as a clerk and messenger, and he knew nothing
about Mr. Warren nor his business.

"NOYES WAS SURROUNDED BY AN
ANGRY CROWD OF OFFICIALS."—Page
236.
All this time the $150,000 drawn that morning was in a stout bag behind the
counter at Garraway's.
Little did the barmaids dream of the treasure that was in the bag at their
feet. When Mac went for it, one of the barmaids asked him if he had heard
of the great bank robbery. He drove to St James' place, and soon George
joined him there.

Here again was enacted the scene we had in Rio; as there, so here, they
looked at each other in helpless stupefaction. Why had they not been
satisfied? Why had they let Noyes go for a paltry £5,000? Why had they not
understood the meaning of the evident excitement in and around the bank?
In Rio there was only a suspicion aroused. Here our companion was a
prisoner in Newgate. Scarcely an hour had passed since he was free and
without a fear had joined in the congratulatory scene at Garraway's. Now
ruin was threatened. Upon cool reflection they came to two conclusions.
First, that Noyes not only would never betray them, but that he could be
depended upon to keep so close a mouth that no clue could be pumped from
him; and next, that he could never be convicted of the forgery.
He might, of course, be subjected to a few weeks of Newgate life. That was
very awkward, of course, but it would come all right.
So they resolved for the present to remain in London and await
developments.
That night the cable flashed the news of the forgery over the world,
dwelling particularly upon the fact that the perpetrator was an American.
The next morning the London press overflowed. Every prominent paper
gave a leader in the editorial column, and when the weeklies and monthlies
came out they followed suit. These editorials make now to us who were on
the inside amusing reading. They were full of Philistine talk and
amazement, and generally conceded that Noyes was an innocent dupe, and
all more or less doubted if his principal, the mysterious Mr. F. A. Warren,
would ever come back to say so.
Day after day went by, and Mac and George hung around London reading
the accounts of the affair and of the examination of Noyes before the Lord
Mayor.
They had communicated with him through his solicitor, and he sent them
word to leave England at once. In the mean time they had been sending
away the cash, and so entrenched were they in the belief that by no possible
chance could their names become mixed up in the affair that in every
instance but two they sent the money or bonds to America in their right
names.

In the mean time the bank very wisely sent a cable to their legal agent,
Clarence A. Seward, in New York, asking him to set the American detective
force on the alert. He was a man of the world and understood quite well
what sort of men then ruled at Police Head quarters. So he sent at once for
Robert A. Pinkerton and gave him entire charge of the American end of the
line. Eventually they unearthed the whole plot, secured the evidence that
convicted us and recovered the greater part of the money. The first step
taken by the private inquiry men was to have our friends, the detectives at
headquarters, led to believe that they had the case entirely in their own
hands and to strengthen this Pinkerton had the Bank of England agent in
New York go to headquarters every day and pretend to consult with Irving.
After the continental raid, on our return to London we sent Irving $3,000 in
greenbacks in a registered letter, but in order to have a hold on our three
honest friends at headquarters in case of any possible treachery in the future
we put the money in the envelope in the presence of a magistrate and had
his clerk register it and make it a part of the court record. The envelope was
simply addressed "James Irving, Esq., 300 Mulberry street, New York," and
of course the officials in London supposed it a private address.
When we returned from Rio we sent another $3,000, $1,000 each for Irving,
Stanley and White, and took the same precautions.
Soon after the floods of money coming to us in London Mac sent $15,000
to Irving in another registered letter, without any precautions, however.
Irving & Co. did not know what game we were playing, but were very
happy over the dividends past and to come. But when they read the cable
dispatches in the press about the bank forgeries, their bliss was ecstatic.
Each in fancy saw himself decked out in a magnificent diamond pin and
ring, spinning along Harlem lane behind a particularly fast pair in a stylish
rig. This was their day vision. At night each saw himself in certain resorts
ordering unlimited bottles, or seeing New York by gaslight at the rate of
$100 a minute, and the Britishers paying for it all. But the lawyers and the
Pinkertons between them played Irving and headquarters for fools and
knaves. Day after day one of the lawyers visited Mulberry street, and, being
tutored by Pinkerton, gave deceptive points to Irving, who, with his two
chums, was completely hood-winked and never suspected the game being
played on them.

But as I have got somewhat ahead of events in London I will return there
and very briefly narrate what was taking place there. Nearly every day
Noyes was brought before the Lord Mayor and officially examined, but,
acting under advice of his lawyer, he was strictly non-committal. The
detectives and officials were convinced he knew all about it, and tried by
both threats and promises to make him talk. Baron Rothschild and others of
the directors visited him again, but our friend was deaf, dumb and blind,
and they were foiled. In time two Pinkerton detectives had arrived in
London, and by a series of lucky hits soon began to let in some light on the
business.
In searching Noyes the English police had found his garments were made
by a certain London tailor who had several establishments. They brought
the foremen and salesmen down to see him, and none could identify him;
but the American detectives went over the ground again, and discovered
that the London officers had missed one branch store. This was the one
Noyes had patronized. They remembered him as a customer who had, when
ordering garments, given the name of Bedford. This in itself was a bad
point against Noyes, and the New York men wanted very much to make him
talk, and had they been permitted to adopt the vigorous American methods
they might have succeeded.
A salesman remembered seeing Noyes or Bedford one day walking in
Mayfair with a gentleman who really was Mac, of whom he gave a good
description, and taking the clerk the detectives started out to make a house-
to-house investigation. Now, No. 1 Mayfair, the first house they entered,
was the residence of a famous London doctor by the name of Payson
Hewett, and Mac had been a patient of his. But Hewett knew absolutely
nothing about him save only his name and the address he gave, Westminster
Palace Hotel. The detectives were elated, and flew to this hotel, but as Mac
had never been a guest they could learn nothing; still they had cause for
rejoicing. Here was Noyes giving a fictitious name to a tailor and in
company with an elegantly dressed American, who gave a fictitious address
to his surgeon. And they were well satisfied that whenever the matter was
dug out it would be found that the elegantly dressed stranger, as well as the
clerk, had a hand in the business. Payson Hewett stated that Mac said he
was a medical graduate from an American university, and said that, no

doubt, he spoke the truth, as he had a perfect knowledge of medical
subjects.
Here they were getting matters down pretty fine, and cabled all the facts to
America with orders to look Mac up, also his friends. This information was
the fruit of hard work—many blind trails had been followed that ran
nowhere.
In the mean time George and Mac had determined to return to America. The
last thing Mac did before leaving his lodgings in St. James' place was to roll
up in three rolls $254,000 in United States bonds and send the trunk
containing them by express to Major George Mathews, New York. He
wrapped them in a nightshirt belonging to me, which in some way had got
into his baggage. Then he bought a ticket to Paris and sent his baggage
over, waiting in London a day or two longer before going himself.
George determined to go to Ireland, and to Ireland he went, and I shall let
him in a later chapter tell in his own language the stirring events in Ireland
and Scotland that finally ended in his arrest in Edinburgh some weeks later.
Mac, before sending his baggage away, had intended to sail from Liverpool
by the Java of the Cunard line, and he cabled Irving at Police Headquarters
to meet him on the arrival of the steamer. Mac went to Paris, stopping at the
Hotel Richmond, Rue du Helder, under his right name, never for a moment
thinking he could possibly come under suspicion.
In the mean time the Pinkerton men continued their house-to-house
visitation of the fashionable lodging houses to hunt out Mac. This, in huge
London, was a Titanic task, but they exhibited a marvelous activity in
tracing out clues. In a lucky moment for the Pinkertons, a subordinate
inquiring at every number in St. James' place if an American gentleman was
lodging or had lodged there was informed by one landlady that Mac had
been a lodger, but had left a few days before. As soon as this important
report arrived they flew to St. James' place and found the landlady a warm
friend of the man they were looking for. The detectives were forced to tell
her their business. She was indignant that any one should so wrong Mac,
and ordered them out of the house.
They brought the bank solicitors and other important people to see her
before she would consent to be questioned; when she did, her information

was important indeed. She had seen very little of George, but much of me,
though she had never heard my name, but still the detectives knew from her
description that the man she described was the F. A. Warren they wanted,
and whom to get meant fame and comparative fortune for them.
The rooms had been unoccupied since Mac left and a careful search was
made for clues, but nothing was found until she was asked for the waste-
paper basket. The basket proved to be a bag, and when turned out some
pieces of blotting paper appeared, which, held in front of a mirror, of course
would reflect the writing the same as on the written sheet, and on holding
the last of the lot to the glass they were thrilled through when the
Pinkertons saw reflected there:

Ten Thousand......................Pounds Sterling.
F. A. WARREN.
which, when compared with a canceled check of mine, then in the
possession of the bank, exactly fitted it. Here was a piece of evidence,
which, if it could be brought home to Mac, was a chain to bind him fast and
sure.
Pinkerton and his man started at once for Paris, and going to the American
bankers, where most Americans register on arrival, they found Mac's name
as large as life, registered at Andrews & Co.'s as stopping at the Hotel de
Richmond.
Pinkerton was not long in reaching Rue du Helder, and learned that Mac
had left for Brest the night before. In short order he was at the Paris agency
of the steamship company, and found that Mac had purchased a ticket to
New York by the Thuringia, which was due to sail that very hour from
Brest. He did not let the grass grow under his feet between the ticket and
telegraph offices, and there he telegraphed the authorities to arrest Mac, but
he had a speedy reply that the Thuringia had sailed half an hour before his
telegram came. On second thought he quite possibly was not sorry Mac had
got off to New York, as it would lengthen out the bill and scatter some of
the bank's money in New York.

He therefore cabled to his office in New York particulars as to Mac's
departure, and then he turned all his attention to discovering who this F.A.
Warren could be. Mac had cabled Irving that he was coming by the
Thuringia. Pinkerton, feeling that there was no secrecy required about his
man being on the steamer, gave the fact to the press, and Irving discovered,
very much to his chagrin, that all the world shared with him his secret as to
Mac's whereabouts, and that if he would save his reputation he would have
to be on hand, not as a friend and confederate, but in his official capacity
and make a genuine arrest—that is, unless he could arrange to have Mac
taken off the steamer in a small boat as soon as she came into the lower bay
and before the police boat, with its load of officials, came alongside. This
Irving and his two subordinates resolved to attempt, so he took into his
counsels a great chum of his and a well-known burglar by the name of
Johnny Dobbs. To him was given the job of getting Mac off the steamer, but
he made a serious blunder. Instead of hiring and manning two boats, one to
relieve the other, he got only one. For a day or two they came within hailing
distance of all incoming steamers, but were ashore on Staten Island, taking
a rest, when bright and early one morning the Thuringia slipped into the
harbor. There was a man in the boat with Dobbs who knew Mac, and the
plan was to meet the steamer, and as Mac was sure to be on deck on the
lookout, to shout to him to jump overboard and they would pick him up and
make for shore. Once ashore and warned they would not have seen him
again.
After the Thuringia came into the harbor, Irving kept the police boat waiting
over an hour. Then, supposing his friend was safe ashore, he boarded the
ship. There were five United States Marshals on the police tug, the bank
lawyers and some of the private inquiry officials.
Irving, accompanied by White and Stanley, jumped aboard the big ship,
after giving orders to the captain of the tug not to let any one off until he
gave permission. Mac saw the tug and recognized his three friends, but was
in no way alarmed until Irving, shaking hands with him, hurriedly explained
the state of affairs. Mac took them to his cabin and gave them $150,000 in
bonds, $10,000 in greenbacks, which he had bought of the brokers in
London, besides English bank notes and two or three valuable diamonds.
Then taking out several bags of sovereigns he said: "Now, boys, help
yourselves. Load yourselves down and keep them from the enemy." What a

picture those fellows loading up with that golden store of sovereigns would
have made! They knew the marshals and detectives they held entrapped
aboard the tug would be furious, and morally sure that Irving & Co. had
plucked their bird. Therefore any appearance of pockets bulging out might
lead to disgrace, so, while they hated to leave any, for their fingers itched
for all, yet they were forced to that cruel self-denial.
One amusing piece of impudence on Irving's part occurred when looking
with greedy eyes on the eight-carat diamond Mac wore on his finger, he
said: "My God, Mac, I wish I had brought along a paste diamond. You
could wear the ring and give me yours in exchange." The ring having been
seen by so many he feared to chance taking it. No doubt his enforced denial
for long sat heavy on Jimmy's soul. What a penchant all our honest
detectives have for gems, and where do they get them?
In the mean time a storm was raging among the rival officers, who did not
relish being duped, and finally by threats forced the captain to bring the tug
alongside the steamer. Then they rushed on board to find Irving & Co. with
their prisoner awaiting them.
The marshals went to the cabin and found some £4,000 or £5,000 in
sovereigns, but when Mac was searched nothing was found on him but $20
in greenbacks. He was turned over to the United States officials and landed
in Ludlow Street Jail, pending an examination before the United States
Commissioner with a view to his extradition.
How the Pinkertons unearthed the $254,000 wrapped in old clothing in
Mac's trunk at the European Express Office, 44 Broadway, would take too
much time to tell here, or how circulars were sent out to the banks and trust
companies warning them to hold all funds deposited by any of our party, or
how Pinkerton and his men recovered large sums in various places, must all
be passed over here. Suffice it to say that the fatal piece of blotting paper
was produced in New York along with many lesser points of evidence, and
after a hard legal fight Mac was finally ordered to be given up to the
English Government to stand his trial for complicity in the great bank
forgery.
The legal proceedings before the commissioner lasted three full months.
The array of counsel on both sides made it a forensic contest between

giants, in which all past history was invoked for precedents. This
extradition case attracted wide attention.
After United States Commissioner Gutman had finally decided to surrender
him to the demand of the British Government, appeal was made to the
United States Circuit Court, Judge Woodruff, then to the Supreme Court,
Judge Barrett, before whom Mac was brought by writs of habeas corpus;
but the commissioner's decision was sustained. Mac was sent to Fort
Columbus for safe-keeping while counsel were vainly arguing on new writs
of habeas corpus and certiorari, but before any conclusion could be reached,
he was hurried away by his custodians. He had scarcely time to bid good-
bye to his counsel, when with a United States officer he was hurried into a
carriage in Chambers street, guarded by Chief Deputy Marshal Kennedy
and Deputies Robinson and Crowley, and driven rapidly down Broadway to
the Battery, so that the large crowd who gathered to witness his departure
from the metropolis had very little time to feast their eyes.
He was transferred from the Battery to Governor's Island by a tugboat and
subsequently handed over by the deputy marshals to the charge of Major J.
P. Roy, who had him escorted to Fort Columbus.
The following morning United States Marshal Fiske, with Deputies
Crowley and Purvis; Mr. Peter Williams, solicitor of the Bank of England;
Sergt. Edward Hancock, a London detective; Deputy Marshal Colfax and
others, boarded the steam tug P. C. Schultze at the Battery and steamed
across to Governor's Island. At 10.30 o'clock Capt. J. W. Bean, on post at
the fort, received an order to deliver him over.
Capt. J. W. Bean then delivered him over to United States Marshal Fiske's
charge, with whom he descended the steps from the balcony of the fort, and
marched, with a deputy at either side, through tiled pathways and groved
and shaded avenues, to the wharf at the other end of the island, where the
Schultze was awaiting his arrival. A large crowd of spectators, soldiers and
civilians lined the wharf, lingering anxiously to see him off. But he walked
very leisurely, smoked, laughed and appeared in a state of unaccountable
good humor.
It was nearly 11 o'clock when the Schultze steamed away from Governor's
Island wharf and whistled and rattled down the Bay to await the arrival of

the Minnesota, which lay at anchor during the forenoon near Pier 46, North
River, and did not sail until some minutes after 12 o'clock. The Schultze
meantime waited, steaming around the lower bay until the Minnesota
arrived. The steam tug neared the bulky and huge vessel, and Mac was
finally taken on board by United States Marshal Fiske and Deputy Marshals
Robinson, Crowley and Colfax, and given into the custody of the English
detectives, Sergts. Webb and Hancock, who in return gave the usual receipt
to Marshal Fiske.
For the present, I leave Mac on the Atlantic, sailing swiftly eastward, to
meet his terrible doom.

DRAWING STONE.

CHAPTER XXV.
THE IRONY OF FATE.

In this chapter I give in his own words George's account of his flight from
London and his arrest.
"Without the remotest suspicion that my right name was known or that
anything had been discovered to show my connection with the fraud, I
resolved to take the steamer Atlantic of the White Star line at Queenstown
for New York. Knowing that all the railway stations in London were being
watched, and that any man buying a ticket for America might have to give
an account of himself, I sent a porter to purchase a ticket for Dublin via
Holyhead. I intended taking the 9 p.m. mail train, and, as a precaution, I
waited until the last moment, after the passengers were on board, and the
waiting-room doors shut. As the mail was being transferred from the
wagons to the train, I took the opportunity to walk through the big gate
unobserved amid the rush and confusion. The car doors were all locked, but
on showing my ticket to a guard (conductor) he let me into a compartment,
no doubt supposing that I had obtained admission to the station from the
waiting-room and had been loitering about. The same was probably the case
with the two or three other men looking out of the waiting-room window at
the platform, whom I judged to be detectives. The train rolled out of the
station, and soon I was leaving London behind at the rate of fifty miles an
hour. After midnight we took the steamer at Holyhead and arrived at Dublin
about 7 a.m. I should not have felt so comfortable throughout this night's
journey had I known that the telegraph was flashing in all directions five
thousand pounds reward for my capture.
"A whole column regarding myself and my supposed movements was
published in the Dublin papers of that morning. Not suspecting they
contained 'news' regarding me, I neglected purchasing one, and, remaining
ignorant of my imminent danger, took the train for Cork, where I arrived
about 4 p.m. I had two or three London papers of the previous day in my
hand as I left the station. I had never been in Cork until then, and as I

passed into the street two detectives, who were watching the passengers,
turned and followed me. A few yards from the station one of them stepped
up by my side and said:
"'Have you ever been here before?'
"I slightly turned my head toward him, gave a haughty glance as I replied:
'Yes,' then looked straight ahead and continued my slow gait, paying no
further attention to him. He continued walking by my side for a few steps,
as if irresolute, then dropped to the rear, rejoining his companion. I did not
dare to look around or make inquiry as to the location of the wharf from
which the tugboat started to convey mail and passengers to the New York
steamers, which waited in the outer harbor. Therefore I continued my walk
along what appeared to be the main business street, perhaps for a quarter of
a mile, then turned into a druggist's and called for some Spanish licorice.
This was done to enable me to ascertain if the detectives were still
following. In a moment they passed the shop gazing intently in and saw me
leaning carelessly against the counter with my face partially turned to the
street. As soon as I had paid for the licorice I continued my walk in the
same direction, but saw nothing of the men, they having evidently stopped
in some place to let me get ahead once more. In a short time I approached
an inclosure over the gate of which was a sign that informed me I had come
by accident direct to the wharf of the New York steamers. Entering I found
the place crowded and the tugboat ready to convey the passengers to the
steamer Atlantic. Before attempting to step aboard the tug I took a covert
look around and saw my two detectives standing back in one corner with
their eyes fixed upon me, all but their heads being concealed behind the
crowd waiting to see their friends off for America. Apparently unconscious
of their presence, I threw my papers, one by one, down among the
passengers; and as the deck of the boat was eight or ten feet below, the
detectives could not see to whom they were thrown. I stood leaning on the
rail a short time gazing at the scene, then left the wharf not even glancing in
the direction of the detectives. I felt that any attempt of mine to embark
would precipitate their movements, therefore I at once abandoned all ideas
of taking passage from Queenstown.
"Now mark the irony of fate! That was the last passage ever made by the
magnificent steamer Atlantic! Some magnetic influence deranged her

compass so that she ran twenty miles out of her course, striking on the coast
of Nova Scotia, at Meager's Head, Prospect Harbor, broke in two, then
rolling into deep water sank in a few minutes. Out of 1,002 persons on
board 560 perished, including most of the saloon passengers and all the
women and children. The elegant cabins and staterooms became their tombs
—and one might have been mine. But not for me such favoring fate; a
moment's struggle ended their sufferings, while I was left to undergo the
pangs of a thousand deaths!

A CORRIDOR OF THE TOMBS, NEW YORK.
"I continued my walk up a hill among the private residences of the city, and,
hailing a cab, told the driver to take me back to the station. Eager for a job,
he asked to drive me a mile beyond on the railway. Thinking I might elude
the detectives at the Queenstown station, I acceded, and he made his little
Irish horse rush along at a pace which brought us to the stopping place just
before the train arrived.

INTERIOR OF AN ENGLISH CONVICT PRISON.
"I purchased a ticket and hastened into a carriage, where, lo and behold! sat
the two detectives. A few minutes brought us to Cork again. I was not yet
aware they were in possession of my right name and the knowledge that a
reward of £5,000 was offered for my capture, nor that their hesitation was
occasioned by doubts as to my identity, which the first false step on my part
might remove. I did not suppose they were looking especially for me, but
for any one in general whose actions and appearance might indicate that he
was one of the operators in the bank forgery. Under this erroneous belief I

crossed to the Dublin station, which was a quarter of a mile from that of the
Cork and Queenstown. As I entered the waiting room I saw my two
detectives standing at the other side. 'Well,' I thought to myself, 'this is very
strange; I left the Queenstown station ahead of them and here they are
again, all alive!' I walked away into the most thronged streets of the
business part of the city; turning a corner I glanced backward and saw them
following at some distance in the rear. As soon as I had fairly turned the
corner I started at a fast walk, turning the next before they came in view,
and after three or four such turnings I went into a small temperance hotel
and took lodgings for the night. There was but a single commercial traveler
in the sitting room—a special room set apart in every English hotel, sacred
to the 'drummer' fraternity. In the course of the evening he handed me a
small railway map of Ireland, which, in my subsequent flight through the
country, proved of incalculable service to me.
"The next morning I went out and purchased a handbag, a Scotch cap and a
cheap frieze ulster. My night's cogitations had not enabled me to solve the
detective problem, but I felt confident that something was decidedly wrong.
I then hired a covered cab, driving past the postoffice to recoinnoitre, and
saw one of the detectives standing in the doorway. This sight deterred me
from going in to ask for a letter. Dismissing my cab, I took another and
drove to the place where I had made my purchases, taking them into the cab
and going through a by-street which brought me close to my hotel.
"From the commercial room in the second floor front I looked out and
marked the farthest house I could see to the left on the opposite side.
Stepping to the desk I wrote an order directing the postmaster to deliver any
letters to my address to the bearer. This I gave to a cabman, instructing him
to drive to the postoffice and bring my mail to the house I had marked,
returning myself to the commercial room to watch. In a few minutes I saw
the cabman drive to the house, and seeing no one waiting there, he turned
and drove slowly down the street past the hotel, holding up at arm's length a
letter to attract my notice—which it did to my two detectives walking along
a short distance behind him, on the hotel side of the street, with noses
elevated and eyes peering everywhere.
"'Well,' I thought, 'this is getting to be hot, and it is time for me to leave
Cork.' I was now fully aroused to a sense of my danger. No one happening

to be in the commercial room for the moment, I left my hat on the sofa, and
wearing the Scotch cap, slipped downstairs just as they were past the hotel,
following them until I came to where the cab was waiting with my luggage.
I ordered the driver to take me to a canal-boat wharf, where I dismissed
him; then, with bag in hand, I walked across the canal bridge, stopped in a
small shop and hired a smaller boy to go for a jaunting car, and a few
minutes later I was rolling to the northward.
"On the road I threw some small coins to poor-looking people, who then, as
now, comprised among their numbers the most honest patriots and the
truest-hearted sons of Erin.
"Seeing me throwing the pence to the poor folk, cabby took it into his head
that I must be a priest—a good criterion of the estimation in which the
benevolence of the fathers is held by their own people. And I may here
remark that all the Catholic priests I have known, occupying the post of
chaplain, were without exception faithful and entirely devoted to the duties
of their holy calling. I had no intention of traveling as a priest, and when I
told the driver as much he would not believe it, but insisted that I was really
a priest traveling incognito; therefore, when we stopped at a small wayside
tavern, about twelve miles from Cork and two to Fermoy, he privately
informed the mistress that I was a priest who did not want the fact to
become known. Accordingly the good woman treated me with marked
attention during my short stay. It was then nearly sunset, and as I did not
wish the cabman to get back to Cork until late at night, I kept him eating
and drinking until dark, when I paid the bill and started him homeward,
uproariously rejoicing. I then started for Fermoy station, about two miles
distant, taking the hostler along to carry my bag. When within half a mile of
the village I let him return. While passing through the village I went into a
shop and purchased a different Scotch cap, the 'Glengarry.'
"Arriving at the station, I noticed a man near the ticket office who appeared
to be watching those who were purchasing tickets. This made me change
my plan—instead of taking a ticket to Dublin, I bought one for Lismore, the
end of the road in the opposite direction. The exclamation, 'Well, are you
going to stay all night?' was the first intimation I had of our arrival at that
place. I rubbed my sleepy eyes, and saw with dismay that all the passengers
were gone and one of the porters was putting out the lights. At the platform

I found a cab, and by 9 p.m. I was at the Lismore House. After eating
supper I entered the sitting room, finding a single occupant whom I took to
be a lawyer, and judging by his conversation and manner, in the light of
later events, I do not doubt that he surmised who I was. He was reading a
newspaper, which he once or twice offered to me; but, not dreaming of the
interesting nature of its contents, I declined to take it from him. About 10
o'clock the gentleman retired, leaving his paper on the table. I carelessly
picked it up, and the first thing that caught my eyes was a displayed heading
in large type, offering £5,000 reward for my arrest.
"A thunderbolt, indeed! For a few minutes I stared at the paper in blank
dismay. It was fortunate for my temporary safety that there were no
witnesses present. 'Well,' I thought to myself, 'this is a predicament! How
did they obtain any clue to me? I thought we had covered up the whole
affair so deep in mystery that not a clue to our personality could ever be
obtained!'
"I sat for an hour alone in this Lismore Hotel, utterly dumfounded,
bewildered, paralyzed. I had experienced some shocks, some 'take-downs,'
in my time, but never one to compare with this.
"Arousing myself from a state of mental stupefaction hitherto unknown, I
began to realize the necessity of immediate action if I wished to avoid
falling into the merciless jaws of the British lion. I put the paper into the
fire, and retired to the room allotted to me.
"Before daylight in the morning I had decided upon the first step, and as the
lawyer had asked me if I intended to remain over Sunday, I resolved to be
as far away as possible before he was out of bed. While it was yet dark in
the house, I left my bag in the bedroom and crept gently down the stairs to
the basement, where the porter-hostler was sleeping in a box of rags. I
suppose the poor wretch had not long finished his multifarious duties, for I
could arouse him only to a state of semi-consciousness, and could get no
information from him. I then went up to the front door, carefully turned the
key and stepped out on the piazza which ran along the front of the hotel.
Another shock was in store for me. A man posted on the other side of the
street was watching the hotel!

"It was now quite light, and I sauntered carelessly up the street, apparently
taking no notice of the man over the way, and endeavoring to show by my
actions that I was out for an airing before breakfast.
"As I turned the next corner and glanced back, I saw him following. I
noticed a place where jaunting-cars were to be let, but passed on, at each
turn glancing back to see my follower the same distance in the rear. I now
took a circuit around by the hotel, but instead of going in I hastened and
turned the next corner beyond—he, when reaching the corner near the hotel,
not seeing me, doubtless thought I had gone in, and planted himself in his
old position. I thought Lismore to be getting rather hot, and hastening to the
livery stable, found the hostler just getting up. He informed me that all the
horses were engaged for the day except one, the fastest they had, but as this
was engaged for a long journey on Tuesday, they were letting him have a
rest. I said: 'But, my good fellow, I must have a horse, and at once, with you
to drive, and there will be a half sovereign for a good Irishman, such as I
see before me.' My 'blarney' began to do its work. Scratching his head, he
finally said: 'Well, I will waken up my master, and you can talk with him.'
So he rapped at a window, and soon a night-capped head appeared, and
after some parley the master consented to let me have his equipage. In a few
minutes from the time I had lost sight of my follower we were rattling out
of the town of Lismore at the full speed of a blooded Irish horse. I had left
my bag behind, taking only the Scotch caps and ulster with me from the
hotel. I found, by reference to the small map and railway guide, that
Clonmel was less than thirty miles distant, and connected with Dublin by a
branch line. When I engaged the jaunting-car I had told the owner that it
was uncertain what part of the day I should require it, and after we were
about five miles from Lismore I said to the driver:
"'You say that you are going to Clonmel on Tuesday for a passenger. Well,
now, as I must go there before I leave this part of the country, you may as
well continue in that direction, and I can return with you on Tuesday.'
"This pleased him, and we drove on till about noon, when we stopped at a
country grocery about five miles from Clonmel. As we drove up to the door,
the words of an old Irish song went jingling through my brain:

"'At the sign of the bell,
On the road to Clonmel,
Pat Flagherty kept a neat shebeen.'
"The rain poured down in torrents. I gave my driver a lunch of bread and
cheese, which—of course, there—included whisky. I also gave him a
sovereign, telling him to pay his master for the horse-hire and keep the
change for himself; then started him back, brimful of delight and the
'craythur,' receiving his parting salute:
"'Yer 'onor is a jintleman, and no mistake.'
"I arranged with the storekeeper to let a boy take me in his car to Clonmel.
"The Green Isle! Well, I found out that day what keeps the grass green in
Ireland. My Irish frieze and every thread on me were water-logged, yet the
Irish lad, my driver, took the 'buckets-full' as a matter of course. Amid this
deluge of rain we arrived in Clonmel and stopped at a 'shebeen,' kept by the
boy's uncle—driving into the back yard through a gate in a board fence
fifteen feet high, which shut it in from the street.

"I AM JOHN CURTIN OF THE PINKERTON FORCE."—Page 332.
"I went into a room in the rear of the sale room, the door of which stood
open so that I could see all that passed within, and, as I stood drying my
clothes by the turf fire, I saw how thirsty souls on the 'ould sod,' evaded the
Sunday liquor law. The proprietor stood in the shop in a position whence he
could covertly keep an eye on the policeman patrolling the street, and as
soon as he was out of sight a signal was given, the backyard gate thrown
open, when a dozen men rushed in, and the gate closed. Coming hilariously
through the dwelling into the shop, these were soon busily drinking their
'potheen.'
"It was now 2 o'clock p.m., the rain had ceased, and starting out, I walked
along a main street until I saw a sign 'cabs to let.' I went into the house and
was shown into an inner room, where the proprietress sat crooning over a
turf fire. She motioned me to a seat beside her, and when I told her I wished
for a conveyance to take me to Cahir, a place eight miles distant, she asked
me several questions, among others, how long I wished to be gone, and if I
were not an American. To all of which I replied to the following effect: That
I was going to visit some friends who were officers stationed in the fort at

Cahir; and as to her mistaking me for an American, the ancestors of the
'Yankees' went from about Norfolk County, England, to America, of course,
taking the accent with them, and I being from the former place, (Norfolk) of
course had the same accent.
"This explanation appeared to satisfy the old lady, and she became quite
confidential; and, anxious to remove from my mind any trace of offense at
her unusual questioning, she drew closer to me and said:
"I can see that you are all right; but the fact is that the captain of police sent
an order that I should notify him at once in case any stranger wished to hire
a vehicle, especially if I thought him an American. But I do not care for the
curs; they are nothing but a parcel of spies and informers in the pay of the
English Government; so even if you were the one they are looking for they
will wait a long time for me to inform them, and you shall have my best
horse and a good driver.'
"I heartily thanked the good old Irish lady—for I have found true ladies and
gentlemen among the poor and humble, as well as the wealthy, especially in
Ireland—and in a few minutes I was bowling gayly along toward Cahir.
"This is a small, ancient, walled garrison town, the nearest railway station
being at Clonmel. This miniature city has been the scene of many a heart-
stirring event in the distant past. Here Cromwell was for a time held at bay,
and his fanatical hordes made their Celtic opponents pay in blood for their
patriotic and desperate defense of their homes and firesides.
"Driving through the town gate, I saw in the main street a grocery store
with a blind down, and telling the driver to halt there, I paid him and sent
him back. I then went into the grocery, and after taking a lunch of bread and
cheese, continued my walk up the street. I saw a hotel just ahead, but not
wishing to attract attention to my movements, I crossed to the opposite side,
and while doing so glanced back and saw a car come through the same
town gate I had just entered, and dash furiously up the street, pulling up at
the walk a few yards behind me. Just as they sprang out I turned to the left
in a narrow lane in which I saw a gateway to the fort, just within the
entrance of which a sentry was pacing, there being opposite several roofless
cottages. The soldier's back being turned, quick as thought I sprang unseen
within one of these, and in a moment I heard some men run around the

corner and interrogate the soldier, who stoutly declared that no one had
entered. The men then demanded to see the captain, were admitted, and
after a short time I heard them come out and depart. I stood in that ruin two
mortal hours until dusk, then walked out unseen by the sentry, and turning
to the left, came into a narrow street lined with small dwelling houses."

CHAPTER XXVI.
"EXCUSE ME, SIR, FOR QUESTIONING YOU."

"Crossing the narrow street in Cahir, referred to at the close of the last
chapter, I went in haphazard at the first door, without knocking, and saw a
family eating their humble supper. As I walked in I addressed the family at
the table thus:
"'Good evening. Pardon my intrusion, and do not disturb yourselves; but by
all means finish your supper.'
"'Good evening, sir,' was the reply from the man, whom I will call Maloy.
'We are glad to see you; will you sit by and have pot-luck with us?'
"'No, thank you,' I answered. 'I am an American—and it is my custom when
traveling in any country to make unceremonious calls like this, in order to
see the people as they really are at home.'
"After supper was over I related to Maloy and his family several stories and
incidents concerning the Fenians and their doings in America, which, of
course, interested them greatly. When it was fairly dark I arose to go, and
Maloy went outside with me. He had previously informed me that he was
employed by the government in the civil service. I will not state in what
capacity, for, although so many years have elapsed, the true-hearted
Irishman may still be earning his bread in the same humble employment,
and the knowledge that he assisted one whom he supposed to be a Fenian
leader in 1873 might even now cost him dearly. When we were outside the
door I said:
"'The fact is, Maloy, I am a Fenian leader, and the police are after me! I
have been dodging them for two days, and they are looking for me now in
Cahir! I have important papers for prominent Fenians in various parts of
Ireland, and it would delay our plans if I am obliged to destroy them. But I
fear I must do so at once unless you can help me. I would almost sooner
forfeit my life than to lose these papers, and I shall fight to my last breath

rather than let them fall into the hands of the police, for it might be the ruin
of several good men! My plan is to double back to Clonmel, and I want
your assistance to get me out of Cahir!'
"'Oh, sir,' he replied, 'it is too bad you did not let me know a little sooner,
for the mail car is gone; it starts at 6 o'clock.'
"Just as he had finished speaking, a car came rumbling past and he
exclaimed joyfully:
"'We are in luck! There goes the mail car to the postoffice! Come with me!'
"We hastened through a narrow, dark lane to the gate—the same I had
entered from Clonmel—walked through and at a hundred yards beyond
waited for the mail car, which soon came along. Maloy being well
acquainted with the driver, hailed him, saying that a friend of his wanted a
ride to Clonmel.
"After shaking hands warmly with Maloy, I climbed upon the car, and the
next instant I was whirling along—into fresh dangers—in that unique
vehicle, an Irish jaunting car.
"Arriving near Clonmel I saw a tavern, and ascertaining from the driver that
it was near the railway station, I left the car and entered the place, only to
find that the best, and, in fact, the sole food to be had for supper was eggs.
Having been on the move since dawn, after a sleepless night, and almost
without food, I hesitate to divulge how many eggs I disposed of that
evening, for the statement might tend to throw distrust on the general
veracity of my narrative. Having dried my wet clothes and put myself into a
presentable condition, I went to the railway station to take the 11 p.m. train
to Dublin. Seating myself on a bench outside, I handed some money to a
porter and sent him for a ticket, which he obtained. There were but a few
waiting about, so I stepped into the small waiting room and sat down near
three other men. The one nearest, whom I at once put down for a local
policeman in private clothes, turned and spoke to me. I replied with civility
to his questions until finally he said: 'But are you not an American?' I
replied to his startling question in such a manner that he appeared satisfied.
"'You must excuse me, sir, for questioning you,' he explained, 'but there has
been a great forgery in London, and it is said some of the parties are in

Ireland, and I am anxious to get a claim on the £5,000 that is offered for
each one of them.'
"I told him that instead of being offended I was greatly pleased to see the
zeal he exhibited in the execution of his duties, and expressed the hope that
he might be successful in securing at least one of the forgers, which would
give him not only the £5,000, but undoubtedly promotion. I got on the train
all right, resolving that I would not speak another word of English while in
Ireland, and forthwith turned into a Russian, who could speak 'une veree
leetel Francais,' confident that I should not be in danger of exposure by
encounter with any one who could speak the Russian language. I threw
away the ordinary Scotch cap I had been wearing, and put on the Glengarry.
When I arrived at the Maryborough junction, the train on the main line from
Cork was late, and I walked up and down on the platform, well knowing
that the detectives would scrutinize more closely those who appeared to
shrink from observation; therefore, I affected the bearing of a Russian
prince as nearly as I knew how.
"I got on the train unmolested, and arrived in Dublin at 1 a. m.
"There appeared to be some special watching of those leaving the train, but
I passed out unchallenged and took a cab. Not knowing the name of any
hotel, I told the driver I would direct the route as we passed along, and he
drove away at a great pace. Very soon I noticed another cab following at an
equal speed. I had mine turn a corner, but the one behind came thundering
after; and though I bade my driver to turn at nearly every corner still I could
not shake off my supposed pursuer until, after apparently being followed
about two miles, the stern chaser turned off in another direction, much to
my relief. We soon approached the Cathedral Hotel, where I alighted about
2 a. m., rang up the porter, and was shown to a room.
"At 7 o'clock in the morning I sent for my bill, left the hotel, went direct to
the 'Jew' quarters, and purchased a valise and some second-hand clothes.
Noticing the old Jewess' looks of curiosity at seeing one of my appearance
making such purchases, I remarked: 'A Fenian friend has got himself into a
scrape, and the police are after him; so I am going to get him out of the
country, and wish to let him have some things that do not have too new a
look.' At hearing those (in Ireland) magic words, 'Fenian,' 'police,' she

became all smiles, let me fill the valise with old garments at my own price,
and at starting said: 'God bless you! May you have good luck, and get off
safe to America!'
"I then went to a more pretentious locality, where I procured a silk hat
draped with mourning crape, put the Glengarry in my pocket, and became a
Frenchman. At this moment I discovered that I had left in my room at the
hotel a large silk neck-wrapper on which were embroidered my initials. I
immediately stepped into a shop and left my new purchases, resuming the
Scotch cap, and started for the hotel (where I had given no name), to secure
the dangerous article left behind. Coming in sight of the hotel, I saw a man
stationed opposite, leaning on a cane, who appeared to be watching the
house. As I approached nearer he kept his eyes covertly fixed upon me;
therefore, instead of entering the hotel, I walked past it and turned the next
corner, glancing backward as I did so, and, to my dismay, saw the man
following me. I now adopted the same plan of action that succeeded so well
at Cork, and in half an hour I had shaken him off and returned to the place
where I had left my new silk hat and valise. Donning the hat, with valise in
hand, I was soon seated in an Irish jaunting car, on my way to a station
about ten miles out on the railway to Belfast.
"Upon reflection I was satisfied that the chambermaid had found the silk
wrapper and taken it to the hotel office. There the initials, together with the
knowledge of my arrival at so unusual an hour, without baggage, and my
early departure, had aroused suspicion, and the police had been notified. At
about 11 o'clock I arrived at the station, and going into a store paid my
Dublin cabman and called for lunch. About five minutes before the train
was due from Dublin I walked into the empty station, presented myself at
the ticket office, and said: 'Parlez vous Francais, Monsieur?' and received
the reply, 'No.' I then said in a mongrel of French and English that I wished
for a ticket to Drogheda—not daring to purchase one through Belfast.
Supposing me to be a French gentleman, he was very polite and ordered the
porter to take my baggage to the platform. There I found myself the solitary
waiting passenger. As the train approached I saw a pair of heads projecting
from the carriage windows, eagerly scanning the platform. Two men
jumped off, and, hastening to the station master began to talk to him in an
excited manner, all the time glancing toward me. As I passed near the group
to get on the train, I heard the agent say: 'He is a Frenchman.' No doubt he

informed them that I had purchased a ticket to a way station only—a fact
that would naturally allay suspicion. At the next stopping place they
actually arrested a man, but went no further.
"I afterward ascertained that twelve men were arrested on that and the
preceding day, among the number being a fraudulent debtor trying to escape
by the same steamer, the Atlantic.
"The following extracts from contemporary newspapers will give the reader
some idea as to what a 'hot' place Ireland was for me:

"(By Cable to the New York Herald.)
"London.
"Three shabbily dressed men, who,
from their accent, are believed
to be Americans, were arrested in
Cork, Ireland, this morning while
attempting to deposit $12,000 in that
city.

"They are supposed to be the parties
who recently committed the
frauds on the Bank of England."
"From the London Times of same
date."

"To Editor of Times.
"Sir: The case of Dr. Hessel has been so lately before the public, and so
much has been written both in the English and German papers against the
English police, that probably a little evidence upon the procedure of the
German (or, I ought probably to say, the Bavarian) may not be uninteresting
at the present moment. Myself and son, a sub-lieutenant, R. N., made a
great attempt to reach the grotesque old city of Nuremberg on Saturday last,

arriving there about 7 o'clock. We were asked to put our names in the
stranger's book, as usual, which we did, and retired to bed. Imagine our
surprise, on rising on Sunday morning, at receiving a visit from one of the
chief police officers, requesting us to 'legitimize ourselves.' I asked him his
object for making this demand, when he replied that a man named Warren
was wanted by the English police.
"In vain I showed him an old passport and letters addressed to me, showing
that my name was Warner; he informed me that I could not leave my room,
and placed two policemen at the door. At 1 o'clock I remembered an
influential inhabitant of the town who knew me, and I sent for him. He at
once went to headquarters and gave bond for me to a large amount, and at 6
o'clock in the evening myself and son were released. You will remember
that in the case of Dr. Hessel four persons swore to his identity before he
was deprived of his liberty. In my case a similar name to that required was
sufficient to deprive me of mine.
"I have since received, thanks to the strenuous and prompt action of the
British Minister at Munich, a very ample apology in writing for the blunder
that had been committed. It was signed by the Burgermeister of the city, and
as the intelligence of this worthy seems to be equaled by his simplicity, he
sends me a safe pass to protect me in my further travels, in case Warner
should again be considered the same as Warren. I remain, sir, your obedient
servant,
"CHARLES W. C. WARNER,
"Ex-Sheriff, London and Middlesex
"I now return to my narrative. In the second-class compartment where I sat
were two burly, loud-talking, well-informed farm proprietors, one of whom
had imbibed a little too freely of the native distillation. The sober one had
just finished reading a column article on the 'Great Bank Forgery' to his
lively companion, who at length turned and addressed me. I answered him
politely in broken French, and he then went on to give his opinion of the
bank affair, as nearly as I can remember, as follows:
"'You, being a Frenchman, don't understand about our great bank; but I tell
you those Yankees did a clever thing when they attacked that powerful
institution. The one they have got penned up here in Ireland can't possibly

escape; indeed, according to the newspapers, he is already in the hands of
the police. I am almost sorry to hear it, for in getting the best of that bank so
cleverly the rascal deserves to get off; and see, here is a description of him.'
"I looked at the paper and saw that it was a fair general outline of my
appearance, even to my ulster which I had with me in the valise, and the
Scotch cap which was in my pocket. Before we reached Drogheda I had
explained to one of my new friends, in broken French, that, owing to my
ignorance of the English language, I had purchased a wrong ticket, and
being liable to make a similar mistake, should feel obliged if he would take
the trouble to procure me a ticket at that station. He readily assented, and by
this means I procured it without exposing myself. The hunt for me was
becoming so extremely hot that I dared not show myself again at a ticket
office; and if I should be found on a train ticketless that fact might lead to
closer scrutiny—the rule in that country being that every passenger must be
provided with a ticket before entering a car.
"The train arrived in Belfast at 9 o'clock, and I at once took a cab to the
Glasgow steamer. It was very dark, and I went on board unobserved, two
hours before the time of departure. Going down into the saloon cabin, I saw
the purser sitting near the entrance, to whom I said: 'Parlez vous Francais?'
He shook his head. I then asked in jargon for 'une billet a Glasgow.'
Surmising what I wished, he gave me a ticket, putting on it the number of
my berth.
"Expecting to be followed, I had taken that instant precaution of impressing
on the purser's mind that I was a Frenchman. I passed into the washroom,
just opposite where the purser sat, washed myself and brushed my hair. Just
at this moment I heard steps descending the cabin stairway, then the words:
"'Purser, a cab just brought a man from the Dublin train. Where is he?'
"'Oh, you mean the Frenchman,' replied the purser; 'he's in the washroom.'

ONE WHO HAS BEEN ROBBED IDENTIFYING THE THIEF AT
NEWGATE.
"While this was passing I had put on my silk hat and taken up my valise,
and was standing before the glass (a la Francais) taking a final view of my
toilette, and snapping off some imaginary dust and lint, as the two
detectives stepped in, and after looking me well over went out, and I saw
them no more. That proved to be the last ordeal through which I passed in
Ireland. After being convinced that they had left the steamer I went to my
berth, and being thoroughly exhausted I fell asleep in an instant, not
awaking until the steamer was entering the harbor of Glasgow.
"After my arrest a month later in Scotland, during the transfer to London
and afterward to Newgate, while awaiting trial, the detectives told me that
they were in Cork three hours after I had left, and one of them related their
adventures substantially as follows:
"'We arrived in Cork Saturday afternoon and were not long in finding the
temperance hotel where you stayed on Friday night, and the hat you left

behind. After a long hunt we ascertained that a jaunting car had left the
stand some hours previously and was still absent.
"'We had a good laugh at those blunder-heads, the Cork officers, letting you
slip through their fingers, and then showed them how we do things. After
some delay we traced the cab across the bridge to the shop where you got
the boy to go for it. The shopwoman was quite voluble about you, saying
she knew all the time that you were an American by the accent, and
described the bag and ulster which we had ascertained were in your
possession. Of course, we were now satisfied that we were on the right
scent, but could get no further trace or the direction taken by the cab. We
therefore sent dispatches to all the telegraph stations within fifty miles to
put the police on the watch and sent messengers to the outlying places, but
somehow you slipped through our meshes, and nothing turned up until the
car man returned at about 11 p.m., as drunk as a soldier on furlough. After
putting him under a water tap until he was half drowned we got him sober
enough to tell where he had left you; but he swore you were a priest, and his
evident sincerity caused us all to roar with laughter. This angered him, and
he said: "Ye may twist me head an' dhroun me intirely, but I wull niver
spake another wurrud about the jintelman at all, at all," and sure enough we
could get nothing more out of him.
"'We had a carriage ready, and, jumping in, we were at the wayside inn by
midnight and terrified the old woman half out of her wits in arousing her
out of bed. After a while she gathered them sufficiently to show us that you
had six hours the start of us. The boy who carried your bag could give us no
points, but we concluded you intended taking the branch line at Fermoy for
Dublin. We drove right on, arriving at the Fermoy station at 1 p.m., but,
getting no trace we telegraphed to all the stations along the line to Dublin,
and there as well to be on the lookout. Who would ever have thought of
your taking the opposite direction, penning yourself in at the end of a
branch line, at a small inland town like Lismore? Why, you were, as we
discovered the next morning, at that moment sleeping quietly at the
Lismore Hotel, and only about ten miles from where we were working so
industriously for that £5,000! Well, you "done" us fine that time!
"'After you so cleverly threw us off the trail, we could get no trace until
Sunday morning, when we received a dispatch from Lismore, stating that a

man had come on the last train, stayed at the hotel and left at daylight
without paying his bill. "Hello!" said I, as soon as I read the dispatch, "we
never suspected Lismore; he has been there all night and is off again!" We
telegraphed to Clonmel, Waterford and other places; then left for Lismore,
where we arrived, paid your bill and took the bag with us. Surmising that
you might make for Clonmel, we looked for and found the place where you
got the car, but no news as to what direction you had taken. It would have
made you laugh, as it did us, to see the old livery man stamp about and tear
his hair when he found how easily he could have made the £5,000—if he
had "only known."
"'Starting on the way to Clonmel, we soon had news which satisfied us we
were once more on the right track. Shortly after we met, sure enough, the
cab you had sent back from the country store. Arriving there we took the
boy, who had just returned from driving you to Clonmel, with us, and,
feeling sure that we should soon come up with you, we made our horses
spin toward that town. Arriving there, we saw the inspector, who informed
us that he had sent a constable in pursuit of a man who had hired a car to go
to Cahir.' (This must have been one of the men in the car whom I escaped
by dodging into the ruined cottage.) 'It being then sundown we drove to
Cahir with all speed, arriving there just after dark, passing the Clonmel mail
car inside the gate; but it contained no one but the driver.
"'We soon found the constable sent from Clonmel, who said you had
disappeared into the fort, where a friend must have concealed you, and that
you must be there still. He then took us to the fort, which was closed for the
night. As soon as my eyes lighted on the ruined cottages I asked him if he
had searched them and received an answer in the negative. "Why," said he,
"they are, as you see, all open to the day, without roof, doors or windows,
and no one would think of hiding in them." "You are a fool," I replied.
"Give me your lamp and come with me." After a look around and seeing
how easily any person could stand in a corner out of sight, I remarked to
him emphatically that he was the biggest specimen of a goose I had ever
seen in my line. "I think," said I, "you had better go home and play pin.
Here is where he dodged you, and now he is off again, with an hour or more
start." We worked until after midnight and gave Cahir such a "turning over"
that the inhabitants won't soon forget, but could not get hold of the least
trace, except at one place (Maloy's), where a woman said a stranger came in

at supper time, who said he was an American seeing the people in their
homes. We cross-questioned the man, but could get nothing out of him
more than that you had departed.
"'At last we gave it up, went to the hotel to get some sleep, which we
needed badly, and the next day went to Dublin, heard about the finding of
your neck-wrapper at the Cathedral Hotel, and knocked about Ireland for
some time. During this time we arrested several persons, but soon
discovered none of them was the right party, and we never obtained a
genuine trace until you were discovered later in Edinburgh.'"

MARKET CROSS, EDINBURGH.

CHAPTER XXVII.
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 £4,000 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.

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.

View larger image
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.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
FEAR SAYS "NO" TO HAPPINESS.

We passed during the day a military post and several squads of armed men.
Poor fellows! they were wretchedly equipped, so far as garments went.
They all examined us curiously, but did not offer to stop or question us
while I marched on ahead of the cavalcade like a drum major, giving the
military salute to each party as we passed. I ought to have been fatigued,
but I was not. After about five miles of uphill work we began to descend.
The road was a masterpiece of engineering, and well it might be, for it was
one of five military roads the great Napoleon ordered to be constructed
across the Pyrenees, and it was done in a thoroughly workmanlike manner.
It wound in and out and along defiles of stern beauty.
We halted for rest and refreshment at noon, and again at 4 o'clock for an
hour. At the last place we found some Carlist officers, one a young
Englishman, who was a good fellow and most attentive. He was an aide-de-
camp on Don Carlos' staff. He told me there was no chance of his side
winning, but he was in it for the fun of the thing and in hope of seeing some
fighting. He had taken part in a number of skirmishes, and was by no means
satisfied yet. He volunteered to escort us through the lines, and was
evidently more than pleased to meet an English lady in the person of my
wife.
It was beautiful to see him order about my muleteers and bully them up hill
and down dale, not hesitating to use his whip on them. About 5 o'clock we
started off in great shape, having some twenty miles to go to the little town
on the railway south of the Pyrenees. We had two lanterns and a number of
torches; it was a picturesque caravan in the darkness. The young officer
rode beside the first cart, conversing with my wife, while I walked in the
rear. We had reason to congratulate ourselves over our escort, he being a
brave and brilliant fellow and evidently a person of importance. He little
thought whom he was escorting. I was pleased on my wife's account, as he

was company for her, and, altogether, she thoroughly enjoyed the novelty of
the whole situation.
We had made a fine bed of hay and blankets for our sick man. Nevertheless,
he was a source of much anxiety and trouble. At last, to the intense relief of
all, we heard far away the shrill whistle of a locomotive. It was sweet music
to my ears, for I realized the peril of the delay. We had now arrived at the
base of the southern slope of the Pyrenees and the plain stretched out before
us. We had just passed through an intrenched camp that guarded the
entrance to the valley. Our escort had ridden ahead, and not satisfied with
smoothing the way for us, had turned out the guard to do us honor. We
halted for a few minutes, and several uniformed officers came forward and
were introduced to my wife and me. It was a picturesque scene. The mantle
of snow covering all, the strange-looking mountaineers, the eager-faced,
boyish officers—French, English, Austrian—all soldiers of fortune, who, in
the dearth of great wars, were seeking fame in the inglorious civil contest;
our torches casting fantastic shadows until the forest-covered mountain,
dark and frowning, though snow lay everywhere, seemed peopled with
hosts of men—all made a picture never to be forgotten by some of the
observers.
Another mile and our escort had to leave us, but the town, standing dark
against the snow, was in plain view. By his advice I went ahead on foot with
two men, in case any of "the enemy" were prowling around, but found none
until we arrived in the town; then a scene of great excitement to the
townspeople arose.
We were examined and cross-examined, and our statements taken down in
writing and sworn to by all hands. In the mean time I had made beds for our
sick man and the ladies in the waiting room of the station, and about 2
o'clock I went to sleep. The station was fortified and full of soldiers, but I
did not care, being told the Madrid train would start at daylight; if so, I
would be in time for El Rey Felipe, and would be sailing out of Cadiz
harbor on Monday over the blue water, westward ho!
After a two hours' nap I was up, paid off my lucky thirteen, giving them a
present in addition to their due, with a written paper certifying that they
were honest and brave, and had delivered me and mine in safety.

The weather continued very cold, and when the train, consisting of two
passenger and one baggage car, arrived we found there were no heating
arrangements, and we shivered at the thought of an all-day's ride without
fire or heat across that windy plain. I determined to have a compartment to
ourselves, for my wife and I had not had a moment's privacy since the
smash-up of the train. So we fixed up a bed on the floor of a compartment
for our sick man, and I put his family in to look out for him. When the train
left we found ourselves, very much to our satisfaction, alone. I had
telegraphed ahead to Burges to have hot water cases, then the only mode of
heating cars in Europe, ready on our arrival.
The engineer of our train was an Englishman. As it was so important that I
should not be delayed I gave him a sovereign and his stoker another, and
asked him as a favor to make time. He said he would and kept his word. But
arriving at Burgos we found that the train from Santander going south was
two hours late, so my wife and I started out to see the famous town.
After a short view we made our way to the Cathedral, and it was a sight! It
is one of the many sacred edifices which the piety of former ages
bequeathed our own. One of these sacred buildings—like the Strasbourg
and Cologne Cathedrals, in the construction of which generation after
generation of pious souls—pious according to the fashion of their times—
had given their days to the building and decoration of the cloister or church
where their lives were lived, and all was done with loving and patient care.
We in our day may sneer at the monks and brothers of the Dark Ages, but in
those times of rude violence all gentle hearted, scholarly souls found in the
sanctity and quiet of the cloister the only refuge open to them, and they did
good work, both in the domain of mind and in the world of material things.
Much that was "piety" and much that was "faith" in their day is termed
superstition in ours; but who will deny that the simple piety and credulous
faith of their day was a million times better than the restless skepticism and
sad unrest of ours?
At Burgos I tried to get an English paper, but none was to be had and no
one there had ever seen one.
But here some startling news came flashing over the wires. Nothing less
than that there had been a revolution at Madrid, the capital. Amadeo, the

lately elected king, had suddenly resigned, and a republic had been
proclaimed with Castelar at the head.
I began to see more and more what a fool I was to let myself be caught at
such a time in such a land, but still had so much confidence in my good
fortune that I felt I would be on time for the steamer on Monday.
It was now 3 o'clock Friday. We were all aboard for Madrid and just pulling
out of the station. We would be due there the next morning. From Madrid to
Cadiz there is only one through train in twenty-four hours, and that leaves
seven mornings a week; but, as it runs only fifteen miles an hour, and is
seldom on time at that, one must figure on taking an entire twenty-four
hours for the journey. Still, as we would be due Saturday morning, I had a
big margin for delay.
At last we were off. On the train and in every group we passed there were
signs of subdued excitement. Between Royalists and Republicans sharp
lines were evidently drawn which soon were to culminate in bloody
conflict.
Soon after 10 o'clock we arrived in the walled town of Avila, about eighty
miles from the famous Escurial built by the second Philip, and about 150
miles from Madrid. Here we got an excellent dinner and good coffee. But
dinner was spoiled for me by the disastrous intelligence that martial law had
been proclaimed and that the Government had seized the roads running
north from Madrid to transport troops.
Here was a pretty pickle! I was enraged. I saw the chief of the railway at
Avila, but he was a fool, and under the unwonted state of affairs had lost
what little head he ever had.
So once more our baggage was all piled out of the train, and once more we
had to go into camp on the floor of the station, with a terrific din around us.
I arose early, and looking up the telegraph clerk and railway chief, I made
them both rich by the present to each of five escudos.
Then I telegraphed Castelar and the Minister of War that I was an
Englishman, that I had my family with me, and having important business
in Madrid I must not be detained in Avila. I demanded that he should at

once direct the military officials to send me on to Madrid by special train. I
also sent a telegram to Hernandez, president of the road in Paris, offering
5,000 francs for a special train. Another urgent message was sent to the
superintendent in Madrid repeating the offer for a special train, the same
sum to himself if he expedited the train. I also authorized him to spend a
similar amount if necessary in bribing the military authorities.

TRIAL OF THE FOUR AMERICANS AT THE "OLD BAILEY,"
LONDON.
At 11 o'clock I had a long telegram from him saying a train would be made
up at Avila. But an hour having passed away, I sent him a message to order
up an engine and one car from Madrid. Another message arrived at 12
o'clock, and down came an engine and car.
Our baggage was hustled into the three front compartments. I put Nunn and
the Portuguese party in one and my wife and I occupied the rear
compartment. Thank Heaven! once more alone together. The soldiers and
inhabitants flocked around, and we were the observed of all observers.
The local railway chief was more than anxious to see us off, as I added
another five to the five escudos already given. Just then the telegraph
operator flew out with an order for our train to await the arrival of the train
from Madrid.

I stormed. I kept the wire hot with messages of protest to officials. Two
messages came from Madrid saying the delay was but temporary. So there I
sat in that musty compartment, my wife by my side and with a heart full of
bitterness, for I saw the precious hours slipping away, and with them my
chance of taking the Sunday morning train so as to catch the Cadiz steamer.
To miss it, I thought, meant ruin.
Hour after hour passed by, and there we sat. My secret cause of unrest had
to be kept locked in my breast, while my young wife, all unsuspecting, was
merry and happy, chanting little snatches of song and telling me a hundred
times she was the happiest of women. She did not care for revolutions, nor
for delays. Was she not with me! The sun began to go down the sky, and the
shadows fell. Still we sat on, expecting every moment an order to proceed.
The suspense was terrible.
At last about 6 o'clock an order came to have everything ready to pull out
for Madrid at 7, so very reluctantly we dismounted to take supper in the
station, and once more got into the car. But no order came. The hours
dragged on, and I saw fate closing her hand on me.
The night wore on, when suddenly, toward midnight, the operator rushed
out of his office and, shouting to the engineer, flew up to our compartment,
said good-bye and in a minute we were off. After that long and terrible day
it was happiness to be moving.
I had given the engineer a tip; he put on steam, and as we flew over the road
hope returned. I felt we were safe. At the rate we were going I should have
two or three hours to spare. We soon were at the Escurial. As fate would
have it we found here an order to run us on a side line and to keep the track
clear for a train going north. For two miserable hours we waited and no
train. Then I set the wires in motion again, and just as the eastern skies grew
gray we started.
Soon after midnight I telegraphed to the railway authorities at Madrid to
hold the train going south to Cadiz until my arrival, offering $100 an hour
for every hour's detention.
Madrid is situated on a high sandy plain, storm-swept in Winter worse than
any plains in Northern Europe. We had a wheezy engine. Four miles out it

broke down, and then I gave up the struggle.
At 4 o'clock Sunday afternoon, nine hours too late for the Cadiz train, we
arrived at Madrid, too late to reach Cadiz by a special train. Not too late
could the train have been started off as soon as ordered, but in Spain a
special train is an unheard-of thing.
Mine from Avila was an innovation, only possible because there was so
much money behind it to all concerned at both ends of the line. No Spaniard
was ever known to be in a hurry, and no particle of matter between his chin
and his sombrero holds any lurking suspicion that anything born of a
woman could be in a hurry or have any reason for any such insanity.
Here I was at last in the much-longed-for Madrid, but not on time, and I had
nothing to do but to put in execution some new plan. Had I even at that late
date resolved to go to New York, I could have returned to France by the
Eastern route, via Barcelona, and all might have been well.
I telegraphed to Lopez & Co. to Cadiz inquiring if they would hold the El
Rey Felipe for twenty hours. They replied they were under contract with the
Government and had to sail on time. So I said good-bye to that plan.
On consulting my memorandum I saw there was a French steamer sailing
from St. Nazaire, on the west coast of France, for Vera Cruz, Mexico, which
would touch at Santander on Saturday for mails and passengers, and I
resolved to go by her; this, of course, meant retracing our way through the
hated Avila to Burgos, and changing there for Santander.
Here we saw the last of the Portuguese family with their sick member. They
said good-bye with every expression of gratitude, and in truth I was glad to
see them off. We were all very tired of them, and they had been a serious
expense. That is, might have been serious, but as I paid that expense out of
the Bank of England's cash I naturally could be liberal in the extreme, and
gave a salve to my conscience by reflecting what a good-souled, charitable
young man I was in looking out for these strangers and putting my hand
freely in my pocket in their behalf.
As soon as breakfast was over I hurried to the English Embassy, and there
securing files of the London papers looked eagerly and nervously through
them. To my intense relief I saw there was nothing in them. Therefore, I

knew all was serene in London and that the Old Lady was without doubt
giving out sovereigns by the tens of thousands for us.
Very much relieved in mind I returned to the hotel, and we set out to see
Madrid.

A DETECTIVE IDENTIFYING OLD OFFENDERS AT NEWGATE.

CHAPTER XXIX.
I WATCH THE PYRENEES SINK IN THE SEA, THEN SAIL
O'ER GREEN NEPTUNE'S BACK.

It was 11 o'clock when we started. The streets were thronged, and the
throngs moving in one direction. That was to the street lined on both sides
with churches, whose doors were flung wide open to the surging masses.
We went with the current and entered a famous church which was crowded
with the pious, their souls rapt in their devotion. Like all European
churches, there were no seats, but the audience, closely packed, knelt or
stood. We joined the worshipers, but looked around with curious eyes.
When the prayers were ended the street was one living mass of people, all
moving toward the outskirts of the town. We went with the tide, and with
the tide entered the arena, where a bull fight was on—curious transition
from church to arena. It was a great sight—I mean that of seeing the people
—there were 15,000 present in that amphitheatre. It looked just like the old
Roman arena, and to us was in all its details intensely interesting.
On Monday we visited the picture galleries and museums, and on Tuesday
we got our baggage down to the depot once more, and purchasing our
tickets we were off for Santander. I was too anxious to enjoy the scenery.
We were a day and a night on the journey, and arriving on Wednesday I still
had before me three days of anxiety.
Being thoroughly sick of Spain, I longed to be on blue water with our good
ship's prow pointed to the Western World. Then I felt I could begin to enjoy
life. I had a charming wife—delightful companion—and once up anchor all
my haunting fears would die, and life's pleasures would be mine to the full.
But there in Santander the time dragged wearily. To be sure, I had the
English papers, but they were nearly a week on the way, and a bad
conscience finds many a cause for fear. I was aching to be aboard. Saturday
came at last, and going early down to the headland at the harbor's mouth,
with my field glass I anxiously scanned the Bay of Biscay to see if I could

discern anywhere on the horizon the smoke of the approaching steamer.
Lingering there until the dinner hour, I hastened to the hotel.
My wife was merry and happy. I was glad to see her so, and found it
difficult to conceal my solicitude. Going both together to the headland we
spent most of the afternoon there. Night and then midnight came, and no
steamer's lights flashed in the dark waters of the bay. Heartsick and anxious
I went to bed, half resolved to take my wife into my confidence, tell her in
some measure the truth, and point out to her the necessity of my taking
flight, leaving her to follow at her leisure. It would have been a terrible
shock to her, but I began to fear that the truth would come to her ears some
time.
Early the next morning my servant awoke me, asking me to look out of the
window. I ran to it, and looking out, there in the bay, just in front of the
hotel, lay a steamer of the largest size and magnificent in her beauty. It was
a happy sight for me.
Nunn hired a boat for our luggage and a second for me, and then, after a
hurried breakfast, we boarded the steamer, Nunn following with the
baggage. Among other things I had a favorite dressing case, and had given
the servant strict orders to keep it under his eye, but as soon as he came
aboard he inquired in great agitation if I had brought it off with me. Upon
my saying no he was quite overcome, at the same time explaining that he
had laid it on top of the baggage in front of the hotel, and some one had
stolen it. While he was speaking a passenger came walking by with the
identical case in his hand. Nunn flew at the man and seized both him and
the bag, and sure enough he had the thief, but I ordered him to let the man
go, and he went away shamefaced enough. He little thought when stealing
the bag that the owner was going on the same steamer. At last we were
afloat, and now I was all eagerness to hear the steam monkey start to bring
the anchor a-peak. It is simply amazing how a bad conscience "moldeth
goblins swift as frenzy's thought." Even as I stood there I was not at rest,
but was impatient and suspicious of every movement from the shore. As the
long day dragged slowly on and 4 o'clock came, preparations for getting
under way were going rapidly forward. I took my field glasses, stationed
myself on the after deck and anxiously scrutinized every boat leaving the
shore. Suddenly a boat started out from the head of the bay, pulled steadily

by eight rowers, and my conscience told me it meant danger, but the
boatmen pulled down along the shore, then suddenly stopped, and I could
see that they were passing a bottle around, taking a drink. Soon I discovered
a heap on the stern, which on closer inspection proved to be nets, and my
fears boiled down showed me they were simply fishermen and I an ass and
somewhat ashamed of myself. I felt I had really no cause for fear, even had
the steamer remained in harbor for a week. Just then, with a mighty throb,
the screw gave a turn, and it was music to my ears. Then the waters of the
bay were churned into yeasty waves. The city and shores seemed to glide by
and our prow was pointed direct to the blue sea rolling beyond. Soon the
joyous billows were toying with our ship, and huge as it was were tossing it
as lightly and easily as a child a toy.
But, still ill at ease, I walked the deck restless and unhappy.
I no longer feared arrest, was confident that never would hand of human
justice be laid on me, but I dimly felt that there was a divine justice which
would exact retribution. I felt that if there was mind behind this frame of
matter we see, then He who made the natural law and decreed a penalty for
every infraction must have made an infallible decree for every violation
against the moral law. If so, where could we poor insects go or hide, or how
scheme or dodge to escape the divine vengeance?
But as I stood on the deck that night and watched the mountains sink into
the sea I felt this all dimly, and tried to shake off the feeling. I stood
fascinated, with many conflicting emotions sweeping through my mind,
sadly watching the receding shores of Spain, and just as the highest
mountains were sinking in the sea my servant appearing at my side
informed me that dinner was ready and my wife waiting. Sending him away
and turning my face to the land, I strained my eyes through the gathering
gloom to discern the distant shore. Then with a bitter feeling in my heart I
set out for the saloon, but stopped and quoting these lines—
"The day of my destiny is over,
And the star of my fate hath declined"
—went below.

Soon, under the warming influence of wine, forgetting all my forebodings
and looking into my wife's face beaming with love and content, I could not
refrain from saying to myself: I am a fool to doubt that happiness is mine.
Am I not Fortune's favorite? With love, youth, enthusiasm, health and
wealth on my side, what else save happy days and nights and long years
filled with content can be mine?
So, shaking off my forebodings, the eighteen days of our voyage over green
Neptune's back were ideal, and we became objects of envy to all the
passengers.
Our ship was the Martinique, with French officers and crew, and a fine,
manly lot of men they were. The passengers were mostly colonial people
returning home to the French colonies in the West Indies. They were nice,
refined people, but we were rather reserved and kept to ourselves. One of
the passengers had a dozen Spanish fighting cocks, and they afforded us
much amusement. There were frequent mains on the after deck and
sometimes on the dinner table. These were very popular, particularly with
the ladies, who were continually asking to have the cocks brought on after
dessert. A space would be made in the centre of the table and two cocks
placed on it. How they loved fighting! They certainly enjoyed it far better
than the spectators. There were four long tables, all crowded, but when the
main was started the other tables were deserted and the passengers packed
around ours.
Our opposite neighbors were two Sisters of Charity who were on their way
to the City of Mexico to fill a gap that death had made in the ranks of their
order there. They were simple, sainted souls and had never known any life
other than the religious, and never emerged from the cloister save only to do
deeds of mercy in the country town outside. They had been selected by lot
to go to Mexico. We were favored to become fast friends of theirs, and I
was glad to have them accept such attentions as we could give. It was
delightful to meet such simple, unsophisticated people under circumstances
when, they being travelers, the rules of the Church permitted them to throw
off their reserve, to associate with strangers and to live—so far as food and
drink were concerned—like the people they were associated with for the
time.

My wife and I grew to like them well, and I was never tired of getting their
views of men and things. Truly their lives were a thing apart from the world
and the ways of men. They told me with a kind of rapture that the average
life of one of their order in Mexico was only five years, and they thought
heaven had been very gracious in selecting them, that they might give their
lives to the Church and so become members of the mighty army of martyrs
who were honored in heaven by looking upon the face of the Virgin and her
Son and serving them.
They knew nothing of wines and did not suspect the costliness of those
which during the entire voyage they drank at my expense.
The dinners were rather formal affairs and occupied an hour and a half, and
between the good sisters and us two we always finished a bottle of claret
and two of champagne, and about a like quantity between dinner and
bedtime. I don't believe that up to the hour they left the world they ever
quite understood why they were so happy and merry on that voyage.
We used to visit the steerage forward nearly every day. There was an
unmistakable lady so unfortunate as to be a passenger there. She
appreciated our visits, and eventually confided the story of her life to my
wife, and what a story it was of woman's love and man's perfidy!
I had an electric battery which I frequently took into the steerage to astonish
the natives. When I first put a silver piece in a basin of water and told them
the man taking it out could keep it, what a rush there was! There was one
would-be clever clown who was perfectly willing to test the power of the
battery, but was so clever he never would take hold of both handles at once.
He dodged around for two or three days greatly pleased with his sharpness,
but I determined to have him some day and have him hard when I got him.
So one morning when dancing about as usual he happened to be barefooted.
Apparently by accident, I upset the basin of water over the deck, making it
a good conductor, then accepting his offer to try the machine by holding
one handle, I dropped the other on the wet deck and gave him the benefit of
the whole power of the battery. He let one terrific yell, then stood rooted to
the deck speechless for a moment; then gave vent to a series of whoops that
would have made the fortune of a Comanche Indian. When freed from the
current the clever fellow made a break for the steerage and never appeared

again at any of my electric seances. All those ignorants insisted that my
battery was surely el diablo.
After eighteen days we cast anchor in St. Thomas harbor, and pleasant as
our voyage had been we were glad to see land. We were to stop a day for
coaling.
Taking the two sisters, we went ashore in one of the many boats
surrounding the ship, all manned by scantily robed black fellows. The town,
with its hordes of gaudily dressed and noisy blacks, was most interesting. I
had hired the boat for the day, so the three black fellows accompanied us
around the town. Each wore a stovepipe hat. The remainder of their
furniture consisted of cotton shirt and trousers. The men were barefooted, of
course.
My wife was the typical blue-eyed, golden-haired Englishwoman, and was
the observed of all observers in that black mob. I myself was all in white,
from canvas shoes to white umbrella. So, between the two sisters in their
black robes and white bonnets and our attending boatmen, along with a mob
of half-naked black boys that followed, we formed quite a circus and
created a commotion in the town.
First I took the sisters to the cathedral. Both were grateful and knelt at the
altar for a full half hour while we waited. Then after visiting several stores
to make some small purchases, we went to a circus showing there that
week. I bought ten tickets for my party. Everything they saw in the town
was marvelous and strange to them. When we entered the circus tent the
sisters were perplexed and thought it must be a new sort of church. But
words would fail to express their amazement when they saw the clown and
bespangled horseman enter the ring and the performance begin. They were
in a new and hitherto undreamed-of world, and gazed in childlike
wonderment on the scene, and, like children, only saw the glitter of the
spangles and thought both men and women performers were angels of
beauty. Even after the thing was over the magic and witchery of it all rested
on them. Their hearts were deeply stirred and their thoughts were with the
performers. To please them we sat until the audience had dispersed, and,
when going out, one of them, speaking of the performers, told my wife they
must be "very near to God."

Then we went to the hotel. I dispersed my cortege and ordered a room for
ourselves and one for the sisters, and we all took a nap until evening. Then
we had some negro singing and dancing for our amusement in the courtyard
of the hotel, and at 9 o'clock we went out for a moonlight walk under the
tropical sky. About 10 we found we had had enough of it and were glad to
betake ourselves to bed.
We all breakfasted together in the courtyard the next morning and soon after
went aboard. At noon up came the anchor and we were off for Havana, our
next stopping place, twenty-four hours' sail away. The steamer after one
day's detention to take in cargo would continue her voyage to Vera Cruz. It
was my intention to go on to that port, and from there across the country to
the capital, the City of Mexico. There was no cable to Mexico in 1873, and
things there were in rather a primitive condition. Of course, I never
anticipated pursuit beyond New York, and took it for granted that my
friends at Police Headquarters would squelch it there. But once in Mexico
there would have been no danger for me. To be in Mexico was like being in
the centre of darkest Africa. There was no extradition treaty, no railroads
and no telegraph; above all, I had plenty of cash.
I intended to buy an estate near the capital, and settle down for two or three
years, and by a liberal expenditure of money secure the friendship of the
government officials and the chief people of the country. Official and social
morals being not of the best, if my history transpired I would probably
become the lion of society, as they would all esteem it a creditable thing to
any man to secure a few millions from the English, whose enormous wealth
is the plunder of India and all the world for centuries.
The next morning I found we were sailing along the Cuban coast, quite near
the land, which looked so inviting that I made up my mind to go ashore and
stay a month in Havana, so I had my baggage got on deck. Soon after
dinner the engines were stopped for some hours for repacking, the captain
informing me that it was doubtful whether we should arrive in Havana in
time to go ashore that night. At 6 o'clock the sunset gun is fired, the custom
house closes and no more debarkations are allowed that day. If I went
ashore the next day I must be up and off at an early hour, as the ship sailed
at 7.30, so I told the captain if he arrived before 6 o'clock I would go ashore

and wait for the next steamer, but if we were late I would go on to Vera
Cruz with him.
Once having made up my mind to go ashore, I was all eagerness to push
matters. To do so I even asked the captain to tell the engineer to force the
engines a little if possible. It was well on to 6 o'clock when we steamed past
Moro Castle and dropped anchor in the harbor. I engaged two of the boats
alongside, our baggage was hurried into them, my wife went down the
ladder, and speaking some hurried farewells I ran down after her and sprang
lightly into the boat. That instant the sunset gun was fired. Two minutes
later and the custom house officers on board would have forbidden my
leaving the steamer. I say two minutes, but it was less than half a minute.
Half a minute! Thirty seconds changed my destiny.

CHAPTER XXX.
"HAPPINESS AND I SHAKE HANDS FOR A TIME."

Cuba! What a productive and fertile island it is, with its charming climate
and lovely scenery! But, as in so many of the green spots of this world, man
has blasted and spoiled all that indulgent nature has lavished here. From the
days of Columbus the story of Cuba has been one of wholesale murder of
natives, of revolutions—later of insurrections, and deadly civil strife, which
have ruined whole provinces once covered with large sugar, coffee and
tobacco plantations.
Slavery now, as in all her past Christian history, is everywhere. Previous to
1861 40,000 slaves were yearly imported in slave ships into the harbor of
Havana.
Perhaps all men are cruel when they are absolute masters of the lives and
fortunes of their fellows and amenable to none for their acts. Certainly the
white Cubans, as a rule, are cruel masters in all their dealings with their
slaves.
Probably to-day, certainly in 1873, most of the large plantations witnessed
scenes of cruelty never surpassed in the long annals of human servitude.
During my stay I was invited to visit many plantations, but visits to two
were enough for me, there being too many signs on the surface of the
brutality that lay beneath. I could easily give cases that I saw or heard of,
but refrain from doing so here.
One day's stay in Cuba convinced us we could spend a month very happily
on the island, and, discovering that Don Fernando, the proprietor of the
hotel, had a furnished house in a lovely situation to let, we resolved to
remain, renting the house for a month at a fixed rate per day. This rate
included the ten servants—slaves—in the house, he to furnish good horses
and everything except wine. The service proved good, and the cooking
exquisite. This was rather expensive, but certainly a handy kind of

housekeeping, taking all worry and household cares from my wife's
shoulders.
There were a large number of American visitors on the island, lovers of and
seekers after sunshine and warmth, which they found in abundance while
swinging in hammocks under the palm or cocoanut trees, or in strolling
along the white strand, with its innumerable sunny coves, while the Winter
storms and blizzards were raging in the Northern States. Here we formed
many pleasant acquaintances, and, throwing off much of the reserve
maintained during the voyage, we mingled freely in the nice but gossipy
society which winters there.
Our house was on a lovely slope in full view of the Gulf of Mexico, and in
the midst of what was more like a tropical plantation than a garden.
I made the acquaintance of Gen. Torbert, our Consul, and was introduced
by him to the Spanish officials, including the colonel of police. I
assiduously cultivated the acquaintance of the latter, and frequently had him
out to the house to dinner and lunch, and felt pretty confident that if any
telegrams came about me he would certainly bring them to me at once for
an explanation. Even if my presence became known, and telegraphic orders
for my arrest should arrive, no speedy action would be taken and ample
time given me to escape. In all the assemblies, picnics and balls I was
gratified to find my wife very much sought after and admired. It was well
she had a few happy days; enough misery lay not far ahead.
In the mean time I had no word from my friends in London. In fact, they
did not know where I was. When I bade them good-bye at Calais they told
me not to inform them of my destination until I had got there, and then to
do so through some relative.
Every day I watched the New York papers to see if there had been any
explosion in London, but the silence of the press told me my friends were
having an amazing success, and we might expect two or three months more
to elapse before there would be any discovery.
We had been some weeks in Havana.
It was well into the month of February when one day, being in my
hammock on the veranda, with my wife sitting near me, my servant rode up

with the papers, and, handing me the New York Herald, I leisurely opened
it, while chatting with my wife, but could not suppress an exclamation
when my eyes fell upon an Associated Press dispatch from London, in
staring headlines. They read:

AMAZING FRAUD UPON
THE BANK OF ENGLAND!

MILLIONS LOST!

GREAT EXCITEMENT IN
LONDON!

£5,000 REWARD FOR THE
ARREST OF THE
AMERICAN
PERPETRATOR, F. A.
WARREN.

"London, Feb. 14, 1873.
"An amazing fraud has been perpetrated upon the Bank of England by a
young American who gave the name of Frederick Albert Warren. The loss
of the bank is reported to be from three to ten millions, and it is rumored
that many London banks have been victimized to enormous amounts. The
greatest excitement prevails in the city, and the forgery, for such it is, is the
one topic of conversation on the Exchange and in the street. The police are
completely at fault, although a young man named Noyes, who was Warren's
clerk, has been arrested, but it is believed that he is a dupe.
"The bank has offered a reward of £5,000 for information leading to the
arrest of Warren or any confederate."

"I FIRED POINT BLANK, AND DOWN HE
WENT AS IF FELLED BY LIGHTNING."—
Page 334.
I took a long walk on the beach to think over the situation. I was alarmed
over the arrest of Noyes, which I knew ought not to have occurred if the
proper precautions had been taken, but I concluded that at the worst his
arrest only meant for him a brief incarceration.
I knew that no human power and no fear could ever make him betray us.
Two things never entered my calculations at all; that is, that my right name

would ever transpire, or that George and Mac would ever, by any
possibility, be brought into question for the fraud.
So I came back from my walk with my plans outlined. It was to remain
quietly where we were for a fortnight longer, then take the steamer to Vera
Cruz, go to the City of Mexico and there buy an estate, as I had originally
proposed. Then, after a few months, leave my wife there and travel incog.
through Northern Mexico and Texas, meet Mac and George and afterward
return to Mexico.
Not a soul in all Europe knew I was in Cuba, and so long as my name did
not transpire I was as safe in Cuba as if in the desert.
Consequently I determined to go on in the same way since our landing. In
the mean while I would watch the papers, and if any signs of danger
appeared I could take instant measures for my safety.
As the days passed the cable dispatches appearing in the papers increased in
volume, and the papers everywhere had editorials, which, as a rule, were
humorous or sarcastic, poking fun at the Britishers in general and the Old
Lady of Threadneedle Street in particular. Then the comic papers took it up,
and from week to week published cartoons intended to be funny.
One of the funniest of these came out in one of the New York comics,
which appeared after the mail arrived from London with the particulars of
the simplicity of the bank officials in their dealings with the mysterious F.A.
Warren. This full-page cartoon represented a young dude, seated on a mule,
riding down a steep declivity.
At the bottom the devil stood, holding in the fingers of his extended hands a
quantity of thousand-pound bank notes tempting Warren, and John Bull
stood behind the mule, belaboring it with an umbrella and driving Warren
down to the devil.
I tried to keep the papers from my wife, but one day she came home from a
visit with a flushed face and eager to talk, and began telling me about some
daring countryman of mine "who had the audacity to rob the Bank of
England," and "who ought to have a whipping." On several occasions
Americans there asked my opinion as to who the party could be.

I always told them he was some clever young scamp, with plenty of money
of his own, who did it for the excitement of the thing and from a wish to
take a rise out of John Bull.
The next French steamer for Mexico was advertised to land at Havana for
passengers and mails for Vera Cruz in a few days, and I determined to sail
by her. Soon after my arrival I had formed the acquaintance of a wealthy
young countryman of mine from Savannah by the name of Gray. We soon
became fast friends, and I had him out to dinner nearly every day. He had a
warm friend in Senor Andrez, a rich young Cuban planter, and had accepted
an invitation to visit his coffee plantation in the Isle of Pines, the largest of
all that immense body of islets and keys of the south coast of Cuba in the
Carribean Sea, one of the loveliest tropical isles imaginable, and Gray
insisted upon my making one of the party.
It was proposed to spend a week on the island, and to take three days in
going and coming. But if I went then I would be unable to sail on the
steamer of the 25th, and would have to wait another week.
One day Gray brought Senor Andrez to dinner, along with a common
friend, a Senor Alvarez. All three joined in imploring me to make one of the
party, promising sport as novel as good; said the wild boars were plentiful;
that we would have two days' shark fishing, turning turtles and hunting their
eggs, and could vary it by a slave hunt, the jungle and some of the smaller
islands being "full of runaways," and as they were by law wild beasts we
might be lucky enough to shoot a few of them—shoot, not capture, as the
planters knew that a runaway slave who had tasted the joys of freedom if
caught was useless as a slave. So, as a matter of sport, as well as a warning
to other slaves, they organized yearly hunts to bag a score or two. But so
great is the depravity of the human heart that these wretches, in their
desperate wickedness, objected to being shot, and at times were guilty of
the enormity of shooting back again. History records how, on certain
occasions, they did so with such good effect that the hunted became
hunters; but these were rare events.
After long urging I consented. At the time there were only two short
railways in all Cuba. We were to cross the island to the south coast, and
there embark for the Isle of Pines in a boat owned by our host, which would

be in waiting. The railway would take us to the little hamlet of San Felipe,
some forty miles south, and there we were to take horses to the seaport
town of Cajio. We were to start on Saturday, two days ahead. My wife did
not relish my going, and I disliked it more than she did, but for totally
different reasons. Mine were that, as a matter of prudence, I ought to recall
my consent and remain in Havana until steamer day, and then sail without
fail to Mexico. But fearing the ridicule of my friends, I went, persuading
myself that there could be no danger and that everything in London was
buried in so dense a fog bank that the detectives would struggle in vain to
find a way out of it or any clue to our identity.
Had I known of the clever work of the Pinkerton brothers in London and
the discoveries in Paris I should have been ill at ease; but had I known that
Capt. John Curtin—then a member of the Pinkerton staff in New York, but
now (1895.) of San Francisco—had with perfectly marvelous intuition and
rare detective skill let daylight into the whole plot, and had reported to his
chief that whenever F. A. Warren was discovered he would prove to be
Austin Bidwell; I say if I had known this, instead of going off on a ten days'
pleasure jaunt into an isolated corner of the world I should have taken
instant flight, leaving Cuba, not by the usual modes of departure, but by
sailing boat, and alone, for one of the Mexican ports.
Capt. Curtin had been detailed to work on the New York end of the case, to
look for clues. It seemed a hopeless task. He is a warm friend of mine now,
after twenty years, and has long forgiven me for the bullet I lodged in him
in 1873. A few years after arresting me in the West Indies he went to San
Francisco and started a private inquiry office of his own at 328
Montgomery street. When, after twenty years' incarceration, I arrived there
one lovely May in 1892, he was waiting for me at the ferry, and gave me
warm greetings, and as hearty congratulations, too, as any man could give
another; then introduced me to his friends everywhere, and, in fact, from the
hour of my arrival until my departure, three months afterward, was never
tired of doing me a service and forwarding my business, so that by his kind
offices I made a great success out of what, by reason of the great financial
depression, might otherwise have proved a failure. But as Capt. Curtin, after
effecting my arrest, having recovered from his wound, was one of the four
who took me to England, I will wait until a later chapter to tell how it was
he discovered my name and located me in Cuba.