“Cain was damned,” I cried, “and he slew but one; would you have the
blood of two hundred upon your souis?”
“He’s mad!” said Flannigan. “Time’s up. Let it off, Müller.” I sprang
down upon the deck.
“You shan’t do it!” I said.
“By what right do you prevent us?”
“By every right, human and divine.”
“It’s no business of yours. Clear out of this.”
“Never!” said I.
“Confound the fellow! There’s too much at stake to stand on ceremony.
I’ll hold him, Müller, while you pull the trigger.”
Next moment I was struggling in the herculean grasp of the Irishman.
Resistance was useless; I was a child in his hands.
He pinned me up against the side of the vessel, and held me there.
“Now,” he said, “look sharp. He can’t prevent us.”
I felt that I was standing on the verge of eternity. Half-strangled in
the arms of the taller ruffian, I saw the other approach the fatal box.
He stooped over it and seized the string. I breathed one prayer when I
saw his grasp tighten upon it. Then came a sharp snap, a strange rasping
noise. The trigger had fallen, the side of the box flew out, and let
off--TWO GREY CARRIER PIGEONS!
Little more need be said. It is not a subject on which I care to dwell.
The whole thing is too utterly disgusting and absurd. Perhaps the best
thing I can do is to retire gracefully from the scene, and let the
sporting correspondent of the New York Herald fill my unworthy place.
Here is an extract clipped from its columns shortly after our departure
from America:--
“Pigeon-flying Extraordinary.--A novel match has been brought off last
week between the birds of John H. Flannigan, of Boston, and Jeremiah
Müller, a well-known citizen of Lowell. Both men have devoted much time
and attention to an improved breed of bird, and the challenge is an
old-standing one. The pigeons were backed to a large amount, and there
was considerable local interest in the result. The start was from the
deck of the Transatlantic steamship _Spartan_, at ten o’clock on the
evening of the day of starting, the vessel being then reckoned to be
about a hundred miles from the land. The bird which reached home first
was to be declared the winner. Considerable caution had, we believe, to
be observed, as some captains have a prejudice against the bringing
off of sporting events aboard their vessels. In spite of some little
difficulty at the last moment, the trap was sprung almost exactly at ten
o’clock.
“Müller’s bird arrived in Lowell in an extreme state of exhaustion on the
following morning, while Flannigan’s has not been heard of. The backers
of the latter have the satisfaction of knowing, however, that the whole
affair has been characterised by extreme fairness. The pigeons were
confined in a specially invented trap, which could only be opened by
the spring. It was thus possible to feed them through an aperture in the
top, but any tampering with their wings was quite out of the question.
A few such matches would go far towards popularising pigeon-flying in
America, and form an agreeable variety to the morbid exhibitions of
human endurance which have assumed such proportions during the last few
years.”