handed him the second wireless message. He opened it with trembling
fingers and read:
_Still more successful. Uncle Hyacinth's tonsils removed. Appetite
now colossal. Bless him. Taking large quantities frozen meat._
He could hardly wait to translate it. He sat down on his suitcase again,
and spelled it out with the help of his Number Six, word by word,
refusing to believe his eyes, refusing even to read it as a consecutive
sentence till the bottom of the two parallel columns had been reached,
thus:
_Still_ _Impossible_
_More_ _Total_
_Successful_ _Destruction_
_Uncle Hyacinth's_ _Hispaniola_
_Tonsils_ _Von Tirpitz_
_Removed_ _Advises_
_Appetite_ _Essential_
_Now_ _Squadron_
_Colossal_ _Twenty_
_Bless him_ _Submarines_
_Taking_ _Waiting_
_Large_ _Appropriate_
_Quantities_ _Death_
_Frozen_ _Good_
_Meat_ _German_
_Best_ _Enviable_
_Greetings_ _Position_
This was hideous. He remembered all that he had done all over the world
in the interests of the Fatherland. He remembered the skilful way in
which long before the war he had stirred up feeling in America against
Japan, and in Japan against both America and England. He remembered the
way in which he had manipulated the peace societies in the interest of
militarism. He had spent several years in London before the war, and he
believed he had helped to make the very name of England a reproach in
literary coteries; so that current English literature, unless it went
far beyond honest criticism of English life, unless indeed it manifested
a complete contempt for that pharisaical country and painted it as
rotten from head to foot, lost caste among the self-enthroned British
intellectuals.
It was very easy to do this, because, though English editors paid
considerable attention to their leading articles, some of them did not
care very much what kind of stuff was printed in their literary columns;
and they would allow the best of our literature, old and new, and the
most representative part of it, to be misrepresented by an anonymous
Sinn Feiner in half a dozen journals simultaneously. The editors were
patriotic enough, but they didn't think current literature of much
importance. He had been able, therefore, to quote extracts from
important London journals in the foreign press.
He had been helped, too, by lecturers who drew pensions from the British
Government for their literary merits, and told American audiences that
the one flag they loathed was the flag of the land that pensioned them.
He had reprinted these utterances, together with the innocent bleatings
of the intellectuals, and scattered them all over the world in pamphlet
form. He had marked passages in their books and sent them to friends.
Thousands of columns were devoted to them in the newspapers of foreign
countries, while the English press occasionally referred to them in
brief paragraphs, announcing to a drugged public at home that the
vagaries of these writers were of no importance. He had carried out the
program of his country to the letter, and poisoned the intellectual
wellsprings.
No grain of poison was too small. He had even written letters to the
newspapers in Scotland, which had stimulated the belief of certain
zealous Scots that whenever the name of England was used it was intended
as a deliberate onslaught upon the Union. There was hardly any
destructive force or thought or feeling, good, bad or merely trivial,
which he had not turned to the advantage of Germany and the disadvantage
of other nations. Then when the war broke out he had redoubled his
activities. He was amazed when he thought of the successful lies he had
fostered all over the world. He had plotted with Hindus on the coast of
California, and provided them with the literature of freedom in the
interests of autocracy. He worked for dissension abroad and union in
Germany. He was hand-in-glove with the I. W. W. He was idealist,
socialist, pacifist, anarchist, futurist, suffragist, nationalist,
internationalist and always publicist, all at once, and for one cause
only--the cause of Germany.
And this was the gratitude of the--of the--swine! Well, he would teach
them a lesson. God in heaven! There was only one thing he could do to
save his skin. He would send them an ultimatum! It was their last
chance. He shivered to think that it might be his own!
But it was not so easy as he thought it would be to burn all his boats.
It cost him two days and two nights of tortuous thinking before he could
bring himself to the point. At eleven o'clock on the third night the
purser brought the captain a new message, which Mr. Neilsen had just
handed in to be despatched by wireless. It ran as follows:
_Continue treatment. Vastly amusing. Uncle Hyacinth's magnificent
constitution stand anything. Apply mustard. Try red pepper._
The group that met to consider this new development included three
passengers, whom the captain had invited to share what he called the
fun. They were a Miss Depew, an American girl who was going to Europe to
do Red Cross work; and a Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather, English residents of
Buenos Aires, with whom she was traveling. The message, as they
interpreted it, ran as follows:
_Unless instructions to sink Hispaniola countermanded, shall inform
captain. No alternative. Most important papers my possession._
"Good!" said Captain Abbey. "'E's beginning to show symptoms of
blackmail. I'd send this message on, only we're likely to make a bigger
bag by keeping quiet. We'll let 'im 'ave the reply to-morrow morning.
What shall we do to 'im next?"
"Shoot him," said Miss Depew with complete calm.
"Oh, I want to 'ave a little fun with 'im first," said Captain Abbey.
"I'm afraid you 'aven't got much sense of humor, Miss Depew."
"Do you think so?" she said. She was of the purest Gibson type, and
never flickered an innocent eyelash or twisted a corner of her red
Cupid's bow of a mouth as she drawled: "I think it would be very
humorous indeed to shoot him, now that we know he is a German."
"Well, after 'is trying to leave us without warning 'e deserves to be
skinned and stuffed. But we're likely to make much more of it if we keep
'im alive for our entertainment. Besides, 'e's going to be useful on
the other side. Now, what do you think of this for a scheme?"
The heads of the conspirators drew closer round the table; and Mr.
Neilsen, wandering on deck like a lost spirit, pondered on the tragic
ironies of life. The thoughtless laughter that rippled up to him from
the captain's cabin filled him with no compassion toward any one but
himself. It was merely one more proof that only the Germans took life
seriously. All the same, if he could possibly help it, he was not going
to let them take his own life.
II
There was no radiogram for Mr. Neilsen on the following day; and he was
perplexed by a new problem as he walked feverishly up and down the
promenade deck.
Even if he received an assurance that the _Hispaniola_ would be spared,
how could he know that he was being told the truth? Necessity, as he
knew quite well, was the mother of murder. It was very necessary,
indeed, that his mouth should be sealed. Besides, he had more than a
suspicion that his use was fulfilled in the eyes of the German
Government, and that they would not be sorry if they could conveniently
get rid of him. He possessed a lot of perilous knowledge; and he wished
heartily that he didn't. He was tasting, in fact, the inevitable hell of
the criminal, which is not that other people distrust him, but that he
can trust nobody else.
He leaned over the side of the ship and watched the white foam veining
the black water.
"Curious, isn't it?" said dapper little Mr. Pennyfeather, who stood near
him. "Exactly like liquid marble. Makes you think of that philosophic
Johnny--What's-his-name--fellow that said 'everything flows,' don't you
know. And it does, too, by Jove! Everything! Including one's income!
It's curious, Mr. Neilsen, how quickly we've changed all our ideas about
the value of human life, isn't it? By Jove, that's flowing too! The
other morning I caught myself saying that there was no news in the
paper; and then I realized that I'd overlooked the sudden death of about
ten thousand men on the Western Front. Well, we've all got to die some
day, and perhaps it's best to do it before we deteriorate too far. Don't
you think so?"
Mr. Neilsen grunted morosely. He hated to be pestered by these gadflies
of the steamer. He particularly disliked this little Englishman with the
neat gray beard, not only because he was the head of an obnoxious bank
in Buenos Aires, but because he would persist in talking to him with a
ghoulish geniality about submarine operations and the subject of death.
Also, he was one of those hopeless people who had been led by the
wholesale slaughter of the war to thoughts of the possibility of a
future life. Apparently Mr. Pennyfeather had no philosophy, and his
spiritual being was groping for light through those materialistic fogs
which brood over the borderlands of science. His wife was even more
irritating; for she, too, was groping, chiefly because of the fashion;
and they both insisted on talking to Mr. Neilsen about it. They had
quite spoiled his breakfast this morning. He did not resent it on
spiritual grounds, for he had none; but he did resent it because it
reminded him of his mortality, and also because a professional quack
does not like to be bothered by amateurs.
Mrs. Pennyfeather approached him now on the other side. She was a faded
lady with hair dyed yellow, and tortoise-shell spectacles.
"Have you ever had your halo read, Mr. Neilsen?" she asked with a sickly
smile.
"No. I don't believe in id," he said gruffly.
"But surely you believe in the spectrum," she continued with a ghastly
inconsequence that almost curdled the logic in his German brain.
"Certainly," he replied, trying hard to be polite.
"And therefore in specters," she cooed ingratiatingly, as if she were
talking to a very small child.
"Nod at all! Nod at all!" he exploded somewhat violently, while Mr.
Pennyfeather, on the other side, came to his rescue, sagely repudiating
the methods of his wife.
"No, no, my dear! I don't think your train of thought is quite correct
there. My wife and I are very much interested in recent occult
experiments, Mr. Neilsen. We've been wondering whether you wouldn't join
us one night, round the ouija board."
"Id is all nonsense to me," said Mr. Neilsen, gesticulating with both
arms.
"Quite so; very natural. But we got some very curious results last
night," continued Mr. Pennyfeather. "Most extraordinary. The purser was
with us, and he thought it would interest you. I wish you would join
us."
"I should regard id as gomplete waste of time," said Mr. Neilsen.
"Surely, nothing can be waste of time that increases our knowledge of
the bourne from which no traveler returns," replied the lyric lips of
Mrs. Pennyfeather.
"To me the methods are ridiculous," said Mr. Neilsen. "All this
furniture removal! Ach!"
"Ah," said Mr. Pennyfeather, "you should read What's-his-name. You know
the chap, Susan. Fellow that said it's like a shipwrecked man waving a
shirt on a stick to attract attention. Of course it's ridiculous! But
what else can you do if you haven't any other way of signaling? Why, man
alive! You'd use your trousers, wouldn't you, if you hadn't anything
else? And the alternative--drowning--remember--drowning beneath what
Thingumbob calls 'the unplumbed salt, estranging sea.'"
"Eggscuse me," said Mr. Neilsen; "I have some important business with
the captain. I must go."
Mr. Neilsen had been trying hard to make up his mind, despite these
irrelevant interruptions. He had received no assurance by wireless, and
he had convinced himself that even if he did receive one it would be
wiser to inform the captain. But there were many difficulties in the
way. He had taken great care never to do anything that might lead to the
death penalty--that is to say, among nations less civilized than his
own. But there was that affair of the code. It might make things very
unpleasant. A dozen other suspicious circumstances would have to be
explained away. A dozen times he had hesitated, as he did this morning.
He met the captain at the foot of the bridge.
"Ah, Mr. Neilsen," said Captain Abbey with great cordiality, "you're the
very man I want to see. We're 'aving a little concert to-night in the
first-class dining room on behalf of the wives and children of the
British mine sweepers and the auxiliary patrols. You see, though this is
a neutral ship, we depend upon them more or less for our safety. I
thought it would be pleasant if you--as a neutral--would say just a few
words. I understand that they've rescued a good many Swedish crews from
torpedoed ships; and whatever view we may take of the war we 'ave to
admit that these little boats are doing the work of civilization."
Mr. Neilsen thought he saw an opportunity of ingratiating himself, and
he seized it. He could broach the other matter later on. "I vill do my
best, captain."
"'Ere is a London newspaper that will tell you all about their work."
Mr. Neilsen retired to his stateroom and studied the newspaper
fervently.
The captain took the chair that evening, and he did it very well. He
introduced Mr. Neilsen in a few appropriate words; and Mr. Neilsen spoke
for nearly five minutes, in English, with impassioned eloquence and a
rapidly deteriorating accent.
"Dese liddle batrol boads," he said in his peroration, "how touching to
the heart is der vork! Some of us forget ven ve are safe on land how
much ve owe to them. But no matter vot your nationality, ven you are on
the high seas, surrounded with darkness and dangers, not knowing ven you
shall be torpedoed, vot a grade affection you feel then to dese liddle
batrol boads! As a citizen of Sweden I speak vot I _know_. The ships of
my guntry have suffered much in dis war. The sailors of my guntry have
been thrown into the water by thousands through der submarines. But dese
liddle batrol boads, they save them from drowning. They give them
blankets and hot goffee. They restore them to their veeping mothers."
Mr. Neilsen closed amid tumultuous applause, and when the collection was
taken up by Miss Depew his contribution was the largest of the evening.
The rest of the entertainment consisted chiefly of music and recitation.
Mr. Pennyfeather contributed a song, composed by himself. Typewritten
copies of the words were issued to the audience; and a very fat and
solemn Spaniard accompanied him with thunderous chords on the piano.
Every one joined in the chorus; but Mr. Neilsen did not like the song at
all. It was concerned with Mr. Pennyfeather's usual gruesome subject;
and he rolled it out in a surprisingly rich barytone with the gusto of a
schoolboy:
_If they sink us we shall be
All the nearer to the sea!
That's no hardship to deplore!
We've all been in the sea before._
_Chorus_:
_And then we'll go a-rambling,
A-rambling, a-rambling,
With all the little lobsters
From Frisco to the Nore._
_If we swim it's one more tale,
Round the hearth and over the ale;
When your lass is on your knee,
And love comes laughing from the sea._
_Chorus_:
_And then we'll go a-rambling,
A-rambling, a-rambling,
A-rambling through the roses
That ramble round the door._
_If we drown, our bones and blood
Mingle with the eternal flood.
That's no hardship to deplore!
We've all been in the sea before._
_Chorus_:
_And then we'll go a-rambling,
A-rambling, a-rambling,
The road that Jonah rambled
And twenty thousand more._
"Now," said Mr. Pennyfeather, holding out his hands like the conductor
of a revival meeting, "all the ladies, very softly, please."
The solemn Spaniard rolled his great black eyes at the audience, and
repeated the refrain _pianissimo_, while the silvery voices caroled:
_With all the little lobsters
From Frisco to the Nore._
"Now, all the gentlemen, please," said Mr. Pennyfeather. The Spaniard's
eyes flashed. He rolled thunder from the piano, and Mr. Neilsen found
himself bellowing with the rest of the audience:
_The road that Jonah rambled
From Hull to Singapore,
And twenty thousand, thirty thousand,
Forty thousand, fifty thousand,
Sixty thousand, seventy thousand,
Eighty thousand more!_
It was an elaborate conclusion, accompanied by elephantine stampings of
Captain Abbey's feet; but Mr. Neilsen retired to his room in a state of
great depression. The frivolity of these people, in the face of his
countrymen, appalled him.
On the next morning he decided to act, and sent a message to the captain
asking for an interview. The captain responded at once, and received
him with great cordiality. But the innocence of his countenance almost
paralyzed Mr. Neilsen's intellect at the outset, and it was very
difficult to approach the subject.
"Do you see this, Mr. Neilsen?" said the captain, holding up a large
champagne bottle. "Do you know what I've got in this?"
"Champagne," said Mr. Neilsen with the weary pathos of a logician among
idiots.
"No, sir! Guess again."
"Pilsener!"
"No, sir! It's plain sea water. I've just filled it. I'm taking it 'ome
to my wife. She takes it for the good of 'er stummick, a small wineglass
at a time. She always likes me to fill it for her in mid-Atlantic. She's
come to depend on it now, and I wouldn't dare to go 'ome without it. I
forgot to fill it once till we were off the coast of Spain. And, would
you believe it, Mr. Neilsen, that woman knew! The moment she tasted it
she knew it wasn't the right vintage. Well, sir, we shall soon be in the
war zone now. But you are not looking very well, Mr. Neilsen. I 'ope
you've got a comfortable room."
"I have reason to believe, captain, that there will be an attempt made
by the submarines to sink the _Hispaniola_," said Mr. Neilsen abruptly.
"Nonsense, my dear sir! This is a neutral ship and we're sailing to a
neutral country, under explicit guarantees from the German Government.
They won't sink the _Hispaniola_ for the pleasure of killing her
superannuated English captain."
"I have reason to believe they intended to--er--change their bolicy. I
was not sure of id till I opened my mail on the boad; but--er--I have a
friend in Buenos Aires who vas in glose touch--er--business
gonnections--with members of the German legation; he--er--advised me,
too late, I had better gancel my bassage. I fear there is no doubt they
vill change their bolicy."
"But they couldn't. There ain't any policy! The Argentine Republic is a
neutral country. You can't make me believe they'd do a thing like that.
It wouldn't be honest, Mr. Neilsen. Of course, it's war-time; but the
German Government wants to be honorable, don't it--like any other
government?"
"I don'd understand the reasons; but I fear there is no doubt aboud the
facts," said Mr. Neilsen.
"Have you got the letter?"
"No; I thought as you do, ad first, and I tore id up."
"Was that why you wanted to get off and go back?" the captain inquired
mercilessly.
"I gonfess I vas a liddle alarmed; but I thought perhaps I vas unduly
alarmed at the time. I gouldn't trust my own judgment, and I had no ride
to make other bassengers nervous."
"That was very thoughtful of you. I trust you will continue to keep this
matter to yourself, for I assure you--though I consider the German
Government 'opelessly wrong in this war--they wouldn't do a dirty thing
like that. They're very anxious to be on good terms with the South
American republics, and they'd ruin themselves for ever."
"But my information is they vill sink the ships vithoud leaving any
draces."
"What do you mean? Pretend to be friendly, and then--Come, now! That's
an awful suggestion to make!"
At these words Mr. Neilsen had a vivid mental picture of his
conversation with the bald-headed Englishman in Harrods'.
"Do you mean," the captain continued, waxing eloquent, "do you mean
they'd sink the ships and massacre every blessed soul aboard, regardless
of their nationality? Of course I'm an Englishman, and I don't love 'em,
but that ain't even murder. That's plain beastliness. It couldn't be
done by anything that walks on two legs. I tell you what, Mr. Neilsen,
you're a bit overwrought and nervous. You want a little recreation.
You'd better join the party to-night in my cabin. Mr. and Mrs.
Pennyfeather are coming, and a very nice American girl--Miss Depew.
We're going to get a wireless message or two from the next world. Ever
played with the ouija board? Nor had I till this voyage; but I must say
it's interesting. You ought to see it, as a scientific man. I understand
you're interested in science, and you know there's no end of
scientists--big men too--taking this thing up. You'd better come. Half
past eight. Right you are!"
And so Mr. Neilsen was ushered out into despair for the rest of the day,
and booked for an unpleasant evening. He had accepted the captain's
invitation as a matter of policy; for he thought he might be able to
talk further with him, and it was not always easy to secure an
opportunity. In fact, when he thought things over he was inclined to
feel more amiably toward the Pennyfeathers, who had put the idea of
psychical research into the captain's head.
Promptly at half past eight, therefore, he joined the little party in
the captain's cabin. Miss Depew looked more Gibsonish than ever, and she
smiled at him bewitchingly; with a smile as hard and brilliant as
diamonds. Mrs. Pennyfeather looked like a large artificial
chrysanthemum; and she examined his black tie and dinner jacket with the
wickedly observant eye of a cockatoo. Three times in the first five
minutes she made his hand travel over his shirt front to find out which
stud had broken loose. They had driven him nearly mad in his stateroom
that evening, and he had turned his trunk inside out in the process of
dressing, to find some socks.
Moreover, he had left his door unlocked. He was growing reckless.
Perhaps the high sentiments of every one on board had made him trustful.
If he had seen the purser exploring the room and poking under his berth
he might have felt uneasy, for that was what the purser was doing at
this moment. Mr. Neilsen might have been even more mystified if he had
seen the strange objects which the purser had laid, for the moment, on
his pillow. One of them looked singularly like a rocket, of the kind
which ships use for signaling purposes. But Mr. Neilsen could not see;
and so he was only worried by the people round him.
Captain Abbey seemed to have washed his face in the sunset. He was
larger and more like a marine Weller than ever in his best blue and
gilt. And Mr. Pennyfeather was just dapper little Mr. Pennyfeather, with
his beard freshly brushed.
"You've never been in London, Miss Depew?" said Captain Abbey
reproachfully, while the Pennyfeathers prepared the ouija board. "Ah,
but you ought to see the Thames at Westminster Bridge! No doubt the
Amazon and the Mississippi, considered as rivers, are all right in their
way. They're ten times bigger than our smoky old river at 'ome. But the
Thames is more than a river, Miss Depew. The Thames is liquid 'istory!"
As soon as the ouija board was ready they began their experiment. Mr.
Neilsen thought he had never known anything more sickeningly
illustrative of the inferiority of all intellects to the German. He
tried the ouija board with Mrs. Pennyfeather, and the accursed thing
scrawled one insane syllable.
It looked like "cows," but Miss Depew decided that it was "crows." Then
Mrs. Pennyfeather tried it with Captain Abbey; and they got nothing at
all, except an occasional giggle from the lady to the effect that she
didn't think the captain could be making his mind a blank. Then Mr.
Pennyfeather tried it with Miss Depew--with no result but the obvious
delight of that sprightly middle-aged gentleman at touching her polished
finger tips, and the long uneven line that was driven across the paper
by the ardor of his pressure. Finally Miss Depew--subduing the glint of
her smile slightly, a change as from diamonds to rubies, but hard and
clear-cut as ever--declared, on the strength of Mr. Neilsen's first
attempt, that he seemed to be the most sensitive of the party, and she
would like to try it with him.