University of Virginia Library

MY UNCLE THE COLONEL,
With the Story of
MY UNCLE'S FRIEND THE PICKPOCKET.

My uncle, the colonel, was a handsome
bachelor of forty, and a lustre over, and
lived in hired `lodgings' in Liberty street.
He chose this street on account of its name,
wishing thereby to illustrate his own liberty
from the vinculi matrimonii. For the same
reason his landlady was an old maid. My
uncle had many peculiarities. My uncle,
the author of `Howard Pinckney' would have
called him a `character!' One of his most
marked peculiarities was a constitutional
fear of the female sex. It was genuine fear.
He was afraid of them just as children are
intimidated by strangers. In walking the
streets he would shy away from the path of
an elderly personage of the sex, and almost
leap into the gutter if he unexpectedly met
a pretty black-eyed maiden. Boarding-schools
were his horror. He would go round
three squares to avoid passing one, and an
advancing group of misses of `sweet sixteen,'
tripping along to school, would drive him
down the first by-street. `Stewart's,' in
Broadway, was his terror. Once his way
was blocked up there by a bevy of beauties,
chatting, and ever taking leave, and
stopping to chat again, again to take leave.
His first impulse was to turn back, but
three lovely girls were coming directly behind
him. He would have darted into the
first store, but it was thronged with ladies!
In despair he waved his gold-headed cane to
an advancing omnibus. It drove to the curbstone.
His foot was on the step, his hand
upon the side of the entrance.

`Go on;' cried the fickle-faced ticket-boy.

My uncle, at this instant, made a desperate

and successful leap backward. There
were five females and three babies in the
omnibus!

`Stop! the gem'man's out!' cried the boy,
pulling the bell. `No, go on. He don'
wan' ride—he's flunk!' growled he as Jehu
whipped up his high-ribbed steeds. My uncle
succeeded in gaining the Park side of
Broadway, and eventually in reaching his
lodgings.

Of all things, he most disliked to have a
pretty woman look at him with any attention.
Thrice he exchanged rooms on this
account. In the first instance, in the front
window of the house next to his own dwelling,
there was for ever seated a young lady,
not very pretty, but very vain and bold, before
whose unwinking eyes he had to run
the gauntlet from the moment he closed the
street door till he got out of sight, and from
the moment he came in sight till he was
safely sheltered with the door closed behind
him. He bore until the first of May, and
then finding that family were not going to
move, moved himself. From these rooms
he was driven by a saucy, laughing, handsome
chambermaid opposite, who, it seemed
to him, had nothing to do but to look out of
the upper windows into his own, and watch
him whenever he went out or came in from
the street. In the end she drove my uncle
away, and so he came to Liberty street.
Nearly opposite his rooms was a row of
ware-houses, from the sheet-ironed plated
windows of which he had no danger to apprehend;
and the mayor and one of the
aldermen living within a door or two, he felt
he had nothing to fear. It is true, since
occupying these rooms, he had caught a
glimpse of the face of a very pretty girl between
the Venetian blinds of a window
which starled him not a little (for he had,
as he thought, previously well surveyed the
neighborhood), but not discovering her a
second time, his apprehensions, which had
began to take the alarm, subsided. Venetian
blinds made him nervous! He felt,
while walking through those streets mostly
composed of private dwelling-houses, as if
passing between masked batteries. It was
sufficiently dreadful to be stared at openly
by female eyes, but the bare idea of being
the object of concealed glances, he could
with difficulty endure. It put him into a
perspiration. My poor uncle, the colonel!
It was constitutional with him. His heart,
too, was large and generous—the best woman
in the world would have been honored
and happy in its love.

My uncle had a great horror of being
suspected of being a rogue! With the exterior
of a respectable middle-aged gentleman,
slightly distinguished by the high air
of the `old school,' possessing a handsome
fortune, and holding a highly honorable position
in society, he was, singularly enough,
constantly in fear of being taken for a pickpocket,
a counterfeiter, or, more latterly,
for a defaulter. He never met `Old Hays,'
without suddenly turning pale, and looking
so very like a rogue, that were it not for
the undoubted gentlemanly air and address
inherent in him, and not to be mistaken, he
might have had the honor of cultivating
that gentleman's acquaintance. Once, indeed,
to his utter consternation and vivid
alarm, the High Constable fixed on him his
keen, penetrating glance with such a look of
suspicion, that my uncle did not leave the
house again for several days. He never
passed the Egyptian tombs; nor sallied by
Sing-sing or Blackwell's Island without a
sinking of the heart. In travelling, this apprehension
of being taken for a rogue was
most active. At one time, he used to wear
a costly watch, a massive gold chain across
his vest, a diamond broach, and a rich signet
ring, all of which, in the cars, or on steamers,
he anxiously displayed, so that no one
might suspect him of need, and of having a
design upon their pockets. But having
learned that such lavish display of jewelry
was characteristic of finished rogues, and
that the gamblers at Vicksburg might have
been hung in the gold chains they wore
about their necks, he at once laid them aside,

and henceforward was as destitute of ornaments
as a Methodist divine. Lucklessly,
this amiable sensitiveness of my uncle, on
one occasion, was seriously tried. He was
passenger on one of the North River night
boats from Albany to the city, when, just before
her arrival, at seven in the morning, a
gentleman on board announced the loss of
his pocket-book, containing bank notes to
the amount of eight thousand dollars. My
uncle was on the promenade deck when the
rumor reached him. He became as pale as
death, and looked on every side as if seeking
a way of escape. The boat was brought
to, men were posted at the various avenues
of the boat, a police officer was sent for,
and an individual search of the passengers
began. At length the searching committee
ascended to the upper deck. Besides my
uncle, there were five or six other gentlemen
there, one of whom, a well-dressed gentleman
of high-toned manners, observing his
pallid looks, approached him as the search
was going on below, and said, sympathizingly,

`My dear sir, I see by your countenance
you have the pocket-book, but I will not betray
you.'

`I, sir—I—God forbid. No, sir—no!'
gasped my uncle.

`I see how it is with you, my dear sir; but
don't let them search you. They have no
right to search any gentleman.'

`Search me! Suspect me, of being a
pickpocket! I have feared this all my
life!'

`Take my advice; do not let them search
you.'

They shall not search me; no! I, Colonel
Peter Treat, a pickpocket, sir! I will blow
out my brains! I pick a pocket for eight
thousand dollars, sir! I have checks for
twice that sum in my own pocket-book?
See there, sir!' and my uncle, with the energy
of despair, fear and grief, took out his
pocket-book and displayed them. I, a pickpocket,
sir!'

He returned his book to his pocket, and
buttoned up his coat. `They shall not
search me!' he said, resolutely.

`No, sir. It were as well to be guilty as
to be suspected. What is a man's fair character
good for if it will not protect him from
insult at such a time as this?' said the stranger,
indignantly.

`True, sir! You speak very truly, sir.
I like your sentiments, sir. I should be
happy to know you better, sir! There is
my card, sir—Colonel Peter Treat, sir!
No. —, Liberty street.'

The searchers for the lost pocket-book
soon afterwards ascended to the upper deck,
and the stranger walked carelessly towards
them as if intending to pass by them and go
down.

`Stay, sir, if you please,' said the captain
of the boat. This gentleman here has
lost his pocket-book, and that it has been
cut from his pocket is plain, because the
lining of the pocket is also cut out. Of
course we cannot suspect you, sir; but every
gentleman among those who are strangers
to him, will certainly wish to place himself
above suspicion. I need not, therefore, ask
you, sir, if you will permit yourself to be
searched.'

`I had the vanity to suppose, sir,' said the
stranger, smiling blandly, `that my personal
appearance and address would have been a
guarantee for my honesty. Is that your
pocket-book, sir; or are the contents yours,
sir?' he asked, turning his back towards my
uncle, as he took out and opened a large red
pocket-book.

`No, sir.'

`You may search me farther, officer,'
said the stranger, with complacency.

The search of his person proceeded, and
then the captain, Gil Hays, the officer, and
the loser, passed on to the others, while he
disappeared below. My uncle, in the meanwhile,
by his evident desire to avoid them,
attracted the sharp eye of the officer, who,
from his very singular conduct, set him down
in his heart as the pickpocket, and kept his
eye upon him. He hurried over the search

of the remainder, and walked towards my
uncle, whispering in an undertone to the
gentleman with him,

`He has it, on my life!'

His pale face and rigid features, on which
sat mingled despair and resolution, were certainly
very much against my uncle. The
fatal moment to which his spirit seemed, for
years, to have looked forward, had now
arrived. He sat like death as they approached.

`Your pardon, sir, but we must be allowed
to search you,' said the captain, with far
less courtesy than he had used to the other
—for most convincingly was my uncle's appearance
against him.

`Are you the captain of this boat, sir?' he
demanded, with the pride of a true but sensitive
gentleman at such a crisis.

`I am, sir. And for the honor of it, must
take the liberty to see that its character does
not suffer through rogues. Will you suffer
yourself to be searched, sir?'

`Searched! Rogues! Sir, I will not be
searched. I am no rogue! No, sir. Am I
not a gentleman? Do I not look like one?
Have I any gold chains, rings, or diamond
pins about me? Look at me, sir! I am a
gentleman of honor and respectability. As
my friend, who just left me, remarked, what
is character if it will not protect its owner
at such a time? Sir, I am indignant—I am
grieved! I shall never feel that I am a
gentleman after this, my birth and character
not having been sufficient to protect me
from suspicion.'

My uncle spoke with feeling. His pride
of character was wounded. The officer,
nevertheless, was inexorable, and would
have forcibly searched him, when the loser
interfered.

`I am satisfied,' he said; `the gentleman
has had injustice done him, and I shall not
let the search proceed.'

My uncle breathed again. His pride of
character was spared. He could yet respect
himself!

`But, sir, I am not satisfied,' said the cap
tain, and my uncle's heart sunk below zero.
`The honor of my boat has been injured,
and must be redeemed by the proof that you
have really lost a pocket-book. This is no
trifling matter, sir.'

`I will not sacrifice my self-respect by letting
any man search my pockets for the
honor of twenty steamboats, sir,' now spoke
my uncle, resolutely.

Hereupon, the captain was about to search
him vi et armis. when several New York
gentlemen who had heard the dispute from
below, made their appearance on the upper
deck. One of them was president of the
bank in which my uncle's funds were deposited,
and the others, men of name and note,
knew him personally, and were well acquainted
with the eccentricities of his character.
They saw, at a glance, how things
stood.

`Ah, colonel,' said the president of the
bank, smiling and extending his hand to my
uncle, so they have got you under this searching
ordeal!'

`So you know this passenger?' asked the
captain, aside.

`Certainly. I trust you have been guilty
of no rudeness. It is Colonel Treat, descended
from an old revolutionary family, a
noble and honorable gentleman, but with
some peculiarities. Will he suffer himself
to be searched?'

`No.'

`Then let him pass, Mr. Hays. He has
not the pocket-book no more than you or I
have. It is his very high but mistaken
sense of honor that leads him to repudiate
even suspicion.'

The other gentlemen bore the same testimony
to my uncle's honorable and worthy
character, and the captain politely apologized
to him, and saying that he was satisfied
from testimony of these gentlemen, that
he was innocent, left him.

Still my uncle's pride was wounded. He
was not satisfied because more weight was
placed in his friend's assurance than in his
own appearance. It was his favorite theory

that a true gentleman can travel the world
over without a letter of introduction. He
was inconceivably mortified to find the talisman
fail him here.

The boat was, soon afterwards, moored
alongside the pier (the pocket-book yet
unfound), and the passengers dispersed in
every direction to their hotels and homes.
On my uncle's arrival at his rooms, he shut
himself up, and paced the floor an hour before
he could reconcile himself by coolly
surveying the circumstances to the suspicion
he had incurred. At length he became more
composed, cast himself into an easy chair,
and lighted a segar to seal that composure.
But at every seventh whiff he would remove
it from his lips, and repeat with indignant
surprise, `Suspect me of having the pocket-book!'

At one of these ejaculations he thought of
feeling to see if his own pocket-book was
safe. He placed his hand on the outside of
his coat over the usual repository. It was
not there! Quicker than lightning he felt
the other pocket, and a glow of pleasure
chased away the paleness of his cheek.

`How could I have put it in that pocket.
Ah! doubtless when I took it out to convince
that gentlemanly stranger. I liked
the sentiments he expressed. They are
those of a man of honor and chivalrous gentleman.
He, now, is one of my true, well-bred
men! His address is a passport to the
best society, and to the confidence of all
well-bred men. There is a free-masonry by
which one gentleman will recognize another.
I should be happy to know him. I should
ask no introduction. Yet I now remember
he suffered himself to be searched. But he
seemed to be in a hurry to go down, and
perhaps had no time to resent their impertinence.
If that captain were a true gentleman,
I would call him out and make him
apologize for the insult upon me. Suspect
me of having the pocket-book!'

As he repeated this he put his hand in his
pocket to change his pocket-book to its customary
pocket, and was passing it from one
hand to the other without seeing it, when
something unfamiliar in its size and touch,
caused him to glance at it. He looked
aghast! It was not his own pocket-book!
For a moment he sat gazing upon it immovable.
A sudden suspicion—a horrible idea
—a fearful misgiving flashed upon him. He
tore it open with nervous fingers. It contained
rolls of bills. With forced composure
he took them out one after another,
and counted them. There were eight rolls,
each containing a thousand dollars! There
was the name:—Russel R. Russel, written
upon the leather. He now remembered
having heard the loser, on the boat, called
Mr. Russel. With silent horror and despair,
such as my uncle, only, could suffer at such
a discovery, he rose up and approached his
bureau. On it was an ornamented mahogany
case. He opened it, took out a pistol,
and deliberately commenced loading it. Not
a word had he uttered. Not a single exclamation
had escaped him. He only sighed
from time to time heavily. It has been seen
that there was much simplicity of character
about my uncle. He assuredly now believed
that he had, tempted by the devil, in some
absent moment, picked Russel R. Russel's
pocket. Now, after all that had passed
when they would have searched him, after
the honorable testimony of his friends, what
could he do but blow out his brains? This
he now resolved to do. He at length completed
the loading of the pistol, and laid it
down. Then taking one of his cards, he
wrote in pencil upon it,

He laid the pocket-book and card together
upon his table, and took up his pistol and
cocked it. He paused a moment to commit
his soul to God—for my uncle was too courteous
and esteemed himself too much on his
breeding, to rush rudely into the presence of
his Maker—and then placed the muzzle of

the fatal weapon against his temple. A
shriek at this moment pierced his ears—his
hand trembled—the ball shivered his mirror
into a thousand-and-one pieces, and the
smoking weapon fell at his feet:

It was his washerwoman.

My uncle sternly waved her away, but
she would not leave! He put her out and
locked the door against her.

The shriek and report of the pistol alarmed
the household, and raised the neighborhood.
The house was besieged from the street and
his rooms assailed from within. In the
street, the rumor flew that a murder had
been done. In the house, every soul believed
that the Colonel had killed himself.
The mob sent for police officers, and the
landlady screamed for `hammer and tongs.'
What was my uncle to do? His desperation
had wound his resolution once up to
the suicidal point—but the defeat of his object
had let it run down a degree or two.
He looked at the pistol, stretched forth his
hand to take it up and then slowly drew it
back and shook his hand. He felt his resolution
was no longer up to the killing point.
The cord had been drawn to its tension and
was suddenly relaxed! It would have required
precisely the same force of causes as
at first to reproduce the effect. If my
uncle had time given him, he might, by
going over the whole affair, possibly have
again worked himself a second time, up to
the critical point below which no man can
require sufficient nerve to blow his brains
out. But the sovereign people without and
the sovereign landlady within, would give
him no time to rekindle the flame of his
wrongs. The door was burst open and in
rushed the head of a human current which
reached to the street. My uncle stood in
the centre of the room with folded arms, the
discharged pistol at his feet, and in his eyes,
a look of calm desperation.

`Take me! I am the man,' he said in a
deep tone that checked their advance.

An officer forced his way through the
crowd, and glanced with a quick scrutiniz
ing eye about the apartment. He then took
up the pistol.

`Discharged! Where is the man he has
killed?'

`Surely, sir,' interposed the landlady, `he
has killed no body, but liked to killed himself,
the poor gentleman, and one of my
regulerest paying lodgers too. It would ha'
been a pity! Thank the Lord he is safe and
sound.'

`So, sir. There has been no murder
committed then,' said Mr. Hays, glancing a
second time about the corners of the room
and then looking into the muzzle of the
pistol as if he would fain read there `some
dark tale of blood.'

`No, sir, no murder. But bid these go—
bid these gazers go—I cannot bear the gaze
of human eyes! Bid them go,' he whispered
hoarsely, `and I'll tell thee what has been
done.'

The officer stared, and then cleared the
room, by saying no murder had been committed.
The crowd soon dispersed from
within and without, and my uncle was left
alone with the police officer.

`I will tell thee what has been done. Do
you remember me?' asked my uncle in a
low impressive tone, bending his face close
to his.

`Certainly I do,' answered the man who
never forgot a face, the eyes of which he
had once looked into.

`You did not search me.'

`No.'

`Ha, ha,' laughed my uncle wildly. `Ha,
ha!'

`What am I to understand by—'

`You did not search me—no—no! I
would not be searched. No, no! Ha, ha ha.'

`Why, dear sir' you are ill,' said Hays,
kindly; you had best lie down.'

`Lie down. You did not think I had it.'

`Had what?'

`The pocket-book,' answered my uncle,
bringing his lips close to the officer's ear
and speaking in a tone as if he feared the
walls would hear the communication. Alas,

my poor uncle, his reason was leaving
him.

`The pocket-book.'

`Ay, sir, the pocket-book,' shouted my
uncle in a voice of thunder. `Look there,
sir.' And he stood for an instant pointing
with a rigid finger and ghastly visage towards
the table.

The officer took up the pocket-book with
hesitation which was instantly followed by
an exclamation of surprise as he read the
name of Russel R. Russel, on the leather
band. It took him but an instant to count
the sum it contained. The whole of my
uncle's present conduct he now attibuted to
guilt. Without giving him any credit for
his confession, he went up to him as he still
stood pointing to the table rigidly and stiffly
with a most fearful expression on his face,
and said quietly to him—

`Sir, I arrest you as my prisoner.'

Then my uncle's hand fell powerless at his
side—the muscles of his face relaxed, his
eyes lost their hard, stony glare, and placing
his arm in that of the officer, he motioned
him to proceed.

The police judge started from his bench,
when he saw my uncle led in before him in
custody of a police officer, for he personally
knew my uncle and esteemed him.

`Some mistake, Mr. Hays! No?' he asked,
looking with anxious solicitude at the officer.

`No, sir, Mr. Russel's pocket-book is
found in his possession.'

`It is impossible. There is some error.'

`There is the pocket-book, sir, which I
myself found on his table in his private
room.'

`By — there's some mistake, Hays,'
reiterated justice Bloodgood. Colonel
Treat, be so good as to explain your appearance
here.'

My uncle made no answer, but stood with
his arms folded across his breast, gazing
upon vacancy. Several gentlemen were
sent for who were his friends, and at length
they succeeded by the tenderest sympathy
with his feelings in drawing from all that he
knew in relation to it.

`Some villain when the search commenced,
placed it in your pocket,' said the
President of the Bank when the brief narration
was ended. With checks for fifteen
thousand dollars about you, you would have
enough to do to take care of your own pockets,
without thrusting your fingers into
another man's.'

`How did you know I had these?' asked
my uncle.

`I was aware of your receiving them at
Albany, yesterday, and besides, it is not
half an hour since you sent them to be
cashed.'

`I sent them!' exclaimed my uncle—`let
me tell you, gentlemen, that my pocket-book
and all it contained, was taken, and this
was substituted for it!' This was the first
time my uncle had thought of his own loss!

The exclamations of surprise were general.

`The rogue, whoever he was, made the
exchange after the search commenced,' said
Hays, after a moment's reflection. It must
have been some one, too, who knew your
pocket-book was of the most value. You
see, gentlemen, with what refinement of roguery
this was probably done! Did you
hold conversation with any one, sir,
after the loss of the pocket-book?' asked
Hays, with deep interest.

`No, sir,' answered my uncle, `save with
a quiet gentleman, whose sentiments and
mine singularly harmonized. I could not
suspect him.'

`Who was he?' asked the officer, abruptly.

A stranger, but of most affable and commanding
address. We were discussing together
the loss, when,' added my uncle,
with great simplicity, `to assure him I had
no need to pick any man's pocket I took
my pocket-book and showed him the contents.

`That affable gentleman, is the man,' exclaimed
Hays. Which of those upon the
upper deck was he?'

`He who first went down—but surely, he
could not—'

`He is the man.'

`Wore he an olive green coat with velvet
collar, and a white beaver hat, and were his
complexion and hair sandy?' asked the
President, with painful interest.

`It was,' said Hays and my uncle in the
same breath.

`It is he then to whom my teller paid the
checks soon after the bank opened. You
perceive, Mr Justice, that there has been
deep roguery here, and that Colonel Treat
has been more sinned against than sinning.'

`Colonel Treat is honorably discharged,'
said the Justice. `Mr. Hays, here is a police
warant for that rogue. He must be
brought here before sunset.'

`I think I have the clew to him,' said old
Hays, who was present. If you will be so
kind as to remain half an hour, gentlemen, I
think I can show Colonel Treat his travelling
friend.'

In less than half an hour, the High Constable
returned to the police court leading in
the gentleman whose sentiments were so congenial
with my unfortunate uncle's. The
`affable gentleman' confessed and delivered
up eight thousand dollars of the fifteen he
had received. The balance, he said he
had sent out of town to a partner, but said
he would restore it if the plaintiff declined
prosecuting, within ten days. My uncle
who had heard with painful astonishment,
the confession of his friend, felt no disposition
to prosecute, and the prisoner was
permitted to address a letter to Boston,
with the understanding that he was to be
kept in confinement until the expiration of
the ten days. His companions, be it here
recorded, governed by that principle of
union and honor that exists among organized
rogues, were not tempted even for seven
thousand dollars to make a sacrifice of their
less fortunate friend to the law, and promptly
forwarded the amount to Justice Bloodgood.

From that time my uncle lost all faith in
the outward seeming of a gentleman, judged
of men and manners more correctly and judiciously,
parted from much of his sensitive
pride and exclusiveness of character, and
became wiser and happier for it. But ever
afterwards he took a higher ground than
he had built his favorite theory upon, and
contended that no man could be a gentleman
but one whose spirit was imbued with
the principles and precepts of true christianity.