DANIEL O'CONNELL.
And so the night passes on in the House, member aftermember getting upon his honorable legs, and the small hours come on apace, and the small talk continues, and the Speaker comes in and goes out, yet still the House remains in Committee—a very wearisome night it is, and hot and close in the galleries, and many sleep the sleep of exhaustion in the legislative arena—while off in green fields and on grassy meads, by lakes and rivers, the dew falls heavily, and the English Moon shines with a soft light all over the broad land.
It is amusing to see the Speaker of the House settle a point of order when members become obstreperous, with his little cocked hat in his hand, or to see him reprimand a member who crosses the horizon of a member who is addressing the House. This last offence is considered a great breach of etiquette, and the Speaker always instructs the offender that he should have made a tour around the House to avoid giving offence to the orator. Sometimes a tired member will notice that there is not a sufficient number of members in the House to transact business, and if he wishes to escape a threatened monstrous debate, he must notify the Speaker that there is not a quorum present. Perhaps the Speaker may desire to rush some business through, and he will therefore have to be notified several times before he will take warning to count the members, which he does at last with slow reluctance.
It has been the privilege of any member (from time immemorial,) to inform the Speaker that there are strangers in the gallery, meaning ladies, reporters, or any one who is not a member of Parliament. When so notified, the Speaker, by this musty old rule, is compelled to order the strangers to leave the House. Thirty years ago Daniel O'Connell quarreled with the LondonTimes, and that paper in revenge would not print his speeches. O'Connell determined to be even with the journal, and whenever he saw aTimes'reporter in the gallery, he would cry out, "Mr. Speaker, I beg to call your attention to the fact that there are strangers in the gallery." Then the Speaker would order the galleries cleared, and theTimes'reporters had to take their note books and march off disgusted. It was not long before theTimesgave in and stopped the fight, and O'Connell'sspeeches were reported with fidelity. This has always been regarded as a joke of O'Connell's, but I see that lately a Scotch member named Craufurd, who represents the town of Ayr, and is also editor of theLegal Examiner, has been putting O'Connell's joke in practice.
Miss Florence Nightingale, Miss Lydia Beckett, and Miss Harriett Martineau, as well as many other well known ladies, have been for some time working with great zeal for the repeal of the act which licenses prostitution in garrison towns. Many members of the House are opposed to the repeal of the act, and consequently when the question of repealing it came up in the House, and just as the debate had opened, the member for Ayr, Mr. Craufurd, rose and said, "Mr. Speaker, I beg to call your attention to the fact that there are strangers in the gallery," pointing to the gallery where a few ladies had placed themselves, for the purpose of hearing a question of so much moment to their sex, discussed. The Speaker and many members urged Mr. Craufurd not to look that way, and to permit the obnoxious persons to stay where they were; but with Scotch obstinacy he insisted, and Mr. Bouverie upheld him in it, saying, "I believe it is an undoubted rule of the House, sir, that if an honorable member does notice the presence of strangers, the galleries are cleared." Accordingly they were cleared; the reporters, as well as the ladies, were put out, and then the debate went on for several hours. At the close of this, the Prime minister, Mr. Gladstone, got up and lectured Mr. Craufurd for his ill-timed modesty, telling him that the feeling of the whole House was against him. The debate was therefore adjourned, by a strong vote of 229 to 88, to come up again in the presence of reporters, and most likely, of such strangers of either sex as may choose to come in.
DUCAL HOUSES.
The House of Lords is the Upper House of Parliament; in England all bills that are born in the Commons have to be confirmed by the Lords and signed by the Queen, before they become part of the statutory law of the land. There are about four hundred of these legislators in the House of Peers, for it must be understood that every nobleman does not sit by rightin the House of Lords. In many families the privilege is hereditary, and generation after generation a family is represented by the oldest son, who, on the death of his father, takes the seat made vacant in the Lords. The highest rank of nobility in England is that of Duke. There are eighteen nobles who enjoy the Ducal dignity in England, two in Ireland, and six in Scotland. They are as follows:
English Dukes.—Norfolk, Somerset, Richmond and Lennox, Grafton, Beaufort, St. Albans, Leeds, Bedford, Devonshire, Marlborough, Rutland, Manchester, Newcastle, Northumberland, Wellington, Buckingham and Chandos, Sutherland, and Cleveland.
Irish Dukes.—Leinster, Abercorn.
Scotch Dukes.—Hamilton and Brandon, Buccleuch, Argyll, Athole, Montrose, and Roxburghe.
There is only one Duchess in her own right—the Duchess of Inverness, which is a Scotch title. On state occasions Dukes wear velvet robes and ducal caps of state, with strawberry leaves in gold.
A stranger addressing one of these Dukes, has to begin his letter as follows:
"My Lord Duke, may it please your Grace." And in state proceedings a Duke is styled "High, Puissant, and Noble Prince." There are Dukes and Dukes. Dukes of the royal blood are still higher in rank than the noble Dukes. The eldest son of the reigning monarch always bears the title of "Prince of Wales." The eldest daughter is called the "Princess Royal." This princess is married to the Crown Prince of Prussia. These two dignitaries, according to court etiquette, are served by the attendants, when at table, on bended knees with uncovered heads. Those admitted to kiss their hands must also kneel. In the House of Lords, when the Queen is present, the Prince of Wales, as heir apparent, sits on the right hand of Her Majesty, while Prince Albert always sat on her left hand. The younger sons of the Queen, when they are Peers, sit on the left hand of the throne, but after the father dies, they sit below the Wool Sack, (a huge fiery red bed-tickfull of wool, on which the Lord Chancellor takes it easy when the Lords are in session,) on the bench assigned to the other Dukes.
The Prince of Wales, when on his throne, wears a robe of ermine, a cape of ermine, and a red velvet cap, with a gold tassel over a gold crown, ornamented with pearls. The younger sons and daughters have no diamonds, pearls, or crosses surmounting their diadems—unlike the Prince of Wales.
The three highest subjects after the Queen and the Royal Family in England, are: First, The Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Second, The Lord High Chancellor of England. Third, The Lord Archbishop of York. The Archbishop of Canterbury, who is Primate of England, is styled in public documents, and he also writes himself, "The most Reverend Father in God, the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, by Divine Providence." The Archbishop of York signs himself, "By Divine Permission," as do all the other Bishops. There are only two Ecclesiastical Provinces in England, those of York and Canterbury, and two Archbishops. In the House of Lords the Archbishops and Bishops, (excepting the Irish Bishops now disfranchised,) sit as Spiritual Peers, and the two Archbishops wear Ducal Coronets—the Bishops wearing fillets of gold on their heads, with pearls and jewels. The Bishop of Sodor and Man, and the junior Bishops have no seats in the House of Lords. A Bishop ranks next to a Viscount. The nobility of Great Britain own three-fifths of the landed property of the Kingdom, while starvation and want run riot in the land.
England is studded with parks, villas, castles, game preserves, rabbit warrens, trout streams and deer parks, all of which are held by right of primogeniture. No poor man can enter these beautiful ancestral domains, and the severest penal punishments are meted out to those poor wretches who dare to infringe on the game laws.
The English nobility are not cowardly or treacherous, but many of the younger members are very corrupt, extravagant, and reckless, and no doubt in time their order will pass away, for they are out of place in this century.
PRIVILEGES OF THE PEERS.
England has nineteen Dukes, seventeen Marquises, one hundred and three Earls, one Countess (widow of an Earl), nineteen Viscounts, one Viscountess, and one hundred and fifty-two Barons.
Ireland has two Dukes, twelve Marquises, sixty-four Earls, and sixty Barons, besides twelve Viscounts. When three Irish Peers die in succession without issue, one other Irish Peer is created to fill the gap.
Scotland has seven Dukes, four Marquises, forty-four Earls, five Viscounts, and twenty-five Barons. The wife of a Duke is entitled "Duchess," the wife of a Marquis "Marchioness," the wife of an Earl is a "Countess," the wife of a Viscount is called a "Viscountess," and the wife of a Baron enjoys the title of "Baroness." The better-half of a Baronet, which is a title bestowed upon fat aldermen and rich manufacturers—being a cheap order of knighthood, conferred by the Queen, is called "My Lady This," or "My Lady That," as the case may be.
The people of England are heartily tired of their nobility, and the success of American principles upon this continent has a tendency to cause the destruction of this social outrage upon the Nineteenth Century.
Peers, or members of the House of Lords, have many privileges which others of noble blood do not enjoy. A Peer can only be tried for High Treason or murder by his Peers, who compose the House of Lords, and the trial takes place in a session of that body specially convened for that purpose, after the fashion here described.
The Peers having taken their seats in full, flowing robes, the Lord Chancellor seats himself on the Woolsack in the middle of the House of Lords, the Garter-King-at-Arms, in his gorgeous surcoat and tabard, makes proclamation of the offences against the culprit Peer. The Lord High Steward puts the question to each peer in his seat, after the evidence has been heard;
"Is the prisoner at the Bar Guilty or Not Guilty?"
Then each Peer, rising, says, "Guilty," or, "Not Guilty upon my Honor," as the case may be. A Peer cannot betaken into custody unless for an indictable offence. This is also a parliamentary privilege of the members of the House of Commons, who cannot be arrested for debt while the House is in session, or while attending the proceedings, or going to or from Parliament. An old custom of England allows a Peer, going to or from Parliament, the privilege of killing one or two deer belonging to the Sovereign, after he has blown a horn. This is very seldom done now-a-days. A Peer cannot be bound over to keep the peace, excepting in the Court of Queen's Bench. Slander against a Peer is known in the courts asscan. mag.and is severely punishable.
A Peer cannot lose his title of nobility excepting by death, or when he has been attainted for High Treason. He is allowed to answer to a bill in Chancery upon his word, and is not required to take an oath. The Sovereign may degrade a Peer from his rank for wasting his estate, as in the case of George Neville, Duke of Bedford, who had led a dissolute life and had squandered all his fortune. He was deprived of his title, honors, and possessions, by Edward IV, the latter being forfeited to the Crown. If that precedent was followed in these times, a great number of scampish young nobles would lose their titles and the remnants of princely estates.
Lately, I believe, Parliament has ordered it so that a Peer may be proceeded against for debt, as in the case of the bankrupt Duke of Newcastle. Besides all these manifold privileges, which exist for the benefit of the nobility, the Diplomatic Service is chiefly for their support, and here, as in the Foreign Office, fat sinecures are available at all times, for the improvident and spendthrift nobles. Some idea of the rich prizes of the Diplomatic Service may be got from the following list of salaries of the different Ambassadors, Ministers, and Charges d'Affaires, at the principal countries with which Great Britain holds intercourse. The salaries I give are those of the Ministers alone, not including the salaries of attaches, and they are thus enumerated:
SALARIES OF AMBASSADORS.
France, £10,000; Turkey, £8,000; Russia, £7,800; Austria, £8,000; Prussia, £7,000; Spain, £5,000; United States,£5,000; Portugal, £4,000; Brazil, £4,000; Netherlands, £3,600; Belgium, £3,480; Italy, £5,000; Bavaria, £3,600; Denmark, £3,600; Sweden, £3,000; Greece, £3,500; Switzerland, £2,500; Wirtemberg, £2,000; Argentine Republic, £3,000; Central American Republics, £2,000; Chili, £2,000; Peru, £2,000; Columbia, £2,000; Venezuela, £2,000; Ecuador, £1,400; Coburg, £400; Dresden, £500; Darmstadt, £500; Rome, £800; Persia, £5,000; China, £6,000; and Japan, £4,000.
tailpiece
CHAPTER XX.
THE LONDON POLICE AND DETECTIVES.
ABOUT ten o'clock in the evening, the rain, which had been gathering all day, came down in bucketfuls. The gutters ran like little rivers, and on Lothbury and the Poultry, and on all the buildings behind the Bank and over London Bridge there came down a hot steaming fog that almost blinded, as the rain poured against the faces of those who had to encounter the storm. The rain was hot, and the fog had a fetid, sticky odor, that seemed like the breath of a graveyard, or a festering corpse in an old vault on a hot July day.
Down below, on the river, all was quiet among the noisy Wapping boatmen, and the river below London Bridge looked gloomy and vast and dangerous as the entrance to the shades of the Inferno. Now and then, through the dense darkness and gloom which hung like a tissue over the river, came a whistle, eldritch-like, from the funnel of some Greenwich or Chelsea steamer, as she grated against the fishermen's barges, that lay like huge floating carcasses out on the bosom of the dark river; and anon came the hoarse, drunken shout of some intoxicated oyster or herring navigator, who lay in the shadow of Billingsgate Market, returned from some Flemish or Scotch port with a precious cargo of eels or sprats. London, or the City, seemed deserted and lonely. The portal of the Bank was as solemn as a churchyard.
THE OLD JEWRY.
The insurance offices in Bishopsgate and Broad streets, the money-changers' and money-brokers' haunts in Leadenhallstreet, and the merchants' desks in Cornhill and Gracechurch street, were forsaken. A footfall seemed like an echo of past years, and while the water ran in torrents in the gutters, and while misery haunted doorsteps and dark passages, seeking shelter with dripping rags to hide its shame, the stolid policemen walked their rounds and looked sharply through the thick fog as cabs dashed by, for the West End, and the noise of the horses' feet died away under the arch of Temple Bar.
Where the Poultry, Bucklersbury, and Cheapside, form a junction, just below the Mansion House, there is a little, narrow, and short street. This street is called the "Old Jewry," and it has its outlet in Coleman street and Moorgate street, which run in the direction of Finsbury square. Behind the Old Jewry is Basinghall street, the Aldermanbury, and Finsbury square. Then there are Milk street, Wood street, Botolph street, Pudding lane, Fish street, Mark lane, Lime street, and Love lane. In all these narrow causeways, dark passages, and crooked sinuosities of brick, stone, and mortar, untold and uncounted wealth is hidden away, safely behind bolts and bars.
These tall, lowering warehouses, with their treasures of spices and silks, ingots and bars of yellow metal, where guineas are shoveled about all day as if they were plentiful as cherry-pits—have a dismal effect this sloppy, stormy night. Then the Old Jewry has its memories, some sorrowful and sad enough. Its very name a synonym for persecution and torture, a relic of steel-clad days and roystering and merciless nights, when the tribes of Israel were the playthings of the Gentiles and unbelievers.
Here, in this narrow lane, stood the proudest synagogue in all England until the year of grace 1291, when the Jews were, by edict, expelled the kingdom; and here came the Brothers of the Sack, a mendicant order of friars, to take possession of the deserted temple, one sunny May afternoon, when the orchards were blooming, and the linnets were singing in Cheapside—now a mart of all the nations of mankind. And then, in the natural order of things, came Sir Robert Fitzwalter on another sunny afternoon, to dispossess the Brothersof the Sack; and this doughty knight, having the ear of the then King, turned the monks out, and they, invoking the displeasure of the Maker of all things upon Knight Fitzwalter, banner-bearer to the city and the Lord Mayor of London, left the convent and dispersed themselves severally and sorrowfully, all over the by-paths and sequestered roads and nooks of merry Old England.
The Old Jewry is about two hundred and fifty feet long. Short passages, that cannot be dignified by the title of lanes, jut off this narrow street. High buildings loom up to the sky above the heads of the passers-by, and the dome of mighty St. Paul's is hid away from the vision.
In this Old Jewry is a court-yard hidden away. There are jewelers' shops, silk-mercers' shops, and chop-houses of the better class on either side, and a man, in a blue cloth uniform of heavy fabric, walks up and down, day and night, with a pasteboard helmet on his head. His wrists are trimmed with bands of crimson and white flannel, and one row of gilt brass buttons bifurcate his blue, close-fitting coat, and meet to part no more at his throat and waist. The face of the man is homely, and his black eyes burn under his helmet of a hat, and in the glare of the street lamp. Not a soul stirring in the Old Jewry to-night but this silent patrolman, who looks up and down the lane, now to Cheapside, now over the roofs as if he would like to get a glimpse of St. Paul's, whose bell booms with an affrighting suddenness and energy on the air, through the beating rain and blinding fog.
"Is this the Central Detectives' Office?" I ask of the helmeted patrol.
"Yes, sir. This 'ere is the Central Hoffis of the City of Lunnun; the hother hoffis is down Scotland-yard way in Parliament street, hopposite the Hadmiralty and the 'Oss Gy-a-ads."
I find my way past the patrol, and around me I can see a court-yard fifty by a hundred feet in size, and at either side a gas-lamp burns dimly, and the wind whistles down from above, and the rain patters unceasingly.
RELICS OF CRIME.
It is like a play-ground or school-yard, but there is in it thequietness of a deserted church. Turning to the right, I ascend two steps and enter a hall, where another morose-looking patrolman demands my business.
"Who do you want to see, sir? Oh, Hinspector Bailey. Well, sir, he is werry busy just now; got a precious 'ard case to desect; but I'll take your card and I'll try wot I can do."
In a few minutes I am ushered into the presence of the chief detective officer of the chief city of England. He sits in a room secluded from the main rooms, and as I pass through a number of these chambers a squad of men, who are sitting on chairs and lounges, look up at me quietly for a second, and, not recognizing any one whom they "want," drop their eyes immediately. The room in which Inspector Bailey sits is not a large one, and there is no superfluity of furniture, but the walls are covered with placards offering rewards for the apprehension and conviction of criminals, murderers, forgers, and other runaways from justice. Some of these are so curious that I must give a few of them:
RING STOLEN—£1 REWARD.A reward of £1 will be paid for information that shall lead to the discovery of a gold ring, the setting in which was originally arranged for a round stone, with about five small teeth or holders to fix the same; the original stone having been lost it was replaced by an oval or pear-shaped rose diamond, which was loose in the setting.The said ring was stolen from a warehouse in the city, on the 14th inst.; and it is requested that any person hereafter offering it, for pledge or sale, may be detained until the police are informed.Information to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Office, 26 Old Jewry: or to the officers on duty at any of the city or metropolitan stations.£1 10s. REWARD.TO CAB-DRIVERS, ATTENDANTS, AND OTHERS.INFORMATION WANTED.On Saturday, the 17th of April, 1869, about 4.45 in the afternoon, a four-wheeled cab, took up at Messrs. Smith, Payne & Co.'s Bank, at the end of King William street, near the Mansion House, a gentleman, 48 years of age, 5 feet 8½ inches high, dark brown hair, fresh complexion, scanty whiskers, square build, and moderately stout; with a dark-brown portmanteau, whichwas put inside. He told the driver to take him to Finsbury square and he would tell him the number afterwards. £1 10s.reward will be paid on the required information (as to his destination) being given to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Department, Old Jewry, E.C.London, 8th May, 1869.£200 Reward.EMBEZZLEMENT.Absconded, on Friday, the 5th inst., from the employment of the Great Central Gas Company, 28 Coleman street, London, Benjamin Higgs, late of Tide-End House, Teddington, Middlesex. Description.—About 35 years of age, 5 feet 9 or 10 inches high, black hair, mustache, whiskers, and beard, pale complexion, slender build, gentleman-like appearance. Generally dressed in black or dark clothes and brown overcoat. Had a large-sized dark green-colored leather bag and a small black bag.The said Benjamin Higgs is charged on a warrant with embezzling a large sum of money belonging to the above company: and notice is hereby given, that a reward of £100 will be paid to any person who will give such information as shall lead to his apprehension; and a further reward of £100 on recovery of the monies embezzled. A photograph of Benjamin Higgs may be seen on application at the principal police stations.Information to be given to Messrs. Davidson, Carr, and Bannister, Solicitors, 22 Basinghall street, E.C., or to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Department, 26 Old Jewry, E.C.London, 18th March, 1869.
RING STOLEN—£1 REWARD.
A reward of £1 will be paid for information that shall lead to the discovery of a gold ring, the setting in which was originally arranged for a round stone, with about five small teeth or holders to fix the same; the original stone having been lost it was replaced by an oval or pear-shaped rose diamond, which was loose in the setting.
The said ring was stolen from a warehouse in the city, on the 14th inst.; and it is requested that any person hereafter offering it, for pledge or sale, may be detained until the police are informed.
Information to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Office, 26 Old Jewry: or to the officers on duty at any of the city or metropolitan stations.
£1 10s. REWARD.
TO CAB-DRIVERS, ATTENDANTS, AND OTHERS.
INFORMATION WANTED.
On Saturday, the 17th of April, 1869, about 4.45 in the afternoon, a four-wheeled cab, took up at Messrs. Smith, Payne & Co.'s Bank, at the end of King William street, near the Mansion House, a gentleman, 48 years of age, 5 feet 8½ inches high, dark brown hair, fresh complexion, scanty whiskers, square build, and moderately stout; with a dark-brown portmanteau, whichwas put inside. He told the driver to take him to Finsbury square and he would tell him the number afterwards. £1 10s.reward will be paid on the required information (as to his destination) being given to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Department, Old Jewry, E.C.
London, 8th May, 1869.
£200 Reward.
EMBEZZLEMENT.
Absconded, on Friday, the 5th inst., from the employment of the Great Central Gas Company, 28 Coleman street, London, Benjamin Higgs, late of Tide-End House, Teddington, Middlesex. Description.—About 35 years of age, 5 feet 9 or 10 inches high, black hair, mustache, whiskers, and beard, pale complexion, slender build, gentleman-like appearance. Generally dressed in black or dark clothes and brown overcoat. Had a large-sized dark green-colored leather bag and a small black bag.
The said Benjamin Higgs is charged on a warrant with embezzling a large sum of money belonging to the above company: and notice is hereby given, that a reward of £100 will be paid to any person who will give such information as shall lead to his apprehension; and a further reward of £100 on recovery of the monies embezzled. A photograph of Benjamin Higgs may be seen on application at the principal police stations.
Information to be given to Messrs. Davidson, Carr, and Bannister, Solicitors, 22 Basinghall street, E.C., or to Inspector Bailey, City of London Police, Detective Department, 26 Old Jewry, E.C.
London, 18th March, 1869.
"So you would like to see London under its most unfavorable aspects. You would like to scour it by day and night, Sir. Well, you have a big job on hand, let me tell you, Sir," said a cheery voice which came from behind a low desk. This was Inspector Bailey, a very English-looking gentleman, with a ruddy oval face, reddish whiskers,—thick and neatly trimmed, and wearing a dark-mixed suit of clothes. He had clear blue eyes, this cheery-voiced inspector, and did not in any way give the idea of a detective, he looked so jolly and well-fed, and there was such a humorous, good-natured, twinkle in his eyes.
MR. FUNNELL'S SECRET.
"Well," said he, "let us see what's best to do for you, sir. I'll give you the best men I have, and I can do no more. I suppose you want to see St. Giles? Well, St. Giles is not what it once was. You see they have been rooting up the worst holes, and the parish authorities are quite active, andthree new streets have been opened, and a great change has come over the place. But there's a terrible lot of destitution and crime and misery in the City of London still, and you can see it all if you have the heart for it. Send up Sergeant Moss," said the Inspector to a messenger.
Sergeant Moss came up from below stairs, a dark-eyed, thick-whiskered, good-looking fellow of thirty-five years, dressed like a dissenting minister, and trying to look very meek. Butter would not have melted in Sergeant Moss's mouth. He wasn't "fly" to what was going on neither. Oh, no!
"Sergeant Moss, you will take this gentleman through Ratcliffe Highway and Wapping, and show him the sailors' dens and the thieves who haunt Lower Thames street. Give him the best chances you can, and look out for Bill Blokey. He's down that way to-night, more nor likely, and if you brought him in it would be no particular harm to him or you. We got the trunk that he broke open and left behind. That will be your detail. Send me Funnell up stairs."
Mr. Funnell came. Mr. Funnell had a very huge beard, which hung down on his chest like a door-mat, and a sharp eye for business. In fact, he was all business, this cheerful Mr. Funnell. He was a first-class detective in London. But he had hard feelings against New York. It was no place for Mr. Funnell. Mr. Funnell confided to me a secret which I will now give to my readers.
"I wos wonst over in New York. That's a good many years ago.Thatwas a long time ago. Yes, a very long time ago, in Bob Bowyer's time, when Bob was the topper, as we say. He wos the 'Awkshaw of the period, wos Bob. I wos awfully innocent then, and Bob didn't take the right care of me, and I fell into the hands of the Philistines. I went down one day to Fulton Market; I think it's just opposite some ferry where you go across, just like Southwark, and you can get very big oysters there. Well, as I wos saying, I wos werry innocent, and as I wos walking along, thinking of a good many things, when one of these fellows I believe you call the gentry on your side 'heelers'—dropped a big fat pocket-book at my feet.
"Now, mind you, I did not see him drop it, and that's where I was taken in. That made the trouble for me. I had never seen anything of that kind done in England, and of course the 'heeler' naturally insisted that the pocket-book wos mine. I tried to argue with him that the pocket-book wos not mine, but the more I argued that way the more he persewered the other way. Well, I wos perswaded against my own ideas that, perhaps, I might have lost a pocket-book, and the fellow wos so blessed positive about it too. So I fell a wictim to the infernal scoundrel, and gave him some money for the pocket-book, and, of course, the money wos worth nothink, and Bob Bowyer could do nothing for me. Ah, New York is a precious bad place.—So it is."
game
THE POCKET-BOOK GAME.
"Well, now, Mr. Funnell, as you have done relating your sad experiences, you will please do as I tell you. You will report to our American friend, or, rather, he will report to you early in the morning, and you will take him and show him Billingsgate Market before daybreak. You are the best man for Billingsgate, I think, and you had better attend to that detail."
"I will meet him there or at the Fish Hill monument, at 5 o'clock in the morning, if that will do, Sir."
"PIPING OFF."
"That will do very well," said the Inspector. "And now we want a man for Smithfield. Who is a good man for Smithfield? Let me see," and the Inspector tapped his forehead. "I think Ralfe will do for that. He knows the Smithfield Market best, and he will show you everything, with a knowledge of what he is doing. Let Ralfe come up, and Sergeant Scott and Webb. I want to speak to them."
Ralfe, or Dick Ralfe, as he was called, was a good-looking young Englishman, who had not been long on the force, and who was in capital health and spirits, having lately been detailed, for his quickness, to special duty from the patrol to the Old Jewry.
"Mr. Ralfe, you are good on Smithfield Market. Take this gentleman there at 4 o'clock to-morrow morning. Meet him at the Smithfield Police Station at 4 o'clock in the morning, and time your inspection so that you will be able to catch Funnell at the Fish Hill Monument at 5 o'clock in the morning, so as to have him see the fish come in at Billingsgate. And now, Sergeant Scott, you will show this gentleman the Minories, Petticoat Lane, Bevis Marks, Houndsditch, and the Jews' Quarters, but those you will have to take on another day, as you have already a hard day's work before you. You had better see the market on Sunday morning, one of the greatest sights in the world, sir, I assure you, and the Rag Fair is also a grand show of the kind, I also assure you; and now, Sergeant Webb, I will give our friend in your charge when he has got through with the rest of them, and you and he can work the City, I think. You will do the Bank and the Mansion House and Newgate; and, let me see,—Funnell can take him to the Sessions and the Old Bailey Courts; and he will have to go to Scotland-yard to do the Borough of Westminster, as that is not in our jurisdiction. And now, Sir, good morning, and don't carry a watch with you in the places where you are going,for some of the people are not very moral or very pious to get a look at. Good morning, Sir. Smithfield at 4 o'clock, Ralfe."
Sergeant Webb was a tall, well-built man, in the prime of life, with ruddy cheeks, and a look that resembled the expression usually worn by Mr. Seward before he lost all chances for the presidency. His face was smoothly shaved, and he looked as if he could assist with great dignity at a banquet.
Sergeant Scott was a man just above the middle height, with light brown whiskers, and an easy, good-natured manner, who had a memory well stored with anecdotes of "blokes," and "wires," and "dummies." He had, also, choice stories of distinguished people who had, during their lives, been known in the "faking" line, and could have pointed me out a number of pals who were celebrated in the "kinchin lay" for snatching "wipes" and "grabbing tanners" and "browns" from little children when they were sent to the shops for bread or milk.
At the back of the apartment in which the detectives were assembled to receive orders, stood a short, thick-set looking young man, with an amber moustache and goatee. His eyes were blue and his complexion very fair. He was dressed in a quiet manner, and nodded to each of the detectives as they passed out into the court of the Old Jewry. This was Jim Irving, the celebrated American detective, who had apprehended Clement Harwood, the great forger, just as he was about to land in New York, and he was now waiting the trial of the accused which was to take place at the Mansion House.
"Jim" was already quite familiar with the City of London, although he had been in it but a few days. He was, of course, rather astonished, at the quiet, old-fashioned way, that the English detectives had with them of waiting for a thief until he came and gave himself up. But he was very much charmed with a gorgeous seal-skin vest, for which he gave five guineas.
POLICE DIVISIONS.
Seventy-five years ago, London had not more than sixty-eight policemen or constables, and the present admirable system of Police is all owing to the clear head and sagacious mind of Sir Robert Peel, who first organized it about thirty-five years ago. The old local watch of the city consisted of the Bowstreet force of sixty-eight men, and the parish beadles, constables, headboroughs, street keepers, and watchmen, in the several wards of the City, and in many cases these so-called officers of the peace were rascals of the worst description, in league with thieves and prostitutes.
It is said that a Mr. George Vincent Dowling, (who was editor of "Bell's Life" at the time,) gave Sir Robert Peel the first idea of the present organization, which consists of a Board of three Police Commissioners, a chief Superintendent, 25 Sub-Superintendents, 136 Inspectors, 700 sergeants, and over 7,000 policemen. 4,000 men are on duty in the day-time and 3,000 in the night time. During the day they are never allowed to cease patrolling, being forbidden even to sit down. They wear dark-blue pilot woven short frock coats, buttoned up to the neck, trousers of the same material, with brass buttons on the coat and a pasteboard helmet covered with black rough felt.
The Police Districts are mapped out into divisions, the divisions into sub-divisions, the sub-divisions into sections, and the sections into beats, all being numbered and carefully defined. To every beat, certain policemen are detailed, specifically, and they are provided with little slips of pasteboard, on which are printed the routes they are to take. So thoroughly has this management been perfected, that every street, lane, road, alley, and court, within the Metropolitan District—that is, the whole of the metropolis—(excepting that part in a radius of three-quarters of a mile from St. Paul's, which is called the City of London Proper)—including the County of Middlesex, and all the parishes, 220 in number, in the Counties of Surrey, Kent, Essex, and Hertfordshire, which are not more than 15 miles from Charing Cross in any direction, comprising an area of about 700 square miles, and 90 miles in circumference, and with a population of 3,500,000,—is visited constantly, day and night, by some of the police. Within a circle of six miles from St. Paul's, the beats are traversed in periods of time varying from twenty to fifty minutes, and there are some points, such as the Bank, the Mint, the Cathedral of St. Paul, the Abbey of Westminster, the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, the HorseGuards, and the Inns of Court, which are never free from inspection for a single moment.
There are 130 police stations in the metropolis, and by a telegraph signal a Police Commissioner at White Hall, in Parliament street, which is contiguous to Scotland Yard,—the headquarters of the Metropolitan Detective force, who are separated in their duties from the Old Jewry or City of London Detective force,—can concentrate in an hour and a half as many as 6,000 men for instant duty. This vast force, each man receiving but three shillings to three and sixpence a day, is really under a wonderful control. Each officer has to walk twenty miles a day in his rounds beside attending the police courts, which is equal to five miles in addition. 98,000 persons were arrested in one year—1869, of which number 40,000 were discharged. The cost of the Metropolitan Police for one year was about £525,000, and the City Police, for the same term, £60,000—the City Police numbering 700, the Metropolitan force nearly 7,000.
The expenses of the Police Courts, for 1869, was £88,240, including the salary of one Magistrate at £1,500 a year, and thirty other Magistrates at £1,200 a year, each. Sixty pounds and six shillings were expended for rattles, swords, and clubs, in the same time. The City Corporation are allowed, by act of Parliament, to have their own Police and Commissioners in the heart of the metropolis, or City proper. There is, besides, a "Horse Patrol" for public occasions; eight hundred of which were on duty on the day of the Oxford and Harvard race; a "Thames River" Police, the "Westminster Constabulary," and a "Police Office Agency," for recovery of stolen goods. Before the establishment of the Thames Police, in 1797, the annual loss by robberies alone on the river, was £750,000 a year, the depredators having various, curious names, such as "River Pirates," "Light" and "Heavy Horsemen," "Mud-larks," "Capemen," and "Scuffle-hunters."
RIVER THIEVES.
They were frequently known to weigh a ship's anchor, hoist it with the cable into a boat, and when discovered, to hail the captain, tell him of his loss, and row away cheerily. They alsowould cut shipping and lighters adrift, run them ashore and then clean them out. Many of the "Light Horsemen" cleared as much as thirty pounds a night, and an apprentice to a "mock-waterman" often kept his saddle horse and country seat. During the first year of the Thames Police, the saving to the West India merchants alone amounted to £150,000, and 2,200 river thieves were convicted during that time, of misdemeanor.
In those days, the magnificent docks which are now the chief ornament of London, had not been built with their high walls to keep out the swarming thieves who haunted the shipping.
tailpiece
CHAPTER XXI.
HUNTING THE SEWERS.
HIDDEN in the bosoms of the sewers of every Great City lies a world of romance. The secrets of thousands of human beings, with their hopes and aspirations, their defeats and disappointments, are garnered, in the relics of myriad households, whose rubbish is shot through drains, to be imbedded in the accumulated masses at the bottom of the soggy sewerage.
London has two thousand miles of bricked sewers, and the entire metropolis is honey-combed by these effluvious passages.
These sewers are, of course, choked with refuse and swarming with rats and other pestiferous vermin, by night and day, and are pervaded with noxious gases, which, when inhaled, cause almost instantaneous death. The rats grow as big as kittens in the sewers, and will face strong, healthy men, and give them combat—in legions. The rats feed on offal from the butchers' slaughter houses, which is poured into the sewers, and they also subsist on the grain which comes from the breweries, in different parts of the city.
Twenty years ago, the main sewers of London, having their outlets on the river side, were completely open, and it was lawful to enter them to search for valuables, but since then so many people have died of the gases, or have lost themselves in their noxious recesses, that a law was at last passed, by which persons entering the sewers to explore them, unless they were employed as workmen, became amenable to imprisonment, and at present the law is strictly enforced.
SEWER HUNTERS.
Formerly, when the spring tides in the Thames began, it was of common occurrence for the waters to dash into the sewers, sweeping everything in their way, and very often engulfing the workmen, or others engaged illegally in searching the sewers; and days after one of these tidal floods had occurred bodies of drowned and disfigured men would be vomited from the mouths of the sewers.
Now, however, this is changed, and hanging iron doors, with hinges, are affixed to the mouths of the sewers, and are so arranged that when the tides are low the iron doors are forced open by the rubbish and wet refuse which is emptied into the Thames, and when the tides rise the volume of water forces the doors back, and the river cannot enter the sewers.
There are two or three hundred men in London, who earn a living by working in the sewers. These men, though there is a law against the practice, search the sewers, night and day, for old iron, rope, metal, money, or whatever is of value to the finder. They are called "Toshers," or "Shore-men," and are, in some things, very like the "mud-larks," who frequent the river sides.
Some of these men are very fortunate at times, and succeed in obtaining good prizes from the black, stinking mud of the sewers. Gold watches, silver milk-jugs, breast-pins, bracelets, and gold rings, are obtained by them. These sewer hunters, however, do not trouble themselves to collect coal, wood, or chips, as is the case with the mud-larks. There are better prizes for them, and accordingly, they do not waste their time on such trifles.
The Sewer-Hunter, before penetrating a sewer, provides himself with a pair of canvas trousers, very thick and coarse, and a pair of old shoes, or high-topped boots—the higher the legs the better. The coat may be of any material, only it must be of heavy fabric, and there are large pockets in the sides, where articles may be crammed at will.
They carry a bag on their backs, these sewer-hunters, and in their hand a pole, seven or eight feet long, on one end of which is fastened a large iron hoe to rake up rubbish.
Whenever they think the ground is unsafe, or treacherous, they test it with the rake, and steady their steps with the staff.
Should a Sewer-Hunter find himself sinking in a quag-mire, he immediately throws out the long pole, armed with the hoe, and seizes the first object in the sewer, to hold himself up. In some places, had the searcher no pole, he would sink, and the more he tried to extricate his person, the deeper he would imbed his body.
Use is made of the pole to rake the mud for iron, copper, or bones, and occasionally the rake turns up the remains of a human being, who may have perished in those fetid cells. Great skill is necessary in the hunter, to know always when the tide leaves and comes, so as to enable him to find articles at certain points.
The brick work in many parts is rotten, especially in old sewers, and there is great risk in traversing the channels, as sometimes, when the sewers are being flooded from the dams erected at stated intervals, the passage is flooded to a height of three feet, very suddenly, and if the Sewer-Hunter be not notified the first intimation of his danger is given by a thundering, rushing sound, and before he can escape the waters are upon him, and he is enveloped by them or hurled down with tremendous force, and swept along for miles in darkness, and filth, and despair, cut off from all human aid, no ear to hear his shouts, and no hand stretched forth to save.
In some places where the arches are unsafe, he will not dare to touch any part of the roof of the sewers, or the sides, fearing that he may be buried beneath the ruins. The main sewers are generally five feet high from floor to ceiling, but the branch sewers are much lower, and it is necessary to crawl on hands and knees to proceed. In the main sewers, there are niches built in the brick walls of some depth, with a raised platform, and the hunters always step into one of those when the sewers are being flooded, to clean them.
AN UNLAWFUL BUSINESS.
Rats, unless in great numbers, will not attack a man if he passes them quietly, but if driven to a corner they will fly at the intruder's face and legs in hundreds. A bite from one of these rats will swell a man's face or arms to an enormoussize. The men who are employed as "flushers" to clean the sewers wear leather boots, the legs of which come up to the hips, and of thick leather, and when the rats make an attack on these men, they always flash their lanterns, which are fastened to leather belts around their waists, and this frightens the vermin away, as they are not accustomed to light, and will flee from it if not molested. The big leather boots of the "flushers" cannot be bitten through by the rats.
The trenches or water-tanks for the cleansing of the sewers, are chiefly on the south side of the Thames, and as a proof of the great danger incurred by sewer-hunters from these floods of water suddenly let in on them, I am told that when a ladder was put down a sewer from the street some years ago, on which a hod-carrier was descending with a hod of brick, the rush of water from the sluice struck the ladder, and instantly, ladder, hod-carrier, and all, were swept away, and afterward the poor man was found at the mouth of the sewer, all battered, torn, bruised, and dead.
Whenever a Sewer-Hunter passes through a sewer under a street grating, he is compelled to close his lantern, else the reflection of the light through the grating would call the attention of the police, and he would be taken before a magistrate. Dogs are never taken through the sewers, for the same reason, as their barking would be noticed, although they would be an excellent defense against the rats.
Occasionally skeletons of unfortunate cats have been found in the sewers, their bones completely cleared of flesh, and nothing but a little fur remaining. I should pity the cat that strayed into a sewer, as they do occasionally from house-drains and cesspools.
As the Sewer-Hunters go along in the sewers, they often pick money from between the crevices of the brick-work, and now and then a handful of sovereigns have been taken from these crevices. Sometimes a small pick is needed to recover metals or money from the crevices where they are wedged.
One man told me that he found a small leather bag with two hundred sovereigns and some shillings in it, that had nodoubt been washed out from a drain. He said that he had often found money, and that he was well satisfied with his luck in general. He had been for twenty years searching the sewers, and had amassed considerable property. He told me his story as follows:
sewer
THE SEWER-HUNTER.