One day, in 1890, a man working in my party slipped a note into my hand that had been given him for me in chapel that morning. As in similar cases, I secreted the note, and when safe in my little room I read it. The writer said he had lately come down from London, and was most anxious to get into my party in order to have a chance to talk with me. He said he had been living in Chicago and could give me all the news. He ended the note by stating he was being murdered by hard work, and implored me to try and get him into my party, where it was not so hard. This I was most anxious to do, as in my party you could talk almost with impunity. To have a man near me fresh and only a year before in Chicago would be like a letter from home and also a newspaper. Therefore, I determined to get Foster in my party if possible. At this time I had been seventeen years a resident, and was, in fact, the oldest inhabitant, and had some little influence in a quiet way. About eleven years before I had been put in the party, and had a chance to learn bricklaying, and having become an expert in the art was given charge of the bricklaying. I was on the best of terms with our officer, so when, a day or two later, one of our men was so fortunate (in the Chatham view of it) as to meet with an accident and be admitted to that heaven, the infirmary, I told my officer to ask for Foster to replace him. He did so, and he, very much to his gratification, found himself by my side, with a trowel instead of a shovel in his hand. We worked side by side, Winter and Summer, storm and shine, for two years, and in spite of myself I began soon to like the man. His chief and only virtues were truthfulness and fair-mindedness toward his friends—rare and incongruous virtues for a professional burglar; nevertheless, he possessed them in a marked degree. This is a statement to make a cynic smile, and is one of those cases where the result is justifiable; yet, however the cynic may smile, there is plenty of all-around good faith in the world, and there is no nation, race or color, no clique, religion nor social strata, that has a monopoly of the article. Good faith and truth grow in unlikely places, as I have found in my career, for I have looked on life from both sides, and to look on it from the seamy side is instructive, indeed, for then the mask is off and the true character is revealed. I have been away down in the depths, and for years have toiled cheek by jowl, through sunshine and storm, in blinding snows and pelting rain, with my brother men under conditions too brutal and demoralizing to be understood if described—conditions where the very worst side of human character would naturally be thought to come to the front, and I came out of the fierce struggle in that pit of death with conclusions as to the human animal that are decidedly favorable, and I am inclined to the view that man was born almost an angel, and that, in spite of the fearful temptations of the world into which he has been thrust, much of the angelic pottery abides.
CHAPTER XLII.
MANY A MAN MORE DANGEROUS WRITES ALDERMAN AFTER HIS NAME.
Foster's experience during his four years' residence in Chicago was decidedly novel, and it had evidently brightened his wits—that is, increased his cunning without adding to his honesty. And as I think it will interest my reader to get a view of life from the actor's own standpoint, I will relate one of the many stories he told me during the years we worked together.
Upon Foster's release from his first term of imprisonment he joined the Christian Aid Society of London, and Mr. Whitely, the secretary, promptly "sent him to sea," as he has thousands of others. In due time he arrived in New York, but as he had heard much of Chicago he determined to go there. He arrived penniless, but within an hour ran against an old friend in the person of a former partner in the art of burglary who had been a fellow prisoner with him in London. This man's name was Turtle, and Mr. Whitely had only "sent him to sea" two brief years before. It was plain from his magnificent diamond ring, pin and big bank roll, freely displayed, that the seafaring life of the former protege of the London Prison Aid Society was a profitable occupation. He was delighted to meet Foster, and took him to a tailor's at once and fitted him out liberally, at the same time handing him $250, just for pocket money. When, on the next day, Foster stated to his friend that he was ready to undertake a burglary, Turtle was displeased, and said: "No; we are on the honest game, which pays better." What that was will appear. Turtle had a large private inquiry office, with two of the city detectives for side partners, who turned over to him all business in which there was a prospect of mutual profit. All imaginable schemes of villainy were concocted and executed there, and with perfect impunity, too. For Turtle had the ear of all the magistrates, and was in with all the gangs that made the City Hall of Chicago the worst and vilest den of robbers that encumbers this earth.
What cause the pessimist has for his boding views when in cities like New York, Quaker Philadelphia, Chicago and San Francisco, the City Halls, those centres of municipal life, hold and are ruled by the worst and most dangerous gangs of criminals sheltered by any roof in any city!
Alas! that the centre which should be the purest stream within the city should be a foul cesspool, sending out poisonous vapors to pollute the life of the citizens!
Universal suffrage in our great centres is a corrupt tree and its fruits must needs be poisonous.
Turtle gave his friend Foster a welcome at his office and at once enrolled him on his staff, but virtually made him a member of the firm. So, between the two Police Headquarters thieves and the two English ones, they had a combination indeed.