“All aboard?” said the captain.
“All aboard, sir!” said the mate.
“Then stand by to let her go.”
It was nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning. The good ship _Spartan_ was
lying off Boston Quay with her cargo under hatches, her passengers
shipped, and everything prepared for a start. The warning whistle had
been sounded twice; the final bell had been rung. Her bowsprit was
turned towards England, and the hiss of escaping steam showed that all
was ready for her run of three thousand miles. She strained at the warps
that held her like a greyhound at its leash.
I have the misfortune to be a very nervous man. A sedentary literary
life has helped to increase the morbid love of solitude which, even in
my boyhood, was one of my distinguishing characteristics. As I stood
upon the quarter-deck of the Transatlantic steamer, I bitterly cursed
the necessity which drove me back to the land of my forefathers. The
shouts of the sailors, the rattle of the cordage, the farewells of my
fellow-passengers, and the cheers of the mob, each and all jarred upon
my sensitive nature. I felt sad too. An indescribable feeling, as of
some impending calamity, seemed to haunt me. The sea was calm, and the
breeze light. There was nothing to disturb the equanimity of the most
confirmed of landsmen, yet I felt as if I stood upon the verge of a
great though indefinable danger. I have noticed that such presentiments
occur often in men of my peculiar temperament, and that they are not
uncommonly fulfilled. There is a theory that it arises from a species of
second-sight, a subtle spiritual communication with the future. I well
remember that Herr Raumer, the eminent spiritualist, remarked on one
occasion that I was the most sensitive subject as regards supernatural
phenomena that he had ever encountered in the whole of his wide
experience. Be that as it may, I certainly felt far from happy as I
threaded my way among the weeping, cheering groups which dotted the
white decks of the good ship _Spartan_. Had I known the experience which
awaited me in the course of the next twelve hours I should even then at
the last moment have sprung upon the shore, and made my escape from the
accursed vessel.
“Time’s up!” said the captain, closing his chronometer with a snap, and
replacing it in his pocket. “Time’s up!” said the mate. There was a last
wail from the whistle, a rush of friends and relatives upon the land.
One warp was loosened, the gangway was being pushed away, when there was
a shout from the bridge, and two men appeared, running rapidly down
the quay. They were waving their hands and making frantic gestures,
apparently with the intention of stopping the ship. “Look sharp!”
shouted the crowd.
“Hold hard!” cried the captain. “Ease her! stop her! Up with the
gangway!” and the two men sprang aboard just as the second warp parted,
and a convulsive throb of the engine shot us clear of the shore. There
was a cheer from the deck, another from the quay, a mighty fluttering of
handkerchiefs, and the great vessel ploughed its way out of the harbour,
and steamed grandly away across the placid bay.
We were fairly started upon our fortnight’s voyage. There was a general
dive among the passengers in quest of berths and luggage, while a
popping of corks in the saloon proved that more than one bereaved
traveller was adopting artificial means for drowning the pangs of
separation. I glanced round the deck and took a running inventory of my
_compagnons de voyage_. They presented the usual types met with upon
these occasions. There was no striking face among them. I speak as
a connoisseur, for faces are a specialty of mine. I pounce upon a
characteristic feature as a botanist does on a flower, and bear it away
with me to analyse at my leisure, and classify and label it in my little
anthropological museum. There was nothing worthy of me here. Twenty
types of young America going to “Yurrup,” a few respectable middle-aged
couples as an antidote, a sprinkling of clergymen and professional men,
young ladies, bagmen, British exclusives, and all the _olla podrida_ of
an ocean-going steamer. I turned away from them and gazed back at the
receding shores of America, and, as a cloud of remembrances rose
before me, my heart warmed towards the land of my adoption. A pile of
portmanteaus and luggage chanced to be lying on one side of the deck,
awaiting their turn to be taken below. With my usual love for solitude I
walked behind these, and sitting on a coil of rope between them and the
vessel’s side, I indulged in a melancholy reverie.
I was aroused from this by a whisper behind me. “Here’s a quiet place,”
said the voice. “Sit down, and we can talk it over in safety.”
Glancing through a chink between two colossal chests, I saw that the
passengers who had joined us at the last moment were standing at
the other side of the pile. They had evidently failed to see me as I
crouched in the shadow of the boxes. The one who had spoken was a tall
and very thin man with a blue-black beard and a colourless face. His
manner was nervous and excited. His companion was a short plethoric
little fellow, with a brisk and resolute air. He had a cigar in his
mouth, and a large ulster slung over his left arm. They both glanced
round uneasily, as if to ascertain whether they were alone. “This is
just the place,” I heard the other say. They sat down on a bale of goods
with their backs turned towards me, and I found myself, much against my
will, playing the unpleasant part of eavesdropper to their conversation.
“Well, Müller,” said the taller of the two, “we’ve got it aboard right
enough.”
“Yes,” assented the man whom he had addressed as Müller, “it’s safe
aboard.”
“It was rather a near go.”
“It was that, Flannigan.”
“It wouldn’t have done to have missed the ship.”
“No, it would have put our plans out.”
“Ruined them entirely,” said the little man, and puffed furiously at his
cigar for some minutes.
“I’ve got it here,” he said at last.
“Let me see it.”
“Is no one looking?”
“No, they are nearly all below.”
“We can’t be too careful where so much is at stake,” said Müller, as he
uncoiled the ulster which hung over his arm, and disclosed a dark object
which he laid upon the deck. One glance at it was enough to cause me to
spring to my feet with an exclamation of horror. Luckily they were so
engrossed in the matter on hand that neither of them observed me. Had
they turned their heads they would infallibly have seen my pale face
glaring at them over the pile of boxes.
From the first moment of their conversation a horrible misgiving had
come over me. It seemed more than confirmed as I gazed at what lay
before me. It was a little square box made of some dark wood, and ribbed
with brass. I suppose it was about the size of a cubic foot. It
reminded me of a pistol-case, only it was decidedly higher. There was
an appendage to it, however, on which my eyes were riveted, and which
suggested the pistol itself rather than its receptacle. This was a
trigger-like arrangement upon the lid, to which a coil of string was
attached. Beside this trigger there was a small square aperture through
the wood. The tall man, Flannigan, as his companion called him, applied
his eye to this, and peered in for several minutes with an expression of
intense anxiety upon his face.
“It seems right enough,” he said at last.
“I tried not to shake it,” said his companion.
“Such delicate things need delicate treatment. Put in some of the
needful, Müller.”
The shorter man fumbled in his pocket for some time, and then produced a
small paper packet. He opened this, and took out of it half a handful
of whitish granules, which he poured down through the hole. A curious
clicking noise followed from the inside of the box, and both the men
smiled in a satisfied way.
“Nothing much wrong there,” said Flannigan.
“Right as a trivet,” answered his companion.
“Look out! here’s some one coming. Take it down to our berth. It
wouldn’t do to have any one suspecting what our game is, or, worse
still, have them fumbling with it, and letting it off by mistake.”
“Well, it would come to the same, whoever let it off,” said Müller.
“They’d be rather astonished if they pulled the trigger,” said the
taller, with a sinister laugh. “Ha, ha! fancy their faces! It’s not a
bad bit of workmanship, I flatter myself.”
“No,” said Müller. “I hear it is your own design, every bit of it, isn’t
it?”
“Yes, the spring and the sliding shutter are my own.”
“We should take out a patent.”
And the two men laughed again with a cold harsh laugh, as they took up
the little brass-bound package, and concealed it in Müller’s voluminous
overcoat.
“Come down, and we’ll stow it in our berth,” said Flannigan. “We won’t
need it until to-night, and it will be safe there.”
His companion assented, and the two went arm-in-arm along the deck and
disappeared down the hatchway, bearing the mysterious little box away
with them. The last words I heard were a muttered injunction from
Flannigan to carry it carefully, and avoid knocking it against the
bulwarks.
How long I remained sitting on that coil of rope I shall never know. The
horror of the conversation I had just overheard was aggravated by the
first sinking qualms of sea-sickness. The long roll of the Atlantic
was beginning to assert itself over both ship and passengers. I felt
prostrated in mind and in body, and fell into a state of collapse,
from which I was finally aroused by the hearty voice of our worthy
quartermaster.
“Do you mind moving out of that, sir?” he said. “We want to get this
lumber cleared off the deck.”
His bluff manner and ruddy healthy face seemed to be a positive insult
to me in my present condition. Had I been a courageous or a muscular
man I could have struck him. As it was, I treated the honest sailor to a
melodramatic scowl which seemed to cause him no small astonishment,
and strode past him to the other side of the deck. Solitude was what I
wanted--solitude in which I could brood over the frightful crime which
was being hatched before my very eyes. One of the quarter-boats was
hanging rather low down upon the davits. An idea struck me, and climbing
on the bulwarks, I stepped into the empty boat and lay down in the
bottom of it. Stretched on my back, with nothing but the blue sky above
me, and an occasional view of the mizen as the vessel rolled, I was at
least alone with my sickness and my thoughts.
I tried to recall the words which had been spoken in the terrible
dialogue I had overheard. Would they admit of any construction but the
one which stared me in the face? My reason forced me to confess that
they would not. I endeavoured to array the various facts which formed
the chain of circumstantial evidence, and to find a flaw in it; but
no, not a link was missing. There was the strange way in which our
passengers had come aboard, enabling them to evade any examination of
their luggage. The very name of “Flannigan” smacked of Fenianism,
while “Müller” suggested nothing but socialism and murder. Then their
mysterious manner; their remark that their plans would have been ruined
had they missed the ship; their fear of being observed; last, but not
least, the clenching evidence in the production of the little square
box with the trigger, and their grim joke about the face of the man who
should let it off by mistake--could these facts lead to any conclusion
other than that they were the desperate emissaries of some body,
political or otherwise, who intended to sacrifice themselves, their
fellow-passengers, and the ship, in one great holocaust? The whitish
granules which I had seen one of them pour into the box formed no doubt
a fuse or train for exploding it. I had myself heard a sound come from
it which might have emanated from some delicate piece of machinery. But
what did they mean by their allusion to to-night? Could it be that they
contemplated putting their horrible design into execution on the very
first evening of our voyage? The mere thought of it sent a cold shudder
over me, and made me for a moment superior even to the agonies of
sea-sickness.
I have remarked that I am a physical coward. I am a moral one also. It
is seldom that the two defects are united to such a degree in the one
character. I have known many men who were most sensitive to bodily
danger, and yet were distinguished for the independence and strength of
their minds. In my own case, however, I regret to say that my quiet
and retiring habits had fostered a nervous dread of doing anything
remarkable or making myself conspicuous, which exceeded, if possible,
my fear of personal peril. An ordinary mortal placed under the
circumstances in which I now found myself would have gone at once to the
Captain, confessed his fears, and put the matter into his hands. To me,
however, constituted as I am, the idea was most repugnant. The thought
of becoming the observed of all observers, cross-questioned by a
stranger, and confronted with two desperate conspirators in the
character of a denouncer, was hateful to me. Might it not by some remote
possibility prove that I was mistaken? What would be my feelings if
there should turn out to be no grounds for my accusation? No, I would
procrastinate; I would keep my eye on the two desperadoes and dog them
at every turn. Anything was better than the possibility of being wrong.
Then it struck me that even at that moment some new phase of the
conspiracy might be developing itself. The nervous excitement seemed
to have driven away my incipient attack of sickness, for I was able to
stand up and lower myself from the boat without experiencing any return
of it. I staggered along the deck with the intention of descending into
the cabin and finding how my acquaintances of the morning were
occupying themselves. Just as I had my hand on the companion-rail, I was
astonished by receiving a hearty slap on the back, which nearly shot me
down the steps with more haste than dignity.
“Is that you, Hammond?” said a voice which I seemed to recognise.
“God bless me,” I said, as I turned round, “it can’t be Dick Merton!
Why, how are you, old man?”
This was an unexpected piece of luck in the midst of my perplexities.
Dick was just the man I wanted; kindly and shrewd in his nature, and
prompt in his actions, I should have no difficulty in telling him my
suspicions, and could rely upon his sound sense to point out the best
course to pursue. Since I was a little lad in the second form at
Harrow, Dick had been my adviser and protector. He saw at a glance that
something had gone wrong with me.
“Hullo!” he said, in his kindly way, “what’s put you about, Hammond? You
look as white as a sheet. _Mal de mer_, eh?”
“No, not that altogether,” said I. “Walk up and down with me, Dick; I
want to speak to you. Give me your arm.”
Supporting myself on Dick’s stalwart frame, I tottered along by his
side; but it was some time before I could muster resolution to speak.
“Have a cigar,” said he, breaking the silence.
“No, thanks,” said I. “Dick, we shall be all corpses to-night.”
“That’s no reason against your having a cigar now,” said Dick, in his
cool way, but looking hard at me from under his shaggy eyebrows as he
spoke. He evidently thought that my intellect was a little gone.
“No,” I continued, “it’s no laughing matter; and I speak in sober
earnest, I assure you. I have discovered an infamous conspiracy,
Dick, to destroy this ship and every soul that is in her;” and I then
proceeded systematically, and in order, to lay before him the chain of
evidence which I had collected. “There, Dick,” I said, as I concluded,
“what do you think of that? and, above all, what am I to do?”
To my astonishment he burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
“I’d be frightened,” he said, “if any fellow but you had told me as
much. You always had a way, Hammond, of discovering mares’ nests. I like
to see the old traits breaking out again. Do you remember at school how
you swore there was a ghost in the long room, and how it turned out to
be your own reflection in the mirror. Why, man,” he continued, “what
object would any one have in destroying this ship? We have no great
political guns aboard. On the contrary, the majority of the passengers
are Americans. Besides, in this sober nineteenth century, the most
wholesale murderers stop at including themselves among their victims.
Depend upon it, you have misunderstood them, and have mistaken a
photographic camera, or something equally innocent, for an infernal
machine.”
“Nothing of the sort, sir,” said I, rather touchily “You will learn to
your cost, I fear, that I have neither exaggerated nor misinterpreted a
word. As to the box, I have certainly never before seen one like it. It
contained delicate machinery; of that I am convinced, from the way in
which the men handled it and spoke of it.”
“You’d make out every packet of perishable goods to be a torpedo,” said
Dick, “if that is to be your only test.”
“The man’s name was Flannigan,” I continued.
“I don’t think that would go very far in a court of law,” said Dick;
“but come, I have finished my cigar. Suppose we go down together and
split a bottle of claret. You can point out these two Orsinis to me if
they are still in the cabin.”
“All right,” I answered; “I am determined not to lose sight of them all
day. Don’t look hard at them, though, for I don’t want them to think
that they are being watched.”
“Trust me,” said Dick; “I’ll look as unconscious and guileless as a
lamb;” and with that we passed down the companion and into the saloon.
A good many passengers were scattered about the great central table,
some wrestling with refractory carpet bags and rug-straps, some having
their luncheon, and a few reading and otherwise amusing themselves. The
objects of our quest were not there. We passed down the room and peered
into every berth, but there was no sign of them. “Heavens!” thought I,
“perhaps at this very moment they are beneath our feet, in the hold or
engine-room, preparing their diabolical contrivance!” It was better to
know the worst than to remain in such suspense.
“Steward,” said Dick, “are there any other gentlemen about?”
“There’s two in the smoking-room, sir,” answered the steward.
The smoking-room was a little snuggery, luxuriously fitted up, and
adjoining the pantry. We pushed the door open and entered. A sigh of
relief escaped from my bosom. The very first object on which my eye
rested was the cadaverous face of Flannigan, with its hard-set mouth
and unwinking eye. His companion sat opposite to him. They were both
drinking, and a pile of cards lay upon the table. They were engaged in
playing as we entered. I nudged Dick to show him that we had found
our quarry, and we sat down beside them with as unconcerned an air
as possible. The two conspirators seemed to take little notice of our
presence. I watched them both narrowly. The game at which they were
playing was “Napoleon.” Both were adepts at it, and I could not help
admiring the consummate nerve of men who, with such a secret at their
hearts, could devote their minds to the manipulating of a long suit or
the finessing of a queen. Money changed hands rapidly; but the run of
luck seemed to be all against the taller of the two players. At last he
threw down his cards on the table with an oath, and refused to go on.
“No, I’m hanged if I do,” he said; “I haven’t had more than two of a
suit for five hands.”
“Never mind,” said his comrade, as he gathered up his winnings; “a few
dollars one way or the other won’t go very far after to-night’s work.”
I was astonished at the rascal’s audacity, but took care to keep my eyes
fixed abstractedly upon the ceiling, and drank my wine in as unconscious
a manner as possible. I felt that Flannigan was looking towards me with
his wolfish eyes to see if I had noticed the allusion. He whispered
something to his companion which I failed to catch. It was a caution, I
suppose, for the other answered rather angrily--
“Nonsense! Why shouldn’t I say what I like? Over-caution is just what
would ruin us.”
“I believe you want it not to come off,” said Flannigan.
“You believe nothing of the sort,” said the other, speaking rapidly and
loudly. “You know as well as I do that when I play for a stake I like to
win it. But I won’t have my words criticised and cut short by you or any
other man. I have as much interest in our success as you have--more, I
hope.”
He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at his cigar for some
minutes. The eyes of the other ruffian wandered alternately from Dick
Merton to myself. I knew that I was in the presence of a desperate man,
that a quiver of my lip might be the signal for him to plunge a weapon
into my heart, but I betrayed more self-command than I should have given
myself credit for under such trying circumstances. As to Dick, he was as
immovable and apparently as unconscious as the Egyptian Sphinx.
There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, broken only by the
crisp rattle of the cards, as the man Müller shuffled them up before
replacing them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed and
irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, he glanced
defiantly at his companion and turned towards me.
“Can you tell me, sir,” he said, “when this ship will be heard of
again?”
They were both looking at me; but though my face may have turned a
trifle paler, my voice was as steady as ever as I answered--
“I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it enters
Queenstown Harbour.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the angry little man, “I knew you would say that.
Don’t you kick me under the table, Flannigan, I won’t stand it. I know
what I am doing. You are wrong, sir,” he continued, turning to me,
“utterly wrong.”
“Some passing ship, perhaps,” suggested Dick.
“No, nor that either.”
“The weather is fine,” I said; “why should we not be heard of at our
destination.”
“I didn’t say we shouldn’t be heard of at our destination. Possibly we
may not, and in any case that is not where we shall be heard of first.”
“Where then?” asked Dick.
“That you shall never know. Suffice it that a rapid and mysterious
agency will signal our whereabouts, and that before the day is out. Ha,
ha!” and he chuckled once again.
“Come on deck!” growled his comrade; “you have drunk too much of that
confounded brandy-and-water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!”
and taking him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of the
smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the companion together, and
on to the deck.
“Well, what do you think now?” I gasped, as I turned towards Dick. He
was as imperturbable as ever.
“Think!” he said; “why, I think what his companion thinks, that we have
been listening to the ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of
brandy.”
“Nonsense, Dick I you saw how the other tried to stop his tongue.”
“Of course he did. He didn’t want his friend to make a fool of himself
before strangers. Maybe the short one is a lunatic, and the other his
private keeper. It’s quite possible.”
“O Dick, Dick,” I cried, “how can you be so blind! Don’t you see that
every word confirmed our previous suspicion?”
“Humbug, man!” said Dick; “you’re working yourself into a state of
nervous excitement. Why, what the devil do you make of all that nonsense
about a mysterious agent which would signal our whereabouts?”
“I’ll tell you what he meant, Dick,” I said, bending forward and
grasping my friend’s arm. “He meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far
out at sea by some lonely fisherman off the American coast. That’s what
he meant.”
“I didn’t think you were such a fool, Hammond,” said Dick Merton
testily. “If you try to fix a literal meaning on the twaddle that every
drunken man talks, you will come to some queer conclusions. Let us
follow their example, and go on deck. You need fresh air, I think.
Depend upon it, your liver is out of order. A sea-voyage will do you a
world of good.”
“If ever I see the end of this one,” I groaned, “I’ll promise never
to venture on another. They are laying the cloth, so it’s hardly worth
while my going up. I’ll stay below and unpack my things.”
“I hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant state of mind,” said
Dick; and he went out, leaving me to my thoughts until the clang of the
great gong summoned us to the saloon.
My appetite, I need hardly say, had not been improved by the incidents
which had occurred during the day. I sat down, however, mechanically at
the table, and listened to the talk which was going on around me. There
were nearly a hundred first-class passengers, and as the wine began to
circulate, their voices combined with the clash of the dishes to form
a perfect Babel. I found myself seated between a very stout and nervous
old lady and a prim little clergyman; and as neither made any advances I
retired into my shell, and spent my time in observing the appearance of
my fellow-voyagers. I could see Dick in the dim distance dividing his
attentions between a jointless fowl in front of him and a self-possessed
young lady at his side. Captain Dowie was doing the honours at my end,
while the surgeon of the vessel was seated at the other. I was glad to
notice that Flannigan was placed almost opposite to me. As long as I had
him before my eyes I knew that, for the time at least, we were safe. He
was sitting with what was meant to be a sociable smile on his grim face.
It did not escape me that he drank largely of wine--so largely that even
before the dessert appeared his voice had become decidedly husky. His
friend Müller was seated a few places lower down. He ate little, and
appeared to be nervous and restless.
“Now, ladies,” said our genial Captain, “I trust that you will consider
yourselves at home aboard my vessel. I have no fears for the gentlemen.
A bottle of champagne, steward. Here’s to a fresh breeze and a quick
passage! I trust our friends in America will hear of our safe arrival in
eight days, or in nine at the very latest.”
I looked up. Quick as was the glance which passed between Flannigan and
his confederate, I was able to intercept it. There was an evil smile
upon the former’s thin lips.
The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea, amusements, religion,
each was in turn discussed. I remained a silent though an interested
listener. It struck me that no harm could be done by introducing the
subject which was ever in my mind. It could be managed in an off-hand
way, and would at least have the effect of turning the Captain’s
thoughts in that direction. I could watch, too, what effect it would
have upon the faces of the conspirators.
There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The ordinary subjects of
interest appeared to be exhausted. The opportunity was a favourable one.
“May I ask, Captain,” I said, bending forward and speaking very
distinctly, “what you think of Fenian manifestoes?”
The Captain’s ruddy face became a shade darker from honest indignation.
“They are poor cowardly things,” he said, “as silly as they are wicked.”
“The impotent threats of a set of anonymous scoundrels,” said a
pompous-looking old gentleman beside him.
“O Captain!” said the fat lady at my side, “you don’t really think they
would blow up a ship?”
“I have no doubt they would if they could. But I am very sure they shall
never blow up mine.”
“May I ask what precautions are taken against them?” asked an elderly
man at the end of the table.
“All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly examined,” said Captain
Dowie.
“But suppose a man brought explosives aboard with him?” I suggested.
“They are too cowardly to risk their own lives in that way.”
During this conversation Flannigan had not betrayed the slightest
interest in what was going on. He raised his head now and looked at the
Captain.
“Don’t you think you are rather underrating them?” he said. “Every
secret society has produced desperate men--why shouldn’t the Fenians
have them too? Many men think it a privilege to die in the service of a
cause which seems right in their eyes, though others may think it wrong.”
“Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in anybody’s eyes,” said the
little clergyman.
“The bombardment of Paris was nothing else,” said Flannigan; “yet the
whole civilised world agreed to look on with folded arms, and change
the ugly word ‘murder’ into the more euphonious one of ‘war.’ It seemed
right enough to German eyes; why shouldn’t dynamite seem so to the
Fenian?”
“At any rate their empty vapourings have led to nothing as yet,” said
the Captain.
“Excuse me,” returned Flannigan, “but is there not some room for doubt
yet as to the fate of the _Dotterel_? I have met men in America who
asserted from their own personal knowledge that there was a coal torpedo
aboard that vessel.”
“Then they lied,” said the Captain. “It was proved conclusively at the
court-martial to have arisen from an explosion of coal-gas--but we had
better change the subject, or we may cause the ladies to have a restless
night;” and the conversation once more drifted back into its original
channel.
During this little discussion Flannigan had argued his point with a
gentlemanly deference and a quiet power for which I had not given him
credit. I could not help admiring a man who, on the eve of a desperate
enterprise, could courteously argue upon a point which must touch him so
nearly. He had, as I have already mentioned, partaken of a considerable
quantity of wine; but though there was a slight flush upon his pale
cheek, his manner was as reserved as ever. He did not join in the
conversation again, but seemed to be lost in thought.
A whirl of conflicting ideas was battling in my own mind. What was I to
do? Should I stand up now and denounce them before both passengers and
Captain? Should I demand a few minutes’ conversation with the latter in
his own cabin, and reveal it all? For an instant I was half resolved to
do it, but then the old constitutional timidity came back with redoubled
force. After all there might be some mistake. Dick had heard the
evidence and had refused to believe in it. I determined to let things go
on their course. A strange reckless feeling came over me. Why should I
help men who were blind to their own danger? Surely it was the duty of
the officers to protect us, not ours to give warning to them. I drank
off a couple of glasses of wine, and staggered upon deck with the
determination of keeping my secret locked in my own bosom.
It was a glorious evening. Even in my excited state of mind I could not
help leaning against the bulwarks and enjoying the refreshing breeze.
Away to the westward a solitary sail stood out as a dark speck against
the great sheet of flame left by the setting sun. I shuddered as I
looked at it. It was grand but appalling. A single star was twinkling
faintly above our mainmast, but a thousand seemed to gleam in the water
below with every stroke of our propeller. The only blot in the fair
scene was the great trail of smoke which stretched away behind us like
a black slash upon a crimson curtain. It was hard to believe that
the great peace which hung over all Nature could be marred by a poor
miserable mortal.
“After all,” I thought, as I gazed into the blue depths beneath me, “if
the worst comes to the worst, it is better to die here than to linger in
agony upon a sick-bed on land.” A man’s life seems a very paltry thing
amid the great forces of Nature. All my philosophy could not prevent my
shuddering, however, when I turned my head and saw two shadowy figures
at the other side of the deck, which I had no difficulty in recognising.
They seemed to be conversing earnestly, but I had no opportunity of
overhearing what was said; so I contented myself with pacing up and
down, and keeping a vigilant watch upon their movements.
It was a relief to me when Dick came on deck. Even an incredulous
confidant is better than none at all.
“Well, old man,” he said, giving me a facetious dig in the ribs, “we’ve
not been blown up yet.”
“No, not yet,” said I; “but that’s no proof that we are not going to
be.”
“Nonsense, man!” said Dick; “I can’t conceive what has put this
extraordinary idea into your head. I have been talking to one of your
supposed assassins, and he seems a pleasant fellow enough; quite a
sporting character, I should think, from the way he speaks.”
“Dick,” I said, “I am as certain that those men have an infernal
machine, and that we are on the verge of eternity, as if I saw them
putting the match to the fuse.”
“Well, if you really think so,” said Dick, half awed for the moment by
the earnestness of my manner, “it is your duty to let the Captain know
of your suspicions.”
“You are right,” I said; “I will. My absurd timidity has prevented my
doing so sooner. I believe our lives can only be saved by laying the
whole matter before him.”
“Well, go and do it now,” said Dick; “but for goodness’ sake don’t mix
me up in the matter.”
“I’ll speak to him when he comes off the bridge,” I answered; “and in
the meantime I don’t mean to lose sight of them.”
“Let me know of the result,” said my companion; and with a nod he
strolled away in search, I fancy, of his partner at the dinner-table.
Left to myself, I bethought me of my retreat of the morning, and
climbing on the bulwark I mounted into the quarter-boat, and lay down
there. In it I could reconsider my course of action, and by raising my
head I was able at any time to get a view of my disagreeable neighbours.
An hour passed, and the Captain was still on the bridge. He was talking
to one of the passengers, a retired naval officer, and the two were deep
in debate concerning some abstruse point in navigation. I could see the
red tips of their cigars from where I lay. It was dark now, so dark that
I could hardly make out the figures of Flannigan and his accomplice.
They were still standing in the position which they had taken up after
dinner. A few of the passengers were scattered about the deck, but
many had gone below. A strange stillness seemed to pervade the air. The
voices of the watch and the rattle of the wheel were the only sounds
which broke the silence.
Another half-hour passed. The Captain was still upon the bridge. It
seemed as if he would never come down. My nerves were in a state of
unnatural tension, so much so that the sound of two steps upon the deck
made me start up in a quiver of excitement. I peered over the edge of
the boat, and saw that our suspicious passengers had crossed from the
other side, and were standing almost directly beneath me. The light of a
binnacle fell full upon the ghastly face of the ruffian Flannigan. Even
in that short glance I saw that Müller had the ulster, whose use I knew
so well, slung loosely over his arm. I sank back with a groan. It seemed
that my fatal procrastination had sacrificed two hundred innocent lives.
I had read of the fiendish vengeance which awaited a spy. I knew that
men with their lives in their hands would stick at nothing. All I could
do was to cower at the bottom of the boat and listen silently to their
whispered talk below.
“This place will do,” said a voice.
“Yes, the leeward side is best.”
“I wonder if the trigger will act?”
“I am sure it will.”
“We were to let it off at ten, were we not?”
“Yes, at ten sharp. We have eight minutes yet.” There was a pause. Then
the voice began again--
“They’ll hear the drop of the trigger, won’t they?”
“It doesn’t matter. It will be too late for any one to prevent its going
off.”
“That’s true. There will be some excitement among those we have left
behind, won’t there?”
“Rather. How long do you reckon it will be before they hear of us?”
“The first news will get in at about midnight at earliest.”
“That will be my doing.”
“No, mine.”
“Ha, ha! we’ll settle that.”
There was a pause here. Then I heard Müller’s voice in a ghastly
whisper, “There’s only five minutes more.”
How slowly the moments seemed to pass! I could count them by the
throbbing of my heart.
“It’ll make a sensation on land,” said a voice.
“Yes, it will make a noise in the newspapers.”
I raised my head and peered over the side of the boat. There seemed no
hope, no help. Death stared me in the face, whether I did or did not
give the alarm. The Captain had at last left the bridge. The deck was
deserted, save for those two dark figures crouching in the shadow of the
boat.
Flannigan had a watch lying open in his hand.
“Three minutes more,” he said. “Put it down upon the deck.”
“No, put it here on the bulwarks.”
It was the little square box. I knew by the sound that they had placed
it near the davit, and almost exactly under my head.
I looked over again. Flannigan was pouring something out of a paper into
his hand. It was white and granular--the same that I had seen him use in
the morning. It was meant as a fuse, no doubt, for he shovelled it
into the little box, and I heard the strange noise which had previously
arrested my attention.
“A minute and a half more,” he said. “Shall you or I pull the string?”
“I will pull it,” said Müller.
He was kneeling down and holding the end in his hand. Flannigan stood
behind with his arms folded, and an air of grim resolution upon his
face.
I could stand it no longer. My nervous system seemed to give way in a
moment.
“Stop!” I screamed, springing to my feet. “Stop misguided and
unprincipled men!”
They both staggered backwards. I fancy they thought I was a spirit, with
the moonlight streaming down upon my pale face.