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20. reformation. The inmates are well fed, and are put to no labour.
There is an extensive garden, in which they can walk at pleasure.
Some of them are allotted to free settlers requiring servants; but the
grand hope of the female convict is to marry. This prospect is
materially aided by the fact that both free settlers and ticket-of-leave
convicts are allowed to seek for help-mates in the Factory. When
they call for that purpose, the fair penitents are drawn up in a row;
and the wife-seeking individual inspects them as a general does his
army, or a butcher the sheep in Smithfield Market. If he fancies one
of the candidates, he beckons her from the rank, and they retire to a
distance to converse. Should a matrimonial arrangement be made,
the business is soon finished by the aid of a clergyman; but if no
amicable understanding is come to, the nymph returns to the rank,
and the swain chooses another—and so on, until the object of his
visit is accomplished. So anxious are the unmarried free settlers or
the ticket-of-leave convicts to change their single state of
blessedness, and so ready are the fair sex to meet their wishes, that
few women whose husbands die remain widows a couple of days;
some not more than four-and-twenty hours. A few years before I
was in the colony, an old settler saw a convict-girl performing
penance on a market-day, with her gown-tail drawn over her head,
for drunkenness and disorderly conduct in the Factory. He walked
straight up to her—regardless of the hootings of the crowd—and
proposed marriage. She was candid enough to confess to him that
she was five months gone in the family way by a master to whom
she had been allotted ere she returned to the Factory; but the
amorous swain, who was nearly sixty, was so much struck by her
black eyes and plump shape, that he expressed his readiness to take
her 'for better or worse;' and she had not left the place of
punishment an hour, ere she was married to one of the richest
settlers in the colony.[23]
"I will tell you one more anecdote relative to Australian marriages.
A very handsome woman was transported for shop-lifting—her third
offence of the kind. She left a husband behind her in England. On
her arrival at Sydney she was allotted to an elderly gentleman, a free
settler, and who, being a bachelor, sought to make her his mistress.
21. She, however, resisted his overtures, hoping that he would make her
his wife, as he was not aware that she had a husband in her native
country. Time wore on, he urgent—she obstinate,—he declining
matrimonial bonds. At length she received a black-edged letter from
her mother in England; and upon being questioned by her master,
she stated 'that its contents made a great alteration in her
circumstances.' More she would not tell him. He was afraid of losing
his handsome servant; and agreed to marry her. They were united
accordingly. When the nuptial knot was indissolubly tied, he begged
his beloved wife to explain the nature of the black-edged letter.
'There is now no need for any further mystery,' she said, 'The truth
is, I could not marry you before, because I had a husband living in
England. That black-edged letter conveyed to me the welcome news
that he was hanged five months ago at the Old Bailey; and thus
nothing now stands in the way of our happiness.'—And that woman
made the rich settler a most exemplary wife.
"I have now given you an insight into the morals of the female, as
well as those of the male convicts; and you may also perceive that
while transportation is actually a means of pleasing variety of scene
and habits to the woman, it is an earthly hell to the man. I know
that transportation is spoken of as something very light—a mere
change of climate—amongst those thieves in England who have
never yet crossed the water; but they are woefully mistaken!
Transportation was once a trivial punishment, when all convicts were
allotted to settlers, and money would purchase tickets-of-leave; or
when a convict's wife, if he had one, might go out in the next ship
with all the swag which his crimes had produced, and on her arrival
in the colony apply for her husband to be allotted to her as her
servant, by which step he became a free man, opened a public-
house or some kind of shop, and made a fortune. Those were
glorious times for convicts; but all that system has been changed.
Now you have Road-Gangs, and Hulk-Gangs, and Quarrying-Gangs,
—men who work in chains, and who cannot obtain a sufficiency of
food! There is also Norfolk Island—a Garden of Eden in natural
loveliness, rendered an earthly hell by human occupation. Oh! let not
the opinion prevail that transportation is no punishment; let not
22. those who are young in the ways of iniquity, pursue their career
under the impression that exile to Australia is nothing more than a
pleasant change of scene! They will too soon discover how miserably
they are mistaken; and when they feel the galling chain upon their
ankles,—when they find themselves toiling amidst the incessant
damps of Macquarie, or on the hard roads of Van Diemen's Land, or
in the quarries of Norfolk Island,—when they are labouring in forests
where every step may arouse a venomous snake whose bite is
death, or where a falling tree may crush them beneath its weight,—
when they are exposed to the brutality of overseers, or the still more
intolerable cruelty of their companions,—when they sleep in constant
dread of being murdered by their fellow-convicts, and awake only to
the dull monotony of a life of intense and heart-breaking labour,—
then will they loathe their very existence, and dare all the perils of
starvation, or the horrors of cannibalism, in order to escape from
those scenes of ineffable misery!
"But I need say no more upon this subject. The bark, in which I
worked my passage to Europe, reached England in safety; and I was
once more at large in my native country. Yes—I was free to go
whithersoever I would—and to avenge myself on him who had
betrayed me to justice! The hope of some day consummating that
vengeance had never deserted me from the moment I was
sentenced in the Central Criminal Court. It had animated me
throughout all the miseries, the toils, and the hardships which I have
related to you. It inspired me with courage to dare the dangers of an
escape from Macquarie: its effect was the same when I resolved
upon quitting Norfolk Island. I have once had my mortal foe within
my reach; but my hand dealt not the blow with sufficient force. It
will not fail next time. I know that vengeance is a crime; but I
cannot subdue those feelings which prompt me to punish the man
whose perfidy sent me into exile. In all other respects I am reformed
—completely reformed. Not that the authorities in Australia or
Norfolk Island have in any way contributed to this moral change
which has come over me: no—my own meditations and reflections
have induced me to toil in order to earn an honest livelihood. I will
never steal again: I will die sooner. I would also rather die by my
23. own hand than return to the horrors of Macquarie or Norfolk Island.
But my vengeance—Oh! I must gratify my vengeance;—and I care
not what may become of me afterwards!"
Crankey Jem then related so much of his adventures with the
gipsies as did not involve a betrayal of any of their secrets, and
concluded his recital by a concise account of his sudden meeting
with, and attack upon, the Resurrection Man at a certain house in St.
Giles's.
19. This episode is founded on fact. The newspapers of 1840, or 1841, will in
this instance furnish the type of Mr. Robert Cuffin in the person of a certain
Reverend who obtained much notoriety at Rickmansworth.
20. Londoners.
21. Countrymen.
22. Fact.
23. Fact.
24. CHAPTER CXCII.
THE MINT.—THE FORTY THIEVES.
Reader, if you stroll down that portion of the Southwark Bridge
Road which lies between Union Street and Great Suffolk Street, you
will perceive, midway, and on your left hand, a large mound of earth
heaped on an open space doubtless, intended for building-ground.
At the southern extremity of this mound (on which all the offal
from the adjacent houses is thrown, and where vagabond boys are
constantly collected) is the entrance into an assemblage of miserable
streets, alleys, and courts, forming one of the vilest, most
dangerous, and most demoralised districts of this huge metropolis.
The houses are old, gloomy, and sombre. Some of them have the
upper part, beginning with the first floor, projecting at least three
feet over the thoroughfares—for we cannot say over the pavement.
Most of the doors stand open, and reveal low, dark, and filthy
passages, the mere aspect of which compels the passer-by to get
into the middle of the way, for fear of being suddenly dragged into
those sinister dens, which seem fitted for crimes of the blackest dye.
This is no exaggeration.
Even in the day-time one shudders at the cut-throat appearance of
the places into the full depths of whose gloom the eye cannot
entirely penetrate. But, by night, the Mint,—for it is of this district
that we are now writing,—is far more calculated to inspire the
boldest heart with alarm, than the thickest forest or the wildest
heath ever infested by banditti.
The houses in the Mint give one an idea of those dens in which
murder may be committed without the least chance of detection.
25. And yet that district swarms with population. But of what kind are its
inhabitants? The refuse and the most criminal of the metropolis.
There people follow trades as a blind to avert suspicions relative to
their real calling: for they are actually housebreakers or thieves
themselves, or else the companions and abettors of such villains.
In passing through the mazes of the Mint—especially in Mint
Street itself—you will observe more ill-looking fellows and revolting
women in five minutes than you will see either on Saffron Hill or in
Bethnal Green in an hour. Take the entire district that is bounded on
the north by Peter Street, on the south by Great Suffolk Street, on
the east by Blackman Street and High Street, and on the west by the
Southwark Bridge Road,—take this small section of the metropolis,
and believe us when we state that within those limits there is
concentrated more depravity in all its myriad phases, than many
persons could suppose to exist in the entire kingdom.
The Mint was once a sanctuary, like Whitefriars; and, although the
law has deprived it of its ancient privileges, its inhabitants still
maintain them, by a tacit understanding with each other, to the
extent of their power. Thus, if a villain, of whom the officers of
justice are in search, takes refuge at a lodging in the Mint, the
landlord will keep his secret in spite of every inducement. The only
danger which he might incur would be at the hands of the lowest
description of buzgloaks, dummy-hunters, area-sneaks, and vampers
who dwell in that district.
There is no part of Paris that can compare with the Mint in
squalor, filth, or moral depravity;—no—not even the street in the
Island of the City, where Eugene Sue has placed his celebrated tapis-
franc.
Let those who happen to visit the Mint, after reading this
description thereof, mark well the countenances of the inhabitants
whom they will meet in that gloomy labyrinth. Hardened ruffianism
characterises the men;—insolent, leering, and shameless looks
express the depravity of the women;—the boys have the sneaking,
shuffling manner of juvenile thieves;—the girls, even of a tender
age, possess the brazen air of incipient profligacy.
26. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when the Resurrection
Man, wrapped in a thick and capacious pea-coat, the collar of which
concealed all the lower part of his countenance, turned hastily from
the Southwark Bridge Road into Mint Street.
The weather was piercingly cold, and the sleet was peppering
down with painful violence: the Resurrection Man accordingly buried
his face as much as possible in the collar of his coat, and neither
looked to the right nor left as he proceeded on his way.
To this circumstance may be attributed the fact that one so
cautious and wary as he, should now fail to observe that his motions
were watched and his steps dogged by a lad whose countenance
was also well concealed by a high collar which was drawn up to his
ears.
In order to avoid unnecessary mystification, we may as well
observe that this youth was Henry Holford.
The Resurrection Man pursued his way along Mint Street, and
suddenly turned into a small court on the left-hand side. There he
knocked at a door in a peculiar manner, whistling a single sharp shrill
note at the same time; and in another moment Holford saw him
enter the house.
"Well, Mr. Tidkins," said a boy of about fourteen, who had opened
the door to admit the formidable individual with whom he was
evidently well acquainted: "a preshus cold night, arn't it?"
"Very, my lad," answered the Resurrection Man, turning down his
collar, so that the light of the candle which the boy held, gleamed
upon his cadaverous countenance. "Is the Bully Grand at home?"
A reply in the affirmative was given; and the boy led the way, up a
narrow and dilapidated staircase, to a large room where a great
number of youths, whose ages varied from twelve to eighteen, were
seated at a table, drinking and smoking.
The organisation of this society of juvenile reprobates requires a
detailed notice.
The association consisted of thirty-nine co-equals and one chief
who was denominated the Bully Grand. The fraternity was called The
Forty Thieves;—whether in consequence of the founders having
accidentally amounted to precisely that number, or whether with the
27. idea of emulating the celebrated heroes of the Arabian tale, we
cannot determine.
The society had, however, been established for upwards of thirty
years at the time of which we are writing,—and is in existence at
this present moment.
The rules of the association may thus be briefly summed up:—The
society consists of Forty Members, including the Bully Grand.
Candidates for admission are eligible at twelve years of age. When a
member reaches the age of eighteen, he must retire from the
association. This rule does not, however, apply to the Bully Grand,
who is not eligible for that situation until he has actually reached the
age of eighteen, and has been a member for at least four years.
Each candidate for membership must be guaranteed as to eligibility
and honour (that honour which is necessary amongst thieves) by
three members of good standing in the society; and should any
member misconduct himself, or withhold a portion of any booty
which he may acquire, his guarantees are responsible for him. The
Bully Grand must find twelve guarantees amongst the oldest
members. His power is in most respects absolute; and the greatest
deference is paid to him.
The modes of proceeding are as follow:—The metropolis is divided
into twelve districts distinguished thus:—1. The Regent's Park; 2.
Pentonville; 3. Hoxton; 4. Finsbury; 5. City; 6. Tower Hamlets; 7.
Westminster; 8. Pimlico; 9. Hyde Park; 10. Grosvenor Square; 11.
Lambeth; 12. The Borough. Three members are allotted to each
district, and are changed in due rotation every day. Thus the three
who take the Regent's Park district on a Monday, pass to the
Pentonville district on Tuesday, the Hoxton district on Wednesday,
and so on. Thus thirty-six members are every day employed in the
district-service. The Bully Grand and the three others in the
meantime attend to the disposal of the stolen property, and to the
various business of the fraternity. In every district there is a public-
house, or boozing-ken, in the interest of the association; and to the
landlords of these flash cribs is the produce of each day's work
consigned in the evening. The house in the Mint is merely a place of
meeting once a fortnight, a residence for the Bully Grand, and the
28. central depôt to which articles are conveyed from the care of the
district boozing-kens.
The minor regulations and bye-laws may be thus summed up:—Of
the three members allotted to each district, the oldest member acts
as the chief, and guides the plan of proceedings according to his
discretion. Should any member be proved to have secreted booty,
his guarantees must pay the value of it; and with them rests the
punishment of the defaulter. General meetings take place at the
head-quarters in the Mint on the first and third Wednesday in every
month; but if the Bully Grand wishes to call an extraordinary
assembly, or to summon any particular member or members to his
presence, he must leave notices to that effect with the landlords of
the district houses-of-call. The members are to effect no robberies
by violence, nor to break into houses: their proceedings must be
effected by sleight of hand, cunning, and artifice. All disputes must
be referred to the Bully Grand for settlement. The booty must be
converted into money, and the cash divided fairly between all the
members every fortnight, a certain percentage being allotted by way
of salary to the Bully Grand.
Such are the principles upon which the association of the Forty
Thieves is based. Every precaution is adopted, by means of the
guarantees, to prevent the admission of unsuitable members, and to
ensure the fidelity and honour of those who belong to the fraternity.
When a member "gets into trouble," persons of apparent
respectability come forward to give the lad a character; so that
magistrates or judges are quite bewildered by the assurances that "it
must be a mistake;" "that the prisoner is an honest hard-working
boy, belonging to poor but respectable parents in the country;" or
"that so convinced is the witness of the lad's innocence, that he will
instantly take him into his service if the magistrate will discharge
him." While a member remains in prison previous to trial, the funds
of the association provide him with the best food allowed to enter
the gaol; and, if he be condemned to a term of incarceration in the
House of Correction, he looks forward to the banquet that will be
given in the Mint to celebrate the day of his release. Moreover, a
member does not lose his right to a share of the funds realised
29. during his imprisonment. Thus every inducement is adopted to
prevent members who "get into trouble" from peaching against their
comrades, or making any revelations calculated to compromise the
safety of the society.
It was a fortnightly meeting of the society when the Resurrection
Man visited the house in the Mint, on the occasion of which we were
ere now speaking.
The Forty Thieves were all gathered round a board formed of
several rude deal tables placed together, and literally groaning
beneath the weight of pewter-pots, bottles, jugs, &c.
The tallow-candles burnt like stars seen through a mist, so dense
was the tobacco-smoke in the apartment.
At the upper end of the table sate the Bully Grand—a tall, well-
dressed, good-looking young man, with a profusion of hair, but no
whiskers, and little of that blueish appearance on the chin which
denotes a beard. His aspect was therefore even more juvenile than
was consistent with his age, which was about twenty-five. He
possessed a splendid set of teeth, of which he seemed very proud;
and his delicate white hand, which had never been applied to any
harder work than picking pockets, was waved gently backward and
forward when he spoke.
Around the table there were fine materials for the study of a
phrenologist. Such a concatenation of varied physiognomies was not
often to be met with; because none of the charities nor amenities of
life were there delineated;—those countenances were indices only of
vice in all its grades and phases.
The Resurrection Man was welcomed with a hum of applause on
the part of the members, and with out-stretched hands by the Bully
Grand near whom he was invited to take a seat.
"The business of the evening is over, Mr. Tidkins," said Mr. Tunks,
—for so the Bully Grand was named; "and we are now deep in the
pleasures of the meeting, as you see. Help yourself! There are spirits
of all kinds, and pipes or cigars—whichever you prefer."
"Have you any information to give me?" inquired Tidkins in a low
tone.
30. "Plenty—but not at this moment, Mr. Tidkins. Take a glass of
something to dispel the cold; and by-and-bye we will talk on matters
of business. There is plenty of time; and many of my young friends
here would no doubt be proud to give you a specimen of their vocal
powers. Let me see—who's turn is it?"
"Leary Lipkins's, sir," whispered a boy who sate near the Bully
Grand.
"Oh! Leary Lipkins—is it?" said Tunks aloud. "Now, brother Lipkins,
the company are waiting for an opportunity to drink to your health
and song."
Mr. Lipkins—a sharp-looking, hatchet-faced, restless-eyed youth of
about sixteen—did not require much pressing ere he favoured his
audience with the following sample of vocal melody:—
THE SIGN OF THE FIDDLE.
There's not in all London a tavern so gay,
As that where the knowing ones meet of a day:
So long as a farthing remains to my share,
I'll drink at that tavern, and never elsewhere.
Yet it is not that comforts there only combine,
Nor because it dispenses good brandy and wine;
'Tis not the sweet odour of pipe nor cigar—
Oh! no—'tis a something more cozie by far!
'Tis that friends of the light-fingered craft are all nigh,
Who'd drink till the cellar itself should be dry,
And teach you to feel how existence may please,
When pass'd in the presence of cronies like these.
Sweet Sign of the Fiddle! how long could I dwell
In thy tap full of smoke, with the friends I love well;
When bailiffs no longer the alleys infest,
And duns, like their bills, have relapsed into rest.
"Bravo!" "Brayvo!" "Bra-ah-vo!" echoed on all sides, when this
elegant effusion was brought to a close.
The Bully Grand then rose, and spoke in the following manner:—
"Gentlemen, in proposing the health of our excellent brother Leary
Lipkins, I might spare eulogy, his merits being so well known to us
31. all. But I feel that there are times when it is necessary to expatiate
somewhat on the excellent qualities of the leading members of our
honourable Society—in order to encourage an emulative feeling in
the breasts of our younger brethren. Such an occasion is the present
one, when we are all thus sociably assembled. Gentlemen, you all
know Leary Lipkins! (Cheers, and cries of "We do! we do!") You all
know that he is indeed leary in every sense of the word. (Hear!
hear!) He can see through the best bit of broad cloth that ever
covered a swell's pocket. There seems to be a sort of magnetic
attraction between his fingers and a gold watch in the fob of a Bond
Street lounger. (Cheers.) Talk of mesmerism! why—Leary Lipkins can
send a gentleman into a complete state of coma as he walks along
the streets, so that he never can possibly feel Leary's hands in his
pockets. Gentlemen, I hold Leary Lipkins up to you as an excellent
example; and beg to propose his very good health."
The toast was drunk with "three times three."
Mr. Lipkins returned thanks in what a newspaper-reporter would
term "a neat speech;" and he then exercised the usual privilege of
calling upon a particular individual for a song.
A certain Master Tripes Todkinson accordingly indulged his
companions in the following manner:—
THE COMPASSIONATE LADY AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP.
32. "Pray, who's the little boy that is dancing so nimbly?
Come, Mary, bring a halfpenny down.—"
"Please, ma'am, I'm the feller as swept your chimbley,
And I'm very much obleeged for the brown.—"
"Alas! how his schooling has been neglected!
But perhaps his kind father's dead?—"
"No, ma'am; he's a tinker as is wery much respected
And this mornin' he's drunk in bed.—"
"Perchance 'tis a motherless child that they've fixed on
To dance. Does your mamma live still?—"
"Yes, ma'am; at this moment she's stayin' at Brixton,
Vith a gen'leman as keeps a mill.—"[24]
"Poor child, he is miserably clad! How shocking!
Not to give him some clothes were a sin!—"
"Thank'ee, ma'am; but I doesn't want no shoe nor stocking,
I'd rayther have a quartern o' gin!"
The Bully Grand proposed the health Of Master Tripes Todkinson,
in a speech which was mightily applauded; and Master Tripes
Todkinson, having duly returned thanks, called on Master Bandy-
legged Diggs to continue the vocal harmony.
This invitation was responded to with as much readiness as Master
Diggs would have displayed in easing an elderly gentleman in a
crowd of his purse; and the air with which he favoured his audience
ran thus:—
THE LAST OATH.
33. Upon the drop he turned
To swear a parting oath;
He cursed the parson and Jack Ketch,
And he coolly damned them both.
He listened to the hum
Of the crowds that gathered nigh;
And he carelessly remarked,
"What a famous man am I!"
Beside the scaffold's foot
His mistress piped her eye:
She waved to him her dirty rag,
And whimpering said, "Good bye!"
She mourned the good old times
That ne'er could come again,
When he brought her home a well-lined purse;—
But all her tears were vain!
Poor Jack was soon turned off,
And gallantly was hung:
There was a sigh in every breast,
A groan on every tongue.
Go—gaze upon his corse,
And remember then you see
The bravest robber that has been,
Or ever more shall be!
We need scarcely observe that this chant was received with as
much favour as the preceding ones. The Resurrection Man was,
however, growing impatient; for the reader doubtless comprehends
enough of his character to be well aware that Tidkins was not one
who loved pleasure better than business. He looked at his watch,
and cast a significant glance towards the Bully Grand.
"What o'clock is it, Mr. Tidkins?" inquired that great functionary.
"Half-past ten," was the answer.
"Well, I will devote my attention to you in a few minutes," said
Tunks. "You may rest perfectly easy—I have obtained information on
34. every point in which you are interested. But—hark! Shuffling Simon
is going to speak!"
A lad of about seventeen, who had a weakness in the joints of his
knees, and walked in a fashion which had led to the nickname
mentioned by the Bully Grand, rose from his seat, and proposed the
health of Mr. Tunks, the chief of the society of the Forty Thieves.
Then followed a tremendous clattering of bottles and glasses as
the company filled up bumpers in order to pay due honour to the
toast; and every one, save the Grand himself, rose. The health was
drunk with rounds of applause: a pause of a few moments ensued;
and then Shuffling Simon commenced the following complimentary
song, in the repetition of which all the other adherents of the Chief
vociferously joined:—
PROSPER THE GRAND.
Prosper our Bully Grand,
Great Tunks, our noble Grand;
Prosper the Grand
Send him good swag enough,
Heart made of sterling stuff,
Long to be up to snuff;—
Prosper the Grand.
Save him from all mishaps,
Scatter blue-bottle traps
Throughout the land
Confound the busy beak,
Flourish the area-sneak;
In Tunks a chief we seek;—
Prosper the Grand!
The best lush on the board
To Tunks's health be poured
By all the band!
May he continue free,
Nor ever tread-mill see;
And all shall shout with glee,
Prosper the Grand!'
35. It was really extremely refreshing for the Resurrection Man to
contemplate the deep manifestation of loyalty with which the thirty-
nine thieves sang the preceding air.
Nor less was it an imposing spectacle when the object of that
adoration rose from his seat, waved his right hand, and poured forth
his gratitude in a most gracious speech.
This ceremony being accomplished, the Grand (what a pity it was
that so elegant and elevated a personage had retained his unworthy
patronymic of Tunks!) took a candle from the table, and conducted
the Resurrection Man down stairs into a back room, which the Chief
denominated his "private parlour."
"Now for your information," said the Resurrection Man, somewhat
impatiently. "In the first place, have you discovered any thing
concerning Crankey Jem Cuffin?"
"My emissaries have been successful in every instance," answered
Tunks, with a complacent smile. "A man exactly corresponding with
your description of Crankey Jem dwells in an obscure court in Drury
Lane. Here is the address."
"Any tidings of Margaret Flathers?" inquired Tidkins.
"She has married a young man who answers to your description of
Skilligalee; and they keep a small chandlery-shop in Pitfield Street,
Hoxton Old Town. The name of Mitchell is over the door."
"Your lads are devilish sharp fellows, Bully Grand," said the
Resurrection Man, approvingly.
"With thirty-six emissaries all over London every day, it is not so
very difficult to obtain such information as you required," returned
Tunks. "Moreover, you paid liberally in advance; and the boys will
always be glad to serve you."
"Now for the next question," said Tidkins. "Any news of the old
man that Tomlinson goes to see sometimes?"
"Yes—he lives in a small lodging in Thomas Street, Bethnal
Green," was the answer. "There is his address also. His name is
Nelson:—you best know whether it is his right one or not. That is no
business of mine. Mr. Tomlinson regularly calls on him every Sunday
afternoon, and passes some hours with him. The old man never stirs
out, and is very unwell."
36. "Once more I must compliment your boys," exclaimed Tidkins,
overjoyed with this intelligence. "Have you been able to learn any
thing concerning Katherine Wilmot?"
"There I have also succeeded," replied Mr. Tunks. "My boys
discovered that, after the trial of Katherine, she lunched with some
friends at an inn in the Old Bailey, and shortly afterwards left in a
post-chaise. She was accompanied by an old lady; and the chaise
took them to Hounslow."
"And there, I suppose, all traces of them disappear?" said the
Resurrection Man, inquiringly.
"Not at all. I sent Leary Lipkins down to Hounslow yesterday; and
he discovered that Miss Wilmot is staying at a farm-house belonging
to a Mr. and Mrs. Bennet."
"Precisely!" exclaimed the Resurrection Man. "That Mrs. Bennet
was a witness on the trial. I remember reading all about it. She was
the sister of the woman whom Reginald Tracy murdered."
"The farm is only a short distance from Hounslow," observed the
Bully Grand: "any one in the town can direct you to it. Most probably
it was with this Mrs. Bennet that Miss Wilmot travelled in the post-
chaise."
"Evidently so," said the Resurrection Man. "But of that no matter.
All I required was Katherine Wilmot's address; and you have
discovered it. Now for my last question. Have you ascertained
whether it will be possible to bribe the clerk of the church where
Lord Ravensworth and the Honourable Miss Adeline Enfield were
married, to tear out the leaf of the register which contains the entry
of that union?"
"I have learnt that the clerk is open to bribery: but he is a
cautious man, and will not allow himself to be sounded too deeply in
the matter," was the answer.
"Then that business must regard me," observed the Resurrection
Man. "You have served me well in all these matters. Twenty pounds
I gave you the other day: here are twenty pounds more. Are you
satisfied?"
"I have every reason to be pleased with your liberality," returned
the Bully Grand, folding up the bank-notes with his delicate fingers.
37. "Have you any further commands at present?"
"Yes," replied the Resurrection Man, after a few moments'
consideration: "let one of your lads take a couple of notes for me."
While the Bully Grand proceeded to summon Leary Lipkins, the
Resurrection Man seated himself at a desk which there was in the
room, and wrote the following note:—
"The news I have just received are rather good than bad. The clerk is open
to bribery, but is cautious. I will myself call upon him the day after to-morrow;
and I will meet you afterwards, at our usual place of appointment, in the
evening between six and seven. But you must find money somehow or
another: I am incurring expenses in this matter, and cannot work for nothing.
Surely Greenwood will assist you?"
This letter was sealed and addressed to "Gilbert Vernon, Esq., No.
—Stamford Street."
The Resurrection Man then penned another note which ran thus:—
"I have discovered Katherine's address, and shall call upon you the day
after to-morrow at nine o'clock in the evening. Remain at home; as you know
the importance of the business."
By the time he had concluded his correspondence, the Bully Grand
had returned with Leary Lipkins.
"My good lad," said the Resurrection Man, addressing the latter,
"here are two notes, which you must deliver this night—this night,
mind. The first is addressed; and the person for whom it is intended
never retires to bed until very late. He will be up, when you call at
the house where he lodges in Stamford Street. Give the letter into
his own hand. You must then proceed to Golden Lane; and in the
third court on the right-hand side of the way, and in the fourth
house on the left-hand in that court, an old woman lives. You must
knock till she answers you; and give her this second letter. I actually
do not know her name, although I have dealings with her at
present."
Leary Lipkins promised to fulfil these directions, and immediately
departed to execute them.
Shortly afterwards the Resurrection Man took his leave of the Bully
Grand, and left the head-quarters of the Forty Thieves.
Henry Holford, who had never lost sight of the door of that house
since he had seen the Resurrection Man enter it, and who had
38. remained concealed in the shade of an overhanging frontage
opposite for more than two hours, resumed his task of dogging that
formidable individual.
The Resurrection Man passed down Mint Street, into the Borough,
and called a cab from the nearest stand, saying to the driver, "New
Church, Bethnal Green."
The moment Tidkins was ensconced within, and the driver was
seated on his box, Henry Holford crept softly behind the cab. In that
manner he rode unmolested until within a short distance of the place
of destination, when he descended, and followed the vehicle on foot.
The cab stopped near the railings that surround the church; and
the Resurrection Man, having settled the fare, hurried onwards into
Globe Town, Holford still dogging him—but with the utmost caution.
Presently Tidkins struck into a bye-street at the eastern extremity
of the Happy Valley (as, our readers will remember, Globe Town is
denominated in the gazetteer of metropolitan thieves), and stopped
at the door of a house of dilapidated appearance. In a word, this
was the very den where we have before seen him conducting his
infamous plots, and in the subterranean vaults of which Viola
Chichester was imprisoned for a period of three weeks.
Holford saw the Resurrection Man enter this house by the front
door communicating with the street. He watched the windows for a
few moments, and then perceived a light suddenly appear in the
room on the upper floor.
"I have succeeded!" exclaimed Holford, aloud, "the villain lives
there! I have traced him to his lurking-hole; and Jem may yet be
avenged!"
Then, in order to be enabled to give an accurate description of the
house to the returned convict, Holford studied its situation and
appearance with careful attention. He observed that it was two
storeys high, and that by the side was a dark alley.
At length he was convinced that he should be enabled to find that
particular dwelling again, or to direct Crankey Jem to it without the
possibility of error; and, rejoicing at being thus enabled to oblige his
new friend, the young man commenced his long and weary walk
back to Drury Lane.
40. CHAPTER CXCIII.
ANOTHER VISIT TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE.
It was the evening following the one the incidents of which
occupied the preceding chapter.
Beneath a sofa in the Ball Room of Buckingham Palace, Henry
Holford lay concealed.
It would be a mere repetition of statements made in former
portions of this work, were we to describe the means by which the
young man obtained access to the most private parts of the royal
dwelling. We may, however, observe that he had paid frequent visits
to the palace since the occasion when we first saw him enter those
sacred precincts at the commencement of January, 1839; and that
he was as familiar with the interior of the sovereign's abode, even to
its most retired chambers, as any of its numerous inmates.
He had run many risks of discovery; but a species of good fortune
seemed to attend upon him in these strange and romantic ventures;
and those frequent alarms had never as yet terminated in his
detection. Thus he became emboldened in his intrusions; and he
now lay beneath the sofa in the Ball Room, with no more
apprehension than he would have entertained if some authority in
the palace had actually connived at his presence there.
It was nine o'clock in the evening; and the Ball Room was
brilliantly illuminated.
But as yet the low-born pot-boy was its sole occupant.
Not long, however, was he doomed to that solitude. By a strange
coincidence, the two noble ladies whose conversation had so much
interested him on the occasion of his first visit to the palace, entered
41. the room shortly after nine o'clock. He recognised their voices
immediately; and he was delighted at their arrival, for their former
dialogues had awakened the most lively sentiments of curiosity in his
mind. But since his intrusion in January, 1839, he had never seen
nor heard them in his subsequent visits to the royal dwelling, until
the present occasion; and now, as they advanced through the room
together, he held his breath to catch the words that fell from them.
"The dinner-party was tiresome to-day, my dear countess,"
observed the duchess: "her Majesty did not appear to be in good
spirits."
"Alas!" exclaimed the lady thus addressed, "our gracious
sovereign's melancholy fits occur at less distant intervals as she
grows older."
"And yet her Majesty has every earthly reason to be happy," said
the duchess. "The Prince appears to be devotedly attached to her;
and the Princess Royal is a sweet babe."
"Worldly prosperity will not always ensure felicity," returned the
countess; "and this your grace must have perceived amongst the
circle of your acquaintance. Her Majesty is a prey to frequent fits of
despondency, which are distressing to the faithful subjects who have
the honour to be near the royal person. She will sit for an hour at a
time, in moody contemplation of that sweet babe; and her
countenance then wears an expression of such profound—such
plaintive—such touching melancholy, that I have frequently wept to
behold her thus."
"What can be the cause of this intermittent despondency?"
inquired the duchess.
"It is constitutional," answered the countess. "The fit comes upon
her Majesty at moments when she is surrounded by all the elements
of pleasure, happiness, and joy. It is a dark spirit against which no
mind, however powerful, can wrestle. The only method of mitigating
the violence of its attacks is the bustle of travelling:—then novelty,
change of scene, exercise, and the demonstrations of popular
devotion seem to relieve our beloved sovereign from the influence of
that morbid, moody melancholy."
42. "I believe that when we conversed upon this topic on a former
occasion,—it must be at least two years ago,—your ladyship hinted
at the existence of hereditary idiosyncrasies in the Royal Family?"
observed the duchess, inquiringly. "Indeed," added her grace,
hastily, "I well remember that you alluded to the unfortunate
attachment of George the Third for a certain Quakeress——"
"Yes—Hannah Lightfoot, to whom the monarch, when a prince,
was privately united," answered the countess. "His baffled love—the
necessity which compelled him to renounce one to whom he was
devotedly attached—and the constant dread which he entertained
lest the secret of this marriage should transpire, acted upon his mind
in a manner that subsequently produced those dread results which
are matters of history."
"You allude to his madness," said the duchess, with a shudder.
"Yes, your grace—that madness which is, alas! hereditary," replied
the countess solemnly. "But George the Third had many—many
domestic afflictions. Oh! if you knew all, you would not be surprised
that he had lost his reason! The profligacy of some of his children—
most of them—was alone sufficient to turn his brain. Many of those
instances of profligacy have transpired; and although the public have
not been able to arrive at any positive proofs respecting the matters,
I can nevertheless assure your grace that such proofs are in
existence—and in my possession!"
"Your ladyship once before hinted as much to me; and I must
confess that without having any morbid inclination for vulgar
scandal, I feel some curiosity in respect to those matters."
"Some day I will place in your hand papers of a fearful import, in
connexion with the Royal Family," returned the countess. "Your grace
will then perceive that profligacy the most abandoned—crimes the
most heinous—vices the most depraved, characterised nearly all the
children of George the Third. There is one remarkable fact relative to
that prince's marriage with Hannah Lightfoot. The Royal Marriage
Act was not passed until thirteen years after this union, and could
not therefore set it aside; and yet Hannah Lightfoot was still living
when the prince espoused Charlotte Sophia Princess of
Mecklenburgh Strelitz in 1761."
43. "Is this possible?" exclaimed the duchess, profoundly surprised.
"It is possible—it is true!" said the countess emphatically. "In 1772
the Royal Marriage Act[25]
was passed, and provided that no member
of the Royal Family should contract a marriage without the
sovereign's consent. This measure was enacted for several reasons;
but principally because the King's two brothers had formed private
matrimonial connexions,—the Duke of Cumberland with Mrs. Horton,
a widow—and the Duke of Gloucester with the widow of the Earl of
Waldegrave."
"The act certainly appears to me most cruel and oppressive," said
the duchess; "inasmuch as it interferes with the tenderest affections
44. and most charming of human sympathies—feelings which royalty
has in common with all the rest of mankind."
"I cordially agree with your grace," observed the countess. "The
law is barbarous—monstrous—revolting; and its evil effects were
evidenced by almost every member of the family of George the
Third. In the first place, the Prince of Wales (afterwards George the
Fourth) was privately united to Mrs. Fitzherbert, at the house of that
lady's uncle, Lord Sefton. Fox, Sheridan, and Burke were present at
the ceremony, in addition to my mother and several relations of the
bride. Mr. Fox handed her into the carriage; and the happy pair
proceeded to Richmond, where they passed a week or ten days.
Queen Charlotte was made acquainted with the marriage: she sent
for her son, and demanded an explanation. The prince avowed the
truth. Your grace has, of course, read the discussion which took
place in connexion with this subject, in the House of Commons, in
1787. Mr. Rolle, the member for Devonshire, mysteriously alluded to
the union: Mr. Fox rose up, and denied it; but from that day forth
Mrs. Fitzherbert never spoke to Fox again. Sheridan let the truth
escape him:—he said, 'A lady who has been alluded to, is without
reproach, and is entitled to the truest and most general respect.'
How would Mrs. Fitzherbert have been without reproach, or entitled
to respect, if she were not married to the prince? But I have proofs
—convincing proofs—that such an union did actually take place,
although it was certainly null and void in consequence of the
Marriage Act."
"It nevertheless subsisted according to the feelings and
inclinations of the parties interested," said the duchess; "and it was
based on honour, if on no legal principle."
"Alas!" whispered the countess, casting a rapid glance around;
"the word honour must not be mentioned in connexion with the
name of George the Fourth. It pains me to speak ill of the ancestors
of our lovely queen: but—if we converse on the subject at all—truth
must influence our observations. The entire life of George the Fourth
was one of profligacy and crime. Often have I marvelled how one
possessing a soul so refined as Georgiana, the beautiful Duchess of
Devonshire, could have resigned herself to such a degraded
45. voluptuary—such a low debauchee. Yet she was his Queen of Love,
surrounded by her graces, who, however, bore the modern names of
Craven, Windham, and Jersey."
"Carlton House has, indeed, beheld strange and varied scenes,"
said the duchess; "low orgies and voluptuous revels—music floating
here—dice rattling there—the refinements of existence in one room,
and the most degraded dissipation in another."
"Such was the case," observed the countess. "But let us return to
the consequences of the Royal Marriage Act. Rumour has told much
in connexion with the coupled names of the Duke of York and Mrs.
Clarke—the late King William and Mrs. Jordan; and so well known
are these facts that I need not dwell upon them. The matrimonial
connexions of the Duke of Sussex—first with Lady Augusta Murray,
and afterwards with Lady Cecilia Underwood,[26]
are all matters
resting upon something more solid than mere conjecture."
"And the Duke of Cumberland—the present King of Hanover?" said
the duchess inquiringly.
"It is dangerous to speak of him," whispered the countess;
"because it is impossible to utter a word in his favour."
"You surely cannot believe all the tales that have been circulated
against him?" exclaimed the duchess, earnestly watching the
countenance of her companion, as if to anticipate her reply.
"Does your grace particularly allude to the death of Sellis?" asked
the countess, turning her head so as to meet the glance of her
friend. "Because," continued she, without waiting for a reply, "I
should be sorry—nay, nothing should induce me—to state in plain
terms my impression relative to that event. I may, however, allude to
a few material points. Sir Everard Home, the medical attendant of
the Duke of Cumberland, frequently observed, 'that too much pains
were taken to involve that affair in mystery;' and another eminent
physician, since dead, declared that 'the head of Sellis was nearly
severed from his body, and that no man could inflict upon himself a
wound of such a depth.' The Duke of Cumberland stated that his
valet, Sellis, entered his bed-chamber and attacked him with a
sword; and that having failed in his murderous purposes, he retired
to his own room and committed suicide. Sir Everard Home distinctly
46. proved, on the inquest, that the corpse was found lying on its side
on the bed; and yet 'he had cut his own throat so effectually that he
could not have changed his position after inflicting the wound.' I will
not, however, make any observations upon that fact and this
statement which seem so conflicting: the subject is almost too awful
to deal with. There is still one remarkable point to which the
attention of those who discuss the dark affair should be directed:—
the hand-basin in Sellis's room was half full of blood-stained water,
and it is very clear that the miserable wretch himself could not have
risen to wash his hands after the wound was inflicted in his throat.
But let us not dwell on this horrible event: the mere mention of it
makes me shudder."
"The King of Hanover has been, at least, unfortunate in many
circumstances of his life, if not guilty," observed the duchess;
"because his enemies have insisted strongly upon the suspicious
nature of the incident of which we have been speaking."
"The more so, because it was known that the Duke of Cumberland
had intrigued with the wife of Sellis," returned the countess. "As
your grace declares, that exalted personage has been indeed
unfortunate—if nothing more. In 1830 Lord Graves committed
suicide; and the improper connexion existing between the Duke of
Cumberland and Lady Graves was notorious."
"I well remember," said the duchess, "that the conduct of the
Duke and Lady Graves was far from prudent, to say the least of it,
after that melancholy event. Scarcely were the remains of the self-
slain nobleman cold in the tomb, ere his widow and her illustrious
lover were seen driving about together in the neighbourhood of
Hampton Court, where Lady Graves had apartments."
"True," exclaimed the duchess. "But we have travelled a long way
from our first topic—the Royal Marriage Act. We were speaking of its
pernicious effects in respect to the family of George the Third. And
that was a fine family, too! My deceased mother often expatiated—
and her secret papers dwell at length—upon the charms of the
princesses. Alas! how sorrowfully were they situated! In the bloom
of youth—in the glow of health—with warm temperaments and
ardent imaginations, which received encouragement from the