BEFORE the _Maria_ sailed again, with the men who formed a part of
Wylie's crew, he made them sign a declaration before the English Consul
at Buenos Ayres. This document set forth the manner in which the
_Proserpine_ foundered; it was artfully made up of facts enough to
deceive a careless listener; but, when Wylie read it over to them he
slurred over certain parts, which he took care, also, to express in
language above the comprehension of such men. Of course they assented
eagerly to what they did not understand, and signed the statement
conscientiously.
So Wylie and his three men were shipped on board the _Boadicea,_ bound
for Liverpool, in Old England, while the others sailed with Captain
Slocum for Nantucket, in New England.
The _Boadicea_ was a clipper laden with hides and a miscellaneous cargo.
For seventeen days she flew before a southerly gale, being on her best
sailing point, and, after one of the shortest passages she had ever made,
she lay to, outside the bar, off the Mersey. It wanted but one hour to
daylight, the tide was flowing; the pilot sprang aboard.
"What do you draw?" he asked of the master.
"Fifteen feet, barely," was the reply.
"That will do," and the vessel's head was laid for the river.
They passed a large bark, with her topsails backed.
"Ay," remarked the pilot, "she has waited since the half-ebb; there ain't
more than four hours in the twenty-four that such craft as that can get
in."
"What is she? An American liner?" asked Wylie, peering through the gloom.
"No," said the pilot; "she's an Australian ship. She's the _Shannon,_
from Sydney."
The mate started, looked at the man, then at the vessel. Twice the
_Shannon_ had thus met him, as if to satisfy him that his object had been
attained, and each time she seemed to him not an inanimate thing, but a
silent accomplice. A chill of fear struck through the man's frame as he
looked at her. Yes, there she lay, and in her hold were safely stowed
160,000 pounds in gold, marked lead and copper.
Wylie had no luggage nor effects to detain him on board; he landed, and,
having bestowed his three companions in a sailors' boarding-house, he was
hastening to the shipping agents of Wardlaw & Son to announce his arrival
and the fate of the _Proserpine._ He had reached their offices in Water
Street before he recollected that it was barely half past five o'clock,
and, though broad daylight on that July morning, merchants' offices are
not open at that hour. The sight of the _Shannon_ had so bewildered him
that he had not noticed that the shops were all shut, the streets
deserted. Then a thought occurred to him--why not be a bearer of his own
news? He did not require to turn the idea twice over, but resolved, for
many reasons, to adopt it. As he hurried to the railway station, he tried
to recollect the hour at which the early train started; but his confused
and excited mind refused to perform the function of memory. The _Shannon_
dazed him.
At the railway-station he found that a train had started at 4 A.M., and
there was nothing until 7:30. This check sobered him a little, and he
went back to the docks; he walked out to the farther end of that noble
line of berths, and sat down on the verge with his legs dangling over the
water. He waited an hour; it was six o'clock by the great dial at St.
George's Dock. His eyes were fixed on the _Shannon,_ which was moving
slowly up the river; she came abreast to where he sat. The few sails
requisite to give her steerage fell. Her anchor-chain rattled, and she
swung round with the tide. The clock struck the half-hour; a boat left
the side of the vessel and made straight for the steps near where he was
seated. A tall, noble-looking man sat in the stern-sheets beside the
coxswain; he was put ashore, and, after exchanging a few words with the
boat's crew, he mounted the steps which led him to Wylie's side, followed
by one of the sailors, who carried a portmanteau.
He stood for a single moment on the quay, and stamped his foot on the
broad stones; then, heaving a deep sigh of satisfaction, he murmured,
"Thank God!"
He turned toward Wylie.
"Can you tell me, my man, at what hour the first train starts for
London?"
"There is a slow train at 7:30 and an express at 9."
"The express will serve me, and give me time for breakfast at the
Adelphi. Thank you; good morning;" and the gentleman passed on, followed
by the sailor.
Wylie looked after him; he noted that erect military carriage and crisp,
gray hair and thick white mustache; he had a vague idea that he had seen
that face before, and the memory troubled him.
At 7:30 Wylie started for London; the military man followed him in the
express at 9, and caught him up at Rugby; together they arrived at the
station at Euston Square; it was a quarter to three. Wylie hailed a cab,
but, before he could struggle through the crowd to reach it, a railway
porter threw a portmanteau on its roof, and his military acquaintance
took possession of it.
"All right," said the porter. "What address, sir?"
Wylie did not hear what the gentleman said, but the porter shouted it to
the cabman, and then he did hear it.
"No. -- Russell Square."
It was the house of Arthur Wardlaw!
Wylie took off his hat, rubbed his frowzy hair, and gaped after the cab.
He entered another cab, and told the driver to go to "No. -- Fenchurch
Street."
It was the office of Wardlaw & Son.