1883-11-11 - At Police Station No. 3

The Idle Spectator ventured along King William Street, to Police Station on a cold night in November, 1883. His impressions appeared in the Hamilton Spectator of November 11, 1883:

"Under the veil of night, in this city, there is a hidden amount of misery that is never thought of by citizens who toast their slippered feet at the grate, and pass the evening in the pleasant home circle. Last night a Spectator reporter dropped into No. 3 police station, and spent an hour in conversation with the sergeant on duty there. At an early portion of the hour, a young man slipped into the room, pushed his nose through a hole in the iron railing which runs along the sergeant’s desk, and queried:

“What is Bill McVigh charged with?”

“Aggravated assault,: replied the sergeant.

“Can I bail him out?”

“No! ”

The young man went out. Shortly afterwards a little old woman came quietly in, edged round to the end of the railing, and in a weak tone asked:

“Can I see Willie?’

“Who is Willie?” inquired the sergeant.

The woman hesitated for a few moments, and then replied, “He is my boy, his name is McVigh, and I want to speak to him.”

The sergeant explained that it was against orders.

“The poor boy,” said the mother, “he left home to go to work this morning and did not return to dinner or supper. I only heard he was arrested a short time ago. The poor boy is not used to sleeping in jail, and I want to bail him out. Say, sergeant, can I send him something to eat?”

The sergeant replied in the affirmative and the little old woman went out for a half an hour, and then two policemen and a drunk came in with a bang. When the handcuff was removed, the sergeant asked, “What is your name?’

“My name is Ted McCarthy, and I’m a far-down from Monaghan. I’m of the 6^th regiment of the line, and I have played with the mitts with Jim Mace. You’re a Mick yourself; I can tell by your mug.” After firing off a lengthy biography of himself, the sergeant commenced to go through his pockets.

“Dynamite!” yelled Ted, as he made a leap backwards; but his pockets were emptied, and revealed $1.27 in small change and a clay pipe.

“Would you like to go to your chamber?” asked the sergeant.

“Let me tell you a story first, that will make you laugh,” said Mr. McCarthy.” We waked a hunchback once, and to make the corpse lie level in the coffin, we tied the head and feet down with ropes. There was lots of whiskey and tobacco, and we had a big time. But one of the boys cut the rope that held the head down, and the corpse sat up and looked at us. Didn’t we all run!”

Ted was astonished that his story did not take, and he walked out the back door to his cell, singing “No Irish Need Apply.” And when the reporter left the station a short time afterwards, Ted was still singing that once popular air.