At War with Society; or, Tales of the Outcasts Read online

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  AT WAR WITH SOCIETY;

  OR,

  TALES OF THE OUTCASTS.

  BY

  JAMES M'LEVY,

  (EDINBURGH POLICE DETECTIVE STAFF,)

  AUTHOR OF "ROMANCES OF CRIME."

  CAMERON AND FERGUSON, PUBLISHERS.

  GLASGOW: 88 WEST NILE STREET.

  LONDON: 12 AVE MARIA LANE.

  GLASGOW: DUNN AND WRIGHT, PRINTERS.

  CONTENTS.

  PAGE

  I. THE INGENUITY OF THIEVES 1

  II. THE ORANGE BLOSSOM 16

  III. THE BLUE-BELLS OF SCOTLAND 33

  IV. THE WHISKERS 49

  V. THE WHITE COFFIN 62

  VI. THE SEA CAPTAIN 75

  VII. THE COBBLER'S KNIFE 88

  VIII. THE COCK AND TRUMPET 105

  IX. THE WIDOW'S LAST SHILLING 117

  X. THE CHILD-STRIPPERS 129

  XI. THE TOBACCO-GLUTTON 140

  XII. THE THIEVES' WEDDING 151

  XIII. THE PLEASURE-PARTY 162

  XIV. THE CLUB NEWSPAPER 174

  XV. A WANT SPOILS PERFECTION 187

  XVI. THE COAL-BUNKER 203

  XVII. THE HALF-CROWNS 221

  XVIII. THE SOCIETY-BOX 238

  XIX. THE MINIATURE 251

  XX. THE WRONG SHOP 265

  XXI. THE MUSTARD-BLISTER 276

  The Ingenuity of Thieves.

  INTRODUCTORY.

  It would not be a hopeful sign of the further triumph of the goodprinciple over the evil if the devil's agents could shew us manyexamples where they have beaten us, and been enabled to slide clean offthe scale. Since my first volume was published, I have been twitted withcases where we have been at fault. I don't deny that there are some, andI will give one or two, of which I have something to say. In themeantime, I have consolation, not that I have contributed much to thegratifying result in being able to point to the fact, that, since theyear 1849, the Reports of the General Board of Prisons have shewn agradual and steady decrease of the population of our jails. I am free toconfess that this result is only, to a small extent, due to us, and thereason is plain enough. The old rebel has had the advantage of us. Wehave, until very recently, been acting against him on the principle ofthose masters and mistresses, who, with a chuckle in their hearts, laypieces of money in the way of suspected servants to catchthem,--something in the Twelvetrees way, only they don't wish theirunwary victims "to die on the spot;" nay, having caught them, they onlyturn them off to rob and steal elsewhere. Yes, in place of ourphilanthropists meeting the arch-enemy at the beginning, when he is busywith the young hearts, detecting the first throb of good and turning itto a pulse of evil, we have been obliged to wait until the young sinnerwas ripe and ready for our hardening mould of punishment. There was noDr Guthrie there--a good way cleverer than the enemy, I suspect, andcapable of checkmating him by nipping the canker in the early bud; andthen we have been hampered by our legal governors, who have been, andstill are, always telling us we must keep a sharp look out for what theycall, in their law jargon, an "overt act," the meaning of which, I aminformed, is, that we must wait until the rogues are able to do some_clever_ thing, sufficient to shew us they have arrived at the age of_discretion_, and become _meritorious_ subjects for punishment.

  With this advantage over us, it is no great wonder we are sometimesoutwitted; nay, the wonder rather is, that we succeed so often as we do,and I think it might be a great consolation to our philanthropistsworking among the Raggedier ranks, when I tell them, as I have alreadydone, that I don't hold the enemy at so much count as many do. Histerrible reputation is due to our own laxity. We let him into the camp,hoof and horns, and then complain that we can't drive or pull him out,whereas we have the power, if we would only exercise it, of _keeping_him out. To my instinctive way of looking at things in those days ofimproved tactics in war, it seems something like folly to trust to thestrength of the wild boar's tail in dragging him out when we can soeasily barricade the hole.

  Viewing crime even in its diminished extent, there is anotherconsideration which has often opened my eyes pretty wide. We are alwaysa-being told that the human heart has really some good soil in it--(Idon't go with those who think that people inherit evil as they dosometimes six toes)--and that, though the devil has always a largegranary of tares, we have an abundance of good seed from Jerusalem. Iwould just ask what use we have been making of that good seed? Have wenot been keeping it _in_ the bushel just as we keep the light _under_the bushel? In my beat I see a routh of the tares; then I get a sickleput into my hands, and I cut away just as the gardeners do when theyprune in order to make the old branches shoot out with more vigour, and,behold, the twisted saplings, how stiff and rigid they become!

  But I suspect I am here getting out of my beat. I set out with statingthat I had got thrown in my teeth cases where, by the ingenuity ofthieves, we have been defeated. They are not cases of mine, any how. Imay take one or two that relate to one of the most successful artists ofthe tender sex that ever appeared in Edinburgh, viz., the well-knownJean Brash. I knew her very well, but, strange as it may appear, herladyship always contrived to keep out of my hands; not that she camealways scaithless out of the hands of others, any more than that hervictims came without damage out of hers, but that she usually, by heradroitness, achieved a miserable success, sufficient to form thefoundation of a romantic story. At an early period, she could boast ofsome attractions, but she could boast more of making these run alongwith her power of _extraction_; yea, she had three wonderful powers,viz., those of captivating her cullies, retaining them if she chose, andof losing them by capturing their means. Of the last of these she wasmore proud than of the others, and if she could, in addition, enjoy thetriumph of deceiving an astute constable, she got to the top of herpride--a creature or _fiend_, otherwise strangely formed, for if sheseduced and robbed by instinct, she strengthened and justified theinborn propensity by a kind of devil's logic, to the effect that, as shehad ruined her immortal soul for the sake of man, she was not onlyentitled to receive from him the common wages of sin, but also to takefrom him whatever her subtle fingers could enable her to lay hold of byway of compensation. On one occasion, when, as I think, she resided inthe Salt Backet, and when I had occasionally my eye upon her with a lookof official love, which she could return with a leer of rather adifferent kind from that wherewith she wrought her stratagems, she hadsallied out, after night-fall, to try her skill on hearts, gold watches,or little bits of bank paper. Doubtless, no more now than on any otheroccasion, did she imitate the old sirens of whom I have read somewhere.She did not sing them into her toils, that is, her art was not thrownout any more than when a cat purs at a mouse-hole. Her power could be inreserve, and yet be available, so that a man in place of being a _dupe_,might flatter himself that he was a _duper_ seeking for her charms inthe shape of shrinking modesty. So prob
ably thought the happy Mr C----,a mercantile traveller in the hard goods line from Birmingham, but nothimself a Brummagem article of false glitter,--a sterling man, if onemight judge from the value of the money he carried. In her demureness,Jean appears a real jewel, and he would secure the prize, yet not in theway of an "_un_commercial traveller," for he could and would purchase,and surely in so modest-looking a creature he would make an excellentbargain. Look you, here is a little consolation for us, as we wanderabout seeking for the vicious to catch them and punish them into virtue.We see occasionally the vicious prowling, in the shades of night,seeking the vicious to deceive them into further vice, and yet sure tobe deceived in turn and brought to ruin, while they are trying to make acapital of pleasure out of a poor wretch's necessity. So it has alwaysbeen: voluptuousness gets hysterical over modesty (Jean Brash'smodesty!) and how can we be sorry when we see it choked with thewind-ball of its desire? Then, look ye, is it not a little curious tosee vice so conservative of virtue as to become a detective?

  Well, Jean is caught by the commercial traveller, how unwittingly thereader may pretty safely guess, and not only caught, but led as a kindof triumph to the Salt Backet, where resides one of those "decent women"who take pity on errant lovers; probably if Jean had said that the housewas her own, he might have doubted of a modesty which could belie itselfat home among friends. Then, as they say love has quick wings wherethere is a shady grove in prospect--not always of sweet myrtle--notseldom of common pine firs, with a good many nettles and thistlesgrowing about the temple--so they were speedily under the auspices ofthe decent priestess. How long it was before the heart of this lover,which had only been for a little absent from his commercial interests,returned to these so as to make him alive to the conviction that he hadbeen robbed of a hundred-pound Bank of England note, I cannot say, for Iwas not in this case; but certain it is, that rather quiet part of thetown soon echoed to a cry of horror, to the effect that he had beenrelieved from the anxiety of carrying about with him a bit of paper ofthat value.

  Of all this I have no doubt, because I was perfectly aware that Jean wasa woman who could confer the boon of such a relief from anxiety aseasily as she could transfer that anxiety to herself; nor could any onewho knew her doubt that she could contrive to make the care a very lightone. Even the more romantic part of the story which "illustrates" thememory of this remarkable woman, I have no proper right to gainsay--howthe commercial traveller rushed down stairs and bawled out at the top ofhis English voice for a constable--how the constable made his appearancewhile the traveller kept watch at the door--how they hurried up-stairsto seize when they should discover the money--how they found Jean quitein an easy state of conscious innocence--how she adjured the constableto search the house and her own body, and satisfy himself that theunfortunate man was in error--how, for that purpose, she quietly handedto him a lighted candle placed in a brass candlestick, and well fixedthere by a round of paper not to oscillate in the way of unsteadylights--how the constable searched for the missing note with thiscandle, so fixed by the paper roll at the end thereof, all the whilethat Jean was muttering to herself, "The fool has taken the wrongend"--how he failed in his search, and how the traveller gave up allhope, if he did not suspect that he had lost his note elsewhere, andtherefore resolved to avoid the fearful exposure of committing thewoman--and how Jean was at length left quietly in her state ofinnocence. The reader may guess that Jean at her own time undid thepiece of paper from the end of the candle, thus rescuing the "Governorand Company of the Bank of England" from their temporary degradation,and enjoying a quiet chuckle at her successful ingenuity.

  Now, I confess I never liked very well to hear this romantic bit ofJean's history, and simply for this reason, that I was not there to holdthe candle.

  On another occasion--though I am bound to say I have heard the credit ofthe adventure ascribed to a young unfortunate of the name of CatherineBrown, who lived in Richmond Street--our Jean was pursuing her _nomade_vocation in Princes Street. The night was dark enough, and the hour lateenough, to inspire adventurers with sufficient confidence to flirt alittle with the coy damsel, without being detected by curious friends.There are always numbers of these shy and frolicsome fish who are fondof poking their noses into the dangerous meshes, without any intentionof entering the seine, where they would be pretty sure to be caught. Theregular tramps, such as our heroine, are quite up to these amateurs,hate them heartily, and sometimes make them pay, and very deservedlytoo, golden guineas for silvern words. I can't say I have much sympathyfor them when they fall into misfortune, and ask our help to get moneyrestored to their pockets, which pockets they voluntarily placed withinthe range of curious fingers. Why, if these fingers are delicate enoughto be fondled and kissed without recompense, the men shew a bad gracein complaining that the same fingers fondled in their turn a bit of goldor paper supposed to be beyond their reach. Of course we do our duty,but always with a feeling in such cases that the victims did not dotheirs, and impose upon us the trouble of rectifying the results oftheir folly, if not vice. Such fire-ships shew enough of light to enablethese gay yachtmen to steer sufficiently aloof. (Were I able to befanciful myself, I would not need to borrow the words of one of ourwell-read Lieutenants.) These young men play round the rancidcandle-light of impurity, which at once enables them to see reflected intheir self-conceit their immunity from danger, and imparts a little heatto their imagination. Rather fine language for me, but I see the senseof it.

  With one of these gaudy night-moths our famous heroine had forgathered;and thinking probably that if he did not choose to consider her softhand sacred from his squeeze, she was not bound to esteem his pockettabooed against the prying curiosity of her fingers, she made free withthe contents thereof. At least the youth thought so; for on the instanthe bawled out to the passing bull's-eye that he had been robbed. Theconstable, who knew Jean--as who didn't--immediately laid hold of her,and as there were no passers-by to complicate the affair, the moneywould of course be got upon the instant. It was no less than afive-pound note, at least so said the young man; but Jean, whosecoolness never forsook her, simply denied the charge.

  It was a matter of short work for the constable to search her so far ashe could,--an act in which he was helped by the young man. Her pocketswere turned out, but with the exception of a scent-bottle, a whitehandkerchief, and some brown pawn-tickets, nothing was found there. Allround the pavement the light of the lantern shewed nothing in the shapeof the valuable bit of paper, and there was no sympathiser to whom shecould have handed it.

  "You must be under a delusion," said the policeman.

  "Impossible!" cried the youth. "There are as many folds in a woman'sdress as there are loops and lies in her mind. March her up."

  To all which Jean replied with her ordinary laugh of consummateself-possession, if not impudence. Nor was she at all unwilling tomarch--rather the contrary. She knew what she was about.

  "Come away," she said, "and we shall see who is right and who is wrong."

  And so away they went. Nor was it long before Jean was examined by oneof the female searchers of the Office. No five-pound note was found uponher; and though the young man raved incessantly about the absolutecertainty of the theft, the policeman, and not less the lieutenant onduty, was satisfied that there must have been a mistake,--a conclusionwhich the redoubted Jean confirmed by a cool declaration, in alllikelihood false, that she had seen the young gentleman in the companyof not less scrupulous women a very short time before. There was onlyone thing to be done--to set Jean free.

  "And who is to pay me for all this time?" said she, as she turned to thelieutenant a face in which was displayed a mock seriousness, contrastingvividly with the wild, anxious countenance of the youth. "I could havemade five pounds in the time in an honest way, so that I am the realloser; and who, I ask again, is to pay me?"

  A question to which she no more expected a reply than she did thepayment of her lost gains in an honest way. And with head erect, if notindeed with an air of inju
red innocence, she marched out of the office.Yet nothing would satisfy the young man that he had not been robbed; andhe too, when he saw that he had no hope, left with the conviction thathe was a greatly injured innocent.

  The matter died away, leaving only the impression of some unaccountablemistake or indetectible priggery, though probably the presumption wasagainst the woman, whose genius in this peculiar line of art was knownto be able to find her advantage in a mystery through which the mostpractised eye of official vision could see nothing.

  A day or two passed. No more was heard of the young man, who no doubthad made up his mind to the loss of the five pounds; nor did theconstable, who was again upon his beat about the same hour, think anymore of the mystery, unless perhaps the place brought up a passingthought of wonder how the bit of paper could have disappeared in so veryshort a time. A woman came running up to him. It was Jean, and she wasall of a bustle. Laying hold of the man by the left hand--

  "What now," said the constable, who knew well that something notaltogether useless to Jean was coming. "In one of your high jinks?"

  "No; I have a secret for you, man."

  "What is it?"

  "Oh, you're such peaching fellows, one can hardly speak with you. Wouldyou like the young sprig's five-pound note? He can't afford to lose it,and my conscience is queezy."

  "Ah, ha!" cried the constable, "Jean Brash's conscience!"

  "Aye, man, even Jean Brash's conscience," replied she, a little grandly."A queer thing maybe, but still a thing. Aye, man, I would tell youwhere the five-pound note is if you would keep me out of the gleg'sclaws."

  "Well, I will," replied he, getting into official cunning. "Tell mewhere the note is, and I will do my best for you."

  "Ah, I know you won't, and so I can't trust you with an admission whichyou would use against me; but suppose I were to make a sign, eh? A nodis as good, you know, as----"

  "Well, well, give me the nod to lead me to the note."

  "And you will say nothing? Well, who's your tailor?" she cried,laughing.

  "What has that to do with the note?" responded the man.

  "Something that may astonish you," said she, as she still held his arm,and fumbled about the cuff of his coat. "He gives you a deep cuff. Veryconvenient as a kind of wee pawn."

  "Nonsense. Get off. You are trifling."

  "Not just," she replied, again laughing and thrusting her nimblefingers, so like instruments of legerdemain, deep into the cuff--"notjust. Suppose you were to find the note in here after I am gone, wouldyou just say you got it there, and nothing of me?"

  "Perhaps I would."

  "Then search your cuff," she cried, swinging his arm to a side, "and youwill find it."

  And running away, she threw behind her the words: "But be sure and acthonourably, and give it to the prig."

  The constable was a little confused, but he did not fail to begin tosearch the cuff, from which Jean, while pretending she had deposited theL5 in the receptacle, had absolutely extracted the spoil,--the identicalnote which she had placed there at the instant of her seizure on thenight it was stolen, and which he had carried about with him for twodays, altogether unconscious of the valuable deposit.

  The man could swear, as in a rage he searched and found nothing, but hecouldn't detect, and I don't think he ever knew the trick played offupon him; for it came out long afterwards when Jean was safe, and in oneof her fits of bragging, how she did the authorities.

  These are not _my_ experiences, and I can give no guarantee of theirtruth; but, as I have said, I should have liked to be the man who heldthe candle, supported in the socket by such a valuable bit of paper; andI must add, that I should have liked also to be the man who wore thecoat with the deep cuff.

  So much for such talk as goes on amongst us. But I have had enough ofexperience of Jean to enable me to say that she was the most "organicthief" of my time. So much was her _make_ that of a thief, that I doubtwhether training in a ragged school would have had much effect upon her.The house she occupied in James' Square was a "bank of exchange,"regularly fitted up for business. In the corner of a door-panel of everybedroom, there was a small hole neatly closed up with a wooden button,so as to escape all observation. Then the lower panels were made toslide, so that while through the peep she could see when the light wasextinguished, she could by the opened panel creep noiselessly in on allfours and take the watch off the side-table, or rifle the pockets of theluckless wight's dress. She made occasionally great catches, having once"done" L400; but she was at length "done" by the paltry sum of 7s. 6d. Ihave heard that she is still alive in Australia, and married, perhapsdriving, like a pastoral Arcadian, "the yowes to the knowes."