The Underground World: A mirror of life below the surface

by Thomas Wallace Knox

It is amusing to note the difference in the manner of witnesses. There are some who cannot tell a direct story, no matter how strongly they are urged to do so; and there are others who could not be otherwise than brief. Some of this difference is due to nationality. German and Irish were generally more loquacious than American and English. But it was not all a matter of nationality, as there were instances of extreme discursiveness on the part of the last-mentioned, while some of the former were brief almost to taciturnity. And in regard to sex, I must aver that the more talkative of our witnesses belonged to the gentler half of humanity. A lady of Baxter Street was one day testifying about a debate between herself and a neighbor: a brick and a broomstick had been used in the fray, and the head of the witness had been slightly scarified by the corner of the brick. It was a simple affair,—words and blows, and only two or three blows, at that,—but the unhappy victim could not be induced to tell her story without narrating the whole history of the bellicose Bridget, whose hand had hurled the missile. Frequently the foreman stopped her narrative, and told her to cut it short; she would take breath in the pause, and then, with a preliminary “I’ll tell all about it, yer honor,” she would start again with the rapidity of a carrier-pigeon. We soon found it was of no use to attempt to restrain her, and so we listened as patiently as possible to the conclusion of her story. There was a sigh of relief around the jury-room when she retired, and I could not help thinking that the blow which she averred made her “sinseless and spacheless” for two hours was, to a great extent, justifiable.

Another garrulous witness was a German who had suffered robbery. He persisted in addressing the foreman as “shudge” and the rest of the assemblage as “gentlemens on the jury.” Twice, when interrupted and told to be brief, he complied by beginning his statement anew, with more minuteness of detail; and at last the foreman found his patience exhausted, and told the witness, “The jury has no time to listen to your stories.” “O shudge,” said the man, in a tone that evinced the most deeply wounded honor, “I don’t not come here to tells you stories; I tells you only the truth.” The polite foreman apologized for the unintentional affront, and compromised the matter by inducing the victim to answer a few questions, and leave his story to be told in court. His evidence was conclusive, and an indictment was promptly ordered against the party named in the complaint.

FAMILY JARS IN COURT.

Frequently there were cases that attested the worthlessness and depravity of certain members of the human race, and their despicable treatment of relatives and friends. It is an unpleasant spectacle to see wives giving evidence to send their husbands to prison, brothers testifying against their brothers, and sometimes (though none were called before us) fathers testifying against their sons. There was one instance wherein a man testified to a forgery of his signature, committed by a member of his family. He stated that it was a struggle between duty and a respect for the family name for him to come before the jury; “and I only determined to come here,” said he, “when I found all attempts to reform this man had failed. I have paid his debts repeatedly, have twice started him in business, and have several times paid checks on which he forged my signature, rather than expose him. I have tried to reason with him, and hoped he would do better; he shows no sign of repentance, and has told others that, out of regard to the family, I shall not dare to prosecute him. I feel that I should do wrong if I allowed him to run longer, and painful as it is, I must do my duty.”

Here was a man of sensibility compelled by the conduct of a near relative to appear in court as a prosecutor. It is to be hoped that the culprit will learn a wholesome lesson from his imprisonment; but if his nature is as depraved as represented, the probabilities are, that when he comes out from his term of involuntary labor, he will not be greatly improved.

One day a woman came to testify against her husband for striking her on the head with a piece of iron, which she produced from her pocket. The iron—a stove-hook—had been broken by the force of the blow, and yet the woman was there, with no evidence of having suffered more than a temporary stunning and bleeding. She began her story in a tone of firmness and determination, but gradually melted until her voice was choking and her eyes were tearful. “Do you want to press this complaint against your husband?” the foreman asked. “Yes, sir, I must,” she answered, after a pause. “We have been married ten years, and they have been ten years of quarrels. He beats me often; he drives me out at night; he starves me, and is all the time cruel. He takes the money I earn, and spends it, and I cannot live with him any longer. I have had him before the magistrate several times, and he promises to do better; but when he is let off, he is as bad as ever. He will not leave me, nor let me leave him, and we shall have no peace till he is in prison, or one of us is dead.”

A SKILFUL FRAUD.

One of the most artistic frauds that ever came to my knowledge was developed before the jury. A man had loaned some money, and taken the mortgage of a tract of land as security on the note. Before loaning it he submitted the title to his lawyer, who informed him that it was correct; and consequently the bargain was closed. The note fell due, and went to protest; the lawyer had, in the mean time, moved from the city, and the other parties were not to be found. The land which was mortgaged lay in New Jersey, and the holder of the note took the necessary steps to foreclose. A professional searcher of titles went to the township mentioned in the papers, and found that there was no such land in existence.

The whole document was purely a myth. The boundaries described could not be found, and had no existence any more than if they had been located in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The grantor named in the original deed had been dead ten years at the time when the document was dated, and the whole business was a conspiracy, in which the lawyer had betrayed his client. One of the conspirators had turned state’s evidence, and came before us. His position was not particularly comfortable, and he grew restive under the questions showered upon him. Little by little the truth was drawn from him, and he practically confessed to having been the originator of the fraud, ten years ago. The papers were evidently prepared with care, and had an appearance of genuineness enough to deceive any man who was not suspicious of wrong, and had relied upon his lawyer to protect his rights.

A case that was at the same time amusing and saddening, was that of a woman, the widow of a laborer, whose horse and cart had been stolen. She was the complainant and principal witness against the thief, who was promptly indicted. She stated that she had recovered the cart, but had not been able to find the horse. The morning after the indictment had been ordered, we were surprised to see her waiting outside the grand jury room. A juror asked her what she wanted, and she replied that she came for her horse.