Chapter VIII: Appendix

THE LATEST HISTORY OF MRS. BICKFORD AND TIRRELL.

So many and conflicting accounts of these persons, and of their
characters and deeds, have appeared in the newspapers, of late,
that there is little or no reliance to be placed upon them. We
cannot see, for the life of us, what gain or credit will accrue to
the press by the wholesale coinage of falsehood and
misrepresentation respecting these individuals. An indignant public
may yet hold them responsible for these heartless impositions on
their credulity. The following, from the Boston Post, though full
of errors, contains some particulars, additional to those stated in
the preceding pages:

Mrs. B. was born in Bath, Me., but her parents removed to Bangor
when she was quite young. At the age of fifteen she was employed in
a family as a domestic, and about this period received the
addresses of a young seafaring man, named Sandford. Her mother did
not think favorably of him, and caused the connection to be
promptly broken off. Subsequently Mary became acquainted with Mr.
Bickford, and they were married in 1839. Her maiden name was Mary
Ann Dunn. Her father has been dead several years, and her mother
now resides in Guilford, Me.

The husband and wife lived happily together for about three years.
She had one child, which died young. At this time, several female
friends of the family, who were about visiting Boston, extended an
invitation to Mrs. B. to accompany them; she accepted it, and the
party accordingly came here. While in this city she appeared
delighted with every thing she saw--completely captivated--and, on
her return home, expressed a desire to reside permanently in
Boston. Henceforth, Mr. B. states, she apparently became
dissatisfied with her humble condition. She was passionately fond
of dressing extravagantly; but the limited means of the husband
prevented her from making that gay appearance she so much desired
to do. She now became less affectionate than formerly towards him,
and often courted the attentions of a young man who visited their
boarding-house.

Business often called Mr. B. from home for several days together,
when, it was subsequently ascertained, the individual would make
himself agreeable to the wife. His prepossessing appearance and
winning address soon had the desired effect upon a mind already ill
at ease. He won her confidence, and, of course, had her completely
in his power. He offered to take her to Boston, and promised that
she should do as she pleased. Her beauty was her ruin. From this
date, (October 1842) commences her downward career.

They now planned an elopement. The young man, ascertaining that the
schooner Florence, Capt. Fowler, was lying in the stream, just
ready for sea, accordingly secured passage in her for himself and
victim. Mrs. B.’s husband arriving home at this juncture, it was
necessary that herself and seducer should manage with a great
degree of shrewdness, in order to lull suspicion. She therefore
expressed a desire to Mr. B. to go and reside with her mother at
Guilford, during the coming winter. He acquiesed] in the
proposition; she commenced packing up her wardrobe, &c., and the
unsuspecting husband engaged a carriage to convey her to Guilford
on the following day.

In the meantime, by previous arrangements with her paramour, her
trunks were placed on board of the schooner, and he subsequently
conveyed Mrs. B. on board. The parties were strangers to Capt. F.
The vessel immediately put to sea, and in a day or two they arrived
at Newburyport and took lodgings at one of the hotels, but shortly
afterwards procured private board. Thus matters remained for nearly
three months. During this period the forsaken husband could
discover no trace of the interesting runaways; but shortly
afterwards he received a letter from his delinquent wife, dated at
Newburyport, in which she stated that she should immediately
proceed to Boston. In a few days he received a second letter,
mailed at B., in which she stated that she was sick and destitute,
and wished to see him very much. The inference is that her paramour
had exhausted his _funds_, and then left her.

In February, 1843, Mr. Bickford came to Boston, and, after
searching for his wife nearly a fortnight, at length found her at
a house of ill fame in North Margin street. She appeared glad to
see him, but positively refused again to return to Bangor--upon
which he left her, and she continued in the city till July 1st,
1844, when she left for New Bedford.

There she first became acquainted with Albert J. Tirrell, and was
soon afterwards his acknowledged mistress. They resided together in
that place until the first of February, ’45, when they went to New
York, stopped at the Astor House a short time, and then proceeded
to Philadelphia and various other places.

About the last of February they returned to Boston and stopped at
the Pemberton House. From thence they went to the North American
House, where they resided three weeks and then left for Albany,
Saratoga Springs, &c. After a short absence they again returned and
put up at the Hanover House, he always assuming a fictitious name.

At this time Tirrell hired a house in London street, elegantly
furnished it, and they removed there. They had two or three female
boarders. Upon the front door was placed the name of “Maria
Welch,”--Tirrell fearing to use his own name, as the police
officers were then in pursuit of him for the crime of adultery.

* * * * *

At this time Mr. Bickford resided in this city. After Mrs. B. had
found the lost trunk, she called on her husband and requested him
to take charge of all her baggage, and immediately hastened to New
Bedford. Now affairs between Tirrell and Mrs. B. began to assume a
somewhat mysterious aspect.

Tirrell soon ascertained that she had not been home, and he hurried
back to Boston in quest of her, and put up at the Shawmut house,
where he learned that she had also stopped the day previous, but
had now gone to New Bedford.

Mr. B. received a letter from her immediately after her arrival,
dated June 18, in which she says, “I am here in New Bedford, but I
want to come back. * * * * * Albert is not here. _I expect to get
killed when he does come!_ I must not stay here long.”

Tirrell immediately followed her; and the first information Mr. B.
received of their doings was contained in letters from Newport, R.
I.; one from Tirrell, in which he requested to have Mrs. B.’s trunk
sent to him, signing his name to the same, and that of “Maria,”
evidently intending to make it appear that the latter was her
signature. The other letter came from Mrs. B. by the same mail,
instructing Mr. B. not to let the trunk go out of his possession at
any rate. This is the last time he heard from them until he got a
letter dated Albany, July 2, 1844, in which she says, “I am here in
Albany, and shall go to the Springs tomorrow. We stopped in New
York at the Astor House two days.” They also stopped at the
Lorillard House, from which they were ejected, owing to their
misbehavior there.

The next letter that Mr. B. received was dated Boston, July 19, in
which she requests him to bring at the United States Hotel, some
clothing and her accordeon, and adds, “call for Mr. Hale, room No.
28. Come as soon as you get this--do not say to any one that we are
here.”

Mr B. called as requested, and in the course of conversation
informed her that some friends whom they had known at Bangor
resided at South Boston; she expressing a wish to see them; he
consented to accompany her thither. On the way she informed him
that Tirrell abused her, that she was afraid of him, and was
determined to get clear from him. It would seem that Tirrell
suspected her design, for in a short time he came with a carriage
to bring her back. The husband used every effort but force to get
her to go home. The following letter is the last communication Mr
B. received from this unfortunate woman:

BOSTON, Oct. 1845.

JAMES--I have just received your letter that you wrote so long ago.
You want to know all, of course. I left New Bedford and went to
Concord, N. H. and from there to Niagara Falls and Vermont State,
and back to New York, and now I am in Boston. They have got Albert;
they caught him in New Bedford; he got bailed out and will have his
trial next Monday; I expect he will be sent to Charlestown. They
found him with me, but said it was not me they wanted--but I know
they want me for a witness. I am secreted in Boston, and no one
knows where except those I stay with. He directed a letter to the
Boston post office for me, and says they are trying so find out my
name. I have not got one cent; if I had I would come home. I wish
you would write to me as soon as you receive this--direct your
letter to Mary Jackson.

Your MARIA.

FINIS.

* * * * *

Letters, &c. exhibited to the Coroner’s Jury.

DECEMBER 10th, 1844.

MY DEAR MARIA:--I shall have to depart for New Bedford by the first
train to-morrow, to be absent 8 or 9 days. I much regret not being
able to see you, but hope you will be reconciled to my absence,
though I am not to yours. But perhaps the following lines will
better express my sentiments of regard for you, than I could have
done verbally. You know you often say I shall forget you:

PARTING WORDS TO MARIA.

FORGET THEE?--If to dream by night and muse on thee by day,
If all the worship deep and wild a loving heart can pay--
If prayers in absence, breathed for thee to heaven’s protecting power--
If winged thoughts that flit to thee, a thousand in an hour--
If busy fancy, blending thee with all thy future lot,--
If this thou call’st FORGETTING, thou Indeed shalt be forgot.

FORGET THEE?--Bid the forest birds forget their sweetest tune!
Forgot thee! Bid the sea forget to swell beneath the moon!
Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve’s refreshing dew;
Thyself forget thine own dear Maine, its mountains wild and blue--
Forget each old familiar face, each long-remembered spot:
--When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot!

P. S.--Write to me Sunday. Send your letters to the Parker House,
where I shall stay. Be true to me, my love, since all others are
false.

A. J. T.

* * * * *

BRATTLE SQUARE, Jan. 3.

LOVELY MARIA:--If you are willing, we will take a sleigh ride out
to Brighton to-night, and put up at Clarke’s. I gave hint the wink
this morning. He says all is right. Enclosed you will find an order
for a shawl, on the establishment of J. & P. These girls cost me a
trifle, that’s a fact. Never mind, it is’nt as though I was poor,
like S. Don’t allow him any liberties.--He brags that he can come
it over you at any time. If you get into any trouble with the
Police, send right down for me, and I’ll clear you in ten minutes.
The Judges and all the officers want their horses shod, on credit.
That Miss Honeycomb is a blasted tooth, and nothing else. I’m clear
of her forever.

Good bye, ----- -----

* * * * *

CAMBRIDGE, Feb. 1.

Our mutual friend, F. D. has broken one of his legs. Good news! The
doctor caught him getting down from Henrietta’s window, on a long
board. In a tremendous rage he dashed it to the ground, and hence
the sad mishap. D. may thank his stars at being even so lucky.
Jenkins, you know, was shot in the hip for the same offence. They
don’t manage these things as I do. You see I always come off Scot
free. I shall soon graduate, and then I want to take a trip with
you up to the White Mountains. It will save trouble to go as though
we were married. Adieu--but remember.

H. L.

* * * * *

EAST BOSTON, Aug. 28, ’44.

SWEET QUEEN:--Be on the Charlestown Bridge at precisely half past
two o’clock this afternoon, if you want to go on an excursion down
to the Islands. Arrangements have been made for a grand chowder and
break-down. Old Smite is to play the banjo. Virginia, the
“lioness,” will be in the boat. You are to be my partner, and V. is
to mate with Jim. We will stay over night, and have an
old-fashioned time. That’s the way to go it. Now do not fail, Mary;
we shall have every thing aboard by half past two. Look out for
that jockey who wears the slouched hat. He’s laid up, under the
doctor’s care, just now. I would’nt be in his boots for a picayune.

H. B.

P. S.--I left a set of dead props with you last evening. Have them
along, as I calculate to gaff some of the green-horns. Moral: This
is a brave world.

* * * * *

NO. -- STATE STREET, May 20, 1844.

DEAR MARY: I shall not be with you next Tuesday night, as my
promise runs. Circumstances, entirely beyond my control, will
prevent me. Expect me in a few days. In the mean time, do not meet
with that graceless simpleton, Tirrell. He will degrade you to the
lowest pitch. I have a small affair to arrange with him that you
are not aware of. He will have to bite the dust, or lose his life.

Your own, love, C. H. B.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] In almost every town and village in New England may be found a coterie or “fraternity” of old women and elderly spinsters, who seem to have retained all the characteristics of the early Puritans, and who cling pertinaciously to the superstitious notions and puritanical bigotry which distinguished the early settlers of the country. They are firm and sincere believers in all the hobgoblin stories and supernatural omens which have been handed down by a former generation. They give full credence to tales of prophetic warnings given to mortals in dreams, and profess to interpret the meaning of remarkable visions, whether for good or for evil. This sisterhood also keep a general supervision of the conduct of the good people of their immediate neighborhood. They can inform you of the age, personal appearance, present circumstances, and future prospects of every male and female within their circuit. No stranger can remain in the place twenty-four hours without having his character, and the nature of his business, thoroughly investigated, and duly reported to the people of the neighborhood. They are the constant attendants of protracted religious gatherings, sowing societies, and tea parties, and good pious souls, they will attend to every body’s business but their own. They are the fountain from whence springs all the scandal of the place, and the active agents for its circulation--and wo be to him or her who is, perhaps innocently, the subject of their regards. The members of this sisterhood are peculiar for the suavity of their hearing--for elongated visages, sharp noses, thin lips--and for usually wearing “spectacles on nose.”

[2] Let those remarks by no means be understood as reflecting censure upon the sincere worship of God, as taught and practised by the meek and lowly Jesus. All honor, and praise, and glory to such religion. But a system of pretence at present usurps dominion over the human soul. In the place of true piety sits a monster not less hideous than damnable: this is the thousand faced giant, Hypocrisy. There is a market for all religion now-a-days--and men preach and pray, with the love of God on their lips and the love of Mammon in their hearts. The pulpit has become an engine for increasing in riches. How long is it since the sainted and gifted PIERPONT was thrust from the Hollis Street Church, in Boston, for opposing the devilish traffic of the bloated rum-seller? Pouring honied phrases into the ears of heartless capitalists, at the rate of $4000 a year, has grown into a trade! Raising a breeze to extort enormous sums of money from the credulous, to be lavished on the construction of immense piles of stone, each surmounted by a bell and weathercock, is but another mode of swindling. Not less than twelve hundred millions of dollars have been filched from the earnings of the poor, to rear the churches now standing in the United States. Were this amount expended in the amelioration of plundered humanity, how much joy and peace would reign where now are hideous want, dark crime, and hopeless death!

The church establishment is at this time the bulwark of Slavery in the United States.

Oh, not for the organization of such a wicked machinery came our Savior into the world! Not so did he teach by example! By the sea-shore he made disciples, among the rude fishermen; by the water fount he taught the maiden to draw from the well of immortality; out on the hill-top he proclaimed his mission of love and salvation. But now the money-changers are again in the temple. Civilisation has practically set at naught the maxims of Christ, and made the house of God a “den of thieves.” The modern church is the mother of more of the privations daily experienced by the poor and destitute (from which is born the Mystery of Iniquity) than any other extorting invention of Mammon. _Privations_, did we say? No. “_Privation_” (in the language of Sue) “poorly expresses that continuous and terrible destitution--the want of every thing which is necessary to clothe that life which God has given, with common comfort. _Mortification_ would more suitably express the total absence of that security which society, equitably organized, owes--yes, actually owes--to every honest laborer, inasmuch as poverty, through civilization, has deprived these of any right to that soil which God made a free legacy to all. The savage does not enjoy the benefits of civilization--but he has at least the beasts of the forest, the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, whereon to feed--and the great woods to warm and shelter him. The civilized poor man, whom civilization has disinherited of these gifts of God, has a right to demand, in return for the hard labor by which he enriches the world, a remuneration which will procure the permanent comforts of life.”

[3] This mysterious paper is now in the Author’s possession. Much curiosity has been manifested to examine it, and the enterprising proprietors of the Boston Museum have recently offered a liberal amount for its purchase. The author returns his grateful acknowledgements for the flattering compliment intended for him in their note, but he is, and ever will be, unwilling that this document, (sacred, no less than singular,) containing, as it does, most wonderfully verified predictions, should be exposed to the vulgar curiosity of the mob.

[4] Speaking of things suavitous, it strikes us that the following, clipped from a late number of the _Daily Mail_, is something rich in the way of squash luxuriance:

“MR. ROBERT HAMILTON.--To the enterprise, tact, and discretion of this gentleman, the efficient stage-manager of the National Theatre, much of the success of this favorite establishment is to be ascribed. His well-known literary fame, and his merits as an actor, have acquired for him a deserved popularity.”

Bear always in mind that the game of a literary quack is to sound the trumpet of his own fame, since no one else will. There is potency in a free ticket, a beef steak, or a gin-sling! Either of these will at any time secure plenty of space in the columns of such an ephemeral, penny concern as the Mail. It is not surprising that the corporation which contains the ‘immortal part’ of Mr. Robert Hamilton should swell with the self-complacency of its tenant! Of a truth, Oh Fame, thy trumpet is of ‘sounding brass,’ and, though thou makest ‘the judicious grieve,’ yet, with thine every blast, thou givest fresh occasion for the open-mouthed wonder of ‘the groundlings!’ When is this self-puffing surfeit to have an end?

[5] It is no unusual thing at the South to see the son of a slaveholder going to a slave-auction, for the purpose of buying a beautiful and accomplished female, (whom slavery condemns to the shambles of vice,) to be appropriated to his sensual gratification. Many of these young men are not more than sixteen years old when their parents allow them to begin these hellish practices. Nay, more than this: Young men often go into the cotton and rice fields, in the open day, and commit acts of the most revolting libertinism on the helpless girls, who are compelled to labor fifteen hours a day, under the rays of a Southern sun. One of the “noblest mothers of Virginia,” in 1844, purchased three attractive mulatto females, and placed them in a cottage near the family mansion, for the exclusive use of an only son--assigning as a reason why she did it, that it would “make Charley steady!” Is there a God in heaven?

[6] Few are aware of the extent of prostitution carried on, on board the Eastern steamboats. Here the libertines of Boston flourish. State rooms are provided and free passages given to all young females who desire to visit their homes and return, or who, being in the country, are going to the city for employment. It is true they are poor. In the lime and basswood districts of Maine, perhaps they never had a dollar in their “born days.” And the people down there are such a simple and uninitiated race, that these daughters of chastity have never had the least knowledge of this steamboat deviltry, or of earning money by the sale of their virtue, until it is whispered to them when it is too late to make escape. It is supposed that not less than five thousand poor girls are entrapped and ruined every year by this licentious game. Under such circumstances, reaching Boston for the first time, it is not surprising that so large a part of them are prevailed upon to enter houses of ill-fame, impressed with the delusive idea that they will soon make a fortune and return. Thus they unconsciously sign their own death-warrants--aye, passports to a doom far less preferable!

The cab nuisance is a most efficient auxiliary to this work of hell. Nearly all of them are in the employ of the keepers of houses of prostitution; they hang around the landings, and get their cue from the knowing ones. Is there a girl who is entirely a stranger, and is seeking for a residence in the city, a cabman is always at hand, in the guise of one who earns an honest livelihood. She steps into his rickety vehicle, and is jotted down at the door of a temple of vice.

These poor creatures, once steeped in infamy, are generally beyond the reach of reformation. They remain in Boston while their beauty and bloom is attractive; but soon, as a matter of course, they contract odious and incurable diseases. Thus afflicted, large numbers of them migrate to New Bedford, Nantucket and Cape Cod, where, after a riotous debauch of a few years with the whalemen, they die. The enormous dividends declared by the New Bedford Branch Railroad Co. are mainly attributable to this class of passengers.

Oh, civilization! thou bringest gold to the rich man’s purse, and art the sweet nursling of murder.

[7] This is fearfully true. Many of the illustrious names of the pulpit are linked with the most damning vices. We need but cite from a host of examples on record those of Onderdonk, Johnson, Kimball, Avery, Hoyt, Mason, Kendrick--to say nothing of the reverend libertines at this time, who are yet sheltered by the wings of the faithful and stalk abroad in the face of day, as the representatives and advocates of the meek and lowly Saviour! Not a hundred days previous to her death Maria Bickford was the bed-mate of a ranting Millerite preacher of Boston!

[8] It would be culpable in us to allow this opportunity to pass without paying a feeble, but most hearty tribute of respect to Mr John Augustus of Boston, for his unwearying labors in the cause of reformation. Such disinterestedness, attended by such an overflow of blessed results, can only be appreciated by the unfortunates themselves. Philanthropy of so pure a cast is among the rarest of the emblems of human greatness; and the memory of this good man will long live in the free gratitude of many a broken heart. Mr. Augustus, more truly than any other man in America, may be likened unto that greater and crucified philanthropist of the olden time, who gloried in the work of “going about and doing good.” May his days be as many as his usefulness is great. Heaven rejoiceth over his works.

[9] Mr. Terson Paulin, of Paris, gives these lines in a petition to the Chamber of Deputies for the amelioration of the destitute classes of France: “We do not speak of _girls_ placed in the same alternative; that which we _might_ say, would be too painful to read. We will only remark, that it is at the period of long intermissions of work that the missionaries of prostitution recruit their proselytes from among the fairest of daughters of the people.

[10] The influence of physicians over the persons of their female patients is not less remarkable than true. This is very well, when trust is placed in such as are truly virtuous and honorable; but when otherwise, beware of a dangerous villain. It is almost a physiological impossibility for a young woman (however virtuously disposed) to resist the improper familiarities of an unprincipled physician. She may, indeed, hesitate and wonder at first, but the glisters and squills which he will administer, as indispensably necessary for the preservation of health, are charged with those drugs which excite the animal passions to an uncontrollable degree, and in this state they are a sure prey to the rapacious maw of a medical buzzard. This peace-destroying practice is carried on to an extent which almost baffles credulity. Our wives and daughters cannot be too often or too earnestly warned against employing any physician who is not known to possess the highest moral rectitude. Very old physicians should certainly be preferred; and those young bucks whose diploma is a distended pair of nostrils, should as certainly be avoided. Especially would we particularize, as one of the latter class, a pedantic simpleton, with a Scotch name, at the West End, in Boston! Shun that fellow as you would a pestilence!

To our New York readers we would instance a long-shanked, black-haired whiskerando, who hails (or did, in 1844,) from a respectable boarding-house on Lispenard street, in that city. He sports an “M.D.” and a cane, is as silly a mountebank as you will meet in many a summer’s day. His “importance” and gasconade are insufferable, and his character is a blight to all that is decent or endearing.