Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in Solitude
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 L2. 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.
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