In a few months, all the stock being disposed of, the company ceased paying dividends. This excited the suspicion of some of the shrewdest holders of the stock, and the affair was investigated. It was found that the wonderful mine had no real existence. The gold bars were simply gold coins melted into that form at the Mint, and stamped by the Government as so much bullion. The dividends had been paid out of money advanced by the company, who were simply half a dozen unprincipled sharpers. The stockholders were ruined, but the company made a profit of a clear half million of dollars out of the infamous transaction. Legal proceedings are expensive and tedious when instituted against such parties, and the stockholders, rather than increase their losses by the outlay necessary for a lawsuit, suffered the swindlers to go unmolested.
A certain stockbroker, anxious to increase his wealth, purchased twenty acres of land a few years ago in one of the Western States, and commenced boring for oil. After a few weeks spent in this work, he discovered to his dismay that there was not the slightest trace of oil on his land. He kept his own counsel, however, and paid the workmen to hold their tongues. About the same time it became rumored throughout New York that he had struck oil. He at once organized a company, and had a committee appointed to go West and examine the well. In a few weeks the committee returned in high glee, and reported that the well contained oil of the very best quality, and only needed capital and improved machinery to develop its capacity. In support of this assertion they brought home numerous bottles containing specimens of the oil. This report settled the matter in Wall street, and the stock issued by the company was all sold at a handsome premium. When the sales ceased, it was rumored that the well had ceased flowing. This was true. There was no oil anywhere on the land. That in the well had been bought in Pennsylvania and poured into the well by the agents of the owner, and the examining committee had been paid large sums for their favorable report. The owner of the well was enriched, as were his confederates of the bogus company, and the holders of the stock were swindled, many of them being ruined.
We take the following from a work recently published in Paris. It contains the observations of an intelligent French gentleman during a residence in New York:
An Irishman, thirty years ago, arrived in Philadelphia. He was a mason by trade, industrious and sober, which is not often the case with natives of the Emerald Isle. He managed to save a few hundred dollars, and then married.
He had enjoyed the blessings of matrimony over ten years, when, on going to his work, early one morning, he found, a short distance from his house, a basket covered with a linen cloth. He carried it home, opened it, and a handsome baby appeared before his view. To the child's clothes was pinned a paper bearing a few lines, asking, in the name of the Almighty, the person into whose hands the basket might fall, to take charge of the new-born infant, for the sake of a poor fellow- creature. The Irishman and his wife, not having any children, at once adopted the little one, regarding it as a gift sent by Providence. A few years later, the Irishman, who had by his savings amassed quite a handsome sum of money, purchased a small farm in a thinly settled county of Pennsylvania, and there lived quietly and contentedly, until, one day, in cutting down a tree, it fell upon him, and he was crushed to death beneath its weight. After this sad occurrence, his widow, with the help of the adopted child, carried on the business of the farm, often regretting she could not give the boy an education; but they were so far from any school, she could not think of sending her son such a distance from home.
One day a rumor circulated throughout Pennsylvania that, by boring into the earth to a moderate depth, in some parts of the State, oil was found to spring forth. Startling as this rumor was, many persons were forced to believe it, when they saw, with their own eyes, a black liquid, giving a bright light, issuing from certain holes bored for experiment. After this, all persons began experimenting on their own property. The Irish widow imitated her neighbors, and with the help of her adopted son, bored a hole in her garden. After a few day's work, they struck oil—a flowing well rewarded their enterprise!
Meanwhile speculators, wild with the excitement of this discovery, besieged Pennsylvania, and that State soon swarmed with them. The desire to possess a portion of those marvellous lands took possession of every mind. Throughout the States every one was affected with the new disease, denominated 'oil on the brain;' and soon the value of the oleaginous districts went up to wonderful figures. In many instances, as much as fifty thousand dollars were paid for an acre of land. And, availing herself of the general infatuation, the Irish widow sold her farm, for two millions of dollars, to a Boston company, which thought it was very cheap to give not quite seven thousand dollars per acre for petroleum land. The three hundred acres of the widow's farm had cost three hundred dollars a few years before, that is to say, one dollar an acre! Besides the two millions of dollars, the Irish widow had stipulated that one half of the flowing well in her garden should belong to her. That well yielded from five to six hundred barrels of oil per day. You may be sure the old lady doted on it. She visited it a hundred times a day, always surveying it with amazement, and ascertaining whether it was as productive as ever. Even at night she left her bed to go and view the marvellous spring. During one of these nocturnal excursions, she imprudently drew too near the well with a light—the spring fired up with lightning-like rapidity, and the poor woman, becoming wrapped in the flames, was burned to death. The coroner was summoned to hold an inquest. When it was over, the widow's neighbors, desiring to ascertain whether she had sold her farm for as large an amount as was rumored, prevailed upon the coroner to open her safe. It contained two hundred thousand dollars in gold, which, no doubt, represented the widow's profits for her reserved rights in the well; and also bonds of the United States to the amount of two millions of dollars, the said bonds registered in the name of Peter Crazy, the widow's adopted son, and only heir and legatee, according to her will, that was also found in the strong-box.
Now, the young man, whose large stakes a few minutes ago caused such a sensation, is the same Peter Crazy, the widow's adopted son; and he came here to-night to complete his ruin. But I must now relate what became of him after becoming possessed of a princely fortune.
At the time he came into possession of this fortune, Crazy did not know the difference between one thousand and one hundred thousand dollars. He could hardly write his name; and, unfortunately, he had nobody to warn him against the dangers that beset the youth of this world, and to make of him, instead of a spendthrift, a man useful to society.
Suppose a philanthropist, a good-hearted, high-minded man, should suddenly come into possession of two millions of dollars, what a benefactor he might prove to his fellow-creatures! What useful and benevolent institutions he might found! What improvement might every branch of human labor receive if he chose to apply to it a portion of his wealth.
As soon as it became known that Crazy had inherited a large fortune, many adventurers, with whom the new Eldorado swarmed, pounced upon him like birds of prey upon a carcass; and then commenced for Crazy a life of prodigality and vice, the end of which is near at hand.
In Philadelphia, he stopped with his cronies at one of the most elegant and spacious hotels of the city, stipulating for the exclusive use of it during their stay. He bought fine horses, carriages of the most approved pattern, and furnished amaison de joie, where he reveled every night. Many Philadelphians will long remember his daily freaks of extravagance. I will relate one as a sample of the others. One day, as a regiment stopped in the city on its way to the West, he presented it with one thousand baskets of champagne—one basket to each man—a piece of liberality that cost him twenty-five thousand dollars. After spending half a million dollars in the Quaker City, he came to New York in search of new excitements.
Here he met with persons who aroused a new feeling in his mind—that of pride. Those capitalists and speculators who drive their fancy teams in Central Park, who keep racehorses, who do their best to resuscitate the fine old times of France under the Regency, were not, he was told, as wealthy as himself. He was bound to live in style, lest he should be taken for a shoddy contractor, who does not know how to spend his money. Crazy, therefore, imitated the leaders of fashion—but in the same way European wood-cutters are imitated by Australasian savages, who, when they cut down a tree, wait for its fall until they are crushed by its weight. He kept as many as forty horses; bet heavily at the races, and lost every time; and hired a theatrical troupe, whom he provided with costly costumes, and who played only for himself and a few friends. One night he was so delighted with the saltatory skill andpirouettesof the dancing-girls of his troupe, that he presented each of them, with a gracefulness of manner that Buckingham himself would have envied, pearls and diamonds worth over one hundred thousand dollars. In short, for a year, he indulged in all conceivable dissipations. But Providence has in store for him one of those visitations that, from time to time, startle and instruct the world.
"Crazy believes his main income can never be impaired. Besides the one hundred thousand dollars he has in his pocket—the last of the money found in the Irish widow's strong-box—he fancies he possesses inexhaustible means in the oil well. On returning, he will learn that that source of wealth is dried up, and his only fortune consists of the fifty-two coats he has purchased inside of the past month."
The legitimate business of New York is greater than that of any other place in America. The city being the chief centre of our commerce, offers the greatest advantages of any in the land to persons engaged in trade. Merchants at a distance buy whatever they can here, because they like to visit the place, and can thus unite business with pleasure. Two or three millions of strangers annually visit New York, and while here expend large amounts in purchases. People in other parts of the country attach an additional value to an article because it was purchased in the great city. Besides this, one is apt to find the best article in the market here, as it is but natural that the chief centre of wealth should draw to it the best talent in the arts and trades.
Merchants from the provinces like the liberal and enterprising spirit which characterizes the dealings of New York merchants. They can buy here on better terms than elsewhere, and their relations with the merchants of this city are generally satisfactory and pleasant.
Every thing in New York gives way to business. Private neighborhoods disappear every year, and long lines of magnificent warehouses take the places of the comfortable old mansions of other days. There is now scarcely a respectable neighborhood for residences below Fourth street. The business of the community is steadily advancing up the island. The lower part of the city is being taken up with wholesale and commission houses and manufacturers. The retail men are constantly going up higher. Broadway now has scarcely a residence along its entire length; Washington Square, Waverley and Clinton Places, and even Fifth Avenue below Twenty-third street, are being rapidly invaded by business houses.
Enterprise, energy, and talent, distinguish the business of this city. A man capable of acquiring a fortune can acquire it here more readily than elsewhere, but he must have patience. The world was not made in a day, and fortune comes slowly, but it comes surely to the man who will work faithfully and patiently for it.
The Harpers and Appletons, who stand at the head of the book trade in New York, began as poor boys, and worked their way up to fortune slowly and patiently. Cornelius Vanderbilt was a poor boatman. Daniel Drew was a drover. A. T. Stewart an humble, struggling shop-keeper. One of the most noted bank presidents of the city began by blacking a pair of boots. He did his work well. These are noted instances, but there are thousands of merchants in the city doing comfortable businesses, some of whom will be millionaires, who began poor and friendless. They have worked faithfully and patiently, and their lives are examples to all beginners.
Many capitalists have made their fortunes by successful operations in real estate. This must not be classed with speculations in bonds or stocks. Of course, one may be cheated in buying real estate, as well as in any other purchase; but as a general rule, he who invests his money in houses or lands, gets the full value of it. The rapid growth of the city has increased the value of property in the upper sections at an amazing rate, and has made the fortune of every one who held land in those sections. The Astors, A. T. Stewart, Claflin, Vanderbilt, Drew, and hundreds of others who were wise enough to foresee and believe in the future of New York, have made handsome fortunes on the investments made by them a few years ago.
In 1860 a gentleman purchased a handsome house in a fashionable neighborhood. It was a corner house, and fronted on Fifth Avenue. He paid fifty thousand dollars for it. He spent twenty-five thousand more in furnishing and fitting up. His friends shook their heads at his extravagance. Since then he has resided in the house, and each year his property has increased in value. A few months ago he was offered nearly three hundred thousand dollars for the house and furniture, and refused it, declaring his belief, that in ten years more the property will be worth over half a million.
A farm near the Central Park that could not find a purchaser seven years ago at a few thousands, sold six months since, in building lots, for as many millions.
We might multiply these instances, but the above are sufficient to illustrate this branch of our subject.
Rented property pays handsomely. As much as twenty per cent. on the value, is often received as the rent of a dwelling, and some of the best Broadway stores bring their owners one or two hundred thousand dollars annually. As all rents are paid in advance, and security required for the larger ones, the owner is comparatively safe in his investment.
The fashionable shopping points are along Broadway, from Canal street to Twenty-third street, and in some of the cross streets between these thoroughfares. The principal are Stewart's, Lord & Taylor's, and Arnold & Constable's.
The up-town or retail store of A. T. Stewart & Co., is located on Broadway, between Ninth and Tenth streets. It extends back to Fourth Avenue, and covers the entire block, with the exception of the corner of Broadway and Ninth street, which is occupied by the famous picture dealers, Groupil & Co. This break in the building of Mr. Stewart, gives the whole edifice, as seen from Broadway, an awkward appearance. It is said that the great merchant is anxious to buy the corner, but will not pay the price asked, as he regards it as extortionate. The building is a handsome iron structure, in the style of arcade upon arcade, and is painted white, which causes some persons to call it a "marble palace." It contains in its various departments everything pertaining to the dry goods trade. It has also a department for ready-made clothing for women and children, and persons can here purchase at a moment's warning a complete outfit in any style their means will allow. The articles range from simplicity to magnificence in style and quality.
The rooms are always full of purchasers. The city trade proper is immense, and the majority of the strangers coming to the city do their shopping here.
[Illustration: A. T. Stewart's Wholesale Store.]
No one cares to come to New York without seeing Stewart's, and all go away satisfied that the immense establishment is one of the sights of the metropolis.
LORD & TAYLOR'S.
The store of this well-known firm is located at the corner of Broadway and Grand streets. It is one of the most beautiful in the city, is built of white marble, and is handsomely ornamented. Its ample windows contain the finest display of goods to be seen in America. The interior, though not so large as Stewart's, is quite as handsome, and the various departments are managed with as much skill and system. The ready-made department is a feature worth examining. The establishment has not so large a trade as Stewart's, but rivals it in the excellence of its goods, and in the taste displayed in selecting them. Many persons prefer this store to any in the city.
ARNOLD & CONSTABLE'S.
Arnold & Constable are now located at the corner of Canal and Mercer streets, but will soon move into their elegant marble store, now in process of erection at the corner of Broadway and Nineteenth street. This is one of the favorite houses of New York. Its trade is large and fashionable, and it divides the honors of the city with those already mentioned.
A stranger, in entering a first-class dry goods store in this city, is at once struck with the order and system which prevail throughout the establishment. The door is opened for him by a small boy in entering and departing. As he enters, he is politely accosted by a gentleman, who inquires what he wishes to purchase. Upon stating his business, he is shown to the department where the article he is in search of is to be found, and the eye of his conductor is never off of him until he is safe under the observation of the clerk from whom he makes his purchase. This is necessary to guard against robbery. So many small articles lie exposed in the store that a thief might easily make off with something of value but for this watchfulness. Private detectives are employed by the principal houses, and as soon as a professional shop-lifter enters, he or she is warned off the premises by the detective, whose experience enables him to recognize such persons at a glance. A refusal to take this warning is followed by a summary arrest.
In paying for his goods, the purchaser notices that the salesman makes a memorandum of the articles and sends it with the money to the cashier by a small boy. If any change is due the purchaser, the boy brings it back. The articles are also taken at the same time and are examined and remeasured to see that the sale is correct. The purchase is then either delivered to the buyer or sent to his residence, as he may desire.
The boys to which we have referred are called "cash boys," and are now a necessity in any well regulated establishment. Stewart employs nearly three hundred of these boys in his upper store, and one hundred in his lower store. Good, steady cash boys are in demand. Intelligence is at a premium in this department. Let a boy take a proper recommendation from his public school, or Sunday school teacher, and if he is intelligent, healthy, and cleanly, he will be at once taken on trial. He starts out with a salary of $3 per week. If he shows capacity he is promoted as rapidly as possible. The highest salary paid is $8 per week, but he may rise to be a salesman if he will work steadily and intelligently. These boys generally have a lively and bright look. They act as cash boys, carry parcels out to customers, attend the doors, and do sundry other useful acts. They are strictly watched, and any improper conduct is punished with an instantaneous dismissal. They generally belong to respectable families, and live at home with their parents. Many of them attend the night schools after business hours, and thus prepare for the great life struggle which is before them. Such boys are apt to do well in the world. Many however, after being released from the stores, imitate the ways of the clerks and salesmen. They affect a fastness which is painful to see in boys so young. They sport an abundance of flashy jewelry, patronize the cheap places of amusement, and are seen in the low concert saloons, and other vile dens of the city. It is not difficult to predict the future of these boys.
New York is the paradise of impostors. They thrive here. They practice all manner of tricks upon the unwary, and are off before one can lay hands on them. Sometimes they are caught, tried, and sentenced to the penitentiary.
Several months ago, a foreigner, calling himself a Russian Count, and pretending to be Colonel of Engineers in the Russian Imperial service, made his appearance in this city, and announced himself as the agent of his Government to make contracts with certain engineering firms in this country. He hired an office down town, and would occasionally show, to those whose acquaintance he had made, plans of the work that was being executed under his supervision. He brought with him letters of introduction from many of the leading men of Europe, and these, united to an easy bearing and good address, sufficed to gain him admittance into the most refined and exclusive society in this and neighboring cities. At Washington, he was treated with marked consideration, was shown through the public buildings, and was allowed to inspect the Navy Yards at Washington and Brooklyn, and the fortifications in this city and elsewhere. Unfortunately, the expected remittance from Russia failed, from some unknown reason, to arrive, and the Baron was forced to appeal to his American friends for loans, and he borrowed, from various persons, sums ranging from $500 to $2,000, and amounting in the aggregate to $25,000 or $30,000. To one gentleman, who had loaned him at various times $1,500, the Baron said, recently, that his long- expected remittance had arrived, and he made an appointment with his creditor to meet him on a certain day and go with him to a broker's to procure currency for his Russian gold. In calling at the office of the Baron on the day named, the gentleman found him busily engaged in explaining some of the plans to a stranger, and as it would be impossible for him to go to the broker's on that day he begged the indulgence of his friend and named another day. Before that day arrived the Baron had disappeared, and the police, on being informed of the circumstance, made inquiry, and ascertained that a man answering the description of him sought for had taken passage in a steamer for Europe.
Men and women are always to be found in the City, seeking aid for some charitable institution. They carry books and pencils, in which each donor is requested to inscribe his name and the amount given. Small favors are thankfully received, and they depart, assuring you in the most humble and sanctified manner that "the Lord loveth a cheerful giver." If you cannot give to-day, they are willing to call to-morrow, next week—any time that may suit your convenience. You cannot insult them, for like Uriah Heep, they are always "so 'umble." You find it hard to suspect them, but in truth, they are the most genuine impostors to be met with in the City. They are soliciting money for themselves alone, and have no connection with any charitable institution whatever.
One-armed, or one-legged beggars, whose missing member, sound as your own, is strapped to their bodies so as to be safely out of sight, women wishing to bury their husbands or children, women with borrowed or hired babies, and sundry other objects calculated to excite your pity, meet you at every step. They are vagabonds. God knows there is misery enough in this great City, but nine out of ten of these people are impostors. If you give them money it will go for drink.
A well known banker, who acted as agent for one of the numerous charitable associations of this city, was called upon one day by a lady of great elegance, who said she had come at the instance of Mrs.——, naming one of the lady managers of the association, to ask for one hundred dollars, for which she had immediate need. As the lady referred to had never drawn on him for money, except by means of a regular cheque, the banker suspected that something was wrong, and informed his visitor that it would not be convenient for him to let her have the amount just then, and asked her to call the next day. She departed, and the next morning was punctual to her engagement. Meanwhile, the banker had ascertained from the lady manager that the request made of him was an imposture. He was not in when his visitor called the second time, but his son met the lady, and, as he knew her, expressed his surprise at seeing her there. Overwhelmed with confusion, she took her departure, saying she would come back when the banker returned. She did not make her appearance, and the son, in mentioning her visit to his father, was informed of its object. It was agreed to pass the matter over in silence, and a note to that effect was dispatched by the young man to the lady—she replied, thanking him for his silence, she said she was in need of money, and did not wish her husband to know it, and hoped to raise it in such a manner, and return it before the imposture should be discovered. She was a woman of good social position, and the wife of a wealthy citizen.
Strangers have observed with surprise the quietness which reigns within the city limits on the Sabbath day. The streets have a cleaner, fresher look, and with the exception of the Bowery and Chatham street, are closed to trade. The wharves are hushed and still, and the river and bay lie calm and subdued in the light of the Sabbath sun. Everybody seems trying to look as neat and as clean as possible. The cars run on Sunday, as in the week. This is necessary in so large a city, as without them many persons would be unable to attend church, their houses being miles away from their places of worship.
In the morning, the various churches are well filled, for New Yorkers consider it a matter of principle to attend morning service. The streets are filled with persons hastening to church, the cars are crowded, and handsome carriages dash by, conveying their wealthy owners to their only hour of prayer.
The churches are nearly all above Bleecker street. Trinity, St. Paul's, the old Dutch Church in Fulton street, and a few seamen's bethels along the river, are the only places of worship left to the dwellers in the lower part of the city, who are chiefly the poor and needy. Little or no care is taken of this part of the population, and yet it would seem good missionary ground. Trinity tries hard to draw them into its fold, but no one else seems to care for them.
The up-town churches are well filled in the morning. The music, the fame of the preacher, the rank of the church in the fashionable world, all these things help to swell the congregation. They are generally magnificent edifices, erected with great taste, and at a great cost. They crowd into fashionable neighborhoods, being often located so close to each other that the music of one will disturb the prayers of the congregation of the other. The plea for this is that the old down town locations were out of the way for the majority of the congregations. Many of the new sites, however, are quite as hard to reach. The pews rent for sums far beyond the purses of persons of moderate means, so that the majority of New Yorkers are compelled to roam about, from church to church, in order to hear the gospel at all. At the majority of the churches, strangers are welcome, and are received with courtesy, but at others they are treated with the utmost rudeness if they happen to get into some upstart's pew, and are not unfrequently asked to give up their seats.
There are intellectual giants in the New York pulpit, but they are very few. The majority of the clergy are men of little intellect, and less oratorical power. They are popular, though, with their own cures, and the most of them are well provided for. They doubtless understand how to
"Preach to please the sinners,And fill the vacant pews."
Morning service over, an early dinner follows. Then everybody thinks of enjoying himself if the weather is fine, or of sleeping the afternoon away if the day is too wet to go out. The cars are filled with personsen routefor the Park to pass a pleasant afternoon—the drives of that beautiful resort are filled with the elegant equipages of the fashionables, and the churches are comparatively deserted. Almost every livery hack, buggy, or other vehicle in the city, is engaged for Sunday, several days beforehand, and the poor horses have no mercy shown them on that day.
The low class theatres and places of amusement in the Bowery and adjacent streets are opened toward sunset, and vice reigns there triumphant. The Bowery beer gardens sell lemonade and soda water, and such beverages as are not prohibited by the excise law, and the orchestra and orchestrions play music from the ritual of the Roman Catholic church.
The excise law forbids the sale of spirituous or malt liquors on the Sabbath, and the bar rooms are closed from midnight on Saturday until Monday morning. The police have orders to arrest all persons violating this law. There is no doubt, however, that liquor can be obtained by those who are willing to incur the risk necessary to get it; but as the majority do not care to take this trouble, the North river ferries are thronged on Sunday, by persons going over to New Jersey for their beer, wine, and stronger drinks. There is no Sunday law in that State, and Jersey City and Hoboken are only five minutes distant from New York.
At night the churches are better attended than in the afternoon, but not so well as in the morning. Many ministers will not open their churches for afternoon service, because they know they cannot fill a dozen pews at that time. Their congregations are driving in the Park— the young men, perhaps, in Hoboken, after lager.
Sunday concerts are now becoming a feature in New York life. These are given at the principal halls of the city, and the music consists of selections of sacred gems from the master pieces of the great composers. The performers are known all over the land for their musical skill, and the audiences are large and fashionable. No one seems to think it sinful thus to desecrate God's holy day, and it must be confessed that these concerts are the least objectionable Sunday amusements known to our people.
The reason of all this dissipation on the Sabbath is plain. People are so much engrossed in the pursuit of wealth, that they take no time in the week for rest or amusement. They wait for Sunday to do this, and grudge the few hours in the morning that decency requires them to pass in church.
Scarcely a Sunday passes without numerous arrests being made for violations of the excise law. These cases are tried before the Board of Excise Commissioners, who, if the offence be sufficiently gross, take away the license of the accused party, or punish him according to the terms of the law. Some queer pictures of humanity are exhibited at these trials.
The Detective Corps of New York consists of twenty-five men, in change of Captain Young. They are men of experience, intelligence, and energy. They are well skilled in the art of ferreting out crimes, and generally succeed in the objects which engage their attention. They have a distinct organization from the Metropolitan Police, though they are subject to the orders of the Commissioners.
It requires an unusual amount of intelligence to make a good detective. The man must be honest, determined, brave, and complete master over every feeling of his nature. He must also be capable of great endurance, of great fertility of resource, and possessed of no little ingenuity. He has to adopt all kinds of disguises, and is often subject to temptations which only an honest man can resist. Any act, savoring in the least of dishonesty, is punished by immediate expulsion from the force.
The men are always to be found at the police headquarters in Mulberry street, where they have a separate apartment, when not on duty. They are constantly engaged. Strangers coming to the city get drunk overnight in places of bad repute and are robbed. Next morning they come to ask the aid of the police in discovering their property. If their statement of the circumstances of the case is true, they can generally recover the lost articles through the aid of the detectives, if they can be recovered at all. The force is in constant telegraphic communication with other cities, and is always giving or receiving intelligence of criminal matters and movements, so that if a crime is committed in any city, the police force of the whole Union is on the alert for the apprehension of the criminal.
The individuality of crime is remarkable. Each burglar has a distinct method of conducting his operations, and the experience of the detective enables him to recognize these marks or characteristics, in an instant. Thanks to this experience, which is the result of long and patient study, he is rarely at a loss to name the perpetrator of a crime, if that person is a "professional." Appearances which have no significance for the mere outsider are pregnant with meaning to him. He can determine with absolute certainty whether the mischief has been done by skilled or unskilled hands; whether it has been done hurriedly or leisurely; and can in a few minutes decide upon the course which ought to be pursued for the apprehension of the thief and the recovery of the property.
"A man came into the Fourth Police Precinct, some time ago, and complained that his house had been robbed. The thief had been pursued without effect, but while running, he was observed to drop a chisel, and to tear up a piece of paper, which he also threw away. Captain Thorn, and a detective who was present, carefully examined the man respecting the mode by which the entrance had been effected, the marks left by the tools, the kind of property taken, and the action and bearing of the thief while running away. After eliciting all the facts that they could obtain, they both agreed that it had been done by a certain gang. When this had been ascertained to their satisfaction, the next thing to be done was to identify the individual or individuals belonging to the said gang, who had committed the robbery. Captain Thorn proceeded to gum over a piece of paper, on which he fitted together the small bits of paper which the thief had thrown away. This at once disclosed the name of the robber, who was well known to the police as a member of the gang which Captain Thorn and the detective had, from the indications afforded, judged to be the depredators. The detective then said that the thief would certainly be found at one of three places which he named. Three policemen were accordingly sent after him, one to each of the places named; and the captain assured us that the sun was not more certain to rise the next morning, than that the man would be at the station-house. Now, how were the police enabled to fix so readily on the depredators in this case? Simply by their intimate knowledge of their style of working. They knew their marks just as a man knows the handwriting of his correspondent. When they had fixed upon the man who committed the robbery, their knowledge of all his habits enabled them to predict with certainty where he would be found, and to give such exact description of his person as would enable any one who had never seen him to recognize him at a glance."
The necessary expenses of the detection of crime are often considerable. Information must be obtained, even if it has to be paid for liberally. Officers must be in concealment for weeks, and sometimes for months. Long journeys must not unfrequently be made; and in a hundred ways large expenditures will be called for. We were told of a case where a treasury note of the government was counterfeited with consummate skill, and it became a matter of vital importance to obtain the plate from which the counterfeit was printed. One of the most successful detectives was employed to work up the case, who soon found that the cost of securing it would be so great that there was little probability that the treasurer would audit his accounts. He therefore told the government that the cost would be so great that he declined to undertake it; but the possession of the plate, and the information that its capture would give, were so exceedingly important, that the detective was authorized to go on with it. He did so; the plate was obtained; all the information sought for was procured, and the counterfeiters and their abettors were captured. But it cost the government one hundred and twenty thousand dollars to accomplish this result. There were regular vouchers for every payment, and each was carefully scrutinized and verified. There was no doubt whatever that all the expenditures had been made in good faith, and with the utmost economy. Doubtless the government felt that the possession of that plate, and the knowledge gained, were worth all they had cost.
The following case, which occurred a few years ago, in a sister city, will show how the detectives track and secure their game:
A terrible murder had been committed. The sods were scarcely heaped upon the coffin of the murdered man when one of his murderers was securely confined in the cells of the central station. The arrest was one of unusual difficulty. When the detectives visited the scene of the murder, the only clue to the perpetrators was a blood stained handkerchief and the gag used in strangling their victim. With these faint traces there was little hope of ferreting out the murderer, but Detective Joshua Taggart assumed the task. Returning to the store, he reconnoitered the premises with new diligence. A new trace was then discovered. A new mortise chisel, wrapped in a piece of brown paper, lay on a shelf in the room. The chisel was not the property of the proprietors of the dental depot. It had plainly been brought there by the burglars. To trace it then became the task of the detective. Upon it depended his only hope of tracing the murder from the dead porter to the burglars who had killed the unoffending warden.
There were none of the usual evidences of crime in the robbery of the store. A skilled detective knows every thief within his jurisdiction, and their operations are to him familiar and easily recognized. The appearance of a forced door will indicate the man who burst it open. An experienced detective will trace a burglar by the manner of opening a door as readily as a bank teller will recognize the hand writing of one of his depositors. The size of the jemmy used, the manner in which it is applied, the place at which a house is entered, whether at the door, the window, the roof, or the cellar grating, are all so many unerring indications to the detectives of the burglars whose operations he traces. But in this case there was no burglary committed. It was simply murder and robbery. The murdered man had either opened the door of the wareroom, or the murderers opened the door with the keys taken from the gagged or insensible porter. The removal of the goods betokened the robbery. Gold, silver and platina to the value of three thousand dollars were taken away, but there were no traces or evidence of the burglars. A murdered man lay dead in the entry, a number of shelves stood empty against the wall, but neither clue nor trace, footprint nor finger mark, existed to aid or direct the detective's sagacity in his search. Detective Taggart knew this. He felt the difficulty of his situation, and he preserved the chisel as the first link of the evidence he was to forge and fasten into a chain of convicting proof. He took the chisel home. The trade mark could not guide him. Hundreds of the firm's chisels were weekly sold in the city, and the clue seemed losing its power, when a few figures on the back of the wrapping paper inclosing the chisel arrested Taggart's attention. These figures were evidently a calculation by a hardware dealer of the price of the tool, the reduction by a slow hand of the business trade mark into the simple value of the digits. To find the man who had made the memorandum on the back of the paper was the first step in detecting the murderer.
Mr. Taggart visited the hardware dealers one by one until he despaired of finding the one who sold the chisel. There was no evidence that the tool had been purchased in Philadelphia. New York, Pittsburg, Baltimore and Boston retail such chisels, and the probability of its purchase in St. Louis was as strong as the idea of its purchase here. But Taggart found the man who sold the chisel. A hardware dealer recognized the calculation on the wrapper, and remembered the man who had bought it. Two men, he said, came to the store. One was slender and tall, the other was short and stout, with a heavy black moustache and black hair. The latter bought the chisel. The pal stood in the background and said nothing.
This was the commencement of the case. Who the stout man was Taggart could not surmise. It might be one of a score of thieves, and for four days he could form no conception of the murderer's identity, until one night, waking from a restless slumber, Huey Donnelly flashed like thought across his mind, and running his memory back for the past few weeks, he remembered that at the time the murder was committed Donnelly was in the city. The great difficulty in tracing the case was passed.
Donnelly was at once watched. Who the second man was Taggart well surmised. He followed Huey to every quarter of the city to see if he communicated with his pal, who was with him when the chisel was purchased—who was with him when the porter was murdered. But the second murderer had fled. Taggart himself followed Donnelly night after night, dogged him into every rum-mill and thieves' brothel, where he tarried briefly or long, watching him at night until he went to bed, but never found his pal, who is the associate criminal in the tragedy. A week after Donnelly was spotted, Taggart found his pal had left the city, and unless Donnelly was arrested he would also leave. Following up the trail, he met Huey in Washington Square. Donnelly was leisurely crossing when a hand was laid heavily on his shoulder. He turned and faced the detective, who simply said:
'I want you, Donnelly.'
'What for?'
'Murder.'
"When at the station, the salesman was sent for. Donnelly's black moustache was gone. His face was shaved clean. He was placed in the rogue's gallery. A number of men of similar build, both moustached and clean face, were placed in the same room. The salesman was conducted to the gallery. 'Point out the man who purchased the chisel,' was the detective's command. Without hesitation or doubt, the salesman placed his hand on Donnelly's shoulder. Then Taggart followed the second murderer. He went to Baltimore, but he could get no further. All clue was lost in that city, and the present lurking place of the confederate of Donnelly is undiscovered. The necessity for keeping the arrest quiet was removed, and now the detective calls to his aid the far reaching influence of the press and the telegraph, that police authorities of other cities may complete the work begun here, and render to justice the other murderer, who is at liberty in spite of her laws."
It would require a volume to narrate all of the exploits of the detectives, and so we shall content ourselves with the incidents already given.
If, as we have said, persons seeking the aid of the police, would tell the truth in their statements, the aid rendered them would be much more efficacious and speedy; and, after all, it is useless to try to deceive these keen students of human nature. The detective can tell from the nature of the loss whether the statement of the circumstances is true or false, for he knows that certain robberies take place only in certain localities.
Persons are often indignant that those who have robbed them are not arrested and held for trial. Undoubtedly this would be a very desirable thing, but it is not always possible. Frequently no evidence can be obtained against the guilty party, whose arrest would be a useless expense to the city, and the detective in such cases is compelled to content himself with the recovery of the property. The stolen goods thus recovered and restored to their owners is stated on good authority at two millions annually. [Footnote: Prison Association Report. 1866.]
In many cases the detective is very loth to arrest the culprit. It may be the first offence of some youth, or the victim may have been forced on by circumstances which an experienced officer can understand and appreciate. In such cases he generally leans to the side of mercy, for the men of the New York force are kind and humane. Their advice to the party against whom the offence has been committed, is not to resort to the law, but to try the offender again. In this way they have saved many a soul from the ruin which an exposure and punishment would have caused, and have brought back many an erring one to the paths of virtue and integrity. There are men of tried honesty in this city to-day, men holding responsible positions, whose lives,
"Could their story but be told,"
would verify this assertion.
Leave Broadway opposite the New York Hospital, and pass down Pearl street in an easterly direction. Five minutes walking will bring you to the abode of poverty and suffering, a locality which contrasts strangely with the elegant thoroughfare we have just left. Cross Centre street, and continue your eastward course, and a few minutes will bring you to Park street. Turn short to the left, follow the line of Park street, and in a few minutes you will see that blessed beacon light in this great sea of human misery and sin, the "Five Points Mission." You are now fairly in the heart of the Five Points district. It is a horrible place, and you shudder as you look at it. The streets are dark and narrow, the dwellings are foul and gloomy, and seem filled with mystery and crime. It is the worst quarter of the city, and from here, over to East River, you will scarcely find it any better.
Yet, bad as it is, it is infinitely better than the Five Points of fifteen or even ten years ago. Then the place was notorious for its crimes. Murders, robberies, outrages of all kinds, were of daily occurrence. The officers of the law dared not enter the district for the purpose of suppressing crime, and fugitives from justice found a safe refuge here. A man who entered the district carried his life in his hand, and unless he was either in secret or open league with the denizens of the quarter, was tolerably sure of losing it. Now there is vice and crime enough there, Heaven knows, but the neighborhood has vastly improved. The steady advance of business and trade up the island has broken up many of the vilest dens of the quarter, and has made travel through its streets more constant. Besides this, the new police system has made the neighborhood safe, except at certain hours of the night, by thoroughly patrolling it, and promptly punishing disorder and violence. The character of the inhabitants has also improved, and the district now contains thousands who are poor without being criminal. The disreputable classes have been scattered, too, and no longer herd together around the "Old Brewery," which was once the chosen headquarters of crime. The Mission now occupies that locality, and the work of the Lord is going on where the Devil once reigned supreme.
Still, as we have said, crime and want are plentiful at the Five Points. The Fourth, and Sixth wards, which constitute this district, are known as the most wretched and criminal in the City. They are also the most densely populated—one of them containing more people than the entire State of Delaware.
The streets of this section of the city are generally narrow and crooked, and the intense squalor and filth which disfigure them, cause them to seem much darker than they really are. Every house is packed to its utmost capacity. In some of these houses are to be found merely the poor. In others the character of the inmates is such, that no policeman will enter them alone, and not even in parties unless well armed.
These buildings seem overflowing with human beings. Half a million of people are crowded into this and the adjacent quarters of the City. One block of this district is said to contain three hundred and eighty-two families. Dirt and filth of all kinds prevail.
[Illustration: A den in Baxter street.]
Few of the people can read or write, and the only education the children receive is in crime. The houses are almost all entirely out of repair. The stairways are ricketty, and seem on the point of giving way beneath one's feet. The entries are dark and foul. As many as a dozen people are crowded into a single room. Morality and decency are never heard of. The cellars, so dark that one unaccustomed to them cannot see a foot before him, without a bright light, are filled with wretched inmates. Some of these have secret passages connecting them with other buildings, and are used for purposes of crime, or they have hiding places known only to the initiated, where the offender against the law may hide from the police, or where a ruffian may conceal or imprison his victim, without fear of detection. Rum, gin, whisky, and other liquors of the vilest kind, are used in profusion here. Some of these wretches never leave their dens, but remain in them "the year round," stupefied with liquor, to procure which their wives, children, or husbands, will beg or steal. Thousands of children are born in these foul places every year. They never see the light of day, until they are able to crawl into the streets. They die at a fearful, but happy rate, for they draw in with the air they breathe, disease of every description.
It is said that there are forty thousand vagrant and destitute children in this section of the great city. These are chiefly of foreign parentage. They do not attend the public schools, for they have not the clothes necessary to enable them to do so, and are too dirty and full of vermin to render them safe companions for the other children. The poor little wretches have no friends, but the pious and hard-workingattachésof the Missions which have been located in their midst. In the morning those who have charge of them drive them out of their dreadful homes to pick rags, bones, cinders, or any thing that can be used or sold, or to beg, or steal, for they are carefully trained in dishonesty. They are disgustingly dirty, and all but the missionaries shrink from contact with them. Some of them have the fatal gift of beauty, but the majority are old looking and ugly. From the time they are capable of noticing any thing they are familiar with vice and crime, for they see them all around them. They grow up surely and steadily to acquire the ways of their elders. The boys recruit the ranks of the pick-pockets, thieves, murderers, and "thugs" of the City; the girls become waiters in the concert saloons, or street walkers, and sink thence down to the lowest depths of infamy. Water street alone can show a thousand proofs of this assertion.
A few years ago, there lived in the great city a little girl, so small that no one would ever have thought her nine years old. Yet she had passed nine sad years on earth. She lived with a couple who had a cellar of their own at the Five Points. They were coarse, brutal people, and spent the greater part of their time in drinking and fighting. Little Nellie, for so we shall call her, went in rags, and was frequently beaten with severity by those who called themselves her parents, though no one knew whether she was their child or not. In the long winters she almost perished with the cold, and was nearly half famished with hunger. It was a wonder how she managed to live; for in the coldest weather she was sent back and forth, through the freezing streets, by her so-called parents, her only protection being a ragged shawl, which she wrapped tightly around her head. Her little feet and legs were bare and frost-bitten, and often left red tracks on the pure white snow. At night her bed was a piece of old carpeting in a dark corner of the cellar, where she cried herself to sleep, and wished she could die. Young as she was, death was not terrible to her, for she regarded it as a release from her sufferings. Had she known how to pray, she would have prayed for it; but, in her ignorance she merely wished to die.
Do not be shocked, reader, when we say she never prayed. The truth is that, with the exception of the constant blasphemy of the people with whom she lived, and of this she heard too much, she rarely heard of God. Once she went into a church, and heard a man talk about Him in a way she could not understand. When she heard the organ it sounded so sweet that she thought God must be up there, and tried to see him; but a great rough man put her out of the church, and told her it was no place for such as her, (alas! God's house no place for the poor!) and that if she ever came there again he would hand her over to the police. She went away feeling shocked and hurt, and fully convinced that God did not like beggars. Then she remembered how nice and warm the church was, and how fine the people were dressed, and she began to wonder why she had been made so poor and helpless.
"Ah! me," she sighed, "I'm not God's child. He wouldn't notice me, I'm so poor, and dirty, and my feet are so frost-bitten."
She had no one to tell her how much God cares for the poor, how he watches over them, and notes every good and bad deed done to them. She thought he was careless of her; and when some one told her he could do every thing, she wondered why he did not make her more comfortable, and give her nice warm clothes to wear. Finally, little Nellie began to think him a cruel, harsh God, and at last she came to hate him. Terribly depraved, you will say, dear reader; but, alack, was she to blame? God help us! there are many more like her in the great city.
When Nellie was eight years old, the husband of the woman with whom she lived died, and the woman took to drinking harder than ever. This made Nellie's lot worse than before the man's death. Then she had had some brief respite from persecution; for, though the man had often beaten her, he had sometimes saved her from the fury of his drunken wife. Now there was no one to befriend her. The woman was rarely free from the influence of liquor, and blows were showered upon the child more frequently than ever. Poor little Nellie! her troubles increased every day, and her desire to die became more eager. Sometimes she would go down to the piers, and gaze on the dark waters that swept beneath them, and would wonder if she would be at peace if she drowned herself. But, though not afraid of death, the waters looked so fierce and angry that they frightened her, and she would go away shuddering with a dread that she could not understand. But for this, she would have sought in the cool waves the rest for which she longed.
Matters went on from bad to worse, but at last they came to an end, but not in the way Nellie wished. The woman with whom she lived began to think that the child was old enough to be of some use to her, for she was now nine years old. Alas! the use she made of her. There was nothing honest which so young a child could do, so she resolved to try her at dishonesty. It was a fearfully cold winter, and the woman's intemperate habits had prevented her from earning a living. To remedy this, she sent Nellie out with a basket, and told her to go to a certain street where she had seen a number of bales of cotton, partly opened, lying before a store. She bade the child watch her opportunity, and, when no one was looking, to fill the basket, and run away with it to her as rapidly as possible. Nellie did not like the undertaking, and begged that she might not be sent; but the woman brutally told her if she did not go and return in an hour, she would kill her.
Nellie started out with a heavy heart, for she had a vague foreboding that something terrible was about to happen to her. She reached the place, found the cotton, and, as no one was looking, soon filled her basket. She was turning away, when a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder, and a rough voice exclaimed:
"You little thief! I've caught you, have I?"
Nellie glanced up in terror. A richly dressed man had hold of her, and was shaking her roughly.
"Please, sir, let me go, and I'll put the cotton back."
"No you will not," he said coldly. "I'll teach you a lesson."
As he spoke, he beckoned a policeman from across the street, and told him to arrest the child for stealing a dollar's worth of cotton. Nellie was taken before a magistrate, and, the theft being proved, was sent on for trial at the next term of the Court, and the merchant went away satisfied. There was no one to "go bail" for her, and she was remanded to the Tombs until the session of the court.
It made the jailer's heart ache to see that little child enter the cell in which his duty compelled him to place her. He wondered why she had not been sent to one of the numerous reformatory establishments, where she might be saved from a life of crime. But no, the child had been charged with theft, and the law required her to be tried for the crime, and if convicted, to be sent to prison, to share the company of felons, and sink, perhaps into infamy. God Help us, if this is always to be the character of New York justice.
Nellie's life in prison was both pleasant and terrible. It was pleasant, inasmuch as it freed her from the brutal woman with whom she had lived, and terrible, because it left her alone all night in a cold, dark cell.
At last, however, the end came. It was a terribly cold night, and the prisoners in their cells suffered intensely. Some heard low sobs in little Nellie's cell, but no attention was paid to them. The next morning the turnkey went to visit her on his morning rounds, and he found her lying stiff and cold. She had frozen to death during the night, and her wish had been granted. The little thief had gone to the bar of a judge who tempers justice with mercy, and who cares for those who are helpless and oppressed.
There are some in the great city who will remember this incident, as it has not been very long since its occurrence.
Seventeen years ago the "Old Brewery," on Park street, was the centre of crime in New York. The attention of the humane had been frequently called to the amount of suffering and vice surrounding it, but all seemed agreed that nothing could be done with the Five Points. Few had the courage to venture there, and those who knew the place smiled incredulously at the idea of reforming it. The "Old Brewery" was used as a tenement house, and contained one thousand inmates, and a viler, and more wretched set of people was not to be found in the great city.
A number of Christian women of position and means, who knew the locality only by reputation, determined, with a courage peculiar to their sex, to break up this den, and make it a stronghold of religion and virtue. Their plan was regarded as chimerical; but undismayed by the difficulties against them, they went to work, trusting in the help of Him in whose cause they were laboring. A school was opened in Park street, immediately facing the "Old Brewery," and placed in charge of the Rev. Mr. L. M. Pease, of the Methodist Church. This school at once gathered in the ragged, dirty children of the neighborhood, and at first it seemed up-hill work to do any thing with them. Patience and energy triumphed at last, however. The school became a success. Then the ladies who had projected it, resolved to enlarge it. They purchased the "Old Brewery," pulled it down, and built the present "Mission," which is now in charge of the Rev. Mr. Shaffer.
The Mission is dependent upon voluntary contributions for its support. Food, clothing, money, and every thing that can be useful in such an establishment, are given to it. They come in from all parts of the country, for the Mission is widely known, and thousands of Christians are working for it. The railroad and express companies send all packages for it over their lines without charge.
Children are the chief care of the Mission. Those in charge of it believe that first impressions are the strongest and most lasting. They take young children away from the haunts of vice and crime, and clothe and care for them. They are regularly and carefully instructed in the rudiments of an English education, and are trained to serve the Lord, who has raised up such kind friends to them. At a proper age they are provided, with homes, or respectable employment, and placed in the way to become Christian men and women. Hundreds, nay, thousands of good and useful men and women have been reared by the institution since its establishment. They were snatched from the haunts of crime when children, and owe their present positions to the Mission. Year after year the work goes on. Children are taken in every day as far as the accommodations will permit, and are carefully trained in virtue and intelligence, and every year the "Home," as its inmates love to call it, sends out a band of bright, brave, useful young hearts into the world, which but for its blessed aid would have been so many more wretches added to the criminal class of the country.
Reader, if you can do any thing for this noble institution, do not hold back your hand, but do it. Your help is needed.
Besides the "Home" to which we have referred, the "City Mission Home for Little Wanderers," and the "Five Points House of Industry," are all working hard for the purpose of bettering the condition of the poor and wretched of the City. They are employing a band of energetic, hard- working Christian men and women, and are doing good daily. There is no doubt, however, that they succeed best with children. After the devil has set his mark on men and women, it is very difficult to efface it; but with children the case is different. They are too young to be utterly abandoned or depraved, and they can, by care and patience, in nine cases out of ten, be won over to the side of right.
Not only are persons drawn away from crime and vice by the active efforts of the missionaries, but the Missions themselves do good. They are well known, and they are constant reminders to the fallen that they have a chance to rise. Some few avail themselves of the chance. Men and women, especially young ones, frequently come in and appeal to the missionaries to help them to reform. They want advice, assistance, or protection. Whatever is needed is given, if it be within the means of the institution. If it is not, the missionary seeks it elsewhere, and rarely fails to find it. Few who are ignorant of the workings of these institutions, can rightly estimate the amount of good done by them. They are indeed "Cities of Refuge," to which no one ever goes in vain.
A part of the work of the "City Mission" is to distribute tracts and simple religious instruction. These are simple little documents, but they do a deal of good. They have reformed drunkards, converted the irreligious, shut the mouth of the swearer, and have brought peace to more than one heart. The work is done so silently and unpretendingly that few but those engaged in it know how great are its effects. They are encouraged by the evidences which they have, and continue their work gladly.
Again, these Missionaries are constantly going into sections of the City, from which the "popular preachers" shrink in dismay, and but for their devotion there are thousands of our poor who would never have the Gospel preached to them. They watch beside the bedside of the sick and dying, administer the last rites of religion to the repentant pauper, and offer to the Great Judge the only appeal for mercy that is ever made in behalf of many a soul that departs in its sins. They shrink from no trouble, no sacrifice. They are a hard-working, self-denying, noble band.
This institution is situated on the Bowery, near Pearl street, and is in charge of the Rev. Mr. Van Meter. It is also called the "Howard Mission." While striving to relieve all who call upon it for aid, its care is chiefly given to children. Its object is to rescue the little ones from want and suffering, and make them comfortable. They are educated, and taught their duty as children of the Lord, and at a certain age are provided with homes or trades. Little ones, starving or freezing in the streets, are picked up constantly and brought in here. The police often bring in such guests. All are welcomed and made as comfortable as possible. You may see them warmly and neatly clad, or tucked away in a snug bed, little children, even babies, who but the night before were almost dying with cold in the streets.
Like the "Ladies' Home," the "Little Wanderers' Home" is entirely dependent on voluntary contributions for its support.
[Illustration: Fifth Avenue Hotel.]