THE way by which the ranks of thieves and robbers are recruited is by the old teaching the young the figure system. Yes, there is a proselytism of evil as well as of good. Society is always straining after the making of parties, and while churches are working for members, the old thieves are busy enlisting the young. The advantage, I fear, is with the latter, for there’s something more catching in the example of taking another man’s property than that of praying for grace. Of course I am here looking to the young, and I make this statement without caring much how your beetle-browed critic may take it.

I have known a good many of those dominies of the devil’s lore, not a few of them with streaks of grey on their heads, who, having themselves been taught at the same desk, have taken up the trade as a kind of natural calling, and raised their pupils according to the old morality, “The sweet morsel of another person’s property is pleasant to roll under the tongue;” and perhaps the more pleasant, too, that the tongue that sucks is the tongue that lies. There was Hugh Thomson, about the cleverest thief in my day, that rogue brought up as many youngsters in the faith as would have filled a conventicle; and what a glorious grip that was I got of him, just as he was trying to reap the fruits of his lesson, through the ingenuity of one of his scholars, William Lang! I would not have exchanged it for the touch of a bride’s hand, with the marriage ring upon her finger.

In 1841, there was a Mr Brown who kept a spirit shop in the Low Calton, nearly opposite Trinity College Church. One of those modern unions called “Yearly Societies” was kept in his house, the members paying their contributions on the Monday evenings, which contributions, the produce of toil and sweat of poor, hard-working men, were deposited in the society box, and secured under lock and key. One Monday evening, I was passing down the Calton on my way to Leith Wynd homeward, to get myself refreshed with a cup of tea. In the mouth of an entry, on the other side of the street called the North Back of the Canongate, I observed Hugh and his scholar Lang, engaged, no doubt, in the mutual offices of teaching and learning. I thought I might learn something too, and stepping into the recess of Trinity Church gate, I watched their movements. Shortly, Lang came out—he had become a man by this time, recollect—and having mixed with the workmen, who were going into Brown’s shop to make their weekly payments, he went in among the rest.

At first, I confess, I could not understand this. The thief could make nothing of the workmen, even if unknown to them as a thief, which in all likelihood he was, and the idea of his trying the pocket line among fustian jackets never entered my head. But that there was some play to go on, where Thomson was patronising, I could have no doubt whatever. After a time, during which I took care that Thomson should not see me, Lang came out, and, having joined Thomson, the two went off together, with something that sounded in my ears as a laugh, and the meaning of which was made clear to me by a happy thought that occurred to me on the instant like a flash. I now wanted to see Brown by himself, but as the workmen were still going in and coming out, I was obliged to wait a considerable time. Selecting at length a moment when the coast was tolerably clear, I entered the shop. There, in the back room, was the sacred box, devoted to benevolence, and from which some widow and orphans might, before the year expired, receive something that would make her tear less scorching and their cry less shrill—some broken bones, too, broken through the labour and toil of the poor man for the rich one, might have less pain through the charm of that box. Thoughts these pretty enough to some minds, but to such as Thomson quaint, if not funny.

“Mr Brown,” said I, as I entered, “will you be kind enough to shew me your list of members?”

“Surely, Mr M‘Levy.” And he placed the book in my hands.

Running down the names I came to “William Lang, joiner,” though all his junctions were between his hand and the property of another.

“I have seen enough,” said I; “and now, Mr Brown, you will take especial care to carry your box up-stairs with you to-night to your dwelling-house.”

And without giving him time to ask for explanations, which I did not feel much disposed to give, I left him. I knew that Brown shut up late on the pay-nights, and therefore having plenty of time that evening, even in the event of an emergency, I went home to get my tea. After which, and having cogitated a little under its reviving influence, I took another turn down Leith Wynd. I wanted to examine the iron gate leading to the church. On looking at it, I found that the lock was off, and consequently free ingress was afforded to any one wishing to enter. I went to a blacksmith’s and got a chain and padlock, the use of which will be apparent, when I mention, that if I adopted the recess within the gate as a look-out, from which I could see Brown’s shop, it was as likely to be so used by those we wanted to observe, as by ourselves, the observers.

Having made these preliminary arrangements, I proceeded to the Office, where I secured the services of one or two of the most active constables, besides my assistant, for I knew that having Thomson to cope with, we had something to encounter far more formidable than any other thief or robber within the sound of St Giles’s. I was in all this, I admit, fired with the ambition of getting a man who had become as bold as Macbeth under the witches’ prophecy. Having waited till about eleven o’clock, the hour when Brown generally closed, I repaired, accompanied by my men, to our place of retreat. We entered cautiously, and shutting the old gate with as little noise as possible, I secured the two halves with the chain and padlock, with which I had provided myself—a proceeding which, as it afterwards appeared, was necessary to the success of our enterprise, but the object of which my men could not at the time very clearly understand. Yet what more likely than that Thomson and his gang should wish to reconnoitre us, as we wished to reconnoitre them. We were soon enclosed, and ready for observation. We saw the light put out in Brown’s shop, and heard the locking of the doors both in front and at the back, or rather in the side of the entry which led up to the premises above which the spirit-dealer resided. But more than this, we saw the cautious cashier with the sacred box under his arm, as he stept up the entry—a sight which I enjoyed with a secret chuckle of satisfaction, for it was no mean pride to be up with a man such as Hugh Thomson.

It might be about twelve o’clock before we saw any symptoms of sport. Suddenly, three men, coming apparently from different directions, met, and whispering a few words parted, to act for caution-scouts to each other. Each took a round, casting wary glances to the right and left, and desultory as their movements were, I could recognise Hugh, Lang, and another, David L——, also an old pupil of Thomson’s. It seemed to be Thomson’s special care to look into the Trinity Church recess, and as we saw him coming forward, we retreated behind the pillars of the gate. He appeared to be taken aback as he observed the gate secured, and taking hold of a railing, he shook it; so that it was evident to me that the place we occupied had been fixed on for retreat, if not for observation. I had thus again the advantage of my old friend, and the moment he receded we resumed our posts. In a few minutes, the different scouts seemed to agree in the opinion that all was safe, and went direct to the work I had anticipated, the moment I saw Lang enter with the members of the society. The front door was not their object; it was the back, or more properly the side one in the entry, which, from the passage being right opposite to us, I could see along, though very indistinctly, scarcely more than to enable me to trace their dark figures against the light thrown in at the farthest opening. None but a keen trapper or snarer can appreciate the pleasure a detective of the true instinctive order feels when engaged in the capture of game so wild, shy, and cunning. Their very cunning is what whets our appetites, and I absolutely burned to embrace the dauntless leader of the gang.

Now we saw one separate from the rest, come up the entry, and begin to act the “goose-guard,” dodging backwards and forwards, throwing up his head, and looking from one side to another. Inside the entry, meanwhile, some obstruction seemed to take place, even adroit as Thomson was; but presently we were surprised as a vivid flash of exploded gunpowder illuminated the passage. Though unprepared for this, I understood it at once. Thomson had a way of his own with sullen locks—placing a small parcel of powder into the key-hole, and pushing it home, so as to reach the wards, he exploded it with a match. The only thing I wondered at was the scarcely audible report—perhaps to be accounted for by the moderate charge, and the resistance of the guards which he intended to loosen. So long as they were in the entry, we could not move, even to undo the padlock and get the gate open and ready. Our moment was that of their entrance; and watching thus, with breathless anxiety, we saw that the door had been opened, by the disappearance of the shadows from the entry. Out we sallied. The “goose-guard,” L——, is made secure in an instant. Two constables, placed one on each side of the front door. I and my assistant enter the close and get to the side door. Lo! it is locked. The gentlemen had wanted time, not only to rifle the box, but to enjoy themselves with ample potations from the whisky barrel; and no doubt their libations would have been rather costly to Mr Brown, as every minute besides would have been devoted to the abstraction of as many portables as they could carry away.

Finding the door barred, (for I think the lock must have been rendered useless,) we began to force it—a circumstance that really added to my satisfaction, as every wrench and thump must have gone home to the hearts of the intruders, now fairly caught in a novel man-trap. Nay, with the constables at the outer door, I didn’t care what noise we made, provided we were not annoyed by curious neighbours; and then, to make the play more exciting, we heard them as busy with the front door trying to get out, as we were with the back one endeavouring to get in. Forced at length, and a rush in in the dark, the noise making the thieves desperate, so that their energies to force the front door might rather be termed fury. They succeeded, just as we were at their back; and in consequence of the door being in two halves, and one starting open while the constables’ eyes were fixed on the other, Lang bolted, at the moment that Thomson was embraced by a powerful constable. Another constable was off immediately in pursuit of Lang; and such was my weakness, that when I saw Thomson struggling ineffectually in the grasp of the officer, one whom I had so often sighed for in secret, and eyed in openness, that I took him from the man with that kind of feeling that no person ought to have the honour of holding him but myself.

By this time Mr Brown was down among us in great consternation.

“Ah!” said he, “I see the reason now of your having told me to carry the society-box up-stairs.”

“I fear that would have been nothing to your loss,” replied I, “if we hadn’t been as sharp as we have been. All’s right.”

Mr Brown’s fears were appeased, and we then marched our gentlemen up to the Office, in which procession, so honoured by the presence of Hugh Thomson, I enjoyed one of my triumphs. Lang was sought for during weeks, but could not be found; and here I have to recount one of my wonders. One dark evening when I was acting the night-hawk out near the Gibbet Toll, I had gone considerably beyond that mark, and was returning. Dalkeith is a kind of harbour of refuge for the Edinburgh thieves when the city becomes too hot for them, and I had some hopes of an adventure on this road, otherwise I would not have been there at that hour, for it was late. The road to Portobello is also a hopeful place at times; but on that night I had some reasons, known only to myself, (and it was not often surmised where I was at any time,) for preferring the southern opening. Well, sauntering along I met a young fellow, but it was so dark that, at the distance of two or three yards, you could scarcely recognise anybody. I had a question ready, however, that suited all comers.

“Am I right for the city?” said I.

“Right in,” was the reply.

And seeing the man wanted to be off, I darted a look at the side of his face. It was Lang’s; and I suspected he had recognised me before I did him, for he was off in an instant on the way to Dalkeith, and I must take to my heels in pursuit, or lose him. I immediately gave chase, and a noble one it was, though the night was as dark as pitch, and every step was through liquid mud.

Lang was a good runner, and had, I fancy, confidence that he would escape, and that which he had to escape from might very well grease the heels of even a lazy fellow. He ran for freedom, that dear treasure of even a thief’s soul; and I ran to deprive him of it, a feeling as dear to a detective. The race became hot and hotter, and I could see only the dark outline of the flying desperado, and I heard the sound of his rapid steps as the voice of hope. By the side of the road one or two people stood, and seemed to wonder at the chase, but no one ventured to interfere. We had run a mile and a half with no abatement of the speed of either, so that we were about equal, and if this continued we might run to Dalkeith; but this issue was rendered improbable by the fact, quite well known to me, that a pursued criminal, with a clever officer after him, may almost always be caught by loss of breath. The impulse under which he flies is far more trying to the nerves than that which impels the officer to follow, and hence it is that criminals are so often what is called “run down.” The same remark is applicable to a chase of animals. Fear eats up the energies, the lungs play violently, and exhaustion is the consequence. And so it was here. I gained as time sped, and at length I heard the grateful sound of the blowing lungs. He felt his weakness, and the old bravado getting up, he stopt all of a sudden, and waited for me.

“Why, man,” said I, “you have just to walk back again; so what’s the use?”

“No use,” he replied, doggedly; “only if you hadn’t caught me I would have been well on to Dalkeith.”

Plunging my hands into his coat-pocket, I pulled out a bundle of picklocks.

“Not cured yet?” said I.

“No,” replied he, “and never will. You have spoiled a good job at Dalkeith with your d——d dodging.”

“Are you a member of a Dalkeith society, too, Lang?” I retorted, good-naturedly.

“Something better,” said he; “I might have had £10 in my pocket before morning, if you hadn’t come between me and my game.”

We began our walk homewards. I didn’t require to take hold of him. We had measured our powers, and he knew he had no more chance in flight than in personal conflict, and he walked quietly enough. I would put my handcuffs to use, however, at the Gibbet Toll, to provide against the dangers of alleys favourable to a bolt. I remember I tried him on the soft parts, in regard to the society-box, reminding him that he was robbing the widow and the fatherless.

“Humph! what have I to do with the widow and the fatherless? I am an orphan myself, and there is a difference besides, for your widow and fatherless have friends, because they have characters, and I don’t know but they are better cared for than I, who have neither the one nor the other. I am bound to a trade, as that trade is bound to me, and I must live or die by it. So there’s no use for your blarney about widows and orphans. All you have to do is to take me up, and get me condemned and imprisoned, and I will be the same man when I come out.”

No doubt he would; and why should I have doubted, who scarcely, in all my experience, could hold out my finger and say, “There’s a man whom I have mended, and he is grateful to me for having been hard with him?” No wonder I am weary of my efforts at penal reformation.

I believe the nine months’ imprisonment awarded to these three desperate fellows only steeled them to dare the committal of crimes deserving transportation for as many years. How true it is, that the current of vice and criminality proceeds, both in its ebb and flow, on a “sliding scale.”