Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in SolitudeBidwell, Austin
General
Bidwell's Travels, from Wall Street to London Prison: Fifteen Years in Solitude
Bidwell, Austin
Bank fraud -- England; Bank of England; Bidwell, Austin; Criminals -- Biography
[Illustration: PRISONERS WAITING TRIAL, AT NEWGATE, RECEIVING VISITORS.]
I was a prisoner in a wretched inn in a defile of the Pyrenees, with a
civil war raging, and no telling what might arise to detain us. Our
objective point was only some thirty-five miles away, but with roads
deep in snow, with wretched cattle and more wretched Spaniards for
drivers, there was poor prospect of making headway. I felt it would
never do for me to suffer longer detention.
I determined to leave my wife and baggage in charge of Nunn, to put the
$120,000 I had in a bag and start back to the French frontier, cross
into France and catch the Saturday steamer from Havre to New York,
explaining to my wife that important business demanded my presence in
America, that she could follow on the next steamer and that I would meet
her on arrival.
In the mean time my unlucky thirteen were happy. For were they not
sheltered, with plenty of food and high wages, all out of the pocket of
the great lord the Virgin herself must have sent to them? In fact, they
were winning from me what to them was a fortune. I was paying each man a
dollar a day and $5 for each team and cart.
From my experience I must give the Spaniards a good name for honesty. Of
course, they were charging me cut-throat prices, but they were poor,
and wealthy lords did not often come their way. Aside from that they
were very honest. Many things, such as rugs, shawls, lunch baskets,
dressing cases, etc., that must have seemed of value to them, lay around
everywhere, but not a single article was missing during the entire trip.
All day long the blizzard blew. It was a novel situation, and how I
should have enjoyed it had I only possessed that greatest of all
blessings--a good conscience! As it was, I was in misery, and could find
no peace, not even in my wife's smiles and evident content to be
anywhere with me.
I saw that the cattle were well cared for and that the men had both food
and wine. Then my servant skirmished around and decapitated sundry
chickens he found. So we had roast chicken three times a day, and as I
had a case of brandy in my luggage, we did not suffer. Nunn roasted the
chickens, made the punch, got the Spanish men and women to dance for our
entertainment, and made himself generally of service. About midnight the
storm broke up, and to my great satisfaction the stars came out. That
night I slept in the same room with the women, with a sheet hung between
us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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