Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in Solitude
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.
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 L100 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 L100 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