Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office DepartmentHolbrook, James
History
Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office Department
Holbrook, James
Postal service -- United States
During the whole of the author's official career, he has never been
brought into physical conflict with any one, nor exposed to any great
danger in the discharge of his duties. These duties have seldom called
him to undergo "moving accidents by flood and field," excepting so far
as severe weather, dangerous roads, fractious horses, or some other of
the inconveniences and perils incident to the different modes of
traveling, might be classed under that head.
An incident, however, once occurred while I was engaged in
investigating a case of depredation, which may be worthy of record
here, as it is not devoid of a certain picturesqueness, even aside
from the extremely interesting circumstance (to me) that my head, for
a short time, seemed to be in imminent danger.
The case referred to was that of the loss of a letter containing six
hundred dollars, posted by the cashier of a Northern bank. The person,
(a post-office clerk,) whom I suspected of being the robber, was
detected in taking a decoy letter which was placed in his office after
the loss of the one first mentioned. On the strength of this, I boldly
charged him with the first loss, and insisted that he should restore
the money. After the usual assertion of innocence, and some demur, he
intimated to me that the spoils were hidden somewhere in the
post-office.
This interview was held in the directors' room of the bank which had
suffered the loss, and I immediately proposed that we should go over
to the office and get the money. Accordingly we proceeded thither. It
was then after midnight. As soon as we entered, my companion locked
the door behind us, and preceded me, with a lantern in his hand. A
remark which I made respecting the lonely appearance of a post-office
at that time of night, drew from him nothing but a sullen assent,
which put an end to any further conversational efforts on my part.
The room (or rather recess) in which he lodged, was over that part of
the office devoted to the public, a space in front of the boxes, and
access was had to it by means of a ladder inside the office.
The clerk rapidly ascended this ladder and I followed closely behind,
without a word being spoken by either of us. The apartment, besides
the ordinary furniture of a lodging-room, contained a few shelves of
books, indicating some pursuit more creditable to their owner than
those which had rendered my interference with them necessary. I had
before been told that he was somewhat diligent in the cultivation of
his intellect.
Setting down his lantern upon the table, he reached up and took down a
rifle which was suspended to the wall, directly over his bed, a fit
emblem for one engaged in _rifling_ the mails.
Although the moodiness which he had displayed during our intercourse
that evening, had not surprised me, yet I was by no means prepared to
expect that he would resort to such extreme measures as his movements
seemed to indicate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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