enters; and this one carries all the bad notes. The passer has one good note in his pocket, and only one bad note; so that, if he has a “tumble,” he says the fictitious note was taken in the way of trade. The policeman may search him, but he can find no other note; and thus the magsman escapes heavy penalties. What a pity the policeman does not seize on the pal outside! The magsman makes a small purchase, and offers the spurious paper-money. If the shopkeeper is awkward, and threatens to send for the police, the magsman will get the note out of his hand and swallow it in a twinkling. Should the note be accepted, the magsman gives his pal what he has bought, gets another forged note, and visits another shop. So the whole gang work until the town gets too hot to hold them, when they flee immediately to some other place, and so go through the district of the bank as long as it is safe for them to do so. The remnants are reserved for races and fairs. If they meet with any simpleton having genuine notes of the same bank, they will pretend to compare his notes with theirs—in short, resort to any trick to change the bad notes for the good ones. Should any of the gang be apprehended and brought to trial, his pals will supply him with money to defray his law expenses.
The magsmen are very fond of the notes of broken banks, and these notes are called “cracked jugs.” They use them for show in gambling, and they also pass them whenever an opportunity occurs. How they manage to get hold of these “cracked jugs” is a mystery. A large amount of fictitious paper-money was kindly furnished to me by a superintendent of police. The paper had been taken from magsmen, and amongst it there was a genuine banker’s bill. It was many years old, and had been duly honoured. The bankers could not imagine how this bill had ever found its way into the hands of the thieves. The following, related to me by a thief, is a remarkable instance of sharp practice with “cracked jugs.” A thief gave an order to a Jew for some clothes, paid him for them with two ten-pound “cracked jugs,” and received his change in genuine money. In a day or two Jacob found he had been done with two “cracked jugs,” and, knowing his customer to be a thief, he gave him in charge for having stolen a pencil-case out of his shop. The thief was apprehended, and Jacob pressed his charge; but the thief was acquitted. Jacob then had his customer apprehended for passing the two “cracked jugs.” This time the thief employed a solicitor, who asked Jacob if he took the notes as “cracked jugs,” which insinuation the Jew indignantly denied. But it so happened that Jacob had himself been formerly in trouble for passing “cracked jugs,” and would have been transported for the offence had he not somehow managed to square matters with his prosecutor. This old charge was revived by the thief’s solicitor, and the thief was again acquitted. Poor old Jacob then asked the magistrate if he could not have his clothes back, and he told him no. The “cracked jugs” were ordered to be destroyed in court, but the unfortunate Jacob could only produce one of them. His excuse was he had mislaid it that morning, somewhere or other. The trial and the trouble passed away; but Jacob, not liking to be done, passed the remaining “cracked jug” in some trading transaction with another Jew. The second Jew got pulled up for passing the worthless note, and he let it out from whom he had received it. So poor Jacob was overhauled again, and thus the biter was bitten both ways.
Of thimble-rigging it must suffice to say, as indeed it may be said of all other thieves’ games, the flat can never win. The pea may at any time be planted on the brim of the hat or close held under the long finger-nail; and even, where there is no trick of this kind, the practised evolutions of the thimbles are so marvellously adroit as to escape the detection of any ordinary vision. It is just the same with pricking the garter, or “rolling up the nob,” as the thieves call it. There is no possibility of the “green-horn’s” success. A thimble-rigging gang is made up of four or five men. One lends his companions money to play with,—he is called the banker; he stands in for equal shares of the gains, and systematically books every shilling that is won. The decoy walks about and picks up likely parties with money. He stands treat for his victim, takes him for a walk, and, as by accident, they approach the “joint,” or place where the gamblers are. They see the pigeon coming and begin to play; room is made for the flat and his friend. The decoy plays and wins, to excite the flat, who himself then begins to bet or play, and is soon eased of his cash. The gang always arrange their several parts, and the arrangements are strictly carried out. All sorts of artful dodges are used in what they call “right houses”—public-houses where their roguery is sanctioned. Dressed as a countryman, the decoy goes out in search of a victim, whom he leads at once to one of the thieves’ gambling dens. One would wonder how any one could be decoyed, but the thing is done very cleverly. The kid or decoyer is, from long practice and experience, well up to his business. He knows a countryman as soon as he sees him. The “kid” gets into conversation by asking some question about the time of day or the road. He makes free with him, crams him with lies, professes to have been drawing a large sum of money, and shows his flash notes and Californian sovereigns. Of course the kid professes to be a stranger in the neighbourhood, and while talking to the flat he will ask the way to some place from some one who happens to be passing. The countryman is thrown off his guard, if he has one, and goes to a “right house” with the kid, merely for a friendly glass, as the victim thinks. Let us suppose that the victim has entered the “right house,” and is seated in the chimney-corner, and enjoying a glass of ale with his new acquaintance. The magsmen, each having his preconcerted part to play, drop in one at a time, as if by accident, and all pretend to be strangers to each other.
The following are some of the many swindling games which may be played on the occasion.
The Three Cards.—These are shown to the spectators, and then turned the wrong side up and shifted about upon the table very rapidly. The bet is, that, although you saw the cards, you cannot tell which is which as they lie back upwards. The rapidity with which the cards are moved renders