The Great Train Robbery Part 5

"Ready," said Mr. T., making growling and snarling sounds to his dog.

"Blow on 'em! Blow on 'em!" came the cry from the spectators, and various otherwise quite dignified gentlemen puffed and blew toward the rats, raising the fur and sending them into a frenzy.

"Aaannnddd... go!" shouted Captain Jimmy, and Mr. T. flung his dog into the pit. Immediately, Mr. T. crouched down until his head was just above the wooden rim, and from this position he urged his dog on with shouted instructions and canine growls.

The dog leapt forward into the ma.s.s of rats, striking out at them, snapping at the necks like the true and well-blooded sport that he was. In an instant he had killed three or four.

The betting spectators screamed and yelled no less than the owner, who never took his eyes from the combat. "That's it!" shouted Mr. T. "That's a dead one, drop 'im, now go! Grrrrrrr! Good, that's another, drop 'im. Go! Grrr-rugh!"

The dog moved quickly from one furry body to the next. Then one rat caught hold of his nose and clung tightly; the dog could not shake the rat free.

"Twister! Twister!" shrieked the crowd.

The dog writhed, got free, and raced after the others. Now there were six rats killed, their bodies lying on the blood-streaked pit floor.

"Two minutes past," called Captain Jimmy.

"Hi, Lover, good Lover," screamed Mr. T. "Go, boy. Grrrrh! That's one, now drop 'im. Go, Lover!"

The dog raced around the arena, pursuing its quarry; the crowd screamed and pounded the wooden slats to keep the animals in a frenzy. At one point Lover had four rats clinging to his face and body, and still he kept going, crunching a fifth in his strong haws. In the midst of all this furious excitement, no one noticed a red-bearded gentleman of dignified bearing who pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing alongside Mr. T., whose attention remained wholly focused on the dog.

"Three minutes," Captain Jimmy called. There was a groan from several in the crowd. Three minutes gone and only twelve rats dead; those who had bet on Mr. T.'s fancy were going to lose their money.

Mr. T. himself did not seem to hear the time. His eyes never left the dog; he barked and yelped; he twisted his body, writhing with the dog he owned; he snapped his jaws and screamed orders until he was hoa.r.s.e.

"Time!" shouted Captain Jimmy, waving the stopwatch. The crowd sighed and relaxed. Lover was pulled from the arena; the three remaining rats were deftly scooped up by the a.s.sistants.

The ratting match was over; Mr. T. had lost.

"b.l.o.o.d.y good try," said the red-bearded man, in consolation.

The paradoxes inherent in Mr. Edgar Trent's behavior at the Queen's Head pub--- indeed, in his very presence in such surroundings--- require some explanation.

In the first place, a man who was the president of a bank, a devout Christian, and a pillar of the respectable community would never think to a.s.sociate himself with members of the lower orders. Quite the contrary: Mr. Trent devoted considerable time and energy to keeping these people in their proper place, and he did so with the firm and certain knowledge that he was helping to maintain good social order.

Yet there were a few places in Victorian society where members of all cla.s.ses mingled freely, and chief among these were sporting events--- the prize ring, the turf and, of course, the baiting sports. All these activities were either disreputable or flatly illegal, and their supporters, derived from every stratum of society, shared a common interest that permitted them to overlook the breakdown of social convention upon such occasions. And if Mr. Trent saw no incongruity in his presence among the lowest street hawkers and costers, it is also true that the hawkers and costers, usually tongue-tied and uneasy in the presence of gentlemen, were equally relaxed at these sporting events, laughing and nudging freely men whom they would not dare to touch under ordinary circ.u.mstances.

Their common interest--- animal baiting--- had been a cherished form of amus.e.m.e.nt throughout Western Europe since medieval times. But in Victorian England animal sports were dying out rapidly, the victim of legislation and changing public tastes. The baiting of bulls or bears, common at the turn of the century, was now quite rare; c.o.c.kfighting was found only in rural centers. In London in 1854, only three animal sports remained popular, and all concerned dogs.

Nearly every foreign observer since Elizabethan times has commented on the affection Englishmen lavish upon their dogs, and it is odd that the very creature most dear to English hearts should be the focus of these flagrantly s.a.d.i.s.tic "sporting events."

Of the three dog sports, dogs set against other dogs was considered the highest "art" of animal sports. This sport was sufficiently widespread that many London criminals made a good living working exclusively as dog thieves, or "fur-pullers." But dogfights were relatively uncommon, since they were ordinarily battles to the death, and a good fighting dog was an expensive article.

Even less common was badger-baiting. Here a badger would be chained in an arena, and a dog or two set loose to worry the animal. The badger's tough hide and sharp bite made the spectacle particularly tense and highly popular, but a scarcity of badgers limited the sport.

Ratting was the most common dog sport, particularly at the mid-century. Although technically illegal, it was conducted for decades with flagrant disregard for the law. Throughout London there were signs reading, "Rats Wanted" and "Rats Bought and Sold"; there was, in fact, a minor industry in ratcatching, with its own specialized rules of the trade. Country rats were most prized, for their fighting vigor and their absence of infection. The more common sewer rats, readily identified by their smell, were timid and their bites more likely to infect a valuable fighting dog. When one recognizes that the owner of a sporting pub with a well-attended rat pit might buy two thousand rats a week--- and a good country rat could fetch as much as a s.h.i.+lling--- it is not surprising that many individuals made a living as ratcatchers. The most famous was "Black Jack" Hanson, who went about in a hea.r.s.e-like wagon, offering to rid fas.h.i.+onable mansions of pests for absurdly low rates, so long as he could "take the critters live."

There is no good explanation for why Victorians at all levels of society looked away from the sport of ratting, but they were conveniently blind. Most humane writing of the period deplores and condemns c.o.c.kfighting--- which was already very rare--- without mentioning dog sports at all. Nor is there any indication that reputable gentlemen felt any unease at partic.i.p.ating in ratting sports; for these gentlemen considered themselves "staunch supporters of the destruction of vermin," and nothing more.

One such staunch supporter, Mr. T., retired to the downstairs rooms of the Queen's Head pub, which was now virtually deserted. Signaling the solitary barman, he called for a gla.s.s of gin for himself and some peppermint for his fancy.

Mr. T. was in the process of was.h.i.+ng his dog's mouth out with peppermint--- to prevent canker--- when the red-bearded gentleman came down the stairs and said, "May I join you for a gla.s.s?"

"By all means," Mr. T. said, continuing to minister to his dog.

Upstairs, the sound of stomping feet and shouting indicated the beginning of another episode of the destruction of vermin. The red-bearded stranger had to shout over the din. "I perceive you are a gentleman of sporting instinct," he said.

"And unlucky," Mr. T. said, equally loudly. He stroked his dog. "Lover was not at her best this evening. When she is in a state, there is none to match her, but at times she lacks bustle." Mr. T. sighed regretfully. "Tonight was such a one." He ran his hands over the dog's body, probing for deep bites, and wiped the blood of several cuts from his fingers with his handkerchief. "But she came off well enough. My Lover will fight again."

"Indeed," the red-bearded man said, "and I shall wager upon her again when she does."

Mr. T. showed a trace of concern. "Did you lose?"

"A trifle. Ten guineas, it was nothing."

Mr. T. was a conservative man, and well enough off, but not disposed to think of ten guineas as "a trifle." He looked again at his drinking companion, noticing the fine cut of his coat and the excellent white silk of his neckcloth.

"I am pleased you take it so lightly," he said. "Permit me to buy you a gla.s.s, as a token of your ill fortune."

"Never," returned the red-bearded man, "for I count it no ill fortune at all. Indeed, I admire a man who may keep a fancy and sport her. I should do so myself, were I not so often abroad on business."

"Oh, yes?" said Mr. T., signaling to the batman for another round.

"Quite," said the stranger. "Why, only the other day, I was offered a most excellently made dog, close upon a felon, with the tastes of a true fighter. I could not make the purchase, for I have no time myself to look after the animal."

"Most unfortunate," said Mr. T. "What was the price asked?"

"Fifty guineas."

"Excellent price."

"Indeed."

The waiter brought more drinks. "I am myself in search of a made dog," Mr. T. said.

"Indeed?"

"Yes," Mr. T. said. "I should like a third to complement my stable, with Lover and Shantung--- that is the other dog. But I don't suppose..."

The red-bearded gentleman paused discreetly before answering. The training, buying, and selling of fighting dogs was, after all, illegal. "If you wish," Pierce said at last, "I could inquire whether the animal is still available."

"Oh, yes? That would be very good of you. Very good indeed." Mr. T. had a sudden thought. "But were I you, I should buy it myself. After all, while you were abroad, your wife could instruct the servants in the care of the beast."

"I fear," replied the red-bearded man, "that I have devoted too much of my energies these past years to the pursuit of business concerns. I have never married." And then he added, "But of course I should like to."

"Of course," Mr. T. said, with a most peculiar look coming over his face.

Chapter 12.

The Problem of Miss Elizabeth Trent

Victorian England was the first society to constantly gather statistics on itself, and generally these figures were a source of unabashed pride. Beginning in 1840, however, one trend worried the leading thinkers of the day: there were increasingly more single women than men. By 1851, the number of single women of marriageable age was reliably put at 2,765,000--- and a large proportion of these women were the daughters of the middle and upper cla.s.ses.

Here was a problem of considerable dimension and gravity. Women of lower stations in life could take jobs as seamstresses, flower girls, field workers, or any of a dozen lowly occupations. These women were of no pressing concern; they were slovenly creatures lacking in education and a discriminating view of the world. A. H. White reports, in tones of astonishment, that he interviewed a young girl who worked as a matchbox maker, who "never went to church or chapel. Never heard of 'England' or 'London' or the 'sea' or 's.h.i.+ps.' Never heard of G.o.d. Does not know what He does. Does not know whether it is better to be good or bad."

Obviously, in the face of such ma.s.sive ignorance, one must simply be grateful that the poor child had discovered some way to survive in society at all. But the problem presented by the daughters of middle- and upper-cla.s.s households was different. These young ladies possessed education and a taste for genteel living. And they had been raised from birth for no other purpose than to be "perfect wives."

It was terribly important that such women should marry. The failure to marry--- spinsterhood--- implied a kind of dreadful crippling, for it was universally acknowledged that "a woman's true position was that of administratrix, mainspring, guiding star of the home," and if she was unable to perform this function, she became a sort of pitiful social misfit, an oddity.

The problem was made more acute by the fact that well-born women had few alternatives to wifehood. After all, as one contemporary observer noted, what occupations could they find "without losing their position in society? A lady, to be such, must be a mere lady, and nothing else. She must not work for profit, or engage in any occupation that money can command, lest she invade the rights of the working cla.s.ses, who live by their labor...."

In practice, an unmarried upper-cla.s.s woman could use the one unique attribute of her position, education, and become a governess. But by 1851, twenty-five thousand women were already employed as governesses and there was, to say the least, no need for more. Her other choices were much less appealing: she might be a shop a.s.sistant, a clerk, a telegraphist, or a nurse, but all these occupations were more suitable for an ambitious lower-cla.s.s woman than a firmly established gentlewoman of quality.

If a young woman refused such demeaning work, her spinsterhood implied a considerable financial burden upon the household. Miss Emily Downing observed that "the daughters of professional men... cannot but feel themselves a burden and a drag on the hard-won earnings of their fathers; they must know--- if they allow themselves to think at all--- that they are a constant cause of anxiety, and that should they not get married, there is every probability of their being, sooner or later, obliged to enter the battle of life utterly unprepared and unfitted for the fight."

In short, there was intense pressure for marriage--- any sort of decent marriage--- felt by fathers and daughters alike. The Victorians tended to marry relatively late, in their twenties or thirties, but Mr. Edgar Trent had a daughter Elizabeth, now twenty-nine and of "wholly marriageable condition"--- meaning somewhat past her prime. It could not have escaped Mr. Trent's attention that the red-bearded gentleman might be in need of a wife. The gentleman himself expressed no reluctance to marry, but rather had indicated that the exigencies of business had kept him from pursuing personal happiness. Thus there was no reason to believe that this well-dressed, evidently well-to-do young man with a sporting instinct might not be drawn to Elizabeth. With this in mind, Mr. Trent contrived to invite Mr. Pierce to his house on Highwater Road for Sunday tea, on the pretext of discussing the purchase of a fighting dog from Mr. Pierce. Mr. Pierce, somewhat reluctantly, accepted the invitation.

Elizabeth Trent was not called as a witness at the trial of Pierce, out of deference to her finer sensibilities. But popular accounts of the time give us an accurate picture of her. She was of medium height, rather darker in complexion than was the fas.h.i.+on, and her features were, in the words of one observer, "regular enough without being what one might call pretty." Then, as now, journalists were inclined to exaggerate the beauty of any woman involved in a scandalous event, so that the absence of compliments about Miss Trent's appearance probably implies "an unfortunate aspect."

She apparently had few suitors, save for those openly ambitious fellows eager to marry a bank president's daughter, and these she staunchly rejected, with her father's undoubtedly mixed blessing. But she must surely have been impressed with Pierce, that "das.h.i.+ng, intrepid, fine figure of a man. with charm to burn."

By all accounts, Pierce was equally impressed by the young lady. A servant's testimony records their initial meeting, which reads as if it came from the pages of a Victorian novel.

Mr. Pierce was taking tea on the rear lawn with Mr. Trent and Mrs. Trent, an "acknowledged beauty of the town." They watched as bricklayers in the back yard patiently erected a ruined building, while nearby a gardener planted picturesque weeds. This was the last gasp of a nearly one-hundred-year English fascination with ruins; they were still so fas.h.i.+onable that everyone who could afford a decent ruin installed one on his grounds.

Pierce watched the workmen for a while. "What is it to be?" he inquired.

"We thought a water mill," Mrs. Trent said. "It will be so delightful, especially if there is the rusted curve of the waterwheel itself. Don't you think so?"

"We are building the rusted wheel at a goodly expense," Mr. Trent grumbled.

"It is being constructed of previously rusted metal, saving us a good deal of bother," Mrs. Trent added. "But of course we must wait for the weeds to grow up around the site before it takes on the proper appearance."

At that moment Elizabeth arrived, wearing white crinoline. "Ah, my darling daughter," Mr. Trent said, rising, and Mr. Pierce rose with him. "May I present Mr. Edward Pierce, my daughter Elizabeth."

"I confess I did not know you had a daughter," Pierce said. He bowed deeply at the waist, took her hand, and seemed about to kiss it but hesitated. He appeared greatly fl.u.s.tered by the young woman's arrival on the scene.

"Miss Trent," he said, releasing her hand awkwardly. "You take me quite by surprise."

"I cannot tell if that is to my advantage or no," Elizabeth Trent replied, quickly taking a seat at the tea table and holding out her hand until a filled cup was put in it.

"I a.s.sure you, it is wholly to your advantage," Mr. Pierce replied. And he was reported to have colored deeply at this remark.

Miss Trent fanned herself; Mr. Trent cleared his throat; Mrs. Trent, the perfect wife, picked up a tray of biscuits and said, "Will you try one of these, Mr. Pierce?"

"With grat.i.tude, Madam," Mr. Pierce replied, and no one present doubted the sincerity of his words.

"We are just discussing the ruins," Mr. Trent said, in a somewhat overloud voice. "But prior to that Mr. Pierce was telling us of his travels abroad. He has recently returned from New York, in point of fact."

It was a cue; his daughter picked it up neatly. "Really?" she said, fanning herself briskly. "How utterly fascinating."

"I fear it is more so in the prospect than the telling," Mr. Pierce replied, avoiding the glance of the young woman to such a degree that all observed his abashed reticence. He was clearly taken with her; and the final proof was that he addressed his remarks to Mrs. Trent. "It is a city like any other in the world, if truth be told, and chiefly distinguished by the lack of niceties which we residents of London take for granted."

"I have been informed," Miss Trent ventured, still fanning, "that there are native predators in the region."

"I should be delighted if I regale you," Mr. Pierce said, "with endless adventures with the Indians--- for so they are called, in America as in the East--- but I fear I have no adventures to report. The wilderness of America does not begin until the Mississippi is crossed."

"Have you done so?" asked Mrs. Trent.

"I have," Mr. Pierce replied. "It is a vast river, many times more broad than the Thames, and it marks the boundary in America between civilization and savagery. Although lately they are constructing a railway across that vast colony"--- he permitted himself the condescending reference to America, and Mr. Trent guffawed "and I expect with the coming of the railway, the savagery will soon vanish."

"How quaint," Miss Trent said, apparently unable to think of anything else to say.

"What business took you to New York?" Mr. Trent asked "If I may be so bold," Mr. Pierce continued, ignoring the question, "and if the delicate ears of the ladies present shall not be offended, I shall give an example of the savagery which persists in the American lands, and the rude way of life which many persons there think nothing remarkable. Do you know of buffaloes?"

"I have read of them," said Mrs. Trent, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng. According to some of the testimony of the servants, she was as taken with Mr. Pierce as was her stepdaughter, and her demeanor created a minor scandal within the Trent household. Mrs. Trent said, "These buffaloes are large beasts, like wild cows, and s.h.a.ggy."

"Precisely so," Mr. Pierce said. "The western portion of the American country is widely populated with these buffalo creatures, and many persons make their livelihood--- such as it is--- in hunting them."

"Have you been to California, where there is gold?" asked Miss Trent abruptly.

"Yes," Pierce said.

"Let the man finish his tale," Mrs. Trent said, rather too sharply.

"Well," Pierce said, "the buffalo hunters, as they are known, sometimes seek the flesh of the animals, which is reckoned like venison, and sometimes the hide,, which also has value."

"They lack tusks," Mr. Trent said. Mr. Trent had lately financed an elephant-killing expedition on behalf of the bank, and at this very moment an enormous warehouse at dockside was filled with five thousand ivory tusks. Mr. Trent had gone to inspect these goods for himself, a vast room of white curving tusks, most impressive.

"No, they have no tusks, although the male of the species possesses horns."

"Horns, I see. But not of ivory."

"No, not ivory."

"I see."