Hank Long's first voyage ; a Wall Street incident

Front matter

t

I f i

I

I

On the twenty-sixth day of July, 1893, about four o’clock in the afternoon, two men were seated in the private office of Smith, Morrison & Co., Bankers and Brokers, Broad Street, in the City of New York, engaged in earnest conversation, A storm was gathering in the sky, threatening every moment to burst, and darkness, almost of night, had settled upon the city; but they did not seem to be aware of it, so intent were they upon the subject under discussion.

A financial storm, that earlier in the day had passed over the street, had so shocked those who had been hit, that they were quite indifferent to any unusual disturbance of the atmosphere. The condition in the Stock Exchange had been fearful. One stock alone had fallen seventy points and, though the depreciation in other securities had not been as great, it had been great enough to carry ruin and bankruptcy to many who were engaged in business of a speculative character. Loans for trifling amounts could not be had even upon securities of the highest class.

One of the men, older than the other by a number of years, was at first quite imperative in his manner. The other, while he had reached man’s estate, looked young. Quiet in his manners, and hardly opening his thin lips as he gave utterance to his words, he yet spoke with dignity and firmness. He was a tall, strong, well-built young fellow, with a handsome, and ordinarily rather good natured face, but now, it bore a look of distress, perhaps a look of terror also.

“I say to you, Fred,” the elder man said, “it must be done. The market can’t help changing for the better; you must put up this ten thousand additional; whether you like it or not; I say it must be done.”

‘‘And I say to you, Eobert, that I will not do it. You have been kind to me, advanced me — perhaps more than I deserved, been my friend from the time when I came here, four years ago, a boy of twenty, and you have given me a good character to those whose opinions would be of value to me, never refused me leave to come and go as I liked, but in what situation have you placed me now ?”

“A year ago you came to me, with three thousand dollars; you did not ask, but directed me to open an account with Waltham Brothers for the purchase of stocks, open it in my name, but for you and you alone, because you said, you expected to get a partnership here and did not wish to appear to be speculating. I hesitated, as you know. I had saved a little money and, after saving a little more, hoped to be able to get married and I said so to you. You urged that there was no danger; that you would keep the margin good and take up the account any moment I said so. This cursed panic came upon us, I advised you to sell out and stand your loss, but you were infatuated. You, a man of more than ten years’ experience in the street, would not listen to the advice of a boy, even though that boy was in distress and feared ruin to himself as the consequence of holding on. I must have a little nerve and see you through ; your answer to my entreaties was, ‘Fred, hold out a few days more, and I will make it all right,’ and so I was put off until a big debt was piled up against me at Walthams. You raised what money you could, I gave up my savings, but all sank out of sight in a day ; you took two thousand dollars of bonds belonging to this firm and gave them to me to put up as additional margin, and this has been repeated until eight thousand dollars has been taken. I know we are both equally guilty, but I know, too, that this is not my affair at all and that I would never have handled one of those bonds, if you had not solemnly pledged to me your word that you would redeem them the moment I called upon you. I have called upon you, and you say that you can do nothing more. You ask me to add to the wrong I have done by taking ten thousand dollars more of these people’s property. I will go no further, Eobert, that is my answer.”

‘‘A fine time,” the other replied, ‘^to ask me to pay twelve thousand dollars. You Imow, as well as I, that no money can be had from the banks ; that we are hardly able to get checks cashed where we keep accounts; yet you stand up here, and like a sentimental school girl, ask me to do something that you know is impossible, and when I say that I cannot you invite ruin to us both. There is but one way; will you take those securities to Waltham Brothers, or will you not?”

‘T will not. Take them yourself, if you want to, though I advise you not to do it. Why have you insisted, for the last few months that I had complete custody of the securities here ? You know they are in your charge and that I am your assistant.”

The other unbent at once.

“Don’t let us quarrel, Fred, whatever we do. We are both in a bad scrape and must try to look ahead a little. I believe that one more effort would pull us out, not bring back the twenty-five thousand dollars that we have lost, but let us out on the securities of the firm that we have pledged. You won’t act on my advice and it leaves us in devilish bad shape. What do you intend to do when Waltham’s sell? This office will recognize the bonds at once.”

“That is a question for you to answer. You have brought me into all this trouble; get me out of it. Your father is the real head here, devoted to you and your wife and child, if you tell him the truth he will not let us suffer. I will tell him if you say so.”

“And bring about what we most fear, exposure, disgrace, punishment. I tell you, Fred, this firm cannot protect any one; it is insolvent, thaFs the plain truth, and we are both in danger of State’s prison.”

“So you believe that Mr. Morrison could not raise twelve thousand dollars to take up those bonds, or at least let them go and say that they were pledged with his approval ?”

“I know that he could not; those behind him would not allow it, even to protect me. He has already strained every nerve to get through; these securities do not belong to him, they are a part of a reserve fund, and in his present condition he has no one to appeal to. What do you say now ?”

“Exactly what I said before; that I will not add to the wrong I have done. It may be that what is done, cannot be undone, but I will not commit a new crime. You may act upon that assurance.”

“Very good. I got you into this trouble and I must do the best I can to protect you. We cannot go to prison. Have you no one to whom you can apply for the money needed ?”

“No one to whom I will apply; about that I am quite as decided. The law may take me, if I cannot escape, but I will not, to shield myself, involve my friends. You may act upon that also.”

“Then we must both leave the country. You go first; I will stay for a few days and watch, then go in another direction.”

“But I cannot leave this country. You know how I am situated ; know of my engagement to Margaret Eandolph. It would ruin me; it would kill her. Oh, Robert, Robert, is there not some way by which this can be avoided. I will pledge my work for years, bind myself as a slave almost, but I cannot break up my associations here; it would break my heart to do it. There must be some way out of it.”

“It ought to be as plain to you as it is to me,” the other replied. “This panic has completely changed everything. We are all ruined and it is only a question of time when the public know it. For myself I see but one course, I must leave this country. You may remain, tell your own story; morally your friends may not think so ill of you, but criminally you will be punished, depend upon that; there is a good deal of feeling about this kind of business, anyway, and public sentiment will be hard upon us both. You can save all this by putting up these bonds.”

“If I must go, Robert, I will, but I will not take the bonds, and I will never go to prison; I will shoot myself sooner. You know iny decision. Did you see that flash of lightning ? What a furious storm !”

“Don’t talk to me of storms ; you and I are out in a pretty bad storm ourselves and with very little to shelter us. It is useless to say to me that I got you into this trouble, you might as well talk to the table ; I did it, I know, and would help you out if I could, but I can’t help myself. The only question is which of us shall abscond first. Neither should leave a trail. We must both be lost to the world; disappear as if we had never been. I will go first, if you say so, but then discovery follows at once; you are apprehended and the thought that I am responsible for it will only add to my troubles. On the other hand you leave on your three weeks vacation; I will put Waltham’s off till that time then go myself when I know that you are out of danger.”

The young man made no reply for some minutes. Then he said : “I have something over two hundred dollars ; my father will give me three hundred more if I ask him ; that much will not distress him at all, though he is not a man of means. I will begin my vacation the day after tomorrow at noon. You have a picture of me, give it back and I will destroy it; there are a few others in the hands of my friends, I think I can get hold of them too. It is not the fear of detection, but the thought of my picture being paraded in the newspapers as that of a thief. It is idle for us to say more. My life is ruined and I go out a wanderer, heart broken, crushed; but I do not blame you; you could not see what was coming; I hope there may be better days for you. Well, the storm is over and the sun shines again, but not for me.”

II

“I ask you again, what ails you ? You say you are not ill, but you are pale, deathly pale, your voice trembles and you are as unlike your old self as if you had just come from another world. I am tired of urging you to speak and getting the same answer that it is nothing; if you have anything to say to me, do, I beg, I entreat of you, let me hear it. You hesitate, go on, go on, Fred, if you love me, talk, speak out. Oh, speak, speak !”

“I cannot tell the story; all I have strength to say is that I may be sent to prison if I stay here. Perhaps it is just but I cannot go there; there are but two ways of avoiding it, one 'by leaving the country, the other, I will not name. I have chosen the first, and I come to you, dear Margaret, to release you from your promise to me, to ask you to forgive me, to say good-bye to me and to forget that I ever lived.”

“And this is all, Frederick Marvin, that you would say to me? ‘I must leave the country; I shall never return to you, good bye.’ In a moment we are to forget all that has gone before, the love we have shown, vowed to each other, in a moment to stifle all feeling, my love to be cast aside, treated as the affection of a child to any one who will take it by the hand. Have I ever shown any wavering in my affection, my love, devotion to you, that you think I can stand here and do as you wish? ’Tis breaking my heart, I cannot bear it; there must surely be some way by which you can stay. I will go to my father for help now ; you have not relied upon me in your distress as you should, but no matter for that, though I do not know the story I will ask him to see you ; with his experience and money, he may set you right again. Oh, dear boy, do trust in us !”

‘“Trust in you ? I would trust everything in the world, my life even, with you. ’Tis not want of trust, dearest girl, it is in kindness to you that I say as little as I may. I have determined and nothing shall shake me in that determination that I will not involve others in my misfortunes ; I must pay the penalty of my folly. The crime is committed, I will not demean myself by saying that it was not intended, but I do say that being done there are but two ways of escape. Do not

I

talk much to me or I will break dowm. From my father and mother I can part, I shall not even tell them that I am going, but this ig, is — horrible. Oh, my dear, dear girl, loved as you deserved, loved with all my soul and mind when I was worthy of you, do not urge anything, let me go in peace; do not betray me, for that will be the result of your applying to your father. In a few weeks all will be known; then you may tell him what you will, but not now ; if you have any love for me, not now.”

‘‘I will go \vith you, I have some money at my command, we can be married and go together. It will not lessen what I know to be your slender means ; whatever your fortune may be, I should and will share it with you.”

He hesitated for a few minutes and then answered: “It cannot be; it would mean ruin to us both. Estrangement from your family ; the censure of everyone ; a criminal fleeing from the country and taking a wife to share his flight. It would add horror to horror, and lead to immediate identiflcation and pursuit. No, no; take the offer I have made, a release from the engagement and feel free from the man so unworthy of you. Forget, if you can, but at least forgive.”

“Forgiveness,” she answered, implies an injury. You have not injured me, but as you have injured yourself. I know you, believe in you, always will believe in you, no matter what happens or what I may hear, and I say to you now, that I will not be released. I have promised to be your wife, and at any time, now or hereafter, when you are ready to keep your promise, I will keep mine. If you go away, I will keep it when you return. If you go to prison, it shall be when you have expiated your offense. If you are ill it shall be when you are restored to health, but never, never, while you live, will I cancel the vow I have made to you, and the harder the world bears upon you the closer I will cling to you. You may assume indifference, try to be brief in what you say, but you cannot conceal your meaning from me. You are distressed, distracted, not yourself, and I beg of you to let me summon to our council one wiser than ourselves. My father has always had my confidence; let him have yours.”

“I cannot, Margaret. My resolution is taken, my promise to keep it given, the only doubt I have had was whether I could get over this parting. Let us talk of other things, as if this was only a wild dream ; meet tonight as we have always met, and I may leave you in a calmer frame of mind.”

III

*‘I am surprised at what you say, Mr. Morrison. Either Mr. Marvin or myself will give our check for the loss you may have suffered from the abstraction of your bonds. You may have no objection to letting us know, the amount at least.”

“Not at all. Two days after Frederick absconded, there was a turn in the market and though slight it was continuous from that time forward. We took up the stolen securities this week at a loss to us of about eleven hundred dollars and at my son’s urgent request, have passed that amount to profit and loss.”

“And as friends of Frederick Marvin, I repeat that we wish very much to make that loss good to you. Though your actions so far seem unusual, we assume that you can have no interest in pursuing him, and that if the loss is made good the trouble is ended. His conduct here, I understand, except in this instance was always correct. Had you any other cause of complaint.”

Mr. Morrison reflected a moment, then turned to his son who was sitting beside him.

“We might as well be frank with these people, Robert, and though you have cautioned me against talking, I can see no harm in stating our position.” His son made no reply and he went on. “I address myself to you, Mr. Marvin, as the father of this young man, though you have said nothing. You sir, sent your son to college at the age of sixteen, and he was graduated at twenty. It gave him, I think, some immature views that he would have changed if he had graduated a little later.”

"‘He was a very bright boy,” Mr. Marvin replied, “and as soon as the)'^ would take him at college, I was advised by his teacher to send him. We had no idea then of what occupation he would follow when he graduated ; he had unusual taste for languages.”

“He spoke and wrote three languages, German, French and Spanish,” Mr. Morrison continued. “He was a good man in figures too. As you may suppose he was valuable to us. Eobert was quite proud of him, and advanced him rapidly; he was enthusiastic, learned quickly, and seemed to take great interest in our business. We trusted him more than it was prudent to trust any man; my son Eobert has not ceased to blame himself; he feels that he was too confiding, but that cannot be helped now. He abused our confidence, as you know. My son and I have talked it over and we prefer to leave matters as they are. We do not think that either the interest of this young man or our own would be advanced by allowing him to return to Hew York, and in that view, do not propose to take from any one the money we have lost, for the principle is wrong, but, added to that, I have some feeling on account of my son. He is blamed by those associated with me for his carelessness in trusting this young man as he did, and it may seriously affect his prospects in this business. My son is an unusually competent business man, if I say it, who should not, and this has been a severe blow to both of us. I am not prepared to say what action we would take if the offender was here, but I tell you, that neither Eobert nor myself are just now in a very forgiving state of mind. I believe I express your \’iews, Eobert, as well as my own ?”

The young man bowed, but made no other reply.

“My daughter,” Mr. Eandolph said, “is quite ill, and for her sake I would do almost anything, to set young Marvin right. I have always had faith in him; I say this as much for his father^s sake as to you, and I believe that there have been people behind him who are profiting by his absence.” Unconsciously, perhaps, he looked at Eobert Morrison, who arose and walked to the window.

“But,” he continued, “I do not know who they are, and, in Fredrick’s absence, I cannot find out.” Here Eobert returned to his seat beside his father. “While I think that you are cruel and unreasonable, we will not urge this money upon you, nor will we take any measures to bring young Marvin within reach of your revenge, for under your statement it comes to that.”

“Ho, no,” Mr. Morrison answered, “I did not mean that either my son or I had any revengeful feeling. We are disappointed, chagrined, and maybe injured, that is all, and we would not, as we feel, be disposed to obstruct the law. I hope I make my position clear?”

"Quite clear enough for both of us, and so we will bid you good day.”

IV

Evening was approaching when a tired traveller unslung his handbag at an inn, in a little town of Brittany, and asked for lodgings for the night. The landlord looked at him suspiciously; his accent showed that he was a foreigner, though he spoke the French language fluently enough; he might be an American and Monsieur the Landlord had particular reasons for not desiring to entertain American guests at that ’time; but the traveller seemed determined to remain; he could put up with anything, sleep anywhere, and Monsieur concluded to make the best of it and give him good entertainment.

The traveller, returning from the room assigned him, and loitering about the hotel porch, soon saw that the landlord was nervous and excited; he answered questions in as few words as possible, evidently wishing to avoid suggesting others. The servants, too, instructed by their master, refused to talk, but overcaution, brought about, what Monsieur, the landlord, most feared, suspicion, and finally a determination on the part of the traveller to investigate, A gift of three francs opened the mouth of a waiter and un- ](;avelled the mystery. An American had died in the house that morning, died by his own hand, taken a poisonous drug, and the body lay in a little room upstairs.

The traveller sought an interview with the landlord at . once.

“What is this I hear? A countryman of mine lies dead in the house and you say nothing to me of it? You must know that I am an American. Where are the public authorities? Wliat are the circumstances? WTiat name did the dead man give? As a countryman of his I have the right to know.” At first the landlord was sullen and uncommunicative.

“Yes, a man died in my house this morning, but how should I know from what country he came or from what country Monsieur came either. I do not speak the English language nor do any of my people in the house.”

“But this man told the chambermaid he was an American, it must have been repeated to you. I will apply to the authorities and have the cause of death investigated.

Here Monsieur, the landlord, broke down completely. He would tell all he knew but he asked that no further appeal to the authorities be made; it had all been arranged; further publicity would injure his house which had always borne a high reputation.

“Very good, what had Monsieur to tell; he was listening.”

“Yesterday morning. Monsieur, a young man came here on foot; exactly as Monsieur has come today. Hie gave me no names; two napoleons answered the purposes as well. Monsieur will remember that he himself has given no name, but one napoleon instead. He had a bag which he carried by a strap passed about his neck and under his left arm. Oh, so like that Monsieur carries, and he was just about Monsieur’s age, too. What a coincidence ! He came one day, and Monsieur, so like him, followed the next. He had been drinking before he came, he drank all day and until he retired for the night. Oh, Monsieur, what could the waiters do? What could I do? The guest asked for liquor, paid for what was served to him, would not be denied ; it must be given.”

“Well, what then?”

“He asked for another candle from the maid and sent me a franc for it and he asked the maid if she spoke English, telling her that he was an American| When the maid attended in the morning to put the room in order Monsieur lay dead upon the bed. A doctor was called but what could he do? It was useless. A phial upon the table told the story. What can we do but bury the body? What has he left? Thirtytwo napoleons and a few francs but that is little, very little for the trouble and distress caused by such a death in the house. The cost of burial may not be much but think of the discredit to the inn, to have a suicide occur here.”

“Would Monsieur come and view the body?” Monsieur would, and go through his baggage, too. Ah, but that was soon done, there was little, very little ; stockings, pocket handkerchiefs, some linen; no letters. No mark upon any of the clothes. “Yes, quite true there is nothing to indicate who he was or from whence he has come.”

The man was young and in life had been handsome though there was a dissipated and distressed look about the eyes and mouth. The traveller’s sympathies were a good deal enlisted ; the stranger had died unknown, unidentified, he might be sought in vain for years by his friends. It so worked upon his mind that he returned to the chamber later in the evening, partly from pity, but more to fix the dead face in his recollection. There was a candle burning at the bedside and by its light, he thought he saw a movement of a muscle of the face. He called the landlord.

“Summon a medical man at once ; there is life in this man, and it may be revived. *At once,’ I say; go, go.”

“But, Monsieur, the death took place — ”

“Then I appeal to the public authorities; choose between doing what I asked and an investigation.”

“The doctor shall be brought. Monsieur; I will myself go for him.”

The doctor looked bored and annoyed.

“This man,” he said, “has been dead for hours. What you earnestly wish, you think may be true. Do you not think that I am as eager as you can be to restore life, but there is no life here to restore ; the man is dead. As dead as he ever will be.” He waved his hand and turned towards the door. As he turned there was another slight movement of the face.

“There was another movement on that face,” the traveller said. “Come back for a moment.”

“Because you looked upon it so intently, it moved in your mind and the impression communicated itself to your eyes. I tell you again : That man is dead.”

“And I tell you in reply that he shall not be buried until I am convinced that he is dead. I will not rely upon your opinion without tests. I have money, help me to satisfy myself. If I am wrong you will be well paid. If I am right you will be paid, but I need say nothing to you of that.”

The doctor approached the bed and both stood looking at the body before them.

“Poor fellow,” he said, “a fine, manly face; I would that I could restore — ” He seized the traveller’s arm; “there was a movement of the face again, slight, but it was there — I own

it.”

“What ! Landlord, send for my valet at once ; bring cognac, hot water, hot towels, anything you have; here is a night’s work before us. Monsieur, I congratulate you upon your discernment; it was better than mine. If this man’s life is restored he owes it to you.

V

“Monsieur will not need my services further, he is restored,” the doctor said, three days later, addressing the traveller, but waving his hand towards the young man who had been brought back to life, and who was sitting upon the side of the bed. He looked strong enough but very subdued.

“He can travel tomorrow if he will; how wonderfully devoted you have been; he ought to know. I tell you now this young man saved your life. Monsieur ; it was not me at all. I had condemned you to burial.”

The sick man nodded.

“I know it and am grateful as I can be,” and he looked earnestly at the traveller.

“You can show your gratitude in one way only,” the doctor said. “Let him have the life that he has saved; give it to him for a time at least, if he will take it; do not try to throw it away again, or you may not be so fortunate the next time.”