The Fatal Safe

by James Dabney

Some years ago I chanced to be in England.  I was travelling for my health, and, as I was very anxious to see the “Mother Country” from every point of view, I passed a year going through it, and, in that time, mingled with all classes, and went to all places to which I could gain access.  I was the guest of the Duke of —, at his beautiful country-seat in D—, and in the disguise of a vagabond, I penetrated the lowest haunts of vice and crime in the great city of London, and came out from them safely.  My friends used to laugh at me for what they called my “oddities,” but I took their teasing good-naturedly, and told them that, as I had come to England to see, I was determined to gratify my curiosity to the utmost.  As may be supposed, I gained much strange and interesting experience.  Indeed, I learned from my own observation that the most exciting incidents of romance are not half so wonderful as those which one may see around him every day, if he will only take the trouble to look for them.

One morning I was walking along the river side in London, gazing at the long rows of masts, and the black chimneys of the steamers, when my attention was attracted by something on one of the piers, and I went over to look at it.  When my curiosity was satisfied, I stood for some time looking at the foul current of the Thames, as it flowed beneath me.  I never saw water so full of filth.  It seemed as if it might be the great sewer of the universe, through which all the refuse matter of creation was flowing.  It was almost sickening to look at it.

Turning to a policeman who was standing by me, I said:

“It would be a wretched death to drown here, in such foul water.”

“You may say that, sir,” he replied, politely.  “A man as falls down there, ‘ll never… Read More