Chapter IV: Part 4

_Veteran._ "I'm sorry to say that I haven't got them with me. I had them framed, and after the old woman died (tearfully), I sent them to Mollie for safe-keeping. But they're honorable, sir--they are, indeed."

_Mr. Mack._ "I might give you a letter that would insure you an entrance to the Soldiers' Home. Would you like to go there?"

_Veteran._ "O, dear! no, sir; although it may be a good enough sort of a place. I've got a home with my darter Mollie, who is well married, and settled in the place that I am making for; and I know that she will never go back on the old man, for she used to think too much of me, and be too delighted to see me when I came home from a long voyage in happier days. O, no, sir! (brushing the tears from his eyes with his coat sleeve), Mollie will make room for me."

During the colloquy, Mr. Mack was busily engaged in writing a note, and after finishing it, went into an adjoining room to obtain a necessary signature. He returned without getting it, and was obliged to delay the veteran until the official, whose name to the letter was wanted, came in.

_Mr. Mack._ "You will have to wait a little while until I can get this note signed."

_Veteran._ "All right, sir; never mind me--I'm used to waiting. I learned that some time ago, when I waited through the long watch at sea, till my turn came to climb into my bunk, and when I was on post in the army, till the relief guard came around; and when I've been away from home,--in times past, you know, I had a home of my own once, sir,--I've waited for the day to roll around when I would see my wife and Mollie (who was a little bit of a thing then) again. And all I'm waiting for now is the time when my shattered old hulk shall be laid aside as used-up timber; and all I hope for, when that time comes, is, that my darter Mollie may be alongside, and I shan't mind it much."

_Mr. Mack._ "Are you a native of Connecticut?"

_Veteran._ "No, sir; I'm a Baltimorean. I was born opposite the old Independent engine-house, in Gay Street, and my father and mother before me were born in the city, too, for that matter."

_Mr. Mack._ "A great many from your State fought in the Southern army."

_Veteran._ "That's so, sir; they did. But how do you think it was possible for me to do so, after having followed the old Stars and Stripes through the Mexican war, and having sailed under its protection for going on thirty years? O, no, sir! I had too much love for it. Why, sir, every port I ever entered respected that flag. They couldn't help it; besides, they knew they had to!" (Drawing himself up proudly.)

_Mr. Mack._ "Did you enlist in a Maryland regiment?"

_Veteran._ "No, sir. I'll tell you all about it. You see when the Massachusetts regiments passed through Baltimore, the brig that I sailed on had just returned from a voyage to Rio, and we were unloading in Smith's dock, near Centre Market. The soldiers had disembarked from the cars at the Philadelphia depot, and were marching along Pratt Street, towards the Washington station, when the attack was made on them. As I looked from the deck of the brig I saw the old flag pushing and dodging along the street, with a shower of stones and bricks flying around it, and I heard the sound of pistol-shots and the hissing and hooting of the mob. I happened to turn around, and I saw the same colors proudly flapping in the wind from the mast head, and I tell you it was too much for me--I couldn't stand it. I went to the captain, almost choking, and I told him I wanted an order for my pay; I was going home. I was the second mate of the brig; and the captain was a little wrathy at the idea, for he wanted me to stay and help him superintend the unloading of that part of the cargo that was to be left on the dock, before dropping down to Fell's Point the next day. I told him I must leave; and as he had no further hold on me, he had to give me the order. The owners were surprised, too; but after some talk they paid me, and I went home to the old woman. She said, 'You look excited; what's the matter with you?' 'Well,' said I, 'I am going to enlist in the Union army, and try and help to pay these fellows that fired on the American colors in Pratt Street to-day, back in their own coin.' 'That's right,' said she; 'I wish they'd let me carry a gun, and I'd go with you.' And I wished for once in my life that Mollie was a boy; for I might have made a drummer out of her, anyway, for she was too small for anything else. Well, you know;--but I hope I'm not tiring you with my long yarn, sir?"

_Mr. Mack._ "No; go on with it."

_Veteran._ "They were not raising any regiments in Maryland; and I fell in with a Hoosier, who was going home to Madison to enlist, and I promised him ten dollars if he would get me past the surgeons. I'm sixty-six years old; and you know I was too old for them, because they were more particular in the early part of the war than they were later. Well, when we got to Madison, to make matters sure, I went and got my hair dyed; and as luck would have it, the recruiting officers were a little drunk, and I passed without any difficulty, though one of them asked me how old I was, and I told them a lie, God forgive me, that I was thirty-nine years old! I went into the Army of the Cumberland, and at Chickamauga a shell burst near me, and I was knocked up in the way you see."

_Mr. Mack._ "You have served with General Howard?"

_Veteran._ "Yes, sir; and a good, noble-hearted man he was, too, sir. There was no airs about him. He was just like one of the boys,-- moving around among the men in a blue army blouse and the regulation cap, with a kind word for everybody; and when there was a battle, wherever there was the most danger you were sure to find him."

Mr. Mack stepped out, and returned with the letter, which he handed to the old veteran, with some money, which he took with some hesitation, saying, that all he wanted was to get a passage to New London, and Mollie would attend to his wants.

"When I get there," said he, "Mollie will find me some clothes to wear, for these are getting rather soiled; and I'm kind of ashamed to be seen in them, for I've been used to wearing a little better."

Mr. Mack told him that he only gave him the money to buy some food on the way, and keep him strong enough to look for his Mollie when he arrived at his destination.

"That's so, sir," said he; "I ain't got as much as will buy me a good supper. When I left Philadelphia, I didn't have enough to pay my passage, and I have made many a longer march. I didn't think it was much to walk a hundred miles, so, sooner than beg my passage, I thought I'd walk it. My lame leg made it rather harder than I expected, and I made slow work of it. I soon spent what money I had for meals, and I was obliged to part with a bull's-eye watch, that cost me twelve dollars a good many years ago. It was pretty old, and I only got a dollar and a half for it. Bull's-eye watches ain't worth as much as they used to be. I sold my old pocket-book, too; but as it didn't have anything in it, it was no good to me. I got my breakfast this morning, and have a small balance in my pocket, off of my spectacles, that I sold to an old fellow that they suited exactly; and I tell you I missed them this morning when I tried to read a newspaper with an account of the war in Europe. I think that war is going to do our people some good. They'll want some of our corn and wheat, and I tell you the crops did look amazing fine in the country that I passed through. I'm getting interested in the way things are going on on the other side of the water, and I think I'll buy a pair of specs with some of this money you gave me, and read to-day's news about it."

"Do you know," said Mr. Mack, "that you are entitled to seventy-five dollars for the loss of your foot, under the law to supply soldiers with cork legs, when they have sustained the injury in the line of duty?"

"Well, sir," said he, "I didn't know it, but you can see whether I am entitled to it;" and he pulled off his boot, and showed the stump of his foot, with the same pride that we remember to have seen a general officer display the stump of his arm lost in action.

The exposure showed that he was without socks, his foot being wrapped up in a handkerchief.

While he was exhibiting his stump, we observed Mr. Mack pulling his shoes off, and we expected to see him display a wounded foot also, when he hastily pulled off his socks; but instead of so surprising us, he handed the socks, which he had evidently but just put on that day, to the veteran, and against that individual's earnest protestations, forced him to take them to wear.

We are certain that the same angel who dropped a tear on the record of Uncle Toby's oath, will enter those socks to the credit side of Mr. Mack's account, at a large increase on their market value.

Shaking hands with the battered old veteran, and wishing him good speed on his journey to Mollie, we left Mr. Mack in his office in a meditative mood.

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LOST IN THE STREETS.

OPERATIONS OF THE BUREAU FOR THE RECOVERY OF LOST PERSONS, ETC.--OFFICER
McWATTERS IN CHARGE.

During a considerable portion of his connection with the Metropolitan Police, Officer McWatters had charge of the department denominated "Bureau for the Recovery of Lost Persons;" a position which both his experience and active sympathies with sorrow peculiarly fitted him to fill. Its duties were very onerous, as will be seen by the following article copied from the World newspaper of December 12, 1868, and which cannot fail to greatly interest such of our readers as are not conversant with life and its mysteries in the great Babylon of America.

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In a side room of the main hall of the Central Police Headquarters, on the second story, in Mulberry Street, is a desk, at which sits an old rosy-cheeked, white-headed police officer, named McWatters. Officer McWatters is famous in New York. He is a theatrical critic, and his opinions on music and the drama are greatly esteemed by artists; but, like most critics, he is a little dogmatic at times, perhaps.

Officer McWatters is detailed by Inspector George Dilks to take charge of a department organized in November, 1867, to supply a great want, and which is now in successful operation. This department is known as the "Bureau for the Recovery of Lost Persons." Officer McWatters was formerly in the City Hall Precinct, under Captains Thorne and Brackett, and is very well acquainted with the city, so his services have been made available in his new bureau.

MISSING MEN AND WOMEN.

The manner of investigation in regard to a missing relative or friend is as follows: As soon as a person disappears from home, the nearest relative, on learning of the missing person, goes to police headquarters and makes application to the "Missing Bureau" for information. The age, height, build; whiskers, if any; color of eyes, dress, hair; the place where last seen, the habits and disposition of the person, are given to the inspectors, and Officer McWatters makes proper entries on his register, which he keeps for that purpose, of all these facts. The personal description of the missing one is compared with the returns made by the Morgue every twenty-four hours to the police inspectors. Should the description answer to the person and clothing of any one found at the Morgue, word is at once sent to the relatives of the joyful news. Besides this, another very necessary precaution is taken to find the person or persons missing. Cards are printed, five or six hundred in number, and sent to all the police offices on special duty in the different metropolitan precincts, with instructions to the captains to have his men make active and energetic search for the person.

TROUBLES ABOUT LOST PEOPLE.

Over seven hundred people have been reported as missing, to police headquarters during the past twelve months. Of this number the majority have been found, it is believed, as no record can be kept of those who are not reported when found, by their relatives or friends, to headquarters. Occasionally, a person who reports some one missing belonging to them, will give all the details about him, but if found, will fail to notify the authorities, from a sense of shame where domestic difficulties have occurred in families, or from laziness, or a sense of forgetfulness. Thus all track is lost of those who have been found unknown to the police, and accurate statistics are baffled in the matter of inquiry.

WHERE AND HOW PEOPLE ARE LOST.

The manner in which missing men are advertised, is as follows: A card, of which the following are fair examples, is circulated among the police.

"MISSING.--Morton D. Gifford, about twenty-five years of age,
light hazel eyes, brown hair, full beard and mustache same
color, five feet six and three quarters inches; has lost two
first joints of the middle fingers of right hand. Had on a
light brown cloth suit bound with black, the vest cut without a
collar, a black cloth overcoat made sack fashion, with black
velvet buttons. Was last seen on board the steamer City of
Norfolk, running between Norfolk and Crisfield, in connection
with the Crisfield, Wilmington, and Philadelphia Railroad
Annameric line, on the 3d of February, 1868. Had with him a
black leather satchel, containing a full suit of black clothes,
hat, linen, &c. Was a soldier in the Union army, and has
recently been in business in Plymouth, North Carolina. Any
person having any information regarding him will please
communicate with Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry Street, New
York."

"OFFICE OF THE SUPERINTENDENT OF METROPOLITAN POLICE, }
300 MULBERRY STREET, NEW YORK, January 11, 1868. }

"MISSING--since Thursday evening last, Mary Agnes Walsh, 23
years of age, residing at 281-1/2 Elizabeth Street, five feet
high, medium size, slim built, dark complexion, dark-brown
hair, dark eyes, had on a black alpaca dress, black plush coat
(or cloak), black velvet hat. It is supposed she is wandering
about the city in a temporary state of insanity, as she has
just returned from the Lunatic Asylum, where she has been
temporarily confined for the last three weeks. Any information
of the above to be sent to her brother, Andrew Walsh, 281-1/2
Elizabeth Street, or to Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry Street."

"MISSING, since Thursday, November 14, John F. McCormick. When
last seen, he was on board the steamtug Yankee, at the foot of
Charlton Street; age 24 years, eyes and hair dark brown, height
five feet four inches, heavy eyebrows. He was dressed in a
brown sack coat and brown vest, black pants, flat-crowned black
hat. Any person knowing his whereabouts, or having seen him
since the above date, will please call at the residence of his
uncle, Robert McCormick, No. 12 Talman Street, Brooklyn, or to
Inspector Dilks, Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry Street.
November 30, 1867."

"FIFTY DOLLARS REWARD.--Missing from Bay Street, Stapleton,
Staten Island, since Wednesday, November 25, 1868, Willy
Hardgrove, a boy eight years of age, medium size, dark hair,
dark, clear complexion, blue eyes; has a recent scar on his
cheek, made by the scratch of a pin; dressed in a dark striped
jacket and pants; the pants button on the jacket with light
bone buttons; old, strong boots, no hat. He is rather an
attractive boy, and very familiar with strangers. It is feared
he has been abducted, from the fact of his musical abilities.
He can sing, in a good tenor voice, any tune he may hear once
played, but can't speak plain. The above reward will be paid by
his father, Terence M. Hardgrove, Stapleton, for such
information as will lead to his recovery. Information may be
sent to Inspector Dilks, Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry
Street."

"MISSING.--Annie Hearn left her home on Monday last. She is ten
years of age, dark blue eyes, black hair cut short; has a
slight scar on her left temple. Was dressed in a dark alpaca
frock, black woollen sontag with white border; black velvet
hat, no trimming, high laced boots, striped stockings. Any
information relative to her will be gratefully received by
Richard Burk, 217 Madison Street, or Inspector Dilks, 300
Mulberry Street."

"LEFT her home, at Hyde Park, Scranton City, Pa., on Monday,
June 14, Sarah Hannaghan, aged 15, tall for her age, short
brown hair, light eyes, and fair complexion. Had on a
tan-colored dress, light cape, drab hat, trimmed with ribbon of
the same color. Had with her a dress with a yellow stripe, made
short. Information to be sent to Inspector Dilks, 300 Mulberry
Street, New York, or to James Hannaghan, 152 Leonard Street."

"TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS REWARD will be paid for information that
will lead to the arrest or recovery of Henrietta Voss, aged 16
years. She left Secausus, Hudson county, New Jersey, Tuesday,
July 21, about 7 A. M. She is tall, slim built, and a little
stooped; brown hair, blue eyes, long, thin, pale face. Dressed
in a full suit of black. The gratitude of a father, who desires
to save his daughter, will be added to the above reward. JOHN
VOSS."

"TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS REWARD.--Missing, an insane man, named
Frederick Liebrich, native of Germany, speaks English, German,
and French. Supposed to lodge at night in the police station
houses about the lower part of the city; is very stupid
looking, and clothed in rags. Was last seen in Washington
Market, about the middle of last November. He is about 38 years
of age, eyes and hair black, large, regular features, and very
dark complexion; about five feet ten inches high, stout built,
straight and well made. The above reward will be paid for his
recovery, or direct evidence of his death, by Frederick
Kummich, 82 Washington Street, Brooklyn. Information to be sent
to Inspector Dilks, Police Headquarters, 300 Mulberry Street."

LOST CHILDREN.

Hundreds of "lost children" bear testimony to the carelessness of mothers and nurses, who are more intent on other business, when their charges stray off, to be found afterwards, in out-of-the-way places, by stray policemen. Quite often a pedestrian will notice, on going along one of our side streets, a young child, its eyes bubbling over with tears, and red from irritation and inflammation, who has strayed from its parents' residence. Sometimes it will have a stick of candy in its infantile fist, or else an apple, or a slice of bread, butter, and molasses, to console it in its wanderings. It is very seldom, however, that these children do not find their way back to their parents, unless that there is foul play, in such instances where a child may be kidnapped by people who are childless, or through their agency, for the purpose of adoption in barren families. The practice of baby-farming has not as yet attained, in America, the height that it has reached in England, and therefore the lives of children are not yet so endangered as they are across the water. It is calculated that at least one thousand children are missing every year in this city, but they are nearly all returned before the close of the day on which they are first missed.

THE DENS OF MIDNIGHT.

If the thousand and one noisome crannies, nooks, and dens of this great city could be exposed to view, day after day, the body of many a missing man and woman might be found festering and rotting, or their bones bleaching, for want of decent burial. Where do the bodies come from that are fished up, bloated and disfigured, night after night, by the Water Police, in haunts of the docks, and from the slimes of the Hudson? It is fearful to think of men, influenced by liquor, who, with their gold watches, pocket-books, and other valuables, exposed in the most foolish manner, are to be seen, night after night, in the dens and hells of this great, sinful city. Many of these men are from far-off country villages and happy homes, and when thrown into our streets at night, under the flare of the gas lamps, and among crowds of showily dressed women, whose feet are ever downward into the abyss, it becomes almost impossible for them to resist the thousand and one meretricious temptations that are placed before them.

THE HORROR OF A BREAKING DAWN.

Instances may be related of how men disappear, and are never heard of to be recognized. A well-to-do person from Ohio, who had never visited New York before, pays a visit to this city, and stopping at a down-town hotel, sallies out in the evening in search of what he has been taught, by his limited course of reading to call "adventures." He believes, in his Ohio simplicity, that he will meet with a beautiful and rich young lady in New York, who, struck with his rural graces and charms, will at once accept his hand and farm. Well, he takes a look at the "Black Crook," or "White Fawn," or "Genevieve de Brabant," and, returning late to his down-town hotel, is struck by the beauty and grace of a female form that glides before him on his way thither. Pretty soon she makes a signal to him that cannot be mistaken, and our Ohio friend, rather astonished at the freedom of the aristocratic and well-bred ladies of the metropolis, but nothing loath, hastens to her side, and accompanies her to her richly voluptuous mansion in Bleecker, Green, Mercer, or Crosby Streets. In the watches of the night he awakens to find the aristocratic lady fastened on his throat, and a male friend of hers, with a villanous countenance, poising a knife for a plunge in his neck. The work is done quickly; a barrel well packed, or a furniture chest, placed in a carriage at night, can be taken up the Hudson River road, and there dropped in the river, and after a day or so the head of another dead man will be found eddying and floating around the rolling piers near the battery, his face a pulp, and no longer recognizable. The sun shines down on the plashing waters, but the eyes are sightless, and never another sun can dim their brilliancy or splendor. It is only another missing man, without watch, pocket-book, or money on his person.

MISERY, SHAME, AND DEATH.

Another missing instance. A beautiful girl, born in a village on the Sound, where the waters of that inland sea beat, and play around the sandy pebbles of a land-locked inlet, is reared in innocence and virtue, until she reaches her seventeenth year. She is as lovely as the dawn, has had no excitement--but the Sunday prayer-meeting, and her life, peaceful and happy, has never been tainted by the novelty of desire. At seventeen she visits New York for the first eventful time in her life. She is dazzled with its theatres, its balls, its Central Park; the Broadway confuses and intoxicates her, but opera has divine charms for her musical ear, and she is escorted, night after night, by a man with a pleasing face and a ready tongue. She is yet white as the unstained snow. One night they take a midnight sleigh ride on the road, and stop at a fashionable-looking restaurant in Harlem Lane. She is persuaded to take a glass of champagne, and finally to drink an entire bottle of champagne. That night the world is torn from under her feet. She has tasted of the Apples of Death. She returns to her peaceful home, by the silken waves of the Sound, a dishonored woman. To hide her shame, she returns to New York; but her destroyer has gone--she knows not whither. Then the struggle begins for existence and bread. She is a seamstress, a dry-goods clerk, but her shame finds her out when an infant is born to her unnamed. One night, hungry, and torn with the struggle of a lost hope, she rushes into the streets and seeks the river. On a lone pier she seeks refuge from her "lost life." The night-watchman, anxious about the cotton and rosin confided to his charge, does not hear the cry of "Mother" from a despairing girl, or the plunge into the gloomy, silent river below. She is not found for days after, and then her once fair face is knawed threadbare with the incisors of crabs, and the once white neck, rounded as a pillar of glory, is a mere greenish mass of festering corruption. She is not recognized, and thus fills the page devoted to missing people.

FINIS.

Then there are the cases of girls who disappear from their homes outside of New York, and descend into her brothels, where they find rich raiment, rich food, a merry and unceasing round of gayety, champagne and lovers, which they could never hope for where they came from. These girls leave home very often through sensuality or laziness,--for girls are lazy as well as boys,--and when missing, are generally found in brothels, which, as a general thing, they will not leave for their parents. Then there are husbands and wives who quarrel foolishly, and separate to vex each other, and are missing for years, to finally be forced into other illegal ties. And there is a case of a young man, twenty, married and rich, who leaves his wife; is gone for twelve months, and is found in New Orleans, when he tells those who find him that he has been very sick, and was forced to leave his happy home.

There is also, as it is well known, a great number of infamous houses in this city where abortion is openly practised, and where whole hecatombs of innocent children are slaughtered, to hide the shame of their guilty mothers. How many wealthy and refined girls are to be found in these slaughter-houses, concealed there to hide the evidences of their indiscretion, by their parents or relatives, whose social position would be lost did the consequences of such indiscretion show themselves? The mothers are left to die in agony, again and again; and there is no coroner's inquest or public burial; for are there not scores of obliging physicians to hush the matter up?

And then, again, our private lunatic asylums. How many men and women are spirited away to those tombs of living men, where remonstrance or clamor is useless unless the public press tracks the injury, as in the case of a well-known naval officer, who was most unjustly confined, as the investigation proved, and was only released by the agitation made by The World newspaper.

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AMONG THE "SHARKS."

ADVENTURES OF A FALL RIVER WANDERER--HIS VALUABLE EXPERIENCE
IN NEW YORK--THE BOND OPERATOR.

A part of Officer McWatters' duty, when connected with the Railroad and Steamboat Squad, was to advise and protect strangers in the city. He, of course, encountered many a curious country chap, making his _debut_ in the great Metropolis. One of the most comical, if not the most valuable things Officer McWatters could possibly do for the delectation of readers in general, would be to write out his multifold experiences with strangers in the city, and put the whole into book form, entitled, for example, "Afloat in the Sea of Iniquity, Waifs Gathered There." The following is taken from the New York Mercury of some years ago.

Officer McWatters, whose urbanity and politeness is proverbial, was accosted yesterday forenoon, by a young man who had just stepped off of the Fall River boat, who inquired of him to know the way to the Park.

"What park?" politely queried the officer.

"O, I don't know,--any park where I can sit down a while, and see something of New York!"

"Better take a stage and go to Union Park. Everything clean, quiet, and orderly."

The officer assisted the young man into the stage, which soon sat him down in Union Park. The Park never looked lovelier. Children and drums, nurses and baby-wagons, small boys and fire-crackers, lovely maidens with books of poesy, the water-basin and the flowing fountain, the green trees and the luxuriant shade, all were but parts of a perfect whole, which Mr. Jasper Gray, the young man in question, enjoyed hugely.

Mr. Gray is a native of that enterprising village known as Fall River, and he had come to New York to see the sights. The senior Gray had warned him to look out for the "sharks;" and with a promise that he would do so, and about one hundred and sixty dollars in his pocket, the young man left his home, to sojourn several weeks in and about the Metropolis. Mr. Gray's idea of "sharks" was, that of some huge braggadocio, who would fiercely assault him late at night, demand his money or his life, or assume some other equally disagreeable mode of placing him in a dilemma. He had no idea that under the bright sun of midday, and in the grateful shade of the trees of a public square, the shark was looking and watching for a victim; but so it was.

As he cast his eye towards the fountain, his gaze rested upon a little child playing on the greensward, now rolling on the grass, and again approaching dangerously near the water's edge. Once thinking that the child might fall in, he sprang from his seat, and caught the little fellow by the arm, and delivered him into the hands of his nurse. A few moments after this occurrence an elegantly-dressed young lady came up to the seat upon which he was sitting, and begged leave to thank him for having so kindly cared for her little brother, whom, she declared, he had saved from falling into the water.

"Nurse has gone home with the darling, now; but I could not feel to leave you without expressing my gratitude for your kindness," said the lady, whose eyes shone with brilliancy through the thin gauze veil, filling Mr. Jasper Gray with the most undefinable feelings.

He replied awkwardly to her many complimentary expressions, but finally became animated, and began, as all slightly verdant people are apt to do, to speak of himself, his connections, the town he came from, how he came to leave, what his father told him, how much money he had, and a hundred other equally as interesting matters. The lady was interested. She grew animated as Mr. Jasper Gray proceeded; and as he alluded to the one hundred and sixty dollars with which he had been provided on leaving home, her interest seemed to have reached its height. She declared he must accompany her home to see pa and ma, and receive their thanks for having saved little Charlie's life.

Really, this was too much; but the young lady insisted, and Mr. Gray at length yielded to her solicitations, happy in the thought that he had not only escaped the "sharks," but had fallen into the most pleasant of experiences with the most respectable of people. The mansion into which our hero was inveigled was one of the first class. The furniture was of rosewood and brocatelle, and the lace curtains swept the floor with their magnificent dimensions. Elaborately carved chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling, costly mirrors and valuable paintings decorated the walls, and marble-top tables and a splendid piano lent their attractions to the room. Bouquets of choice flowers shed a rich fragrance about the place, giving it an air of elegance and enchantment. Here Mr. Gray spent the afternoon. An elderly-looking personage played mother, and thanked him a thousand times for saving Charlie. Pa would soon be home, and he would be equally grateful. Cake and wine were served. The youth was in a perfect sea of delights. The wine raised his spirits, and evil thoughts entered his heart. He cast longing and loving glances upon the fair Florine of the mansion, and the elderly matron adroitly withdrew. More wine was served, and the young man was in a fit condition to sing with Burns,

"Inspiring bold John Barleycorn,"

so bravely did the ruddy fluid lift him up.

What followed must be left to the imagination of the reader. Suffice it to say, that the Fall River wanderer, when in the full flush of the Paradise of which the wine had led him to believe he was the sole master, was suddenly confronted by an enraged father, who desired simply to know who he was before he killed him on the spot, and by a sobbing mother, who declared he had betrayed the confidence she had reposed in him; and last, but not the least important, the beautiful being, whose dishevelled hair and disarranged toilet told a woful story, standing before him, a mute upbraider of his crime. Such a combination of revenge, despair, and injured innocence, as the trio presented, very nearly, but not effectually, sobered Mr. Gray, and left him in a peculiarly muddled condition, in which, with true Yankee simplicity, he felt for his pocket-book, as the most available and only method of settling the accumulated difficulties under which he found himself laboring.

It is a credit to his instinct, that the production of the pocket-book aforesaid produced the desired result. The mother was compromised by the payment of one hundred dollars, and Mr. Gray was allowed to depart. He of course sought for his new-made friend, Officer McWatters, for consolation and advice in his emergency, and seventy dollars of the amount was recovered last evening, and Mr. Gray was admonished to expect the "sharks" in any and every possible garb, from the rollicking gutter-man of the Five Points to the extensively got-up denizens of the Fifth Avenue or the Astor.

But we ought, perhaps, to add here an incident of Mr. Gray's experience among the "sharks" of another kind than that alluded to in the foregoing portion of his history. Not willing to trust himself further alone in the city, and wishing to make his visit to New York as profitable as possible to himself in the sight-seeing way, he begged Officer McWatters to permit him to go around with him on his business tours. The complacent McWatters, who was never known to deny any one anything proper to be asked, and which he could give, permitted the bore to accompany him for a day or two. Among the early sights thereafter seen by the young man, was one, which frightened him so thoroughly, that the wonder is his hair did not turn white on the spot. He declared, after he recovered his self-possession, that he "wouldn't be hired to live a week in New York for all Old Vanderbilt's pile."

Officer McWatters had occasion to cross Wall Street, on a hasty errand of business down into Beaver Street, accompanied by his _attaché_, Mr. Gray, when they came suddenly into the midst of a great excitement. A dandily-dressed, rakish-looking young man was just breaking out of a crowd, and running with hands full of papers and a bag. Officer McWatters instantly "twigged" the nature of the trouble, and put chase after the fellow, unceremoniously leaving Mr. Gray in the midst of the turbulent and excited crowd. The fleeing young scamp, who had just snatched a package of United States bonds and a money bag from an old messenger of some house, who was on his way to make a deposit, was a little too fleet for Officer McWatters, and gained on him a little; but, turning a corner, was fortunately impeded in his flight by another policeman, who chanced to have his pistol about him, and brought it to bear on him. The bold "Bond Operator" (as such villains, who were quite plenty in those days, were called) thought discretion the better part of valor, surrendered, and got his dues, we believe, at last.

Mr. Gray was in fearful plight over losing Officer McWatters, and it was some time before he found him again, meanwhile getting jostled about among the large and fierce crowd of excited Wall Streeters, whom the interesting occasion hurriedly brought together. He quite lost heart for sight-seeing in that adventure, and was, at last, only too glad to "get out of the infernal city," and went home a wiser man, we presume, than when he first landed in the city from the Fall River boat.

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A SMART YOUNG MAN.

AN AFTER-DINNER COLLOQUY--AND ITS RESULT.

From one of the public journals we clipped the accompanying spicy article; we have lost our notes, and have forgotten from which, or we should duly credit it to the proper source. We discover that we have "pencilled" it "1862," and presume that it first appeared in that year. Our readers will pardon its somewhat "swelling" style in sundry places, but it exemplifies Officer McWatters' quick and acute perceptions, and his character as a detective, and we therefore give it place.

YOUNG MAN OF LARGE APPETITE AND SMALL CONSCIENCE.--The necessity of eating is a strong one; the demands of appetite are peculiarly and pertinaciously potent. There are many fleshy-looking young men in New York whose appetital demands are largely ahead of their pecuniary resources, the latter being of a limited nature, like their consciences. Our leading hotel diners are appreciatively affected by these unconscionably-stomached and conscienceless individuals; and it requires all the devices of the proprietors, and ingenious watching of sharp-sighted detectives, to guard against their stealthful appropriation of dinners. In the multiplicity of guests daily arriving at first-class hotels, and multiplied disguises assumed by the unpaying diners, it is easy to conceive that the labor of watchfulness is no light one, and the guarantee of detectives by no means sure. There is no keener man in the Police Department to scent out a rogue than Officer McWatters. He can tell a rascal by a sort of instinct. A stranger to him is like a piece of coin in the hand of the skilful medallist, who tells the spurious from the genuine by the feeling--by a glance even.

Officer McWatters measures a man at a glance. He sees the latent roguery peering out of the corner of the eyes, lurking in the smile, hiding itself in the cultivated mustache and careful whiskers, strongly and unconsciously developing even in the gorgeous watch-chain, flashy vest, showy cravat, elaborately-checked pants, and brilliantly shining patents, or, _vice versa_, suit of puritanical plainness. His penetrative optics permeated, yesterday afternoon, the disguise of that most notable and audacious of non-paying hotel diners, Jack Vinton. Jack had taken dinner at the Metropolitan Hotel. His brassy impudence had enabled him to pass muster, as a guest of the hotel, the Cerberus at the dining-room door. Not to betray a dangerous haste in leaving, he sank back leisurely into a soft-cushioned chair in the gentlemen's parlor, and read a newspaper for a while. He was going out of the hall door, when Officer McWatters spotted him.

"Are you stopping at this hotel?" asked the officer (who, by the way, was in citizen's dress), in that tone of politeness, for which he is remarkable.

"I am, sir."

"How long have you been stopping here?"

"Ever since I came here."

"Is your name registered?"

"Registered? I never heard of such a name. Mine begins with an initial letter of higher alphabetical rank."

"You misunderstand me. Is your name on the hotel books?"

"The bookkeeper is the proper informant."

"Have you a suit of rooms here?"

"Am suited perfectly--all the rooms I want."

"What is the number of your room?"

"A No. 1--first-class, sir. First-class hotel has first-class rooms, you see, sir. This is a first-class hotel--the _ergo_ as to the rooms is conclusive."

"You are evasive."

"Only logical, sir!"

"You took dinner just now up stairs?"

"Ask your pardon. I took no dinner up stairs. I went up with an empty stomach. An excruciating stomachical void. 'Nature abhors a vacuum,' says philosophy; and, to borrow the apothegmatic utterance of that philosopher, Dan Brown, 'Dat's what's de matter.'"

"I must be plain, I see. You are Jack Vinton, and are up to your old tricks. You have come here, eaten a tip-top dinner, and were coolly walking away, with no thought of paying for it."

Jack saw he was in for it. He offered to pay for his dinner, and attempted by bribery to effect what he had hoped to effect by colossal cheekiness of action and tongue; but his antecedental history was self-crushing, like the mad ambition of the great Cæsar. He was conveyed to the Second District Police Court, and committed to answer this and other graver offences of swindling, of which he is supposed to be guilty.

Jack is only twenty-three years old, and is a master-swindler. Of good family, he has been well educated, and to fine looks adds the manners of a polished gentleman; while in artistic culture and familiarity with the classics, scientific studies and polite and poetical literature, he has few equals of his years. His dashing form is often seen on Broadway--the envied of his own sex and the admired of the opposite sex. His career betrays a wonderful and perverse mingling of the finest intellectual endowments and culture with the meanest and most pitiable traits of low and dishonest natures. He is a sort of Lord Bacon, on a vastly reduced scale of brilliancy. As philosophy delves the mysterious problem, she finds only "darkness to shadow round about it."

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A SUSPECTED CALIFORNIA MURDERER.

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ARRESTED--CHARGED WITH KILLING FOUR MEN; A GERMAN, FOR HIS MONEY,
AND TWO SHERIFFS AND A DRIVER, WHO WERE CONVEYING HIM TO PRISON.

The following article is taken from the New York Dispatch (1861), and serves to illustrate the sagacity of Officer McWatters in "picking out his man" in a crowd.

A young man named Velge, lately from California, was arrested at the pier of the Ocean Mail Steamship Company by Officers McWatters and Hartz, of the Steamboat Squad, and taken to Police Headquarters, where he has been since detained, till the matter can undergo examination before a magistrate. The report, as obtained from an officer at the central office, is substantially as follows:--

About eighteen months since, a German, residing in Sacramento, was murdered under circumstances of extraordinary brutality. He was mild and inoffensive, said no extenuation appeared to exist for the atrocious crime. He had saved some money, which the assassin had taken, but the amount was hardly sufficient to induce an ordinary bravo to attempt his life, or otherwise disturb him.

The suspected murderer was known to the police. Extraordinary measures were adopted to bring him to justice. His likeness was obtained somehow, and photographs of it were multiplied and distributed all over California and Oregon.

After some time, intelligence was received at Sacramento that the suspected murderer was at Carson City. There was a resemblance, certainly. The sheriff of Sacramento and a deputy repaired thither, and arrested him. A conveyance was obtained, and the legal formularies having all been attended to, the officers set out for Sacramento.

The journey was tedious, as may well be expected. The party finally neared Sacramento. Already the officers began to dream of home and rest from their fatiguing journey. The driver was in an equally listless mood. Velge, the prisoner, was not slow to perceive their half-somnolent condition, and take advantage of the circumstances.

Quietly but adroitly taking hold of the revolver which one of the officers was carrying in one pocket, he cocked it so as not to arouse attention, and a moment after sent a bullet through the brain of the unfortunate sheriff. The other sprang to his feet, just in time to receive the contents of another barrel in his body. He fell from the vehicle, while the assassin hastened to despatch the driver. Having thoroughly completed the work of death he fled.

The excitement produced by this triple murder was terrible. Rewards were offered, and the State was thoroughly searched for the felon. But it was of no avail.

Among the passengers on the North Star was a young man of singular mien, whose appearance attracted comment. One of the passengers had a portrait of the murderer of the sheriffs, and found it to agree remarkably with that of the strange passenger. He made no effort to call attention to the matter, but took the opportunity, as soon as he came on shore, to place the authorities in possession of the facts. The first man whom he observed was the busy McWatters, of the Steamboat Squad, who was making himself ubiquitous and useful in the way of superintending the landing of baggage, protecting passengers from runners and pickpockets, and enabling them to come and go as best suited their convenience.

Approaching the indomitable McWatters, Rev. Mr. Peck addressed him.

_Peck._--"Are you an officer?"

_McWatters._--"Yes, sir; I hold that position, and am proud of it."

_Peck._--"I have an important matter to call your attention to. Please examine this likeness."

_McWatters._--"I see it. I would know that face in a thousand. I could pick it out in a crowd."

_Peck._--"He is a passenger on the North Star, and I think is guilty of murder."

Calling his comrade to his help, McWatters carefully noted each passenger as he was leaving the steamer. As Velge came up, Mac recognized and arrested him. He was thunderstruck at the occurrence, and protested his innocence. The officers conveyed him to the central office, and laid the case before the superintendent. The prisoner showed that he was an old resident of this city, though only twenty years old. Several of his relatives were at headquarters yesterday pleading his innocence. The clergyman who had caused his arrest made his statement to the superintendent, who finally decided to retain the young man in custody till he could be brought before a magistrate.

There was certainly a striking resemblance between the portrait and the countenance of the prisoner. If the suspicions now entertained should prove to be well founded, this is another instance of the perpetration of crime followed by its speedy detection.

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EXTENSIVE COUNTERFEITING.

SEIZURE OF FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS IN SPURIOUS POSTAL CURRENCY--ARREST
OF THE COUNTERFEITER--HIS CONFESSION.

In the New York Times of November 20, 1865, we find an article with the above caption, and which we copy as below. The arrest therein spoken of created much sensation at the time, as well it might. Officer McWatters acted in the matter, not only as an ordinary member of the police force, but in the capacity of a detective, and won great credit by his sagacity.

"An important arrest was effected in Brooklyn last Tuesday, the particulars of which have been suppressed up to the present time. The Treasury Department at Washington have long been aware that the business of counterfeiting greenbacks and postal currency has been carried on to an alarming extent at different points throughout the country, but their endeavors to arrest the guilty parties have, with a few exceptions, been attended with failure, or only partial success. One exceedingly skilful engraver of bogus postal currency has been especially marked as the most dangerous operator, inasmuch as his execution was so perfect as frequently to deceive even the Government officials; and the boldness of the counterfeiter was almost as great as his skill. The man in question is an English engraver, by the name of Charles J. Roberts. The best Government detectives have been on his track for six months, without succeeding in finding him, until last Tuesday, when his arrest was effected in Brooklyn, by Messrs. R. R. Lowell and A. J. Otto, detectives in the service of the Treasury Department, with the assistance of Officer McWatters, of the Twenty-Sixth Metropolitan Precinct.

"The operations of Roberts have been mainly confined to Philadelphia, in the suburbs of which city his "money mill" was situated. The last counterfeit pieces which he made, and which, in an indirect manner, led to his arrest, were copies of the latest issue of fifty cent postal currency. They are of steel, and the impression from them is so beautiful and perfect, as to be entirely undistinguishable from that of the genuine plates. Upon this counterfeit the criminal artist had exerted his skill with the most elaborate patience and precision, intending to make it, in every sense, a _perfect_ resemblance, which would even escape the suspicion of the Government detectives.

"But though an engraver, Roberts was not a printer. His plate was perfection, but unaided, or assisted only by mediocre printers, he could not produce an impression equally perfect. He therefore left Philadelphia a short time ago to seek the services of a Brooklyn printer, whom he understood to have been in the counterfeiting business, and who was well known to be a mechanic of extraordinary skill. Unluckily for the English operator, this printer was in the service of the Government detectives, who were, therefore, promptly informed of the whereabouts of the game for which they had so long been in pursuit.

"Messrs. Lowell and Otto, McWatters and others, accordingly surprised Roberts in his Brooklyn retreat, on Tuesday morning last, at 9-30. The counterfeiter made a desperate resistance, swearing that he would die sooner than be taken; but the detectives were too many for him. He was knocked down, disarmed, and speedily lodged in the Raymond Street jail.

"The arrest was kept a profound secret, to allow the detectives time to effect the seizure of the plates and counterfeit money already manufactured in Philadelphia, which they were unable to do prior to the arrest. They also knew of twenty thousand dollars in the fraudulent currency, which the manufacturer had brought with him to Brooklyn, and which they hoped to procure. After lodging their prisoner in confinement, they immediately set out for Philadelphia, found the mill, and seized its contents, comprising the plates, tools, presses, fifty thousand dollars' worth of the fraudulent currency, all in fifty cent postage stamps. Some of it was in an unfinished state, but the detectives declare that the completed issues would have deceived them instantly; that they would never have doubted their genuineness. But they were outwitted by the prisoner, so far as the counterfeits in Brooklyn were concerned. During the absence of his captors, Roberts managed to have the following letter conveyed to his mistress and confederate:--

"'BROOKLYN, November --, 1865.

"'MARY: Please go at once, when you receive this, and tell
Louisa to come and see me at once. _Tell her to clean things
away._ I am at Raymond Street jail. Please go some roundabout
way, and take care nobody follows you. Tell Louisa to keep
cool. I am all right. Do this right away, please, to-night, and
oblige,

"'Yours,

CHARLES J. ROBERTS.

"'MRS. LLOYD, corner North First Street and
Third Street, Brooklyn, E. D.'

"This note was conveyed to the above address by the brother of the sheriff who had the prisoner in charge, whence it reached 'Louisa,' who, of course, 'cleaned things away,' much to the disappointment of the detectives, when they called for the purpose of making the seizure. The guilty brother of the sheriff has fled, and has thus far effected his escape.

"The detectives are now in pursuit of a confederate of Roberts, and they are quite confident of soon capturing him. Since his incarceration Roberts has confessed everything. He says that the plate which has been seized was intended for his final and greatest effort. If the detectives had only held off for another week he would have made one hundred thousand dollars, and been in Europe enjoying it. We understand that Roberts's new counterfeits, to the extent of twenty thousand dollars, are already afloat.

"Overton, the counterfeiter of twenty-five cent stamps, who was arrested some time ago, pleaded guilty on Friday last. Roberts will also probably be speedily convicted, and, as he is not so fortunate as to have 'a wife and nine children,' there is no likelihood of his receiving the hasty pardon which was recently granted to Antonio Rosa, a similar criminal."

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Knots Untied

THE GAMBLER'S WAX FINGER.

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