There were in the lot nineteen bills of exchange for L26,000. A date had been left off one of them! They failed to note it! Poor fools, we had sold ourselves.

Was this an accident? No, it was Nemesis; it was anything you want to call it, but it was not an accident.

So a letter was written, the bills, with memorandum, inclosed, the envelope directed and stamped, and the three fools went to Birmingham, mailed the letter, and then laughed over their success in the fight against society, facilitated themselves that they had discovered the undiscoverable, that they had safely traversed the short cut to fortune. There is no short cut by wrongdoing to fortune, Boss Tweed and the long list of robber barons to the contrary!

The bills were mailed on Monday. As that fatal letter slipped from their fingers into the mail-box the last act of the deadly tragedy began. When it ended the curtain fell upon us descending from the dock into the chill dungeons of Newgate, never, so far as the sentence was concerned, to emerge again.

On Tuesday morning the letter with the bills arrived at the bank. Following the routine, they went to the discount department, were discounted and placed to my credit. As I had a balance of L20,000, when the proceeds of the bills were added to it, it brought up the whole to the handsome sum of L46,000.



When the bills arrived at the bank a strange thing occurred. The fatal omission was made on an acceptance of Blydenstein & Co., a great banking firm in London. The discount clerk noticed the omission of the date of acceptance, but this being a mere formality, he thought it a clerical error on the part of the bookkeeper of Blydenstein & Co. He made no report of the matter, and it was discounted along with the other eighteen, which were put away in the vaults with the batches that had preceded it, while he laid this one aside until the next day, which was Wednesday. At half past ten he gave it to the bank messenger, telling him when he went his regular rounds to take the bill to Blydenstein's and request them to correct the omission.

At 2 p.m. on Tuesday Noyes went to Jay Cooke & Co. and ordered $100,000 in United States bonds, and gave them a check on the Bank of England for the amount. He was to call for the bonds next day, of course, after the check had gone through the Clearing House and had been paid.

As soon as the bank opened on Wednesday, in order to test if everything was all right, Noyes sent in a messenger with a small check, and the money was thrown out as at all other times without remark. And that was a complete demonstration that everything was all right. So it was then, but within thirty minutes from that second the messenger was going to start with the bill to Blydenstein's for correction.

This was 10 o'clock Wednesday. The bills had been twenty-five hours in the possession of the bank, had been discounted and the proceeds placed to my credit for twenty-four hours.

Who with intellect less than an archangel's could have divined the true combination? First of all, that men brilliant and clever, gambling with their lives, could have made such an omission, damning, fatal. Second, if made, that the great Bank of England, thought absolutely infallible by the whole world, conservative, supposedly cautious, would have discounted a bill for L20,00 with the date out of the acceptance, and having done so, hold the bill well on into the second day, without a discovery, and that, too, when the firm whose acceptance was a forgery was not 100 yards away! So when at 10 o'clock on Wednesday Mac saw the small check paid without question to the messenger it seemed he had an assurance doubly sure and a bond of fate that all was well, and that the last batch of bills was packed safely away for another three months in the vaults of the bank.

So Noyes went at once to Jay Cooke & Co., and as the check had been paid at the bank they handed over, as in so many other occasions, the $100,000 in bonds to him.

Mac and George were outside. George took the bonds and gave Noyes a L10,000 check, and one minute from his leaving Jay Cooke & Co., Noyes was at the counter of the bank. The cashier counted out the $50,000 to him. He walked out of the bank with a lighter heart and more buoyant step than ever before, for was not the danger all over and the long strain on the nerves at an end, the transaction complete and fortune won? He was never going to the bank again.

They had arranged to meet at Garraway's Coffee House in Exchange alley. This is the Garraway's that became so famous at the time of the South Sea Bubble, and its fame continued down to the end of the wars of Napoleon. Then its glory departed as a centre of speculations, but its renown as an old-fashioned chophouse remained till 1873. Everywhere in contemporary English literature, from Swift and Addison to Goldsmith and Johnson, one meets references to Garraway's.

The Dean immortalized it in his well-known lines on 'Change Alley:

"There is a gulf where thousands fell, Here all the bold adventurers came, A narrow sound, though deep as hell, 'Change Alley is the dreadful name.

"Subscribers here by thousands float And jostle one another down. Each paddling in his leaky boat, And here they fish for gold and drown.

"Meantime secure on Garraway's cliffs A savage race by shipwreck fed, Lie waiting for the foundered skiffs And strip the bodies of the dead."

Dickens also makes it the scene of the writing of the famous chops and tomato sauce letter from Mr. Pickwick to Mrs. Bardell.

One can imagine the elation of my friends as they sat around that little table at Garraway's. It was only 10:35. Their income that morning had been $150,000. And many more such days had gone before. All danger was over, wealth was won. They saw themselves back in America, among the Four Hundred, possessors of a fortune, however wrongfully obtained, yet obtained in a way that would leave behind no ruined widows and orphans to linger out the remainder of their blighted lives in poverty and misery. That was a point which added zest to their enjoyment of the prospect.

"I am never to go to the bank again. Come, shake hands on that," said Noyes. And in their excitement and wild delight they shook hands again and again.

But they would have moderated their joy had they known that at the very moment the bank porter, pale and frightened, was rushing past the room where they sat, carrying the news to the bank that the two-thousand pound bill was a forgery. Instantly all was confusion and excitement in the bank. Telegrams were at once sent to the detective police, and at that moment swarms of them were pouring out of the Bow street and Scotland Yard offices.

That already stories of gigantic frauds, multiplied a thousand fold by rumor, were flying everywhere that every bank in London was victimized. In ten minutes the story reached the Stock Exchange and a scene of terrific excitement ensued, and, through it all, our three innocents sat on in that dingy old coffee-house, serenely unconscious of the fearful storm that was rising. Still they were safe. Everything was confusion in the bank. The terrified official, frantic with fear, could only describe a tall young man, an American, who said his name was Warren.

Had my three triumphant friends only known what was up they might have sat where they were the day through and drank porter out of the pewter mugs in safety. There were a hundred thousand men in London who would answer any description the bank could have given of Noyes, Mac and George had never appeared in the transaction, and I, the F. A. Warren they were looking for, was living quietly with my young wife in a lovely isle in the tropic sea.

Surely then, these three high-toned financiers still had the game in their own hands. They had nothing to fear. They had wealth. There was no clue to their identity and the world was before them—a world which lays her treasures and pleasures at the feet of him who commands wealth.

But that mighty Something had decreed otherwise, and a subtle spirit under whose power they were but purposeless puppets inspired them to commit an act of folly which was to hurl them from the fools' paradise wherein they were reveling down to the pit of despair.

Upon Mac casually remarking that they had still a balance of $75,000 to Warren's credit, Noyes spoke up and said: "Boys, that is too much money to leave John Bull; suppose you make out a check for L5,000. I will run over and get the cash, and it will do for pocket money." And the two others, triumphant in success, became idiots and assented. Making out a check for L5,000, Noyes started for the bank, check in hand, and entering, instantly found himself with a hot and angry swarm of hornets about him.



There were twenty-five detectives in and around the bank. Special messengers had summoned the affrighted directors. The great bank parlor was packed with a host of stockholders and directors, who were questioning the manager and clerks. And excitement rose to fever heat when, with twenty hands holding him, poor Noyes was hustled in among them. They rushed at him like a pack of wolves. Had that been a bank parlor in festive Arizona, they would not have endured the delay incidental to procuring a rope, but would have ended it and him by gunnery at short range. Noyes could not be shaken; his nerve never failed. He said a gentleman had hired him as a clerk, and that was all he knew. He had left him at the Stock Exchange; if they would let him go, he would try and find him and bring him around to the bank. J. Bull is gullible, but not so much so as to swallow that yarn.

So they held tightly to him, and a committee of indignant Britons escorted him to Newgate.



CHAPTER XXIV.

POINTS FOR JUSTICE TO PICK UP.

Mac and George were without, and were stricken with consternation, for a minute's observation of the gathering crowd and the rushing into the bank of excited people convinced them something unusual was in the wind, and they knew Noyes must be in deadly peril. Mac rushed into the bank in hope to warn or to be of help. Everything there was in confusion. Unobserved in the excitement, he made his way into the parlor and there saw what made his heart stand still—Noyes surrounded by an angry crowd of officials. With great presence of mind and great nerve he pushed through toward Noyes, who saw him and knew he was there to help if he had a chance to bolt from his captors; but there was no chance. As they were about starting for Newgate, Mac slipped outside and told George what had befallen Noyes, and discussed the possibility of a rescue when on the way to Newgate with him. While they were waiting in the entrance Noyes came out in custody. He saw and recognized them. They joined in the crowd and were within arm's reach of him every rod of the short distance to Newgate, but the crowd was packed so tight that one could hardly move, and a rush for escape was hopeless. Arrived at Newgate, Mac in his desperation was entering with the escort, when George pulled him away, and as they got out of the crowd they heard the newsboys crying: "Great forgery on the Bank of England by an American; L10,000,000 obtained." That afternoon Lionel Rothschild, president of the Board of Directors, called on him at Newgate, and offered him his liberty and L1,000 reward if he would tell all he knew; but Noyes' nerve was not to be shaken. He said a gentleman, an entire stranger, had hired him as a clerk and messenger, and he knew nothing about Mr. Warren nor his business.



All this time the $150,000 drawn that morning was in a stout bag behind the counter at Garraway's.

Little did the barmaids dream of the treasure that was in the bag at their feet. When Mac went for it, one of the barmaids asked him if he had heard of the great bank robbery. He drove to St James' place, and soon George joined him there.

Here again was enacted the scene we had in Rio; as there, so here, they looked at each other in helpless stupefaction. Why had they not been satisfied? Why had they let Noyes go for a paltry L5,000? Why had they not understood the meaning of the evident excitement in and around the bank?

In Rio there was only a suspicion aroused. Here our companion was a prisoner in Newgate. Scarcely an hour had passed since he was free and without a fear had joined in the congratulatory scene at Garraway's. Now ruin was threatened. Upon cool reflection they came to two conclusions. First, that Noyes not only would never betray them, but that he could be depended upon to keep so close a mouth that no clue could be pumped from him; and next, that he could never be convicted of the forgery.

He might, of course, be subjected to a few weeks of Newgate life. That was very awkward, of course, but it would come all right.

So they resolved for the present to remain in London and await developments.

That night the cable flashed the news of the forgery over the world, dwelling particularly upon the fact that the perpetrator was an American. The next morning the London press overflowed. Every prominent paper gave a leader in the editorial column, and when the weeklies and monthlies came out they followed suit. These editorials make now to us who were on the inside amusing reading. They were full of Philistine talk and amazement, and generally conceded that Noyes was an innocent dupe, and all more or less doubted if his principal, the mysterious Mr. F. A. Warren, would ever come back to say so.

Day after day went by, and Mac and George hung around London reading the accounts of the affair and of the examination of Noyes before the Lord Mayor.

They had communicated with him through his solicitor, and he sent them word to leave England at once. In the mean time they had been sending away the cash, and so entrenched were they in the belief that by no possible chance could their names become mixed up in the affair that in every instance but two they sent the money or bonds to America in their right names.

In the mean time the bank very wisely sent a cable to their legal agent, Clarence A. Seward, in New York, asking him to set the American detective force on the alert. He was a man of the world and understood quite well what sort of men then ruled at Police Head quarters. So he sent at once for Robert A. Pinkerton and gave him entire charge of the American end of the line. Eventually they unearthed the whole plot, secured the evidence that convicted us and recovered the greater part of the money. The first step taken by the private inquiry men was to have our friends, the detectives at headquarters, led to believe that they had the case entirely in their own hands and to strengthen this Pinkerton had the Bank of England agent in New York go to headquarters every day and pretend to consult with Irving.

After the continental raid, on our return to London we sent Irving $3,000 in greenbacks in a registered letter, but in order to have a hold on our three honest friends at headquarters in case of any possible treachery in the future we put the money in the envelope in the presence of a magistrate and had his clerk register it and make it a part of the court record. The envelope was simply addressed "James Irving, Esq., 300 Mulberry street, New York," and of course the officials in London supposed it a private address.

When we returned from Rio we sent another $3,000, $1,000 each for Irving, Stanley and White, and took the same precautions.

Soon after the floods of money coming to us in London Mac sent $15,000 to Irving in another registered letter, without any precautions, however. Irving & Co. did not know what game we were playing, but were very happy over the dividends past and to come. But when they read the cable dispatches in the press about the bank forgeries, their bliss was ecstatic. Each in fancy saw himself decked out in a magnificent diamond pin and ring, spinning along Harlem lane behind a particularly fast pair in a stylish rig. This was their day vision. At night each saw himself in certain resorts ordering unlimited bottles, or seeing New York by gaslight at the rate of $100 a minute, and the Britishers paying for it all. But the lawyers and the Pinkertons between them played Irving and headquarters for fools and knaves. Day after day one of the lawyers visited Mulberry street, and, being tutored by Pinkerton, gave deceptive points to Irving, who, with his two chums, was completely hood-winked and never suspected the game being played on them.

But as I have got somewhat ahead of events in London I will return there and very briefly narrate what was taking place there. Nearly every day Noyes was brought before the Lord Mayor and officially examined, but, acting under advice of his lawyer, he was strictly non-committal. The detectives and officials were convinced he knew all about it, and tried by both threats and promises to make him talk. Baron Rothschild and others of the directors visited him again, but our friend was deaf, dumb and blind, and they were foiled. In time two Pinkerton detectives had arrived in London, and by a series of lucky hits soon began to let in some light on the business.

In searching Noyes the English police had found his garments were made by a certain London tailor who had several establishments. They brought the foremen and salesmen down to see him, and none could identify him; but the American detectives went over the ground again, and discovered that the London officers had missed one branch store. This was the one Noyes had patronized. They remembered him as a customer who had, when ordering garments, given the name of Bedford. This in itself was a bad point against Noyes, and the New York men wanted very much to make him talk, and had they been permitted to adopt the vigorous American methods they might have succeeded.

A salesman remembered seeing Noyes or Bedford one day walking in Mayfair with a gentleman who really was Mac, of whom he gave a good description, and taking the clerk the detectives started out to make a house-to-house investigation. Now, No. 1 Mayfair, the first house they entered, was the residence of a famous London doctor by the name of Payson Hewett, and Mac had been a patient of his. But Hewett knew absolutely nothing about him save only his name and the address he gave, Westminster Palace Hotel. The detectives were elated, and flew to this hotel, but as Mac had never been a guest they could learn nothing; still they had cause for rejoicing. Here was Noyes giving a fictitious name to a tailor and in company with an elegantly dressed American, who gave a fictitious address to his surgeon. And they were well satisfied that whenever the matter was dug out it would be found that the elegantly dressed stranger, as well as the clerk, had a hand in the business. Payson Hewett stated that Mac said he was a medical graduate from an American university, and said that, no doubt, he spoke the truth, as he had a perfect knowledge of medical subjects.

Here they were getting matters down pretty fine, and cabled all the facts to America with orders to look Mac up, also his friends. This information was the fruit of hard work—many blind trails had been followed that ran nowhere.

In the mean time George and Mac had determined to return to America. The last thing Mac did before leaving his lodgings in St. James' place was to roll up in three rolls $254,000 in United States bonds and send the trunk containing them by express to Major George Mathews, New York. He wrapped them in a nightshirt belonging to me, which in some way had got into his baggage. Then he bought a ticket to Paris and sent his baggage over, waiting in London a day or two longer before going himself.

George determined to go to Ireland, and to Ireland he went, and I shall let him in a later chapter tell in his own language the stirring events in Ireland and Scotland that finally ended in his arrest in Edinburgh some weeks later. Mac, before sending his baggage away, had intended to sail from Liverpool by the Java of the Cunard line, and he cabled Irving at Police Headquarters to meet him on the arrival of the steamer. Mac went to Paris, stopping at the Hotel Richmond, Rue du Helder, under his right name, never for a moment thinking he could possibly come under suspicion.

In the mean time the Pinkerton men continued their house-to-house visitation of the fashionable lodging houses to hunt out Mac. This, in huge London, was a Titanic task, but they exhibited a marvelous activity in tracing out clues. In a lucky moment for the Pinkertons, a subordinate inquiring at every number in St. James' place if an American gentleman was lodging or had lodged there was informed by one landlady that Mac had been a lodger, but had left a few days before. As soon as this important report arrived they flew to St. James' place and found the landlady a warm friend of the man they were looking for. The detectives were forced to tell her their business. She was indignant that any one should so wrong Mac, and ordered them out of the house.

They brought the bank solicitors and other important people to see her before she would consent to be questioned; when she did, her information was important indeed. She had seen very little of George, but much of me, though she had never heard my name, but still the detectives knew from her description that the man she described was the F. A. Warren they wanted, and whom to get meant fame and comparative fortune for them.

The rooms had been unoccupied since Mac left and a careful search was made for clues, but nothing was found until she was asked for the waste-paper basket. The basket proved to be a bag, and when turned out some pieces of blotting paper appeared, which, held in front of a mirror, of course would reflect the writing the same as on the written sheet, and on holding the last of the lot to the glass they were thrilled through when the Pinkertons saw reflected there:

Ten Thousand......................Pounds Sterling. F. A. WARREN.

which, when compared with a canceled check of mine, then in the possession of the bank, exactly fitted it. Here was a piece of evidence, which, if it could be brought home to Mac, was a chain to bind him fast and sure.

Pinkerton and his man started at once for Paris, and going to the American bankers, where most Americans register on arrival, they found Mac's name as large as life, registered at Andrews & Co.'s as stopping at the Hotel de Richmond.

Pinkerton was not long in reaching Rue du Helder, and learned that Mac had left for Brest the night before. In short order he was at the Paris agency of the steamship company, and found that Mac had purchased a ticket to New York by the Thuringia, which was due to sail that very hour from Brest. He did not let the grass grow under his feet between the ticket and telegraph offices, and there he telegraphed the authorities to arrest Mac, but he had a speedy reply that the Thuringia had sailed half an hour before his telegram came. On second thought he quite possibly was not sorry Mac had got off to New York, as it would lengthen out the bill and scatter some of the bank's money in New York.

He therefore cabled to his office in New York particulars as to Mac's departure, and then he turned all his attention to discovering who this F. A. Warren could be. Mac had cabled Irving that he was coming by the Thuringia. Pinkerton, feeling that there was no secrecy required about his man being on the steamer, gave the fact to the press, and Irving discovered, very much to his chagrin, that all the world shared with him his secret as to Mac's whereabouts, and that if he would save his reputation he would have to be on hand, not as a friend and confederate, but in his official capacity and make a genuine arrest—that is, unless he could arrange to have Mac taken off the steamer in a small boat as soon as she came into the lower bay and before the police boat, with its load of officials, came alongside. This Irving and his two subordinates resolved to attempt, so he took into his counsels a great chum of his and a well-known burglar by the name of Johnny Dobbs. To him was given the job of getting Mac off the steamer, but he made a serious blunder. Instead of hiring and manning two boats, one to relieve the other, he got only one. For a day or two they came within hailing distance of all incoming steamers, but were ashore on Staten Island, taking a rest, when bright and early one morning the Thuringia slipped into the harbor. There was a man in the boat with Dobbs who knew Mac, and the plan was to meet the steamer, and as Mac was sure to be on deck on the lookout, to shout to him to jump overboard and they would pick him up and make for shore. Once ashore and warned they would not have seen him again.

After the Thuringia came into the harbor, Irving kept the police boat waiting over an hour. Then, supposing his friend was safe ashore, he boarded the ship. There were five United States Marshals on the police tug, the bank lawyers and some of the private inquiry officials.

Irving, accompanied by White and Stanley, jumped aboard the big ship, after giving orders to the captain of the tug not to let any one off until he gave permission. Mac saw the tug and recognized his three friends, but was in no way alarmed until Irving, shaking hands with him, hurriedly explained the state of affairs. Mac took them to his cabin and gave them $150,000 in bonds, $10,000 in greenbacks, which he had bought of the brokers in London, besides English bank notes and two or three valuable diamonds. Then taking out several bags of sovereigns he said: "Now, boys, help yourselves. Load yourselves down and keep them from the enemy." What a picture those fellows loading up with that golden store of sovereigns would have made! They knew the marshals and detectives they held entrapped aboard the tug would be furious, and morally sure that Irving & Co. had plucked their bird. Therefore any appearance of pockets bulging out might lead to disgrace, so, while they hated to leave any, for their fingers itched for all, yet they were forced to that cruel self-denial.

One amusing piece of impudence on Irving's part occurred when looking with greedy eyes on the eight-carat diamond Mac wore on his finger, he said: "My God, Mac, I wish I had brought along a paste diamond. You could wear the ring and give me yours in exchange." The ring having been seen by so many he feared to chance taking it. No doubt his enforced denial for long sat heavy on Jimmy's soul. What a penchant all our honest detectives have for gems, and where do they get them?

In the mean time a storm was raging among the rival officers, who did not relish being duped, and finally by threats forced the captain to bring the tug alongside the steamer. Then they rushed on board to find Irving & Co. with their prisoner awaiting them.

The marshals went to the cabin and found some L4,000 or L5,000 in sovereigns, but when Mac was searched nothing was found on him but $20 in greenbacks. He was turned over to the United States officials and landed in Ludlow Street Jail, pending an examination before the United States Commissioner with a view to his extradition.

How the Pinkertons unearthed the $254,000 wrapped in old clothing in Mac's trunk at the European Express Office, 44 Broadway, would take too much time to tell here, or how circulars were sent out to the banks and trust companies warning them to hold all funds deposited by any of our party, or how Pinkerton and his men recovered large sums in various places, must all be passed over here. Suffice it to say that the fatal piece of blotting paper was produced in New York along with many lesser points of evidence, and after a hard legal fight Mac was finally ordered to be given up to the English Government to stand his trial for complicity in the great bank forgery.

The legal proceedings before the commissioner lasted three full months. The array of counsel on both sides made it a forensic contest between giants, in which all past history was invoked for precedents. This extradition case attracted wide attention.

After United States Commissioner Gutman had finally decided to surrender him to the demand of the British Government, appeal was made to the United States Circuit Court, Judge Woodruff, then to the Supreme Court, Judge Barrett, before whom Mac was brought by writs of habeas corpus; but the commissioner's decision was sustained. Mac was sent to Fort Columbus for safe-keeping while counsel were vainly arguing on new writs of habeas corpus and certiorari, but before any conclusion could be reached, he was hurried away by his custodians. He had scarcely time to bid good-bye to his counsel, when with a United States officer he was hurried into a carriage in Chambers street, guarded by Chief Deputy Marshal Kennedy and Deputies Robinson and Crowley, and driven rapidly down Broadway to the Battery, so that the large crowd who gathered to witness his departure from the metropolis had very little time to feast their eyes.

He was transferred from the Battery to Governor's Island by a tugboat and subsequently handed over by the deputy marshals to the charge of Major J. P. Roy, who had him escorted to Fort Columbus.

The following morning United States Marshal Fiske, with Deputies Crowley and Purvis; Mr. Peter Williams, solicitor of the Bank of England; Sergt. Edward Hancock, a London detective; Deputy Marshal Colfax and others, boarded the steam tug P. C. Schultze at the Battery and steamed across to Governor's Island. At 10.30 o'clock Capt. J. W. Bean, on post at the fort, received an order to deliver him over.

Capt. J. W. Bean then delivered him over to United States Marshal Fiske's charge, with whom he descended the steps from the balcony of the fort, and marched, with a deputy at either side, through tiled pathways and groved and shaded avenues, to the wharf at the other end of the island, where the Schultze was awaiting his arrival. A large crowd of spectators, soldiers and civilians lined the wharf, lingering anxiously to see him off. But he walked very leisurely, smoked, laughed and appeared in a state of unaccountable good humor.

It was nearly 11 o'clock when the Schultze steamed away from Governor's Island wharf and whistled and rattled down the Bay to await the arrival of the Minnesota, which lay at anchor during the forenoon near Pier 46, North River, and did not sail until some minutes after 12 o'clock. The Schultze meantime waited, steaming around the lower bay until the Minnesota arrived. The steam tug neared the bulky and huge vessel, and Mac was finally taken on board by United States Marshal Fiske and Deputy Marshals Robinson, Crowley and Colfax, and given into the custody of the English detectives, Sergts. Webb and Hancock, who in return gave the usual receipt to Marshal Fiske.

For the present, I leave Mac on the Atlantic, sailing swiftly eastward, to meet his terrible doom.



CHAPTER XXV.

THE IRONY OF FATE.

In this chapter I give in his own words George's account of his flight from London and his arrest.

"Without the remotest suspicion that my right name was known or that anything had been discovered to show my connection with the fraud, I resolved to take the steamer Atlantic of the White Star line at Queenstown for New York. Knowing that all the railway stations in London were being watched, and that any man buying a ticket for America might have to give an account of himself, I sent a porter to purchase a ticket for Dublin via Holyhead. I intended taking the 9 p.m. mail train, and, as a precaution, I waited until the last moment, after the passengers were on board, and the waiting-room doors shut. As the mail was being transferred from the wagons to the train, I took the opportunity to walk through the big gate unobserved amid the rush and confusion. The car doors were all locked, but on showing my ticket to a guard (conductor) he let me into a compartment, no doubt supposing that I had obtained admission to the station from the waiting-room and had been loitering about. The same was probably the case with the two or three other men looking out of the waiting-room window at the platform, whom I judged to be detectives. The train rolled out of the station, and soon I was leaving London behind at the rate of fifty miles an hour. After midnight we took the steamer at Holyhead and arrived at Dublin about 7 a.m. I should not have felt so comfortable throughout this night's journey had I known that the telegraph was flashing in all directions five thousand pounds reward for my capture.

"A whole column regarding myself and my supposed movements was published in the Dublin papers of that morning. Not suspecting they contained 'news' regarding me, I neglected purchasing one, and, remaining ignorant of my imminent danger, took the train for Cork, where I arrived about 4 p.m. I had two or three London papers of the previous day in my hand as I left the station. I had never been in Cork until then, and as I passed into the street two detectives, who were watching the passengers, turned and followed me. A few yards from the station one of them stepped up by my side and said:

"'Have you ever been here before?'

"I slightly turned my head toward him, gave a haughty glance as I replied: 'Yes,' then looked straight ahead and continued my slow gait, paying no further attention to him. He continued walking by my side for a few steps, as if irresolute, then dropped to the rear, rejoining his companion. I did not dare to look around or make inquiry as to the location of the wharf from which the tugboat started to convey mail and passengers to the New York steamers, which waited in the outer harbor. Therefore I continued my walk along what appeared to be the main business street, perhaps for a quarter of a mile, then turned into a druggist's and called for some Spanish licorice. This was done to enable me to ascertain if the detectives were still following. In a moment they passed the shop gazing intently in and saw me leaning carelessly against the counter with my face partially turned to the street. As soon as I had paid for the licorice I continued my walk in the same direction, but saw nothing of the men, they having evidently stopped in some place to let me get ahead once more. In a short time I approached an inclosure over the gate of which was a sign that informed me I had come by accident direct to the wharf of the New York steamers. Entering I found the place crowded and the tugboat ready to convey the passengers to the steamer Atlantic. Before attempting to step aboard the tug I took a covert look around and saw my two detectives standing back in one corner with their eyes fixed upon me, all but their heads being concealed behind the crowd waiting to see their friends off for America. Apparently unconscious of their presence, I threw my papers, one by one, down among the passengers; and as the deck of the boat was eight or ten feet below, the detectives could not see to whom they were thrown. I stood leaning on the rail a short time gazing at the scene, then left the wharf not even glancing in the direction of the detectives. I felt that any attempt of mine to embark would precipitate their movements, therefore I at once abandoned all ideas of taking passage from Queenstown.

"Now mark the irony of fate! That was the last passage ever made by the magnificent steamer Atlantic! Some magnetic influence deranged her compass so that she ran twenty miles out of her course, striking on the coast of Nova Scotia, at Meager's Head, Prospect Harbor, broke in two, then rolling into deep water sank in a few minutes. Out of 1,002 persons on board 560 perished, including most of the saloon passengers and all the women and children. The elegant cabins and staterooms became their tombs—and one might have been mine. But not for me such favoring fate; a moment's struggle ended their sufferings, while I was left to undergo the pangs of a thousand deaths!



"I continued my walk up a hill among the private residences of the city, and, hailing a cab, told the driver to take me back to the station. Eager for a job, he asked to drive me a mile beyond on the railway. Thinking I might elude the detectives at the Queenstown station, I acceded, and he made his little Irish horse rush along at a pace which brought us to the stopping place just before the train arrived.



"I purchased a ticket and hastened into a carriage, where, lo and behold! sat the two detectives. A few minutes brought us to Cork again. I was not yet aware they were in possession of my right name and the knowledge that a reward of L5,000 was offered for my capture, nor that their hesitation was occasioned by doubts as to my identity, which the first false step on my part might remove. I did not suppose they were looking especially for me, but for any one in general whose actions and appearance might indicate that he was one of the operators in the bank forgery. Under this erroneous belief I crossed to the Dublin station, which was a quarter of a mile from that of the Cork and Queenstown. As I entered the waiting room I saw my two detectives standing at the other side. 'Well,' I thought to myself, 'this is very strange; I left the Queenstown station ahead of them and here they are again, all alive!' I walked away into the most thronged streets of the business part of the city; turning a corner I glanced backward and saw them following at some distance in the rear. As soon as I had fairly turned the corner I started at a fast walk, turning the next before they came in view, and after three or four such turnings I went into a small temperance hotel and took lodgings for the night. There was but a single commercial traveler in the sitting room—a special room set apart in every English hotel, sacred to the 'drummer' fraternity. In the course of the evening he handed me a small railway map of Ireland, which, in my subsequent flight through the country, proved of incalculable service to me.

"The next morning I went out and purchased a handbag, a Scotch cap and a cheap frieze ulster. My night's cogitations had not enabled me to solve the detective problem, but I felt confident that something was decidedly wrong. I then hired a covered cab, driving past the postoffice to recoinnoitre, and saw one of the detectives standing in the doorway. This sight deterred me from going in to ask for a letter. Dismissing my cab, I took another and drove to the place where I had made my purchases, taking them into the cab and going through a by-street which brought me close to my hotel.

"From the commercial room in the second floor front I looked out and marked the farthest house I could see to the left on the opposite side. Stepping to the desk I wrote an order directing the postmaster to deliver any letters to my address to the bearer. This I gave to a cabman, instructing him to drive to the postoffice and bring my mail to the house I had marked, returning myself to the commercial room to watch. In a few minutes I saw the cabman drive to the house, and seeing no one waiting there, he turned and drove slowly down the street past the hotel, holding up at arm's length a letter to attract my notice—which it did to my two detectives walking along a short distance behind him, on the hotel side of the street, with noses elevated and eyes peering everywhere.

"'Well,' I thought, 'this is getting to be hot, and it is time for me to leave Cork.' I was now fully aroused to a sense of my danger. No one happening to be in the commercial room for the moment, I left my hat on the sofa, and wearing the Scotch cap, slipped downstairs just as they were past the hotel, following them until I came to where the cab was waiting with my luggage. I ordered the driver to take me to a canal-boat wharf, where I dismissed him; then, with bag in hand, I walked across the canal bridge, stopped in a small shop and hired a smaller boy to go for a jaunting car, and a few minutes later I was rolling to the northward.

"On the road I threw some small coins to poor-looking people, who then, as now, comprised among their numbers the most honest patriots and the truest-hearted sons of Erin.

"Seeing me throwing the pence to the poor folk, cabby took it into his head that I must be a priest—a good criterion of the estimation in which the benevolence of the fathers is held by their own people. And I may here remark that all the Catholic priests I have known, occupying the post of chaplain, were without exception faithful and entirely devoted to the duties of their holy calling. I had no intention of traveling as a priest, and when I told the driver as much he would not believe it, but insisted that I was really a priest traveling incognito; therefore, when we stopped at a small wayside tavern, about twelve miles from Cork and two to Fermoy, he privately informed the mistress that I was a priest who did not want the fact to become known. Accordingly the good woman treated me with marked attention during my short stay. It was then nearly sunset, and as I did not wish the cabman to get back to Cork until late at night, I kept him eating and drinking until dark, when I paid the bill and started him homeward, uproariously rejoicing. I then started for Fermoy station, about two miles distant, taking the hostler along to carry my bag. When within half a mile of the village I let him return. While passing through the village I went into a shop and purchased a different Scotch cap, the 'Glengarry.'

"Arriving at the station, I noticed a man near the ticket office who appeared to be watching those who were purchasing tickets. This made me change my plan—instead of taking a ticket to Dublin, I bought one for Lismore, the end of the road in the opposite direction. The exclamation, 'Well, are you going to stay all night?' was the first intimation I had of our arrival at that place. I rubbed my sleepy eyes, and saw with dismay that all the passengers were gone and one of the porters was putting out the lights. At the platform I found a cab, and by 9 p.m. I was at the Lismore House. After eating supper I entered the sitting room, finding a single occupant whom I took to be a lawyer, and judging by his conversation and manner, in the light of later events, I do not doubt that he surmised who I was. He was reading a newspaper, which he once or twice offered to me; but, not dreaming of the interesting nature of its contents, I declined to take it from him. About 10 o'clock the gentleman retired, leaving his paper on the table. I carelessly picked it up, and the first thing that caught my eyes was a displayed heading in large type, offering L5,000 reward for my arrest.

"A thunderbolt, indeed! For a few minutes I stared at the paper in blank dismay. It was fortunate for my temporary safety that there were no witnesses present. 'Well,' I thought to myself, 'this is a predicament! How did they obtain any clue to me? I thought we had covered up the whole affair so deep in mystery that not a clue to our personality could ever be obtained!'

"I sat for an hour alone in this Lismore Hotel, utterly dumfounded, bewildered, paralyzed. I had experienced some shocks, some 'take-downs,' in my time, but never one to compare with this.

"Arousing myself from a state of mental stupefaction hitherto unknown, I began to realize the necessity of immediate action if I wished to avoid falling into the merciless jaws of the British lion. I put the paper into the fire, and retired to the room allotted to me.

"Before daylight in the morning I had decided upon the first step, and as the lawyer had asked me if I intended to remain over Sunday, I resolved to be as far away as possible before he was out of bed. While it was yet dark in the house, I left my bag in the bedroom and crept gently down the stairs to the basement, where the porter-hostler was sleeping in a box of rags. I suppose the poor wretch had not long finished his multifarious duties, for I could arouse him only to a state of semi-consciousness, and could get no information from him. I then went up to the front door, carefully turned the key and stepped out on the piazza which ran along the front of the hotel. Another shock was in store for me. A man posted on the other side of the street was watching the hotel!

"It was now quite light, and I sauntered carelessly up the street, apparently taking no notice of the man over the way, and endeavoring to show by my actions that I was out for an airing before breakfast.

"As I turned the next corner and glanced back, I saw him following. I noticed a place where jaunting-cars were to be let, but passed on, at each turn glancing back to see my follower the same distance in the rear. I now took a circuit around by the hotel, but instead of going in I hastened and turned the next corner beyond—he, when reaching the corner near the hotel, not seeing me, doubtless thought I had gone in, and planted himself in his old position. I thought Lismore to be getting rather hot, and hastening to the livery stable, found the hostler just getting up. He informed me that all the horses were engaged for the day except one, the fastest they had, but as this was engaged for a long journey on Tuesday, they were letting him have a rest. I said: 'But, my good fellow, I must have a horse, and at once, with you to drive, and there will be a half sovereign for a good Irishman, such as I see before me.' My 'blarney' began to do its work. Scratching his head, he finally said: 'Well, I will waken up my master, and you can talk with him.' So he rapped at a window, and soon a night-capped head appeared, and after some parley the master consented to let me have his equipage. In a few minutes from the time I had lost sight of my follower we were rattling out of the town of Lismore at the full speed of a blooded Irish horse. I had left my bag behind, taking only the Scotch caps and ulster with me from the hotel. I found, by reference to the small map and railway guide, that Clonmel was less than thirty miles distant, and connected with Dublin by a branch line. When I engaged the jaunting-car I had told the owner that it was uncertain what part of the day I should require it, and after we were about five miles from Lismore I said to the driver:

"'You say that you are going to Clonmel on Tuesday for a passenger. Well, now, as I must go there before I leave this part of the country, you may as well continue in that direction, and I can return with you on Tuesday.'

"This pleased him, and we drove on till about noon, when we stopped at a country grocery about five miles from Clonmel. As we drove up to the door, the words of an old Irish song went jingling through my brain:

"'At the sign of the bell, On the road to Clonmel, Pat Flagherty kept a neat shebeen.'

"The rain poured down in torrents. I gave my driver a lunch of bread and cheese, which—of course, there—included whisky. I also gave him a sovereign, telling him to pay his master for the horse-hire and keep the change for himself; then started him back, brimful of delight and the 'craythur,' receiving his parting salute:

"'Yer 'onor is a jintleman, and no mistake.'

"I arranged with the storekeeper to let a boy take me in his car to Clonmel.

"The Green Isle! Well, I found out that day what keeps the grass green in Ireland. My Irish frieze and every thread on me were water-logged, yet the Irish lad, my driver, took the 'buckets-full' as a matter of course. Amid this deluge of rain we arrived in Clonmel and stopped at a 'shebeen,' kept by the boy's uncle—driving into the back yard through a gate in a board fence fifteen feet high, which shut it in from the street.



"I went into a room in the rear of the sale room, the door of which stood open so that I could see all that passed within, and, as I stood drying my clothes by the turf fire, I saw how thirsty souls on the 'ould sod,' evaded the Sunday liquor law. The proprietor stood in the shop in a position whence he could covertly keep an eye on the policeman patrolling the street, and as soon as he was out of sight a signal was given, the backyard gate thrown open, when a dozen men rushed in, and the gate closed. Coming hilariously through the dwelling into the shop, these were soon busily drinking their 'potheen.'

"It was now 2 o'clock p.m., the rain had ceased, and starting out, I walked along a main street until I saw a sign 'cabs to let.' I went into the house and was shown into an inner room, where the proprietress sat crooning over a turf fire. She motioned me to a seat beside her, and when I told her I wished for a conveyance to take me to Cahir, a place eight miles distant, she asked me several questions, among others, how long I wished to be gone, and if I were not an American. To all of which I replied to the following effect: That I was going to visit some friends who were officers stationed in the fort at Cahir; and as to her mistaking me for an American, the ancestors of the 'Yankees' went from about Norfolk County, England, to America, of course, taking the accent with them, and I being from the former place, (Norfolk) of course had the same accent.

"This explanation appeared to satisfy the old lady, and she became quite confidential; and, anxious to remove from my mind any trace of offense at her unusual questioning, she drew closer to me and said:

"I can see that you are all right; but the fact is that the captain of police sent an order that I should notify him at once in case any stranger wished to hire a vehicle, especially if I thought him an American. But I do not care for the curs; they are nothing but a parcel of spies and informers in the pay of the English Government; so even if you were the one they are looking for they will wait a long time for me to inform them, and you shall have my best horse and a good driver.'

"I heartily thanked the good old Irish lady—for I have found true ladies and gentlemen among the poor and humble, as well as the wealthy, especially in Ireland—and in a few minutes I was bowling gayly along toward Cahir.

"This is a small, ancient, walled garrison town, the nearest railway station being at Clonmel. This miniature city has been the scene of many a heart-stirring event in the distant past. Here Cromwell was for a time held at bay, and his fanatical hordes made their Celtic opponents pay in blood for their patriotic and desperate defense of their homes and firesides.

"Driving through the town gate, I saw in the main street a grocery store with a blind down, and telling the driver to halt there, I paid him and sent him back. I then went into the grocery, and after taking a lunch of bread and cheese, continued my walk up the street. I saw a hotel just ahead, but not wishing to attract attention to my movements, I crossed to the opposite side, and while doing so glanced back and saw a car come through the same town gate I had just entered, and dash furiously up the street, pulling up at the walk a few yards behind me. Just as they sprang out I turned to the left in a narrow lane in which I saw a gateway to the fort, just within the entrance of which a sentry was pacing, there being opposite several roofless cottages. The soldier's back being turned, quick as thought I sprang unseen within one of these, and in a moment I heard some men run around the corner and interrogate the soldier, who stoutly declared that no one had entered. The men then demanded to see the captain, were admitted, and after a short time I heard them come out and depart. I stood in that ruin two mortal hours until dusk, then walked out unseen by the sentry, and turning to the left, came into a narrow street lined with small dwelling houses."



CHAPTER XXVI.

"EXCUSE ME, SIR, FOR QUESTIONING YOU."

"Crossing the narrow street in Cahir, referred to at the close of the last chapter, I went in haphazard at the first door, without knocking, and saw a family eating their humble supper. As I walked in I addressed the family at the table thus:

"'Good evening. Pardon my intrusion, and do not disturb yourselves; but by all means finish your supper.'

"'Good evening, sir,' was the reply from the man, whom I will call Maloy. 'We are glad to see you; will you sit by and have pot-luck with us?'

"'No, thank you,' I answered. 'I am an American—and it is my custom when traveling in any country to make unceremonious calls like this, in order to see the people as they really are at home.'

"After supper was over I related to Maloy and his family several stories and incidents concerning the Fenians and their doings in America, which, of course, interested them greatly. When it was fairly dark I arose to go, and Maloy went outside with me. He had previously informed me that he was employed by the government in the civil service. I will not state in what capacity, for, although so many years have elapsed, the true-hearted Irishman may still be earning his bread in the same humble employment, and the knowledge that he assisted one whom he supposed to be a Fenian leader in 1873 might even now cost him dearly. When we were outside the door I said:

"'The fact is, Maloy, I am a Fenian leader, and the police are after me! I have been dodging them for two days, and they are looking for me now in Cahir! I have important papers for prominent Fenians in various parts of Ireland, and it would delay our plans if I am obliged to destroy them. But I fear I must do so at once unless you can help me. I would almost sooner forfeit my life than to lose these papers, and I shall fight to my last breath rather than let them fall into the hands of the police, for it might be the ruin of several good men! My plan is to double back to Clonmel, and I want your assistance to get me out of Cahir!'

"'Oh, sir,' he replied, 'it is too bad you did not let me know a little sooner, for the mail car is gone; it starts at 6 o'clock.'

"Just as he had finished speaking, a car came rumbling past and he exclaimed joyfully:

"'We are in luck! There goes the mail car to the postoffice! Come with me!'

"We hastened through a narrow, dark lane to the gate—the same I had entered from Clonmel—walked through and at a hundred yards beyond waited for the mail car, which soon came along. Maloy being well acquainted with the driver, hailed him, saying that a friend of his wanted a ride to Clonmel.

"After shaking hands warmly with Maloy, I climbed upon the car, and the next instant I was whirling along—into fresh dangers—in that unique vehicle, an Irish jaunting car.

"Arriving near Clonmel I saw a tavern, and ascertaining from the driver that it was near the railway station, I left the car and entered the place, only to find that the best, and, in fact, the sole food to be had for supper was eggs. Having been on the move since dawn, after a sleepless night, and almost without food, I hesitate to divulge how many eggs I disposed of that evening, for the statement might tend to throw distrust on the general veracity of my narrative. Having dried my wet clothes and put myself into a presentable condition, I went to the railway station to take the 11 p.m. train to Dublin. Seating myself on a bench outside, I handed some money to a porter and sent him for a ticket, which he obtained. There were but a few waiting about, so I stepped into the small waiting room and sat down near three other men. The one nearest, whom I at once put down for a local policeman in private clothes, turned and spoke to me. I replied with civility to his questions until finally he said: 'But are you not an American?' I replied to his startling question in such a manner that he appeared satisfied.

"'You must excuse me, sir, for questioning you,' he explained, 'but there has been a great forgery in London, and it is said some of the parties are in Ireland, and I am anxious to get a claim on the L5,000 that is offered for each one of them.'

"I told him that instead of being offended I was greatly pleased to see the zeal he exhibited in the execution of his duties, and expressed the hope that he might be successful in securing at least one of the forgers, which would give him not only the L5,000, but undoubtedly promotion. I got on the train all right, resolving that I would not speak another word of English while in Ireland, and forthwith turned into a Russian, who could speak 'une veree leetel Francais,' confident that I should not be in danger of exposure by encounter with any one who could speak the Russian language. I threw away the ordinary Scotch cap I had been wearing, and put on the Glengarry. When I arrived at the Maryborough junction, the train on the main line from Cork was late, and I walked up and down on the platform, well knowing that the detectives would scrutinize more closely those who appeared to shrink from observation; therefore, I affected the bearing of a Russian prince as nearly as I knew how.

"I got on the train unmolested, and arrived in Dublin at 1 a.m.

"There appeared to be some special watching of those leaving the train, but I passed out unchallenged and took a cab. Not knowing the name of any hotel, I told the driver I would direct the route as we passed along, and he drove away at a great pace. Very soon I noticed another cab following at an equal speed. I had mine turn a corner, but the one behind came thundering after; and though I bade my driver to turn at nearly every corner still I could not shake off my supposed pursuer until, after apparently being followed about two miles, the stern chaser turned off in another direction, much to my relief. We soon approached the Cathedral Hotel, where I alighted about 2 a.m., rang up the porter, and was shown to a room.

"At 7 o'clock in the morning I sent for my bill, left the hotel, went direct to the 'Jew' quarters, and purchased a valise and some second-hand clothes. Noticing the old Jewess' looks of curiosity at seeing one of my appearance making such purchases, I remarked: 'A Fenian friend has got himself into a scrape, and the police are after him; so I am going to get him out of the country, and wish to let him have some things that do not have too new a look.' At hearing those (in Ireland) magic words, 'Fenian,' 'police,' she became all smiles, let me fill the valise with old garments at my own price, and at starting said: 'God bless you! May you have good luck, and get off safe to America!'

"I then went to a more pretentious locality, where I procured a silk hat draped with mourning crape, put the Glengarry in my pocket, and became a Frenchman. At this moment I discovered that I had left in my room at the hotel a large silk neck-wrapper on which were embroidered my initials. I immediately stepped into a shop and left my new purchases, resuming the Scotch cap, and started for the hotel (where I had given no name), to secure the dangerous article left behind. Coming in sight of the hotel, I saw a man stationed opposite, leaning on a cane, who appeared to be watching the house. As I approached nearer he kept his eyes covertly fixed upon me; therefore, instead of entering the hotel, I walked past it and turned the next corner, glancing backward as I did so, and, to my dismay, saw the man following me. I now adopted the same plan of action that succeeded so well at Cork, and in half an hour I had shaken him off and returned to the place where I had left my new silk hat and valise. Donning the hat, with valise in hand, I was soon seated in an Irish jaunting car, on my way to a station about ten miles out on the railway to Belfast.

"Upon reflection I was satisfied that the chambermaid had found the silk wrapper and taken it to the hotel office. There the initials, together with the knowledge of my arrival at so unusual an hour, without baggage, and my early departure, had aroused suspicion, and the police had been notified. At about 11 o'clock I arrived at the station, and going into a store paid my Dublin cabman and called for lunch. About five minutes before the train was due from Dublin I walked into the empty station, presented myself at the ticket office, and said: 'Parlez vous Francais, Monsieur?' and received the reply, 'No.' I then said in a mongrel of French and English that I wished for a ticket to Drogheda—not daring to purchase one through Belfast. Supposing me to be a French gentleman, he was very polite and ordered the porter to take my baggage to the platform. There I found myself the solitary waiting passenger. As the train approached I saw a pair of heads projecting from the carriage windows, eagerly scanning the platform. Two men jumped off, and, hastening to the station master began to talk to him in an excited manner, all the time glancing toward me. As I passed near the group to get on the train, I heard the agent say: 'He is a Frenchman.' No doubt he informed them that I had purchased a ticket to a way station only—a fact that would naturally allay suspicion. At the next stopping place they actually arrested a man, but went no further.

"I afterward ascertained that twelve men were arrested on that and the preceding day, among the number being a fraudulent debtor trying to escape by the same steamer, the Atlantic.

"The following extracts from contemporary newspapers will give the reader some idea as to what a 'hot' place Ireland was for me:



"(By Cable to the New York Herald.) "London.

"Three shabbily dressed men, who, from their accent, are believed to be Americans, were arrested in Cork, Ireland, this morning while attempting to deposit $12,000 in that city.

"They are supposed to be the parties who recently committed the frauds on the Bank of England."

"(From the London Times of same date.)

"To Editor of Times.

"Sir: The case of Dr. Hessel has been so lately before the public, and so much has been written both in the English and German papers against the English police, that probably a little evidence upon the procedure of the German (or, I ought probably to say, the Bavarian) may not be uninteresting at the present moment. Myself and son, a sub-lieutenant, R. N., made a great attempt to reach the grotesque old city of Nuremberg on Saturday last, arriving there about 7 o'clock. We were asked to put our names in the stranger's book, as usual, which we did, and retired to bed. Imagine our surprise, on rising on Sunday morning, at receiving a visit from one of the chief police officers, requesting us to 'legitimize ourselves.' I asked him his object for making this demand, when he replied that a man named Warren was wanted by the English police.

"In vain I showed him an old passport and letters addressed to me, showing that my name was Warner; he informed me that I could not leave my room, and placed two policemen at the door. At 1 o'clock I remembered an influential inhabitant of the town who knew me, and I sent for him. He at once went to headquarters and gave bond for me to a large amount, and at 6 o'clock in the evening myself and son were released. You will remember that in the case of Dr. Hessel four persons swore to his identity before he was deprived of his liberty. In my case a similar name to that required was sufficient to deprive me of mine.

"I have since received, thanks to the strenuous and prompt action of the British Minister at Munich, a very ample apology in writing for the blunder that had been committed. It was signed by the Burgermeister of the city, and as the intelligence of this worthy seems to be equaled by his simplicity, he sends me a safe pass to protect me in my further travels, in case Warner should again be considered the same as Warren. I remain, sir, your obedient servant,

"CHARLES W. C. WARNER, "Ex-Sheriff, London and Middlesex



"I now return to my narrative. In the second-class compartment where I sat were two burly, loud-talking, well-informed farm proprietors, one of whom had imbibed a little too freely of the native distillation. The sober one had just finished reading a column article on the 'Great Bank Forgery' to his lively companion, who at length turned and addressed me. I answered him politely in broken French, and he then went on to give his opinion of the bank affair, as nearly as I can remember, as follows:

"'You, being a Frenchman, don't understand about our great bank; but I tell you those Yankees did a clever thing when they attacked that powerful institution. The one they have got penned up here in Ireland can't possibly escape; indeed, according to the newspapers, he is already in the hands of the police. I am almost sorry to hear it, for in getting the best of that bank so cleverly the rascal deserves to get off; and see, here is a description of him.'

"I looked at the paper and saw that it was a fair general outline of my appearance, even to my ulster which I had with me in the valise, and the Scotch cap which was in my pocket. Before we reached Drogheda I had explained to one of my new friends, in broken French, that, owing to my ignorance of the English language, I had purchased a wrong ticket, and being liable to make a similar mistake, should feel obliged if he would take the trouble to procure me a ticket at that station. He readily assented, and by this means I procured it without exposing myself. The hunt for me was becoming so extremely hot that I dared not show myself again at a ticket office; and if I should be found on a train ticketless that fact might lead to closer scrutiny—the rule in that country being that every passenger must be provided with a ticket before entering a car.

"The train arrived in Belfast at 9 o'clock, and I at once took a cab to the Glasgow steamer. It was very dark, and I went on board unobserved, two hours before the time of departure. Going down into the saloon cabin, I saw the purser sitting near the entrance, to whom I said: 'Parlez vous Francais?' He shook his head. I then asked in jargon for 'une billet a Glasgow.' Surmising what I wished, he gave me a ticket, putting on it the number of my berth.

"Expecting to be followed, I had taken that instant precaution of impressing on the purser's mind that I was a Frenchman. I passed into the washroom, just opposite where the purser sat, washed myself and brushed my hair. Just at this moment I heard steps descending the cabin stairway, then the words:

"'Purser, a cab just brought a man from the Dublin train. Where is he?'

"'Oh, you mean the Frenchman,' replied the purser; 'he's in the washroom.'



"While this was passing I had put on my silk hat and taken up my valise, and was standing before the glass (a la Francais) taking a final view of my toilette, and snapping off some imaginary dust and lint, as the two detectives stepped in, and after looking me well over went out, and I saw them no more. That proved to be the last ordeal through which I passed in Ireland. After being convinced that they had left the steamer I went to my berth, and being thoroughly exhausted I fell asleep in an instant, not awaking until the steamer was entering the harbor of Glasgow.

"After my arrest a month later in Scotland, during the transfer to London and afterward to Newgate, while awaiting trial, the detectives told me that they were in Cork three hours after I had left, and one of them related their adventures substantially as follows:

"'We arrived in Cork Saturday afternoon and were not long in finding the temperance hotel where you stayed on Friday night, and the hat you left behind. After a long hunt we ascertained that a jaunting car had left the stand some hours previously and was still absent.

"'We had a good laugh at those blunder-heads, the Cork officers, letting you slip through their fingers, and then showed them how we do things. After some delay we traced the cab across the bridge to the shop where you got the boy to go for it. The shopwoman was quite voluble about you, saying she knew all the time that you were an American by the accent, and described the bag and ulster which we had ascertained were in your possession. Of course, we were now satisfied that we were on the right scent, but could get no further trace or the direction taken by the cab. We therefore sent dispatches to all the telegraph stations within fifty miles to put the police on the watch and sent messengers to the outlying places, but somehow you slipped through our meshes, and nothing turned up until the car man returned at about 11 p.m., as drunk as a soldier on furlough. After putting him under a water tap until he was half drowned we got him sober enough to tell where he had left you; but he swore you were a priest, and his evident sincerity caused us all to roar with laughter. This angered him, and he said: "Ye may twist me head an' dhroun me intirely, but I wull niver spake another wurrud about the jintelman at all, at all," and sure enough we could get nothing more out of him.

"'We had a carriage ready, and, jumping in, we were at the wayside inn by midnight and terrified the old woman half out of her wits in arousing her out of bed. After a while she gathered them sufficiently to show us that you had six hours the start of us. The boy who carried your bag could give us no points, but we concluded you intended taking the branch line at Fermoy for Dublin. We drove right on, arriving at the Fermoy station at 1 p.m., but, getting no trace we telegraphed to all the stations along the line to Dublin, and there as well to be on the lookout. Who would ever have thought of your taking the opposite direction, penning yourself in at the end of a branch line, at a small inland town like Lismore? Why, you were, as we discovered the next morning, at that moment sleeping quietly at the Lismore Hotel, and only about ten miles from where we were working so industriously for that L5,000! Well, you "done" us fine that time!

"'After you so cleverly threw us off the trail, we could get no trace until Sunday morning, when we received a dispatch from Lismore, stating that a man had come on the last train, stayed at the hotel and left at daylight without paying his bill. "Hello!" said I, as soon as I read the dispatch, "we never suspected Lismore; he has been there all night and is off again!" We telegraphed to Clonmel, Waterford and other places; then left for Lismore, where we arrived, paid your bill and took the bag with us. Surmising that you might make for Clonmel, we looked for and found the place where you got the car, but no news as to what direction you had taken. It would have made you laugh, as it did us, to see the old livery man stamp about and tear his hair when he found how easily he could have made the L5,000—if he had "only known."

"'Starting on the way to Clonmel, we soon had news which satisfied us we were once more on the right track. Shortly after we met, sure enough, the cab you had sent back from the country store. Arriving there we took the boy, who had just returned from driving you to Clonmel, with us, and, feeling sure that we should soon come up with you, we made our horses spin toward that town. Arriving there, we saw the inspector, who informed us that he had sent a constable in pursuit of a man who had hired a car to go to Cahir.' (This must have been one of the men in the car whom I escaped by dodging into the ruined cottage.) 'It being then sundown we drove to Cahir with all speed, arriving there just after dark, passing the Clonmel mail car inside the gate; but it contained no one but the driver.

"'We soon found the constable sent from Clonmel, who said you had disappeared into the fort, where a friend must have concealed you, and that you must be there still. He then took us to the fort, which was closed for the night. As soon as my eyes lighted on the ruined cottages I asked him if he had searched them and received an answer in the negative. "Why," said he, "they are, as you see, all open to the day, without roof, doors or windows, and no one would think of hiding in them." "You are a fool," I replied. "Give me your lamp and come with me." After a look around and seeing how easily any person could stand in a corner out of sight, I remarked to him emphatically that he was the biggest specimen of a goose I had ever seen in my line. "I think," said I, "you had better go home and play pin. Here is where he dodged you, and now he is off again, with an hour or more start." We worked until after midnight and gave Cahir such a "turning over" that the inhabitants won't soon forget, but could not get hold of the least trace, except at one place (Maloy's), where a woman said a stranger came in at supper time, who said he was an American seeing the people in their homes. We cross-questioned the man, but could get nothing out of him more than that you had departed.

"'At last we gave it up, went to the hotel to get some sleep, which we needed badly, and the next day went to Dublin, heard about the finding of your neck-wrapper at the Cathedral Hotel, and knocked about Ireland for some time. During this time we arrested several persons, but soon discovered none of them was the right party, and we never obtained a genuine trace until you were discovered later in Edinburgh.'"



CHAPTER XXVII.

THE FLOWERS IN THE PRIMROSE WAY ARE SWEET.

As narrated in an earlier chapter, I left England two days before the first lot of forged bills were sent in. I left serene and confident of the future. My departure was a happy event in a double sense. All my negotiations had been carried on at a considerable expense of nerve, and in leaving I left everything in such trim that success seemed certain, with all chance of danger eliminated from the venture. I felt that the trying toil was now all over, with nothing for me to do but to reap the harvest, and that without effort or care on my part.

So, when the late November sun looked down on me—I crossed by daylight this time—standing on the deck of that same wretched Channel steamer, it looked on a happy man. I did not know then that success in wrongdoing was ever a failure. The anxious toil of the London and Continental negotiations was a thing of the past. Was I not young; wealth was or soon would be mine; was I not in perfect health, body sound and digestion good, and, above all, was not the woman I loved awaiting me in Paris, to give herself to me, in all her youth and beauty, and then somewhere across the Western waters would I not find in some tropic seas a paradise, which gold would make mine, where I could bear my bride, and there, turning over a new leaf, live and die with the respect of all good men mine?

Here was a stately structure I was going to erect, but how rotten the foundation! I, in my egotism, fancied, in my case, at least, the eternal course of things would be stayed, and that justice would grant me a clean bill of health. She did give me that, but it was long years after, and only when she had had from me her pound of flesh to the very last ounce.

I joined my sweetheart and her family at the Hotel St. James, Rue Saint-Honore. She was an English lady, and for a whole year our courtship had been going on, and now, our wedding day being fixed a week ahead, we all set out sightseeing and having a good time generally. I now engaged the coachman I had met before as my valet, and a very good, all-around, handy man he proved to be. Of course I was anxious to hear that the first coup on the bank had succeeded, but I was tolerably confident it was all right. Had it fallen through it would have proved awkward for me. In that event the Paris climate would have been too warm for me, and I would have had to find a score of excuses to hasten our marriage and leave for the Western World as speedily as possible.

I had a four-in-hand coach, and we drove everywhere in and around Paris, once to Versailles and on to Fontainebleau, where we dined, a merry party. What a strange world is this, what a stage it is, ever crowded with tragedies, too! How absolutely in the dark we are as to the motives and actions of men.

There I was, the centre of merry pleasure parties in gay Paris. A young dude, driving my four-in-hand, and yet a criminal, waiting in hourly expectation a telegram announcing success in a great plot which, when it exploded, was destined to startle the business world, and to hurl me from the summit of happiness, where I was reveling, apparently free from care, to the misery of a dungeon, banishing the happy smiles from my face and the joyous ring from my voice, leaving in place of the smiles the sombre gloom of the prison, and in place of the snatches of song and eager accents I was wont to speak with, the hushed voice subdued to prison tones.

Late one morning, on opening my eyes, my first thought was: It will be hit or miss at the Bank of England within the next sixty minutes. We had engaged for a coaching party to Versailles and were to dine there. I left for the drive that day with a dim fear that before the sun set I might be under the necessity of leaving Paris in a hurry.

When starting for Versailles I left my servant behind to wait for the expected telegram, and to bring it to me by rail. We were at dinner, and I was just raising a glass of champagne to my lips when I saw my valet, Nunn, crossing the esplanade. He entered the room and handed me a telegram. Tearing open the envelope I read:

"All well. Bought and shipped forty bales."

That meant the first lot for $40,000 had gone through safely. It was certainly a great relief. The next day I received $25,000 in United States bonds, from George in London, my first share of the proceeds. I sold the bonds in Paris, receiving payment in French notes.

On Thursday, the day before our marriage, I had a telegram from Mac and George to meet them in Calais, and to Calais I had to go. I arrived there at midnight, just before the Dover steamer got in, and was on the pier to meet them. We exchanged warm greetings; as we did so Mac placed a small but very heavy bag in my hands, and they began laughing over my surprise. It contained L4,000 in sovereigns, and was stuffed with bonds and paper money. We went to a hotel near by, and there they counted out to me the very nice sum of $100,000 in gold, bonds and French money. As they were going back on the same steamer, and I was to return to Paris by the train carrying the passengers of the steamer just arrived, we had only a brief half hour's talk. After giving me the money we went out and sat down on the pier, and that conversation and scene are forever impressed on my memory. I shall make no attempt to describe either, but could both be put on the stage, with the audience in possession of a full knowledge of the enterprise we were embarked in, there would be seen a picture of human life such as the novelist or playwright never had the imagination nor the daring to depict. To the earnest student of human life it would have been a revelation.

There we were, three earnest, ambitious young men, enthusiastic for all that was good and noble. I about to wed a pure-souled woman, who thought me an angel of goodness, and about to fly with my plunder and bride to Mexico. My two companions were returning to London to continue carrying out a giant scheme of fraud against a great moneyed institution, but there we were, with $100,000 in plunder at our feet, sitting under the stars, listening to the dash of the waves, and talking not at all like pirates and robbers, but much more like crusaders setting out on a crusade, or like pilgrims going on a pilgrimage.

I told my friends I should go to the City of Mexico for a year or two, and then meet them somewhere in America where we would unite our wealth to inaugurate some scheme that would benefit thousands in our own generation and millions in the generations to come. We would hedge ourselves about with kindly deeds, so live as to win the respect of all, and when under the sod live in the eyes and mouths of men.

Too soon the whistle sounded, and we had to say good-bye, which we did in an enthusiasm that told how deeply we felt. We were walking in the Primrose Way, its flowers and songs were sweet, and we thought their perfume and melody eternal.

I again arrived in Paris at daylight, but early as it was, my sweetheart, escorted by my servant, was waiting my arrival. It was our wedding morning. During our drive to the hotel, radiant with joy, she told me the separation had been a cruel one, and she was so happy to know we should never be separated again!

At 4 o'clock that afternoon we were married at the American Embassy.

I had told every one I was going to leave the next day for Havre, to embark for New York. Our baggage was all packed and placed in a van, which I accompanied to the Havre station, and had stored there. Sunday I purchased one ticket to Bayonne, one for Madrid and one to Burgos, each from different agencies. On Sunday morning I took a van to the Havre station, and transferring our baggage to the road into Spain, checked all of it to Madrid.

My purpose was to sail by the Lopez & Co. steamer El Rey Felipe from Cadiz to Mexico, which was advertised to sail ten days later.

We were married very quietly on Friday, and our friends, wisely recognizing the fact that young married people like to be alone, the next day said good-bye and returned to Normandy. We spent a quiet and happy Saturday and Sunday, and on Sunday night we left—my wife, servant and self—for Cadiz, via Madrid. My wife, like all English people, knew little of geography, and had such hazy notions of America that she thought it quite the thing to go to such an outlandish and far off quarter of the globe as America via a Spanish port. Columbus, she knew, had gone that way, and why should not we?

We had an all-night ride to Bayonne in one of those antiquated compartments used in railway carriages all over Europe, but the ride was not tedious, nor was the night long. This little earth had no happier couple, and, talking of the happy years that lay before us, the night rushed by like a fairy dream.

Where was my conscience? Why, my dear reader, I had sung it such a song that it was delighted with the music, and had, I was going to say, gone to sleep, but it had not. It was wide awake, and we were good chums. We both—conscience and I—had persuaded ourselves it was a virtuous deed to do evil that good might come. My conscience was perhaps as old as the sun, but I myself was young and too inexperienced to see the fallacy of the argument, since I myself was the doer of the wrong; but, of course, I should have hotly denounced any other such philosopher as a villain and rogue.

The night flew by, and to our surprise we found 240 miles had slipped away and we were in Bayonne. Thirty minutes more and we were speeding south, and soon crossed the Bidassoa, the boundary between France and Spain. Then my wife saying, "Now I will sleep," laid her head on the shoulder of the happiest man in or out of Spain, and in ten minutes her regular breathing told me she was in the land of dreams.

The Pyrenees, in dividing France and Spain, stand between two distinct peoples, and as the centuries go by the streams of national life meet, but only to repel each other, never to mingle. One has but to cross the bank to realize that he is among a different race. Dress, food and cooking—social life, religious devotion, modes of thought—are all different. To us here in America it is difficult to realize that so slight a thing as a mountain barrier, easily traversed, crossed by many defiles and good roads, should continue to separate two distinct peoples. But so it is. Stranger still, for nearly all time the inhabitants of the Spanish mountains have been more or less opposed to the people of the Spanish plains, and every century has seen several insurrections among the mountaineers. In 1872 and '73 the Carlists held the mountains and more or less fusillading was going on. The possibility of my way being blocked by the Carlists never entered into my calculations.

The railway from Bayonne to Madrid is owned in Paris, and it seems that the directors were paying blackmail to Don Carlos, ostensibly to him, but really to several marauding bands who plundered under the name of fighting for the Don, upon the understanding that the railroad was not to be meddled with. The directors had been paying 100,000 francs a month. As will be easily believed, there was a difficulty in the distribution of the money among so many greedy and inartistic robbers, and the discontented determined to hold up the railroad itself and stop all trains. Unluckily, the train we were on was the one they proposed to experiment on first, and they proposed drastic measures, too—in fact, had blown up or down a short tunnel, and torn up the rails in front of our train. As we crossed the frontier a French gendarme and Spanish civil guard appeared, demanding passports. It was, of course, a sure thing that I had them all right. It is a safeguard under the protection of which the man who has anything to fear slips through the fingers of frontier guards and police, while the honest man quite frequently neglects the necessary formalities and is detained.

Our train crossed the bridge over the Bidassoa and we were on Spanish soil. Soon we entered the gorges of the Pyrenees, and while speculating whether I should awaken my wife to see the magnificent scenery all necessity for awakening any one on that train was over. Three or four musket shots rang out, our train was off the rail, and after a crash or two came to a sudden stop, and then a babel arose, while the train was surrounded by armed men. It was laughable. It seemed like an opera bouffe, the real thing, this motley array of brigands, all trying to maintain under difficulties the grave Spanish exterior.

One monkey of 18 or 19 years, armed, came to our compartment, and, pointing to my chain, said he wanted it and my watch. None of us understood Spanish, but we all comprehended his meaning readily. I refused to make him a gift, and got rid of him easily.

We were all ordered to alight and our captors seemed inclined to be ugly. Myself and party were about the only well-dressed people on the train, and, seeing a priest close by, I went up to him, and ascertaining he could speak French, I began, in very bad French indeed, to threaten with very dire consequences Don Carlos and every band of Carlists who dares to annoy an English Duke and Duchess, and demanded instant shelter and a guard for my wife, the Duchess. We could hardly keep from laughing, it was so very like a melodrama. My wife thoroughly enjoyed the situation, and I should have done so too, had I not had such strong reasons for quick passage through Spain to blue water on the South, for I desired to speedily put some leagues of Neptune's domain between myself and the Old World.

The priest, although a sallow, sombre fellow, was a very good one, and seemed to realize the gravity of the situation, for, calling the chief to him, he warned him to be careful. That gentleman came up, and drawing himself up said very proudly: "Sir, we are soldiers, not robbers." I said I was very glad to know it, and demanded to be informed if I was a prisoner or not, and was told I was not, but with the same breath he said he would be obliged to detain us for a few days. There was a fonda, or inn, close by, and leaving my wife there, I finally managed by a liberal use of money to secure an ox-cart, and by virtue of great generalship on the part of myself and servant, got all our baggage out of the wrecked train and safely up to the inn.

Spaniards are provokingly slow, but by riding mule-back five miles away I succeeded in seeing the local commander of the Carlist forces, and he promised to send me the next day a pass through the lines, going either south or north. I got him also to include in the pass my fellow passengers. I did this because there was a Portuguese family who had tickets for South America. They were then on their way to embark at Lisbon, and the old gentleman, the head of the family, was very weak and ill.

My safe plan would have been to return to France, make my way to Brest and embark from there to New York, and that would have been my course had I had any conception of the slowness of the Spanish officials and of the fierce storms and snows that dominate the passes of the Pyrenees in Winter.

We were informed by many officials, railway guards, Custom House officers, Carlists, etc., that by crossing thirty miles south we would pass the lines and get to a little town on the railway where trains left frequently for Madrid. The Spaniards about the place would never have let us start out on that perilous trip had it not been for the money there was in it. I had secured at a round price three century old bullock carts, and in the afternoon of the second day we got off. I had all the women and the sick Portuguese in one cart, with the two other carts ahead heaped with luggage. Thus there were eight bullocks, four mules and (unlucky number) thirteen men engaged.

I had very misty notions as to our destination, but took it for granted the baker's dozen of natives I had with me knew what they were about. Snow was everywhere, and we were mounting up, up, up, on wheels, but I supposed the highest altitude was only four or five miles away, and that the down grade would be easy until we reached some snug inn where we would find shelter for man and beast. Then an early start by daylight and our novel jaunt would come to an end in civilization and a railway. But I did not know Spaniards, their country, the Pyrenees, nor what blizzards can blow in sunny Spain.

Myself and my servant Nunn trudged on alongside the cart with the women. It took an hour to get out of sight of the fonda, and then we struck a fine, wide military road that wound in and around the mountains, but always up and deep in snow. Three, four o'clock came and still no sign of the summit, but with the road winding in and out for miles ahead. The sky began to darken, and without warning down came the snow. Then frequent halts of the caravan to rest the cattle. Deeper grew the snow, and as the darkness began to settle down I realized the responsibility I had unwittingly taken on my shoulders. I had four delicate women in my forlorn party and found myself fast in the midst of a snowstorm, in a wild pass of the Pyrenees. I recognized one blessing, however, and was profoundly grateful—the air was calm—and though the snow fell thick and fast it was not driven by a storm.

Nunn proved to be thoroughly reliable, helpful and full of cheer. Between us we kept up the spirits of the party. But all hands began to grow hungry. Fortunately I had in my baggage a large pate de foie gras. That is a fat goose liver pie, and it was fat, happily so, as it went the further. Then I got rugs and wraps out of my trunks for the women and a couple of bottles of brandy, and administered liberal doses all round. I soon had them happy and full of courage. It was certainly better to have them full of Dutch courage in a fool's paradise than to have them awake to their position, for I quite expected it would end in a night camp-out in the snow and sending an empty cart for supplies. Two hours after dark we came to a dead halt, and my guides—they were beauties—said they could go no further; the oxen could not pull the carts. There was a fonda, they said, two miles away, but did not show any disposition to help to get there, and for that matter did not seem to care whether we did or not. I ordered them to leave the middle cart behind and divide the teams, one team to be added to the front cart and one to be hitched in front of the mules. Our interpreter was one of the Portuguese women, but we did not get on very well, the Spaniards objecting to anything being done, all of them apparently waiting for the Virgin or some of the saints to come to our aid; but as neither did, Nunn and I were exasperated, and finally took the matter into our own hands. By my orders, despite the energetic protests of the drivers, he unhitched the oxen from the middle team, and between us we got them to the mule cart, hitched them in front of the mules and pulled out and past the other carts. Here the Spaniards halted us, and after an angry altercation in the dark—and it was dark—they agreed to go on. So, taking a yoke of oxen from our cart, they were put in front of the four of the first cart, and off we started. Nunn volunteered to stand by and guard the stranded cart; so giving him two blankets and a little brandy we drove off in the darkness. But not until, in sight of all, I had given him a revolver, and each of the unlucky thirteen a good nip of brandy. My anxiety about serious results was over as soon we started, and in an hour and a half we halted in front of a wretched mountain inn, patronized by muleteers, with the first story for a stable, but none of us were disposed to be particular. A supper of Spanish beans was soon ready, and then a bed was made up on the floor, and the women were soon asleep. After seeing that the mules and oxen were fed, I took half an hour's nap. Then with two drivers we started back, taking three yoke of oxen. What a tramp I had back through the snow and storm! I was very happy, however, for I knew my wife and party were safely sheltered, and the excitement of action kept one from being gloomy.

In due time we found our stray, hitched to and started, but it was hard pulling and the exhausted oxen had to come to frequent halts. At last, just as I was beginning to feel tired, we came to the fonda.

The snow had slackened, but the wind was beginning to blow, so Nunn and I carried all the luggage and traps into a corner of the stable below, and tumbling down into the hay we were soon in the land of dreams. In my dreams I was on a shoreless sea in a bark that silently and swiftly circled around. Dark clouds closed in on all sides, while my boat sailed between ever-narrowing walls, the clouds still closing in, until a giant hand grew out from a ragged edge of the cloud wall, which, seizing the prow of my boat, pulled it into the gloom and darkness. I felt the clouds brushing my cheek. I heard the roar of falling water, and felt that my doom was sealed. I thought of my wife, and, trying to call her name, was dumb. I looked behind. Far off and far up there was a glow of rosy light, and within the aureole was her face, full of sorrow, looking at me with pity in every feature. As I looked, her face was slowly eclipsed by a cloud. Then with one cry I plunged into the sea—and awoke.

That dream would easily have joined the long procession of forgotten dreams, but it was recalled many a time during many years. And, try as I might, I felt it to be a portent and a prophecy.

When I awoke in the morning I was dumfounded to find a blizzard blowing that the cattle could not face, and with every appearance of continuance. In reply to my inquiries I learned they sometimes blew in those altitudes for a week. This was unpleasant news for me, and the prospect made me nervous. It was now Thursday, the fourth day since our departure from Paris. And what might have happened in London in that time! Here was I as completely isolated from the outside world and from all news about my companions in England as if on a desert isle. For all I knew discovery might have been made, and full details of the fraud might be blazing in the press of Europe. I began to fear I had run into a trap. To make matters worse, the steamer El Rey Felipe was advertised to sail Monday from Cadiz, and to miss her seemed danger indeed.



I was a prisoner in a wretched inn in a defile of the Pyrenees, with a civil war raging, and no telling what might arise to detain us. Our objective point was only some thirty-five miles away, but with roads deep in snow, with wretched cattle and more wretched Spaniards for drivers, there was poor prospect of making headway. I felt it would never do for me to suffer longer detention.

I determined to leave my wife and baggage in charge of Nunn, to put the $120,000 I had in a bag and start back to the French frontier, cross into France and catch the Saturday steamer from Havre to New York, explaining to my wife that important business demanded my presence in America, that she could follow on the next steamer and that I would meet her on arrival.

In the mean time my unlucky thirteen were happy. For were they not sheltered, with plenty of food and high wages, all out of the pocket of the great lord the Virgin herself must have sent to them? In fact, they were winning from me what to them was a fortune. I was paying each man a dollar a day and $5 for each team and cart.

From my experience I must give the Spaniards a good name for honesty. Of course, they were charging me cut-throat prices, but they were poor, and wealthy lords did not often come their way. Aside from that they were very honest. Many things, such as rugs, shawls, lunch baskets, dressing cases, etc., that must have seemed of value to them, lay around everywhere, but not a single article was missing during the entire trip.

All day long the blizzard blew. It was a novel situation, and how I should have enjoyed it had I only possessed that greatest of all blessings—a good conscience! As it was, I was in misery, and could find no peace, not even in my wife's smiles and evident content to be anywhere with me.

I saw that the cattle were well cared for and that the men had both food and wine. Then my servant skirmished around and decapitated sundry chickens he found. So we had roast chicken three times a day, and as I had a case of brandy in my luggage, we did not suffer. Nunn roasted the chickens, made the punch, got the Spanish men and women to dance for our entertainment, and made himself generally of service. About midnight the storm broke up, and to my great satisfaction the stars came out. That night I slept in the same room with the women, with a sheet hung between us.

At 5 o'clock I had all hands up and breakfast under way. I ordered the drivers and hangers on to have the teams hitched up and ready at daylight. They all ate breakfast heartily enough, but were not zealous about starting out. They made all sorts of pretexts and excuses to avoid leaving their comfortable quarters. Certainly the road was not an inviting prospect, there being quite eighteen inches of snow, but I was determined to start one way or the other, either south with the party or north alone. After long argument they, thinking they had me at their mercy, refused to hitch up the cattle to make the attempt. I at once paid and dismissed them all. Determining to set out immediately alone for the French frontier, carrying only a small bag slung over my shoulder, and concealing the bonds and paper money on my person, I would leave the greater part of the gold in charge of my wife. I knew Nunn would be a trusty guard to her.