The Not of an English Opium-Eater | Page 4

chaotic quarter of eastern
or nautical London; and at this time (viz., in 1812), when no adequate
police existed except the detective police of Bow Street, admirable for
its own peculiar purposes, but utterly incommensurate to the general
service of the capital, it was a most dangerous quarter. Every third man
at the least might be set down as a foreigner. Lascars, Chinese, Moors,
Negroes, were met at every step. And apart from the manifold
ruffianism, shrouded impenetrably under the mixed hats and turbans of
men whose past was untraceable to any European eye, it is well known
that the navy (especially, in time of war, the commercial navy) of
Christendom is the sure receptacle of all the murderers and ruffians

whose crimes have given them a motive for withdrawing themselves
for a season from the public eye. It is true, that few of this class are
qualified to act as 'able' seamen: but at all times, and especially during
war, only a small proportion (or _nucleus_) of each ship's company
consists of such men: the large majority being mere untutored
landsmen. John Williams, however, who had been occasionally rated as
a seaman on board of various Indiamen, &c., was probably a very
accomplished seaman. Pretty generally, in fact, he was a ready and
adroit man, fertile in resources under all sudden difficulties, and most
flexibly adapting himself to all varieties of social life. Williams was a
man of middle stature (five feet seven and a-half, to five feet eight
inches high), slenderly built, rather thin, but wiry, tolerably muscular,
and clear of all superfluous flesh. A lady, who saw him under
examination (I think at the Thames Police Office), assured me that his
hair was of the most extraordinary and vivid color, viz., bright yellow,
something between an orange and lemon color. Williams had been in
India; chiefly in Bengal and Madras: but he had also been upon the
Indus. Now, it is notorious that, in the Punjaub, horses of a high caste
are often painted--crimson, blue, green, purple; and it struck me that
Williams might, for some casual purpose of disguise, have taken a hint
from this practice of Scinde and Lahore, so that the color might not
have been natural. In other respects, his appearance was natural enough;
and, judging by a plaster cast of him, which I purchased in London, I
should say mean, as regarded his facial structure. One fact, however,
was striking, and fell in with the impression of his natural tiger
character, that his face wore at all times a bloodless ghastly pallor. 'You
might imagine,' said my informant, 'that in his veins circulated not red
life- blood, such as could kindle into the blush of shame, of wrath, of
pity-- but a green sap that welled from no human heart.' His eyes
seemed frozen and glazed, as if their light were all converged upon
some victim lurking in the far background. So far his appearance might
have repelled; but, on the other hand, the concurrent testimony of many
witnesses, and also the silent testimony of facts, showed that the
oiliness and snaky insinuation of his demeanor counteracted the
repulsiveness of his ghastly face, and amongst inexperienced young
women won for him a very favorable reception. In particular, one
gentle-mannered girl, whom Williams had undoubtedly designed to

murder, gave in evidence--that once, when sitting alone with her, he
had said, 'Now, Miss R., supposing that I should appear about midnight
at your bedside, armed with a carving knife, what would you say?' To
which the confiding girl had, replied, 'Oh, Mr. Williams, if it was
anybody else, I should be frightened. But, as soon as I heard your voice,
I should be tranquil.' Poor girl! had this outline sketch of Mr. Williams
been filled in and realized, she would have seen something in the
corpse-like face, and heard something in the sinister voice, that would
have unsettled her tranquillity for ever. But nothing short of such
dreadful experiences could avail to unmask Mr. John Williams.
Into this perilous region it was that, on a Saturday night in December,
Mr. Williams, whom we suppose to have long since made his _coup
d'essai_, forced his way through the crowded streets, bound on business.
To say, was to do. And this night he had said to himself secretly, that
he would execute a design which he had already sketched, and which,
when finished, was destined on the following day to strike
consternation into 'all that mighty heart' of London, from centre to
circumference. It was afterwards remembered that he had quitted his
lodgings on this dark errand about eleven o'clock P. M.; not that he
meant to begin so soon: but he needed to reconnoitre. He carried his
tools closely buttoned up under his loose roomy coat. It