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
It sometimes happened that special cases offered, for which special
terms were arranged. Such cases stood by themselves. They were confided
only to the acknowledged heads of the profession. Standing outside of
all recognized rules, they were treated apart. Headquarters men were
always sent to the seat of operations to prevent interference, and, in
case of need, to protect their partners. Many a mysterious robbery was
perpetrated to which no clue was ever found; many an anxious search was
undertaken by the bloodhounds of the law to find the robbers, that they
might crack a bottle together and rejoice over the success of their
operations, and sometimes they were joined by men the mention of whose
names in such company would have excited incredulous and unbounded
amazement.
The gigantic heavings of the war were struggling to rest, but the men
whose minds were unhinged and thrown off their balance by the possession
of large sums flowing from transactions, a little irregular, perhaps,
but which the necessities of Government permitted, were endeavoring, by
any means, to open up new fountains of wealth in place of those which
the close of the war had exhausted.
One of the resources presenting itself most naturally to men in a
position to profit by it was speculating with other people's money, and
very naturally the result of such speculation was disastrous in the
highest degree. When detection became inevitable the defaulter generally
fled, hoping to find in a foreign land safety from the stroke of justice
and a shelter from the reproaches of his victims.
Occasionally, one more resolute, dreading flight as much as detection,
flung himself into schemes which, if they failed, meant the most hideous
and utter ruin, but which, if they succeeded, rendered discovery
impossible, and made his position more solid than ever before. One day,
late in the sixties, in the parlor of a bank in Greenwich street, a
gentleman was anxiously scanning the books of the establishment. He
alone in all the institution knew of a secret which would horrify his
brother officials and carry desolation to scores of homes, the first to
suffer being his own. Perhaps had it been possible to exempt this one
home, the misery of the others would not have greatly affected him. But
suffering must be kept from his own house, and all and any means to
banish it would be and must be good.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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