THE RUINED MERCHANT. (From the Welcome Guest.)

Otago Witness, Issue 488, 6 April 1861, Page 10

THE RUINED MERCHANT. (From the Welcome Guest.)

One summer afternoon in the year 181-, a j gentleman of small statute, primly attired in j the garb worn by Quakers, or, as they styled j themselves, the Society of Friends, stepped j into the banking-house of Messrs. Roberts, Curtis and Co., in the city of London, and advancing in his usual hurried manner to the desk of the discount clerk, presented a promissory note, regularly drawn, with a request that it might be discounted at the usual rate, viz., five per cent. The clerk hesitated and examined the note attentively. Then glancing at the endorsement, he said :—: — ' You endorse this note, Mr. Hutton ?' ' You perceive that I do,' was the reply. The clerk still held the note, examining it suspiciously, as if he were ill-satisfied. ' We hold three of this gentleman's — of Mr. Thompson's notes, at present, 1 he said. ' Truly, friend,' replied the Quaker, ' but thee knows they are not yet due. All others have been promptly met, and so will those you now hold, as well as this one I now present, I | warrant thee.' 'Will you be kind enough to wait a moment ?' said the clerk, and he stepped into the private office of the heads of the banking establishment leaving the Quaker standing at the rail outside. A slight shade of anxiety might have been observed on the usually composed, grave, thoughtful features of the applicant for discount. Something seemed to rise in his throat for a moment, and he turned pale, but swallowing down the swelling, he struggled to regain his ordinary composure, and succeeded so well, that on the return of the clerk he appeared to be as calm and self-possessed as ever. ' Of course, young man, thee found it all correct ? ' he said. 'Sir William Curtis,' replied the young man, ' will feel obliged if you will step into his private room, Air. Hulton.' ' Sir William Curtis ! O ! — ah ! — yes,' said the Quaker. 'Of course; but — ah! — I am so well known — really, it seems to me that this ceremony is need less, friend ?' ' Mr. Ilutton,' returned the clerk, 'I do but repeat Sir William's words.' ' Without replying, and with an appearance of perfect calmness, the Quaker retreated to the rear of the bank ; but though to outward appearance he managed to seem quite at case, a slight change of colour in his usually rubicund visage, and a slight compression of his lips, and a nervous twitching of bis fingers, would have betrayed to n, clo.se observer that his matter-oi'facl air and mariner was assumed, and that he was labouring under some internal com motion. However, he entered the banker's private office, and addressing a gentleman who was seated at the desk, s;iid : * ' Thy young man directed me hither, Sir William. I hope I see thee well. I did but call respecting some further discount, a trifling matter, and one that hardly needs thy attention.' Sir William Curtis held h lm hand the note which but a few minutes before the Quaker had handed to the discount clerk. ' This note, Mr. Ilutton, purports to be drawn by one George S. Thompson, of Iladley, Northamptonshire, for the sum of one hundred and ninety pounds aoven shillings and fourpence, payable in three months ?' ' Exactly, Sir William,' replied the Quaker. ' With your endorsement ?' ' Truly so. I trust there is nothing wrong with the paper. Friend Thompson is trustworthy. All his notes have hitherto been met?' Without immediately replying, the banker took three other notes from the drawer of his desk. The ciggrogate amount was nearly one i thousand pounds, and all purported to be j drawn by the same George S. Thompson, and ! wore endorse.l ' Henry Ilutton.' ! The face of the Quaker blanched. Tr was j an unusual proceeding for the banker to retain notes which had been discounted in due form, but which were not yet payable, in his private drawer. For a moment Sir William looked steadily into the Quaker's face. Then he said, slowly : ' These four notes, Mr. Ilutton, represent, in the aggregate, over eleven hundred pounds. Is this George S. Thompson responsible for such an amount of money ?' 'It is a mere question of doubt, then,' thought the Quaker, and his features lost in some measure their anxious expression, as he answered : ' He has been answerable to thy hank, Kir William, for more than treble that amount, and I do not think thon hast ever known him to fail in meeting thy demands ?' ' Assuredly not. Still the times are hard just now. The money market is tight, and we would fain know something more of this Mr Thompson. You say that he resides at — ' 1 Iladley, Northamptonshire,' replied the Quaker. ' Exactly ; but his standing, his occupation. Who, and what is he ?' ' Methinks, friend Curtis,' said the Quaker, ' thou art unusually strict on this occasion, since hitherto — ' * What has passed on former occasions,' interrupted the banker, ' has nothing to do with the present. We have heard something — that is to say, our suspicions have been awakened by — by the troublous state of the times. Surely,' he added with a grim smile, ' there can be no difficulty in your giving us such satisfactory answers as we require ? You say Mr. Thompson resides in Iladley ? ' 4 Near Iladley,' said the Quaker. 4 And he is ? ' ' A private gentleman — a man of considerable fortune.' ' That is well so far, Mr. Hutton. Am I asking too much when I desire to be informed of the connection — the business connection — I mean, that exists between you and this — this Mr. George S. Thompson?' The face of the Quaker blanched to a deathlike pallor ; his nostrils and the corners of his mouth twitched nervously, and his knees smote., together ; nevertheless, he strove to conceal his agitation, and answered, in as calm a tone of voice as he could command. 'There is no business connection between us. Friend Thompton is willing to do me a kindness at times, and— 11 ' These, then,' interrupted the banker, ' are merely accommodation notes, jet you must be aware that we do not do business in that way. Nevertheless, as you have had dealings with our bank for many years, I shall not object, at this late period of our business transactions, to oblige you further, if all turns out well.' He touched a small bell that lay near him, and a youg clerk responded to the summons. ' Request Mr. Jones to step this way,' said the banker. The youth disappeared, and the next" moment v middlc-nged gentleman entered the of Bee, 'Mr. Jones,' said Sir William, 'you have lately returned from Iladley: do you know anything of the drawer of these notes ? ' And he handed the slips of paper to the agent. ' Nothing, sir,' replied the middlc-agqd gentleman, returning the notes to his employer. ' You made every possible enquiry, Mr. Jones ? ' ' I did, sir. There is no person in Iladley, or in the county of Northampton of the name of George S. Thompson, at least no person who can possibly be responsible for the amount of those notes.' ' Strange 1 ' muttered the banker. ' Mr. Hutton, you can surely describe your friend's residence, or produce some responsible person who knows him.' The Quaker made no reply. He was unable to utter a word ; his lips parted, but no Round came from them, and he clutched the desk as if tobsave himself from falling. ' It is useless to prolong this scene, 1 resumed the banker. 4 Mr. Hutton, lam sorry — truly

sorry to see a man of your supposed respectability and integrity in this position. I may as well inform you at once that ever since the day that you deposited the last note purporting to be drawn by George S. Thompson, we have had our suspicions aroused. I need not tell you by what means; but we resolved to searcji the matter thoroughly. This gentleman is, our agent ; he was formerly a Bowstreet officer. Him we despatched to Northamptonshire six weeks ago, with orders to make strict enquiry into the case. You have heard him reply to my questions. ' What have you to say for yourself? Are you aware of the terrible position in which yon stand ? 1 have but to utter a word, and your life is not worth a straw.' The Quaker could for some moments make no reply, lie gasped for breath, and seemed ready to sink to the floor. At length he gasped forth a prayer for mercy, and confessed his guilt. All the notes purporting to be drawn by George S. Thompson, extending over a period of years, and amounting to several thousand pounds, were rank forgeries ! No such person as the drawer existed except in the Quaker's imagination. He pleaded that hitherto the notes had been duly paid. 'That docs not lessen the crime, neither will it avail you in a court of justice,' replied the banker, ' that } 7 ou have not forged the name of an actual personage. You have still palmed false notes upon the bank, and it is my duty to give you into custody to answer for the crime ; but I will spare you for the sake of your past good name, and for the sake of your family. Let these notes we now hold be paid — mind that — paid duly and promptly, and take warning for the future." The crest- fallen Quaker promised faithfully to meet the notes, and retired from the private office and from the bank, and in due time the notes held by Messrs. Roberta, and Co. were paid. But how ? Ilutton was then in a condition of insolvency. To save himself from prosecution by the Messrs Roberta, Curtis & Co., he perpetrated similar frauds upon other banks ! { Indeed, for 33 r ears he had transacted business after this fashion, forging upon one banker to repay another, and, of course, every day in- j volving himself deeper and deeper in crime, until at last there was no possible plan open j I to him by which he could extricate himself from his fearfully perilous position. When he rope in the morning he hnd, for years, been ■uncertain whether he should spend the night at his own elegant mansion, or within the walls of a prison W hat a terrible state of existence. j And yet it is said that at the period of which ,• we, write, shortly after the peace of 181/5, there j were scores, ay, hundreds of generally supposed | reputable merchants, mon of supposed wealth, ! in exactly a similar position ; and more than i that — that many bankers in the city of London ! were perfectly well aware that the}' were cliscoimtimr notes of the sort we have described, I and who were willing to accept the profits j thus gained, knowing that, somehow or other, these notes would be paid, until the final catastrophe occurred, when each hoped he would not be the loser, though certain that some one must lose in the end ! j Huiton was at this period a linen-draper, or, as it is termed in the United' States, a dealer in dry- goods, in Bishopgate-street, j London, and was l-cportcd to be a man of great I wealth, and to be doing the most extensive j business in his line, in the city. He had a wife and two grown-up daughters, all estimable ladies, highly respected by the society to which they belonged, and by all who knew them, aud utterly ignorant of the desperate game which the husband and father was playing. At length the time arrived when he could no longer conceal bis true position from his family or from the world. Tie had made his List effort. In four days he had an immense sum — some thousands of pounds — to pay, and scarcely one thousand to meet the demands that would be made upon him ! One single failure would reveal all ! Driven to despair, he resolved to fly the country with what money he had in his possession. He sought his wife and daughters, and explained to the horror-stricken females the perilous position in which he stood. What could the) r say ? They knew full well that his life would be forfeited to the outraged laws of his country if lie remained four days longer in ICngland. They urgod his flight. They bade him care nothing for them. He had been an excellent, loving husband, a kind and tender parent. ' Whatever they might have ftlt, they could not censure him to his fa.cc at such a moment. He would have loft a few hundred pounds in the hands of his wife and daughters, but this they refused to listen to. [n vain he urged that he had more than sufficient to carry him to America, and support "iiim there until he could look about him and decide how to act. His daughters shuddered, and hid their face 3in their hands, while blind'ivg tears coursed down their cheeks. His 'wife was pale but firmer. ' No, Henry,' she said, ' I could not touch the money, nor shall Mary or Rebecca, though we starve. It is not oura. God knows how many poor creatures may be ruined through thy great fault. Yet, my husband, I cannot, no, I cannot bid thee stay and meet thy just doom. I may be wrong. Heaven forgive me, but I could not live and see thee die upon the gallows ' Go, Homy, seek a distant land. We will work till we obtain honest money to join thee, for it is not meet that thee should be alone — cast off by thy loving wife and children — fallen as thou art. Go, and strive to be holiest, and we will come to thee bye and by, and aid thee to earn money to repay those whom thou hast so grievously wronged ; but, Henry, die rather than continue in thy sin. 1 The wretched man, as yet unsuspected, at least by any whose interests demanded that they should detain him, fled to Dover, and took passage on board a vessel bound to America, and then lying at anchor in the Downs. He feared to embark from London, lest he should be delayed during the passage down the Thames until his defalcations and forgeries should he made public, and his person arrested, lie bribed a Dover boatman to put him on board the ship, though the sea was very rough, and the vessel lay a loug distance from the shore, and got safely on board. The ship met with" foul winds on proceeding down the Channel, and the dreaded four days had more than elapsed before she reached the Land's End. There she was still detained by stress of weather. A fisherman put off from the shore in the hope of disposing of his cargo. The man had a newspaper on board his boat. It was now the ninth day since the vessel had quitted her anchorage in the Downs, and the captain was eager to learn what had transpired in London since he left. He begged the journal of the boatman ; it was readily given to him, and the fisherman having sold his fish and received payment, left the vessel. The captain gleaned over the columns of the newspaper. 1 Ha ! ' he suddenly exclaimed. ' There is great news, Mr. Wilson.' Hutton had given an assumed name when he stepped on board the ship, and had succeeded in inducing the captain to believe that he had engaged a passage from the owners of the vessel in a regular wny, and, while on a visit to some friends, had mistaken the day of sailing. ' There is grcnt news,' be repented, ' A scoundrel named Hutton — t have never held too good an opinion of the sanctimonious sect — has committed forgery to an immense amount, and some score of poor families are utterly ruined through his rascality. The fellow' is believed to be skulking somewhere in the country. I hope, with all my soul, that he will be arrested and hanged, as b.6 richly deserves to be. , Here,* take ; the paper and read for yourself. I sfee the wind is coming up from the eastward. Take care of

il — I shall want to look over it when I have time;' and the honest skipper turned his attention to making the necessary sail on his ship. Ilutton had doffed his Quaker garb, before leaving London, and with it his Quakeriike style of speech, and the captain had not the slightest suspicion that his passenger had told him a false story. The guilty man read in the columns of the journal how, to the surprise and consternation of the citizens of London, and of all who had heard of his villanies, he, the reputed wealthy and prosperous linen-draper, had forged to a tremendous amount and absconded, and how a warrant had been issued for his arreat, and a large reward to anybody who would secure his safe detention in any one of his majesty's gaols in Great Britain or Ireland, or any one of the British colonies, and how the seaports had been closely watched, and it was believed that knowing this to be the case, the fugitive from justice had fled to the interior of the island, and was concealed either in the country in England or in Scotland. Furthermore, the editor of the paper went on to say how many innocent, trusting persons, many of them widows and orphans, had lost their all through ! this wretch's villany, and how it was hoped he would be arrested and made an example of. An additional paragraph expressed, in a few commonplace phrases, some commiseration for his innocent wife and family, with the customary moral addendum, that pity for the innocent must not shield the guilty, ' for,' continued the editor, 'it is one of the sad concomitants of crime that the criminal not only brings well-deserved suffering and punishment upon himself, but also involves the innocent in the consequences of his guilt. The mysterious and awful dispensation of providence is carried out— their sins are visited upon their children to the third and fourth generation." * * ♦ * * The wind wa9 now favourable and the weather fine. Since he had quitted London, Hutton had scarcely slept. He had not only suffered dreadful mental anguish in the dread of being captured, at any moment, but had wearied himself in endeavouring to assume in the midst of this distress and terror, an appearance of ease, composure, and cheerfulness, suitable to his assumed character. The tension bad been terrible, almost unendurable. He now sought his cabin and enjoyed for several hours, guilty as he was, the calm, sound, sweet repose of innocence ! When ho awoke, he found, to his consternation, that the wind had died away. It was nearly a dead calm. Still the vessel was out of sight oflniul. lie felt himself secure. A homeward bound vessel was seen approaching, toward nightfall, coming toward them with a light easterly breeze that was just springing up, and the captain and he both prepared letters to put on board when she drew near, lluttou's letter was brief. It contained simply the following words : 'Devrest Wipk and Daughters : — Thank Cod, lam safe, at last. What I have suffered since I left you, and during thetedipus passage down Channel, none can imagine but God above, myself and you ! Forgive me. Pray for me, and O, for Heaven's sake, join me in I America as soon as possible, or I feel I shall go mad. j ' Your loving husband and father, ' llbnby lluttok.' ' At sea, off the coast of Ireland.' The letter, according to preconcerted arrangement, was directed to Mrs. Wilson, instead of to Mrs. Ilutton. It was put safely on hoard the homeward bound vessel, and in a few days reached London ; but by a strange fatality, Ilutton, although he had addressed it to his wife in an assumed name, had, in his hurry and agitation, forgotten to give the false address determined upon, as well as the false name. The letter, which should have been delivered in Chelsea, was delivered at Hutton's residence in Bishopgate-street ! One of the forger's creditors, who was one of the greatest sufferers by his crimes, and one of the most implacable of his pei'secutors, chanced to call with a constable, at the residence in Bishopgate-street on the very day and hour when the postman delivered the letter. Ile had obtained a warrant to search the premises, having taken it into his head that Ilutton was concealed there by his wife and daughters. The postman met him just as he was leaving the house, rendered still more irascible in consequence of his fruitless search. ' Ha ! ' he cried, seeing the postman at the door, ' haye you any letters for Mrs. Ilutton?' ' No, Sir,' replied the postman, ' but I have one for Mrs. Wilson, at this address.' [ 'Wilson— Wilson ! There is no such person residing here. Let me sec the letter. By Jove ! ' he exclaimed, after having examined the superscription. ' This is Hutton's handwriting. This letter must be secured. I charge you to accompany me to Guildhall, where it must be opened and read izi the presence of a magistrate.' The letter was duly read before the magistrate, and the method of the forger's escape, and the name of the vessel on board which he had sailed (stamped on the envelope), made \ known. The creditors were almost mad with rage and disappointment. Their victim had outwitted them, perhaps was already half way to America, and there was no extradition treaty I in those days. Alas for the uncertainty of all mundane affairs ! As Burns has sung : j " The best laid plans o' mice an' men Gang aft u-gley." The calm which had succeeded the easterly breeze, of brief endurance, was in turn followed by a return of the westerly gale, which soon blew with such fury, that the captain, sorely against his will, was under the necessity of seeking safety for his ship by putting about and running back to the English Channel, and at length was glad to make for one of the Channel ports. He came to anchor in Torbay, and scarcely had the vessel laid there ten hours when officers came off in a boat to arrest the forger. The captain was completely taken by surprise. Notwithstanding his previous indignation against the then to him unknown forger, he sincerely pitied him now, and swore, as he saw the guilty wretch dragged over the vessel's side, that had he only "confided in him, he would have stood out to sea and risked the I loss of a mast, beforehe should have been taken. ! Our story will soon come to a close. Hutton was carried back to London, tried, found guilty j and condemned to die. The utmost efforts were made to save him, but in vain. In vain the society of Quakers to which he belonged, although they had discarded him, for the honour of their sect, petitioned in his favour. In vain his wife and daughters, personally, applied for pardon to George the Fourth, who was then Prince Regent. The Prince was deeply affected. Hnd it been in his power he would have r pared the unhappy man ; for, to the honour of George the Fourth, be it said, numerous as were his bad qualities, inhumanity was not in the number of his faults, and he was never so uneasy as when he was compelled, in the exercise of his kingly duties, to sign the death-warrants of criminals. On such occasions, it is said, he often refused to take food for the day, and had it been in his power he would have pardoned every malefactor who was not a murderer. On this occasion the prince was moved to tears as he raised the unhappy la-lies, who hnd fallen on their knees before him, and informed them that he could not do as he most gladly would. Ilutton met his death with calmness and resignation,' acknowledging the Justice of the sentence. The day before his execution he bade a final farewell to his unhappy wife and daughters, and expressed his hope of meeting them in a happier world. He resumed his Quaker garb and mode of speech, and on, the morning of his execution, when brought into

the press-room to be pinioned, he said to a fellow - sufferer who had previously been. bound : ' Friend, how does thee feel, thyself? Hast had any sleep during the night ? I have had none. * I spent the night in prayer, and I trust my sins are forgiven me. How was it with thee ? I could only wish to live to make reparation to those 1 have wronged." As the man pinioned his wrists, he cried : 'O ! Pray do not bind me so tight ; but thou knowest best what is proper." He engaged in prayer with the ordinary of the prison, and at a signal given by himself, the drop fell while the. concluding sentence of the Lord's prayer was still on his lips.