Under Westminster Bridge: a tale of the London dynamiters & unemployed

Front matter

PRICE ONE SHILLING, ONDEK fr WE3TM WFEl^ *• BRIDGE : A Tale of the Londoq Difnanjitog and Unegploijed. JLon&oxx : H. VIOKBRS, 317, STBAND. UNDER WESTMINSTER BRIDGE: A TALE OF THE LONDON DYNAMITERS & UNEMPLOYED. BY J. M. btjuton, Author of "A Wonderful Field," &c. LONDON : H. YICKERS, 317, STRAND. [All rights reservsd.] CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. Searching for Work 5 II. What Ben Found, and what he did with the Find 12 III. A Woman Quells the Storm . . . .18 IV. Dynamiters' Revenge . . : . . 24 V. A Farmer's Pretty Girls . . . .26 VI. London 32 VII. Two Bricklayer's Labourers .... 33 VIII. Tottie Clowesden's Baby .... 41 IX. " My Noble Boy ! " 44 X. "Vou cannot play with Us." ... 51 XL Baby Farming in Seven Dials ... 56 XII. Eruptive 58 XIII. A Sack of Pumpkins 62 XIV. Preparing for Action 66 XV.

Jubilee Day. — " Has Anyone Seen Bowens ? " 69 XVI. Bowens an "Unemployed " . . . .73 XVII. Small Beginnings, Great Endings ... 77 XVIII. " I was Driven to it " 79 XIX. Magallan's Enquiries 82 XX. Dejected and Forlorn 86 XXI. The Coroner's Court. — A Mysterious Attendant 88 XXII. " What ! Out again To-night ? " . . .00 XXIII. The Visitor Triumphs 93 XXIV. Conclusion A TALE OF THE LONDON DYNAMITERS & UNEMPLOYED.

Chapter I. Searching

for work. " IV/s^^^ 5'0U S° ou* this morning, Ben ? I feel weaker, IyA and even worse than yesterday." " Wife, I am sorry things are come to this. You are very ill, I can see ; but if I do not go out, there is no chance of our getting a little something to eat ; if I do go out, perhaps some little job may enable me to earn a crust for each. As long as we can just keep alive, never, never will we go into the Workhouse — at least, not of our own free will." " No, never, Ben, of my free will," said the sickly wife, with a slow shake of the head as she lay. "Ah ! I knew my poor wife was still of the same mind on that score," said Ben, with a slow shake of his head also, as if he could not help following the lead of his poor wife. B " I am of the same opinion, Ben, and always shall be. Yesterday, when you were out, the Lambeth Relieving Officer came.

How he found us out I cannot quite under stand ; but, most likely, the landlady told him of our great straits. Of course, we feel it the more because of being brought up in such a different sphere. I feel so terribly down-cast and bad that I am afraid this dreadful want of support will soon put an end to my needs. But, perhaps, to-day you will have a little better luck than usual." " I will try my best, wife, as you know. But I am only fit for light jobs. This state of things tells on me also. Perhaps, even now, a turn may come. I will first give a call at the Station. Good-bye, wife." The poor old man walked to the door of the room, turned the key — the door was generally locked — and proceeded slowly down the well-worn stairs. Out in the street, he walked, at a slow pace, in the direction of Vauxhall Railway Station.

On arriving there, he stood on the pavement, waiting the chance of carrying any medium-sized parcel which a traveller, although not caring to pay 'bus or cab fare, might give a penny to man or boy to carry for him. A young fellow, burdened with two portmanteaux and a rather bulky parcel, at length emerged from the Station Yard. " Carry your parcels, Sir ? " eagerly asked Ben. " No, thank you," replied the stranger, who was one of the patrons of " The Saving System." Another passenger came from the Station, and started up the South Lambeth Road at a quick walk, although apparently an old man. He had a band-box, small black bag, sundry small parcels — including, it was afterwards ascertained, a new set of teeth, as he called them, although some of them Searching for Work. 7 had been used for years by people in clivers parts of the world, and had been at last left at a fashionable West End dentist's ; an over-coat on his arm, a mackintosh over his usual three or four coats, an umbrella, and a large rose in his buttonhole.

Old Ben at once accosted him, saying to the wary traveller — " Carry your band-box, Sir ? " No, I thank you, my good man," he answered. This passenger " feared " that the deserving old fellow belonged to " those awful unemployed," when he could so easily see that he was actually an unemployed man. " Surely, here is a chance," thought Ben, as an apparently wealthy lady came stepping past, with a large parcel in her hand, and a pug-dog at her side. " May I carry your parcel, Mam ?" he asked. "Yes" was the reply. So at last Ben set off on a commission, be what it might, though, as subsequent events proved, the lady, whether of a harsh or tender disposition, handled her money with a par ticularly tender and truly loving hand. Down the Albert Embankment, along Westminster Bridge Road, up the Kennington Road, and round into the Clapham Boad walked the lady, and after her trotted Ben, as fast as his poor old legs would allow him.

The lady halted on several occasions to allow him to catch her up, but ever and anon gazed around to ensure that her parcel had not " gone swiftly down a turning, out of sight." She did not, of course, know Ben's character. Had she done so, she need not have troubled about her goods. He was as honest and straightforward a man as could be found in all London. b When a short distance up the Clapham Road, the lady said — " Thank you, my good man. You are very poor, I can see ; but you are so obliging. Here are three halfpence for you"! Poor, poor Ben ! He looked at the three small coppers with a truly woeful countenance ; but the " lady " did not observe the sad look in a proper light, and thought he was feeling grateful for the money ! Ben was so tired by carrying the parcel, so weakened by want of food, and now so dejected, that he could not ask her for anything more, and turned round on the road home with a slow step, and in a particularly thoughtful and sorrowful mood.

He wondered how it was possible that any human being, with ordinary common-sense, could let a man walk with a parcel for upwards of two miles for three halfpence ; he wondered how any human being could be so narrow-minded, leaving mercenary comicalities out of the question ; and how this particular individual could think that thanks, although very excellent in proper places, could fill his empty stomach, and staunch his ill wife's craving for even plain bread. " Well, I must buy something for wife," Ben said to him self ; and on the way back — he proceeded home by shorter roads than on the "journey for three halfpence " — he looked about him to see how best to lay out the small sum. Having done this, he at once went home, and found his poor wife still in the same pitiable condition. The poor old woman had even tried to tidy up a little, Ben noticed ; but the furniture was now in such a truly " finished" state that no woman could make the room look decent, leaving actual neatness of work out of the question, Searching for Work. 9 "Well, well, wife," he said, "all the way to Clapham Road for three halfpence !

She had a pug dog with her, too, and as fat as a mole. 1 lay that petted thing lives on food which would soon make you quite well. Never mind, never mind, wife. Eat this little pork pie and bun. I will try my luck again." " Stop, stop, Ben ; you must have a piece of this." The poor woman held out a piece of the stale pie in her hand. " No ; I " He could say no more ; he was so sickened of that sight. Again he wended his weary footsteps down the street ; and a " gentleman " — whom he could not but be glad to see — stood opposite Vauxhall Station, looking out for him, he supposed, as this stranger had seen and spoken to him on two former occasions. Ben could not make him out at all. A general air of suspiciousness was in all his movements. He did not appear to be an Englishman — he had said, in fact, that he had come to England for a time, and that, on some occasion or other, he could give old Ben a commission which would " set him right up in life."

But the old man, being of a particularly careful nature, felt that he could not trust him. " Good morning, old chap," said the stranger ; " a job or two on for you soon, if you will do them ? " "Anything to earn an honest crust," said Ben; "but starve rather than be dishonest. That's right straight, Sir." " Yes, yes. Now, look here. All I shall want you to do is to take one or two parcels, and leave at given places. One parcel you must lose." " Ah, Sir ! I cannot, dare not, must not undertake such an errand, even though my wife and I die of hunger ; and we certainly shall if things go on as they have been going." " Can't you lose a parcel, man ? " "les, but I don't suppose I shall. You have not even given me your name." " My name ? Well, here it is." Ben read on the piece of paper given him by the stranger, " Cohin."

" Are you here regularly ? " the latter continued. " Yes, I am here until 1 get an errand or something to do. Oh, dear 1 oh, dear 1 I try hard enough ; but I am, and have been for a long time, fairly unemployed." " Why don't you go and air your grievances in Trafalgar Square, then ? " " Never, never, never 1 If a deserving working man is foolish enough to take his stand with such a rabble as that, in my opinion, he is no more worthy of an honest name. Such meetings as those are a dis " Ben did not finish the sentence as he found that the man who had given his name as Cohin had departed, but in such a quiet and mysterious manner that the old man had not noticed his " starting point." The poor old fellow wondered and wondered, but came to no conclusion. Occasionally his mind was relieved by his using his voice for the purpose of asking, " Carry your parcel, Sir ?" but to no purpose.

After two or three hours more of this trying and, to Ben, often particularly annoying work, he again returned to his dingy room. " Oh, how long, how long, will this go on ? " he thought on entering the dreary place. " Not even one penny for mv poor wife, and night coming on." Searching for Work. 11 On unlocking the door of their apology for a home, his wife asked — " Any good news, Ben ? " " No, wife, no ; not even one penny these four or five hours ! What to do I cannot, cannot tell ! " He thrust his hands into the pockets of his threadbare trousers, and was about to sink upon a chair, when he suddenly drew out one of his hands again, more suddenly still jumping upon his legs, exclaiming — " Oh, wife ! oh, wife ! Whoever, when, where ? " The old man dropped upon a chair, and cried like a child.

CHAPTER IL

what ben found, and what he did with the find, SPEND the sovereign, but be very careful to keep the paper." These words were written neatly on a small scrap of paper, enclosing that amount, and giving two addresses of persons on whom Ben was to call without delay. The old man and his wife, over the best meal they had made for months, conferred long and anxiously on the pro bability or improbability of his calling at the given places leading to a breach of the law, in some form or other ; as they could not but believe, by the stranger's manner and general demeanour, that something important was to be clone by Ben's help, and not without that help. " Do you feel sure," said Ben's wife, " that that man, by some means, slipped the sovereign into your trouser's pocket ? " " Yes, I feel certain of it."' " Well, then, as we are now eating food bought with and feeling brighter because of the sovereign, I think you ought to call at the places, Where are they ?

" " Marchmont Street, liloomsbury, and down the Lower Marsh. Y es, now you are comfortable, I will be off, ' L'e walked to Marchmont Street, and stopped at the address given him on the paper, which said — " Call at No. — , Marchmont Street, lloomsbury, and No. — , Lower Marsh." What Ben Found, and ivhat he did ivith ihe Find. 13 Ringing the bell at the first-named, a servant came in response, and said that her master was upstairs, waiting for him. " Here he is, Sir," said the girl to the occupant of the apartment, as she showed Ben into a tolerably well-furnished room. " Oh, good evening, my man," said a gentleman — to all appearances ; " I am glad to see you here so sharply." Ben at once recognized the man who had spoken to him on two or three occasions outside Vauxhall Station, and who also, most probably, put the sovereign into his pocket.

" Sir," said Ben, " why did you put a sovereign into my pocket about five o'clock this afternoon ? " " Have you spent it ? " " home of it, Sir. Wife was very hungry ; and I myself easily managed a good meal." '' Don't mention that again, then. I want you to take this tin box to the Lower Marsh, Lambeth. You have the number on the paper." " Yes, Sir." Ben left the house, and delivered the box — containing some kind of meat, or soft material, he thought — at the address, and went home. But not to rest. Nearly all night the old man kept thinking of that mysterious box ; and, when dozing for a time, he dreamed that the lid of that peculiar box flew up as he was going over Westminster Bridge, and that a girl of about twenty suddenly put up her head, quickly putting it back again, and that then all was as before.

He did not think so very much about the dream, though he had really known cases where dreams had turned out to be perfectly true ; and in the morning he tried to " shake off the stupid idea," as he called it. His wife, noticing his great thoughtfulness, asked him if he were well, to which he replied that he was, but " worried over the box he had spoken of when he came home last night." " You know, wife, I have great suspicions of that box," he continued, " and I cannot but believe that it contained human flesh. Although I never did put any particular faith in dreams, yet, after my dream last night, if that box, or some thing in connection with this affair, has not murder in it, then my name is not Ben Johnson." " That's a terrible thing to say," whispered the wife. " Many years ago," Ben went on, "I remember dreaming I should be connected with a similar case to this.

I have tried to shake the idea off, but I cannot do so. But, wife, perhaps all will yet be well. I certainly feel myself under that man's thumb now. But what were we to do ? ' Hungry, and, having money to buy with, we bought,' as we may say. I sometimes think, wife, if I looked up a few books, and again studied for a time, I might try and teach a few small boys. My French and Latin I am still pretty well acquainted with.'' " That you might, indeed," she said, " only you are growing a bit old now." " Oh, dear ! Sometimes I forget I am so old. Sixty six gone 1 I will stay about the house for a day or two. Then, perhaps, that man will be gone. He told me his name was Cohin ; but I have my doubts if he did not give me a false name." So things went on for a few days ; but the old folk were not to be quiet long, as, though quite innocent of any actual What Ben Found, and tuttat he did ivith the Find. 15 crime, they commenced to eat bread through the agency of unclean hands.

But Ben's wife is better to-night. They are at supper. Hark ! A knock at the door. " Yes," answered Ben ; " coming." But already a note was thrust under the door, and the landlady was half-way down the stairs again. On opening the note, Ben read — " Call at Marchmont Street to-morrow." The poor old fellow now began to worry again. He called at the house stated on the morrow, nevertheless, and was requested to be in the Lower Marsh at four o'clock on the following morning, " to help with a load of cabbages which were going to a wholesale customer over the water." Later that night, Ben, in a talk over the affair with his wife, said it was queer that cabbages should be going from such a populous place to be sold over the water, as, in such a district in which they apparently already were, surely plenty of people ought to be cabbage buyers, even if they ate them as a small preventive of illness from impure air.

However, on arriving at the place at the proper time in the early morning, there was the garden stuff, loaded on a pony cart, and, standing by the side of it, a man, who, although disguised in an extraordinary fashion, Ben recognized as Cohin. " Right ; come on," said the would-be greengrocer ; " the cort is rawther full, so you lead the pony, and I'll walk be'ind, to see they don't drop off the cort." Away they went. Turning down Westminster Bridge Road, they began to cross the Bridge. Ben was at that time leading the pony along the centre of the road. " Pull your proper side, man," said Cohin. The man at the pony's head obeyed. When near the Middlesex side of the water, the mysterious man behind the cart suddenly drew something from beneath the cabbages, and dropped it over the Bridge into the water.

Sharp and clever as the movement was, it did not escape Ben's eye, and he felt more than ever afraid of the entire transaction, though he dare not say one word. On getting near the end of Parliament Street, Cohin said — " There, we were bound to be off in good time, you see ; but now I've levelled the greens a bit, so they won't fall off. You can go back now, and get a bit more rest, if you like. Morning." Old Ben was very thankful to get away ; but he did not go home, " and get a bit more rest," just yet. On getting on to the Bridge again, the thought struck him — "How is the tide?" He saw that the water was going out ; and, looking East, he saw also that the sun was just rising. " How glad I am that London's smoke is not thick at this hour," he thought, " and that I can admire this lovely morning.

I am glad I can see the water properly. I shall take a short walk down the Victoria Embankment, and then look for the something he threw over. No doubt it will be fruitless work ; but there will be no harm." After half-an-hour he returned; and, proceeding cautiously and well out of a policeman's notice, he looked down into the water near the place where he had heard the splash when going over with the cart. No sooner had he done this than a man whom he had not previously caught the slightest glimpse of, seized him, gave the old man a severe blow in the stomach, and almost simul- What Ben Found, and ivhat he did ivith the Find. 17 taneously struck him with all his might between the eyes, at once making off. The wary policeman now came up. " Now, then ; fighting, or what ? " he said. Poor old Ben could not answer for a minute or two, so frightened and hurt was he ; but presently he said — " Oh, perhaps he owes me a grudge."

He felt he dare not say more, if he valued life. " Move on, then," said the constable ; " and don't come fighting here at five o'clock in the morning. " " Right," returned Ben ; " but i" was here at the fight, or something ; you came up afterwards. Still, it was quick work, so I won't report you this time. Good morning.'' The constable did not reply. "Well," Ben soliloquised, as he was passing along the Albert Embankment on the way home, " if this affair is not a funny turn out, tell me what is, and I will listen ; and as to the man with the cart " Crash, crash, crash came a heavy stick upon his head. He fell to the ground, senseless.

Chapter III

A WOMAN QUELLS THE STORM. WHEN old Ben came to his senses, he found himself supported by a female, who, though positively young, had such a down-cast, worried, and semi-maniacal look that he felt more afraid of her, figuratively speaking, than if he had again seen his enemy who had given him two thrashings. He felt sure it was the same man on both occasions, as Ben noticed the individual's peculiarly heavy breathing. This girl, however, seemed entirely of a different class, the first words she said to him being — "1 do so hope you are not hurt very much. I saw it all. Are you better ? " " Yes, thank you," answered Ben ; " but, please, do not ask me any questions." "Oh, I need not do that particularly ; I know a good deal already. But can you tell me one thing ? Do you know what was in the box which was thrown over the Bridge about an hour and a-half ago ?

" " No ; I do not." " Will you tell me just one or two little things, please, as, really, I am very deeply concerned ? " The old man shuddered. " Had you seen the box before? " she continued. "I do not even know if it was a box," A Woman Quells the Storm. 19 " But you took one to the place from whence the cart started this morning ? " " Yes." " Do you know what that box contained, then ? " "No." " Can you guess ? " " I am afraid to say what I think it contained." " Please, do speak out about it. I will ask you nothing more. Tell me, and I will be your slave, if you will, for the remainder of my days." Ben looked straight into the eyes of the poor girl. Truly there was sorrow — deep, deep sorrow — imprinted on that undoubtedly once pretty face. He felt himself to be in jeopardy already ; he did not mind being a little deeper in the mire to help, if such could be the case, this poor, miserable woman.

" Can I guess what was in the box ? Well, I certainly have my fears." ' Your fears ! My child ! My " " What ? Do you suppose murder has been committed, then ? " " Oh, I am afraid so," sobbed the girl. " Well, look here," said Ben, " of course I know no more of it than I say. Positively, there is a mystery about it, and great suspicion ; but further than this I know nothing — unless, unless " " Unless what ? " " Unless we can hear about or get the box." " How — only tell me how it is possible, and I will do it ? " " Well, I thought of doing it myself, if it was possible. However, I did not see the box, but received a good smash or two on the head, as you say you saw ; and, having had another knocking about since, I do not think it particularly wise, on my part, to risk having yet more. However, if you are determined on the point, I will gladly lend you my aid."

" Well, you were catching it very badly when I came up ; but I knew he was afraid of me." " Afraid of you ? You know him, then ? " " Yes ; but it is now my turn to say as you said — ' Do not ask me any questions.' " " Will you go back ? " "Yes." So this peculiar girl and Ben returned over the Bridge. The water had gone down some three yards from the stone steps near the Houses of Parliament. No box was to be seen. Old Ben and the girl then took a walk round by Victoria Station, returning to the Bridge in about forty minutes ; and there, sure enough, partly out of the water, was a box, similar to the one the old man took to the Lower Marsh. The question now arose, How was the box to be removed from the water ? However, Ben procured a boat, rowed to the spot, and gained possession of the box — one of about two square feet.

He could not go away so quietly, however. The Thames police saw the manœuvre, and now came upon the scene. Ben, partly from fear and partly from want of thought, at once rowed hastily up stream, followed by the police boat, which was, however, some distance in the rear. The chase was not at all equal, it need hardly be said, inasmuch as the man, although in a lightly-made boat, had but one pair of small sculls, of course ; the following boat having two pairs of oars at work, A Woman Quells the Storm. 21 Old Ben, however, is an expert, even now, at rowing. By great effort and strong will, he gained on his pursuers ; and they were fully recognizing their awkward position when one of their brethren's boats suddenly came upon the scene, sweeping round from behind Lambeth Steamboat Station, well handled.

Ben now saw that he had acted foolishly, and held up his oars, signifying a surrender. The old man was then towed behind, theoretically a prisoner. Yes, theoretically. The police thought he was quite safe in his boat until shore was reached ; but Ben thought he could land much better on his own account. " It is said that it does not matter if shipwrecked if you have a cake of Cleaver's soap," thought Ben, " for then, perhaps, you can ' wash yourself ashore ; ' but it strikes me I must 'go duck fashion.' I am old, it is true; but 'pluck does wonders for men.' " So, all unexpectedly, over he went, diving ' duck fashion' indeed, and not coming to the surface until in the lee of a barge under which he had gone ; and, at once making for the " for'ard," he again dived, going under a small yacht.

On coming to the surface again, he was quite exhausted ; but certainly he was a " grand old man." His work was nearly done now, as, with a few strides, he made land. Passing quickly along some by-ways which he knew perfectly well, Ben arrived at home safely, frightening his wife at his strange appearance, it is true, but otherwise he was not at all upset. In the afternoon, when Ben was doing a little shopping in the Wandsworth Road, he met, by a peculiar coincidence, the woman connected with the mysterious affair of the early morning. She knew him, notwithstanding his disguise. " What shall I do ? Oh, what shall I do ? " she exclaimed. "What shall you do?" said Ben. "Well, if I were you, I should be a little more cautious in strangers' hearing, for one thing." Well, well, don't be so short," she said, in an easier tone.

" Don't be short, you say ? How can I help it ? You are not particularly tall." " No, no ; I mean do not be angry with me. I am glad you got off so well." " I got off the boat about as well as usual, only this last time I went into instead of stepping away from the ' damp.' Tottie, you will not mind my little banter ? " " How do you know my name is Tottie ? " " Wife said she thought it was, after I told her about you. Is' she right? " " Yes. Do you know any more about the box ? " " No." " Then I do. After you left, this happened. The boat you used was taken back to the owner ; but no one claimed the box, of course, and it is now at the Police Station. I followed behind, you know, and listened all I could to what was said, and heard a good deal. The box did not contain my child, who is, nevertheless, I consider, murdered."