Read Ebook: Sundown Slim by Knibbs Henry Herbert Fischer Anton Otto Illustrator

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The first foreign loan was negotiated in 'Change Alley in 1706. The victories of the Duke of Marlborough had raised the pride of the English people; and even 'Change Alley possessed a somewhat similar feeling. When, therefore, his Grace proposed a loan of ?500,000 to the Emperor, for eight years, at 8 per cent., on the security of the Silesian revenue, it was received with acclamation, and was filled in a few days by the first commercial names of England.

But 'Change Alley was notorious for other dealings than those in the funds. When that desperate struggle for power occurred between the old and new East India Company; when their varying claims were on every man's tongue, and their bribes in every man's hand; the election of a member of Parliament was an affair of moment. The partisans of each Company sided with their friends; bought boroughs; shed their money lavishly and largely; used every art that self-interest could devise; and so extensive was the interference of the brokers, that the only question heard in 'Change Alley was, "Is he for the New or the Old Company?" It was the touchstone of a principle more sacred than the Hanoverian succession, and more important than England and Hanover united. It was probably found profitable; and it was said in 1720, that elections for members of Parliament came to market in 'Change Alley as currently as lottery-tickets.

The first political hoax on record occurred in the reign of Anne. Down the Queen's Road, riding at a furious rate, ordering turnpikes to be thrown open, and loudly proclaiming the sudden death of the queen, rode a well-dressed man, sparing neither spur nor steed. From west to east, and from north to south, the news spread. Like wildfire it passed through the desolate fields where palaces now abound, till it reached the city. The train-bands desisted from their exercise, furled their colors, and returned home with their arms reversed. The funds fell with a suddenness which marked the importance of the intelligence; and it was remarked that, while the Christian jobbers stood aloof, almost paralyzed with the information, Manasseh Lopez and the Jew interest bought eagerly at the reduced price. There is no positive information to fix the deception upon any one in particular, but suspicion pointed at those who gained by the fraud so publicly perpetrated.

The invasion of 1715, as it caused extra expenses, demanded extra grants. The House of Commons voted them; but the House of Peers, a portion of which possessed strong Jacobite feeling, attempted to modify without mending it. Though they did not reject the bill, the lower house resented the mere interference. At an early hour on the morning of the 13th February, Lord Harcourt went to the House of Peers, and made an anxious search for precedents of amendments to money bills. The search proved unsuccessful, as, since the Restoration, the Commons had defended their right of not allowing the Lords to make any alterations in these acts. A committee was appointed, and the Peers fought bravely for their claim; but though the court was willing to support them, money was so immediately necessary, that, at the request of the government, they yielded under protest.

In the early part of the eighteenth century, a prospectus was issued to the commercial world and the members of 'Change Alley, in which the wants of the needy and the infamy of the pawnbrokers, the purest philanthropy and a positive five per cent., were skilfully blended. It was shown that then, as now, the poor were compelled to pay a greater interest than the rich; that thirty per cent. was constantly given by the former on a security which the usurer took care should be ample; and it was proposed that the wealthy capitalist should advance, for the benefit of the needy, a sufficient sum to enable the company to lend money at five or six per cent. The proposal proved eminently successful. A capital of ?30,000 was immediately subscribed, a charter obtained, and the "Charitable Corporation," the object of whose care was the necessitous and industrious poor, appeared to flourish. For some years the concern answered, the poor received the assistance which they required, and the company was conducted with integrity. In 1719, however, their number was enlarged; their capital increased to ?600,000; an augmentation of business was looked for; cash credits were granted to gentlemen of supposed substance; and the importance of the corporation was unhappily recognized by that numerous class of persons compelled to pay in maturity for the excesses of youth. They acted also as bankers, and received deposits from persons of all classes and conditions. Its direction boasted men of rank, its proprietary men of substance, and its executive men of more capacity than character. The cashier of the company was a member of the senate; Sir Robert Sutton, a director, was one of his Majesty's Privy Council; and Sir Archibald Grant, who took a prominent part in the affairs of the corporation, was also a member of the lower house. Every confidence was reposed in such a body, and it was regarded as a rich and prosperous society.

Under these circumstances, the surprise of the public may be conceived when it was first whispered, and then openly announced, that the cashier, with one of the chief officers, had disappeared in company. The alarm spread to the proprietors; the public participated; the poor assembled in crowds; the rich clamored for information; a meeting was called to inquire into the case, when a most pernicious, but scarcely comprehensible, piece of villany was unravelled, and a most disgraceful tissue of fraud discovered. ?30,000 alone remained out of half a million. The books were falsified; money was lent to the directors on fictitious pledges; men of rank and reputation were implicated; suspicion and censure followed persons of importance. Some managers were found to have connived at scenes so disgraceful, that their character was lost for ever. Many had concerted active plans of fraud, which ended alike in their own ruin and the ruin of the corporation; while others were guilty of personally embezzling the funds of the company. Petition after petition was presented to the Commons. A bill was brought in to prevent the defaulters from leaving the kingdom; and the scorn of all England pointed at the men who, under the guise of charity, had enriched themselves. The interest which was taken in the discovery by the entire country attracted the attention of the Jacobites; and, as one of the party had fled to Rome with the spoils, the Pretender endeavoured to enlist the sympathy of the nation, through one Signor Belloni, who wrote to the committee, stating that the refugee had been seized and placed in the castle of St. Angelo. The Whig party, ever jealous of the Pretender, voted that the letter should be burned by the hangman at the Royal Exchange.

The distress occasioned by this bankruptcy was appalling, pervading nearly every class of society. Large sums had been borrowed at high interest. The small capitalist was entirely ruined; and there was scarcely a class in English life which had not its representative and its sufferer. The poor were unable to get their goods; the rich were robbed of their jewels; families accustomed to affluence were starving; delicate women, hitherto irreproachable, were compelled to exchange their persons for bread. Similar evils have been known to exist during sieges; and, in the public streets of Lisbon, women of unblemished virtue offered themselves for sale during its occupation by the French; but the writer believes there is no other parallel in commercial history.

All that the wisdom of the senate could devise was attempted to mitigate the evil. The revenge of the losers was appeased by several members being expelled the house; their fear of loss was reduced by the confiscation of the estates of the offending parties; a lottery was granted for the advantage of the sufferers; and though a dividend of nearly ten shillings was eventually paid, the fraud of the Charitable Corporation was remembered long after the evils caused by it had ceased to exist.

At once Louis violated the partition treaty, accepted the noble legacy for his grandson, and sent the whole court of France to accompany him to the Pyrenees, that frontier which he said in his pride had ceased to exist. When the news reached William, he was at the Hague, but instantly returned to London. Vigorous preparations were made; but he did not live to see the declaration of the war, which began in 1782, agitated Europe for thirteen years, and added so much to the great debt of which this volume treats.

England, Holland, and the Empire were opposed to France, Spain, and Bavaria; and the war thus commenced was a memorable contest. Marlborough and Peterborough, than whom England boasts none greater, made her name a word of dread for many years. The knight-errantry of Peterborough conceived schemes which only his ardent and fiery imagination could achieve. He took towns by storm, under circumstances little less than marvellous; he reduced the largest and strongest cities of Europe with a handful of soldiers; he made forced marches, shared the fatigues of his men, and took entire reinforcements prisoners. With 3,000 troops he harassed a regular army, cut off communications, and raised sieges; he forced towns with horse-soldiers, and chivalrously mortgaged his estates to pay the expenses incurred in the cause of his country.

"I'm right glad you do, Nell. But you needn't say anything about the sugar. I kind of like the old hoss. Will you promise?"

"I don't know. Oh, my head!" She went white and leaned against him. He put his arm around her, and her head lay back against his shoulder. "I'll be all right--in a minute," she murmured.

He bent above her, his eyes burning. Slowly he drew her close and kissed her lips. Her eyelids quivered and lifted. "Nell!" he whispered.

"Did you mean it?" she murmured, smiling wanly.

He drew his head back and gazed at her up-turned face. "I'm all right," she said, and drew herself up beside him. "Serves me right for putting Challenge down the trail so fast."

As they rode homeward Corliss told her of the advent of Sundown and what the latter had said about the wreck and the final disappearance of his "pal," Will Corliss.

The girl heard him silently and had nothing to say until they parted at the ford. Then she turned to him. "I don't believe Will was killed. I can't say why, but if he had been killed I think I should have known it. Don't ask me to explain, John. I have always expected that he would come back. I have been thinking about him lately."

"I can't understand it," said Corliss. "Will always had what he wanted. He owns a half-interest in the Concho. I can't do as I want to, sometimes. My hands are tied, for if I made a bad move and lost out, I'd be sinking Will's money with mine."

"I wouldn't make any bad moves if I were you," said the girl, glancing at the rancher's grave face.

"Business is business, Nell. We needn't begin that old argument. Only, understand this: I'll play square just as long as the other side plays square. There's going to be trouble before long and you know why. It won't begin on the west side of the Concho."

"Good-bye, John," said the girl, reining her pony around.

He raised his hat. Then he wheeled Chinook and loped toward the ranch.

Eleanor Loring, riding slowly, thought of what he had said. "He won't give in an inch," she said aloud. "Will would have given up the cattle business, or anything else, to please me." Then she reasoned with herself, knowing that Will Corliss had given up all interest in the Concho, not to please her but to hurt her, for the night before his disappearance he had asked her to marry him and she had very sensibly refused, telling him frankly that she liked him, but that until he had settled down to something worth while she had no other answer for him.

She was thinking of Will when she rode in to the rancho and turned her horse over to Miguel. Suddenly she flushed, remembering John Corliss's eyes as he had held her in his arms.

THE BROTHERS

As Corliss rode up to the ranch gate he took the mail from the little wooden mail-box and stuffed it into his pocket with the exception of a letter which bore the postmark of Antelope and his address in a familiar handwriting. He tore the envelope open hastily and glanced at the signature, "Will."

Then he read the letter. It told of his brother's unexpected arrival in Antelope, penniless and sick. Corliss was not altogether surprised except in regard to the intuition of Eleanor, which puzzled him, coming as it had so immediately preceding the letter.

He rode to the rancho and ordered one of the men to have the buckboard at the gate early next morning. He wondered why his brother had not driven out to the ranch, being well known in Antelope and able to command credit. Then he thought of Eleanor, and surmised that his brother possibly wished to avoid meeting her. And as it happened, he was not mistaken.

On the evening of the following day he drove up to the Palace Hotel and inquired for his brother. The proprietor drew him to one side. "It's all right for you to see him, John, but I been tryin' to keep him in his room. He's--well, he ain't just feelin' right to be on the street. Sabe?"

Corliss nodded, and turning, climbed the stairs. He knocked at a door. There was no response. He knocked again.

"What you want?" came in a muffled voice.

"It's John," said Corliss. "Let me in."

The door opened, and Corliss stepped into the room to confront a dismal scene. On the washstand stood several empty whiskey bottles and murky glasses. The bedding was half on the floor, and standing with hand braced against the wall was Will Corliss, ragged, unshaven, and visibly trembling. His eyelids were red and swollen. His face was white save for the spots that burned on his emaciated cheeks.

"John!" he exclaimed, and extended his hand.

Corliss shook hands with him and then motioned him to a chair. "Well, Will, if you're sick, this isn't the way to get over it."

"Brother's keeper, eh? Glad to see me back, eh, Jack?"

"Not in this shape. What do you suppose Nell would think?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm sick. That's all."

"Where have you been--for the last three years?"

"A whole lot you care. Been? I have been everywhere from heaven to hell--the whole route. I'm in hell just now."

"You look it. Will, what can I do for you? You want to quit the booze and straighten up. You're killing yourself."

"Maybe I don't know it! Say, Jack, I want some dough. I'm broke."

"All right. How much?"

"A couple of hundred--for a starter."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you suppose? Not going to eat it."

"No. And you're not going to drink it, either. I'll see that you have everything you need. You're of age and can do as you like. But you're not going to kill yourself with whiskey."

Will Corliss stared at his brother; then laughed.

"Have one with me, Jack. You didn't used to be afraid of it."

"I'm not now, but I'm not going to take a drink with you."

"Sorry. Well, here's looking." And the brother poured himself a half-tumblerful of whiskey and gulped it down. "Now, let's talk business."

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