by Rick Wilson
‘How do you do, Captain John Dixon alias William Brodie!’ he boomed. ‘I must ask you to come along with me.’
The no-longer-elusive Deacon, stunned into silence by this sudden development, considered making a fight of it. But despite having sported a pair of pistols in his darker career, he had never really been one for physical resistance or violence, and why would he start now in a metaphorical as well as a physical hands-up situation? Apart from which, he did not feel in the best of health.
So he went quietly, allowing himself a deep sigh of disappointment, and gathered together what clothes he could, before being hustled down the stairs past an astonished landlord.
If his fate had not been quite unredeemable before his desperate flight from Edinburgh, it certainly looked to be well and truly sealed here – ‘looked’ being the operative word, for the ever-clever William Brodie, still with an enigmatic smirk on the edge of his mouth, was never going to lose faith in his own ultimate survivability. Not even when they put a noose around his neck.
***
Does Brodie’s alehouse refuge, de Lommer, still exist in Amsterdam? It appears not. There is no such pub now by that name in the Zoutsteeg, though a modern successor may occupy its building. Someone from the 1780s would barely recognise the area today, however. The Damrak, from which the narrow alley runs at right angles, was a footpath-edged Venice-style major canal packed with wharves and a forest of the masts of light cargo-carrying vessels serving the city and its food processors and suppliers. The name Zoutsteeg itself – Salt Alley – gives an obvious clue to the trade that was carried on there, while other, parallel, lanes boast other give-away labels, such as Haringpakkersteeg (Herring Packers Alley). And it is certainly not quite so romantically picturesque today.
The major change came in 1875, when the Damrak was drained, filled in and covered over as a wide, traffic-carrying thoroughfare thrusting boldly between the Central Station (now fronting the old harbour) and Dam Square; so that today it is overflowing not just with cars, bikes, buses and clanging trams but with thousands of polyglot tourists thronging its wide pavements and staring in bewildered wonder at a positive kaleidoscope of souvenir shops, risqué museums, bureaux du change, hotels, Flemish patate frites vendors and even more souvenir shops selling everything from jolly painted clogs and brollies through sunglasses and baseball caps to orange football-themed T-shirts and phallic salt cellars – reminders that all this is only few hundred metres from the vastly more vivid vulgarity of the Red Light area a stone’s throw behind the big street.
That said, its immediate opposite flank is a deal more sober, a brief island of sheer respectability dominated by the big square buildings of the Amsterdam Stock Exchange and the exclusive Bijenkorf department store that breathes Dutch prosperity (a fact of which this writer was made familiar when his son, preparing for a funeral, was delighted to acquire a black shirt in its ‘sale’ for a ‘fantastically discounted’ seventy euros).
From the Damrak, walking the Zoutsteeg’s 100 paces to the busy parallel shopping street of Nieuwendijk and looking upwards to imagine which of the close-up buildings might have housed our legendary runaway, you see – among the side-by-side little shops selling broodjes, raw herring, tobacco and Chinese massages – the remnants of an ancient chimney plaque with some barely legible lines which, if he had asked a local for a translation, might have alarmed Brodie. Its Dutch words ‘De rook kan elk te kennen geven/De kortheid van het aardsche leven’ mean in English ‘From smoke we are to learn/The shortness of our earthly life’. The area’s whole impact is circus-like – brash colours, loud street organs, ubiquitous tacky souvenirs – not unlike the tourist-attracting piped-up Royal Mile in Edinburgh.
It would have been reminiscent of Edinburgh, too, for William Brodie – for different reasons in his different age. Here then, too, were dark alleys between buildings like the Scottish capital’s dark closes, and he could, under different circumstances, have felt comfortable in this vaguely familiar environment of his tavern lodging. As it was, he barely had time to avail himself of some of its other comforts and find a contact to identify a ship to take him to the New World – and his new life – when he heard that fateful first knock on his door.
***
There are today (as a matter of superficial opinion) three possible candidates for the relevant building that housed the Lommer and our fugitive in Zoutsteeg. One is a small, two-storey coffee shop called Kadinsky, at the far end of the alley, crowded on the ground floor with tightly packed clientele and a certain atmospheric pungency. Its timeless Dutch shape and relatively low physical standing tell of real age, as do the weather-beaten bricks of its walls. But while conceding that the upstairs office floor could have been a lodging room in times past, its female owner, on hearing the Brodie story, feels the place was probably too small to be a self-respecting criminal’s refuge. ‘If I’d been him,’ she says with a smile, ‘I’d have chosen a bigger place to get lost in.’
Another possibility is a bigger tavern, halfway up the lane, where the barman resists the urge to be fascinated, saying simply: ‘This used to be a tobacconist.’ But the best candidate is probably the Oporto, an old brown pub housed at the start of the alley in a taller, three-storey building of the bolder Golden Age type that has clearly enjoyed a relatively recent renovation. It also has a female proprietor, an Englishwoman called Fran, who says, ‘As far as I know, the pub goes back to the 1880s but I suppose another inn could have been here under another name before that.’
Two regular customers are Scots house-painters keen to confirm their adopted pub’s historic credentials after seeing evidence of some vintage with their own eyes. They recall doing décor work there during which they discovered, under a few more modern roof panels, some age-mottled wood marquetry of animals and plants. ‘To us, that means this is sure to have been the place,’ they say. Aye, maybe, as they say in their home town of Airdrie; Fran, meanwhile, says the pictures are from the pub’s nineteenth-century inauguration, pointing out ‘more like them’ just behind the bar.
In the absence of utterly convincing evidence and the city archives’ inability to help – despite the enhanced capacity of a newly installed computer system – the reader is invited to make a choice. In any case, Brodie didn’t have much of a stay here, and it wasn’t much of a walk to his next berth. Which was not, as he expected, aboard some fine big ship heading for that fast-growing American city that, until a century before, had been called New Amsterdam. It was a mere 260 steps away to the then the Stadhuis, or town hall (now the Royal Palace), at the head of Dam Square, where he was to be ensconced immediately in a cell below street level.
***
It is not hard to imagine Brodie’s exchanges with Daly as they set out on that short, fateful and near-final stage of his continental journey. There would have been a familiarity about his new Irish companion and, as they paused briefly on leaving the pub, Brodie might have asked him: ‘Have I not made your acquaintance somewhere?’ After disclosing that he they had almost met a few days before before at the vintner’s place in Ostend – and receiving a non-committal but thoughtful ‘ah’ – let’s assume Daly removed his prisoner’s cravat and wrapped it tightly around his wrists.
‘Sorry, captain. Can’t be too careful with a precious commodity like yourself. They tell me you can be a bit of slippery customer.’
‘But how, pray, did you find me? I was unaware of a single soul following me.’
‘I did not strictly follow on your tail, my friend, rather on your trail. Slippery snails leave a trail that glistens quite bright if they have no care to disguise it. I witnessed my landlord advising you to make haste for Amsterdam, and though you had a head start, I had merely to ask after you along the route.’
‘Ugh, ’tis not a pretty picture you paint of me.’
‘If I may venture to say so, sir, you have painted an ugly picture of yourself. But you would not deny, would you, that you are a singularly distinctive character? We Celts tend to
be somewhat conspicuous in civilised society at any time. And especially so, I would suggest, when on the run from the powers of the law.’
‘Indeed. I cannot deny it.’
‘Well, if you ask me, you would be wise also not to deny the extent of your crimes.’
‘Indeed, you may be right again, my friend. But where are you taking me?’
‘You’ll see.’
The rest of the short walk to Dam Square was probably taken in silence as the great, rectangular, multi-windowed Stadhuis building loomed up before them. And within minutes, Daly had shown his papers of authority and Brodie had been bundled away.
It is not recorded whether he was clapped in leg or wrist irons, but there would have been a good Dutch thoroughness about the definite turning – and further storage – of his cell key. He might have studied it with an experienced eye, but he would have realised there was no way he was going to unlock himself from this.
Having safely handed over his valuable captive, John Daly wasted no time in finding himself a ship to set out for British shores to claim his well-earned reward. So sure was he that there would be no need for further action in this now-concluded commission.
Perhaps not from him, but other relevant actions were being frantically undertaken. The Amsterdam Archives of Sheriffs and Magistrates record the following (as translated from the old Dutch):
On the 25th of June 1788 Mr Henry Pye Rich, Consul & Agent of His Royal Majestry of Great Britain, gave the Head Officer a written request with the following content: The undersigned… requests immediately that the person of William Brodie, accused of committing a flagrant and important robbery in Edinburgh, Scotland, be held securely in custody at the cost of … [signed] Henry Pye Rich.
The archives also guaranteed ‘detective’ Daly his place in history by stating that ‘the named William Brodie was apprehended by a certain John Daly of Ostend in a house called de Lommer in the Zoutsteeg, and was taken from there to De Boeijen [the prison cells in the basement of the town hall]’. But most importantly, the archives have on record the official request of the British to the Dutch for ‘possession’ of Brodie. Kindly translated for this book by Dutch writer Marco Daane – a long-interested researcher of the case – it goes like this, with the warning from him that ‘of course it is in an anachronistic kind of language with lots of angles and curves in the sentences’:
The noble and honourable justice of the Town of Amsterdam, upon request by me, Henry Pye Rich, consul & agent for His Majesty the King of Great Britain, have been so good as to apprehend and hand over to me to be transported to England, one William Brodie.
Therefore, in my aforementioned quality, I herewith declare that this transfer will not be used to damage the Justice of Amsterdam, not by me nor by anyone else, and so in consequence to the disadvantage or reduction of the rights, authority and jurisdiction of the aforementioned Town, and also that I will not indicate this act in any different way than as a matter of service to Justice, for which I am prepared to declare it is excused, while I also accept to reimburse any costs that have been made after they were declared.
[signed] Henry Pye Rich,
Amsterdam, 8 July, 1788
But before releasing the prisoner to the British authorities, the Dutch had to be absolutely sure he was who he was said to be.
***
Meanwhile, one John Groves, a public officer clerk of London’s famous crime-fighting Bow Street, had been also on the miscreant’s trail, only to be beaten to the prize by the Irishman; yet he was still expected to take charge of the prisoner and bring him back to face his fate in his own country. How had Groves become involved? That was later explained at Brodie’s trial, when London solicitor Thomas Longlands was sworn in as a prosecution witness and asked to recall his role in the case. He was asked: ‘Did you hear of William Brodie, the prisoner at the bar, having fled from this country in March last, and of his having been brought back? Tell the court what you know of the matter.’
He replied:
In the month of June or July last I was employed by the officers of the Crown for Scotland to take such steps as appeared to me to be proper for the discovery of Mr Brodie. In consequence of this employment I called frequently at the Secretary of State’s Office, and had several conversations with Mr Fraser, Under-Secretary in the office of Lord Carmarthen, and gave them the information I had received from Scotland.
I likewise waited upon Sir Sampson Wright, of the Public Office, Bow Street, whose assistance I judged necessary to call in as to the proper measures to be pursued. As the information received gave reason to suspect that Mr Brodie was at Flushing, Ostend, or some place in Holland, it was agreed upon to send a messenger immediately in search of him. Sir Sampson Wright recommended to me a Mr Groves from his office as a proper person to send to the Continent in search of Mr Brodie, and I accordingly despatched him with proper instructions.
Mr Groves traced Mr Brodie to Ostend, and learned that he had been there upon the 4th of June, His Majesty’s birthday, and he was afterwards traced to Amsterdam, where he was apprehended, identified, and committed to prison. Upon proper application, he was delivered up to Mr Groves, and was brought from thence to London by him.
What follows is Groves’ account of his ‘expedition-and-extradition’ experience in his own words, taken from his journal:
On Tuesday, the 1st July, I left London, and arrived at Harwich at three o’clock the next morning.
Wednesday, waited on Mr Coxe, the agent for the packet, with Mr [William] Fraser’s letter, and also on the Captain, who dined with me. At half-past four in the afternoon sailed out of the harbour, and lost sight of land at nine.
Thursday, got sight of Helvoetsluys [the principal port for the English packets from Harwich] at twelve next day, – dead calm four leagues from shore, – rowed into the harbour in the long boat, with Captain Hearne, and Carpmeal, (Sir S. Wright’s officer), with the mail, and a woman going as Lady’s maid to Sir James Harris’s Lady, – drove back by tide, and almost out to sea again, – landed on sand, walked to several farmhouses, leaving the mail and baggage on the sand, guarded, in quest or a waggon, – refused; – a boor, at last, went at an extravagant price; we had walked seven miles on hot sands, and parched with thirst; at eight o’clock waggon came with the mail, &c. – set out for the Brill, but, within two miles, waggon broke down, and obliged to procure boors to carry mail, &c. arrived at the Brill at half past nine; – Brooks, the messenger, came from Helvoetsluys to meet us, where he had been waiting, — had heard nothing of any person (Englishman) being in custody at Amsterdam, which much alarmed me, nor had Hutchinson, the collector of the passports, – more alarmed; – delivered Mr Fraser’s letter to Brooks; – at ten set off with Brooks for Maslinsluys, arrived there at half-past eleven, got to Delft at three-quarters past twelve; – arrived at the Hague at three in the morning in an open post waggon, with heavy rain, thunder and lightning.
Friday, waited on Sir James Harris [British ambassador in The Hague] at ten in the morning, – introduced to Brooks, – treated with great affability, and received a letter from Sir James, which he had already wrote, directed to Mr Henry Rich [British consul in Amsterdam]. Sir James having first informed me that Brodie was safe in the Stadthouse, – consulted Sir James on the mode of obtaining him, – informed that, if the magistrates of Amsterdam required an official application to the States General, to come back immediately to him, and he would obviate all difficulties; but he did not think it would be necessary: – it was Sir James’s opinion the magistrates would give him up without, if not, was certain they would detain him till an answer to Sir James’s application to the States could be obtained; – set off for Amsterdam, and arrived there the same evening; waited on Mr Rich, – politely received; and we consulted on measures, – Mr Rich to wait on one of the magistrates that evening, and to send to me early next morning. – Waited on Mr Duncan, a Scots gentleman, and father-in-law to Mr Gerard, a minister at Amsterdam, with Mr Longlands’s letter; �
� Mr Duncan seemed willing to identify Brodie; but on being called out into another room by Mr Gerard and his wife, on his return, Mr D. said, as far as his word of honour as a gentleman would go, and his belief, he would say he was the man; but, if an oath was required he would not. – Saw then a manifest reluctance in Mr D. and had no doubt his daughter and the parson would endeavour to persuade him to decline troubling himself in the matter; but judged he could not go back from what he had said to Mr Rich.
N.B. No mischief but a woman or a priest in it, – here both.
Saturday morning, received a message from Mr Rich, – most of the magistrates gone to their country-houses, – nothing could be done till Monday; – Mr Rich entertained no doubt, but said a magistrate had informed him, that a formal requisition must be made by him, in writing, to the magistrates; – he produced the copy of one, requiring the person of William Brodie to be delivered up; I corrected it, by inserting ‘otherwise John Dixon’, as the magistrates of Amsterdam knew of no William Brodie; Mr Rich agreed it was proper; – informed him of my suspicions respecting Mr Duncan, and the steps that would be taken by his family to make him, if possible, recant; – my fears further increased, as Mr Duncan lodged in the same tavern with me, I had frequent opportunities of conversation with him, and could plainly see a sorrow for what he had said, and a wish to retract.
Monday, waited on Mr Rich, – found, by a mistake in not inserting ‘otherwise John Dixon’ in the requisition, that the business must be delayed till the next day ten o’clock, when a general meeting of the magistrates, with the grand schout (high sheriff) to consider on the application; – mistake corrected, and requisition presented.