A VISIT TO WHITECHAPEL—THE STREET OF WOMEN—A MOTHER SEEKING HER SON.
We must leave Charles Peace for awhile to gather up the tangled threads of our story, and follow the fortunes of other characters who have figured in this “strange eventful history.”
The capture and conviction of our hero, together with the remarkable concurrence of circumstances connected with the history of the most accomplished and desperate burglar of modern times, created an amount of public interest which was altogether of an exceptional character.
This interest was not confined to one class of the populace. It permeated throughout every conceivable class from the highest to the lowest, and as a natural consequence the criminal portion of the community were deeply interested in the fate of one who had proved himself to be so much ahead of any of his compeers in crime.
Peace was looked upon as a sort of hero. Many admired him, and not a few pitied him. His adventurous life, his daring exploits, found favour in the eyes of rogues and thieves of a lesser degree, and his exploits formed the theme of conversation among numberless sections of the lawless portion of the thieving fraternity of London.
We must take a glance at one of the haunts of the dissolute and depraved. It is Saturday night, and the hour is ten o’clock. All London is alive, for Saturday night is the market-time of the poor.
The streets of Whitechapel presented remarkable scenes. Huge crowds passed down them, and bought their Sunday dinners from the butchers’ stalls upon the pavement, where joints of raw meat were suspended upon hooks, and which were lighted by pipes of blazing gas. Others crowded into the fried-fish shops and supped ravenously on rank plaice swimming in oil. Others resorted to the taverns, which were adorned with portraits of pugilists, and regaled themselves with Old Tom for which Whitechapel is so famous.
Close to one of these streets, where rioting and business seemed to go hand in hand, there was a narrow lane, silent as death. Gigantic warehouses rising on each side seemed to shut out heaven.
A man was walking down the lane—his appearance was dejected and his eyes were bent on the ground.
When he had come to the end of the lane he dived into a dark alley, which brought him out close to a railway arch.