THE CIPHER TELEGRAM
The almost interminable night came to an end at last and the dull gray of
morning appeared in the east.
Ben Mayberry chafed the arms of the little stranger, and even slapped her
vigorously to prevent her succumbing to the cold. He was forced to rise
to his feet himself at intervals and swing his arms and kick out his
legs, to fight off the chilliness which seemed to penetrate to his very
bones.
As soon as the boy could make use of his eyes he found himself drifting
through the open country, where the river was fully double the width at
Damietta. This gave the masses of ice much more "elbow room," and
decreased the danger of capsizing.
Houses and villages were seen at intervals, and multitudes of people were
along the bank gathering driftwood and "loot," and watching the
unparalleled flood of waters.
Ben swung his hat and shouted, and at last caught the notice of the
people on the bank. Two sturdy watermen sprang into a boat and began
fighting their way out to the helpless ones. It was a hard task, but they
succeeded, and Ben and little Dolly Willard (as she had given her name)
were safely taken off. A crowd waited to welcome them and they received
every possible attention. Both were taken to the nearest farmhouse, where
a kind-hearted mother took Dolly in charge, for the little one needed it
sadly enough.
They were within half a mile of a village which was connected with
Damietta by telegraph, and before Ben would do anything more than swallow
a cup of hot coffee, and change his clothing, he was driven to the
office, where he sent the message which was the first word we received in
Damietta to tell us that he was alive.
I lost no time in hurrying to the humble dwelling of Mrs. Mayberry, where
I made known the joyful tidings. I shall never forget the holy light
which illumined the thin face as she clasped her hands in thankfulness
and said:
"I had not given up all hope, but I was very near doing so."
Ben was driven into Damietta late that afternoon, where a royal welcome
awaited him. He was cheered, shaken by the hand, and congratulated over
and over again, and for a time it looked as though he would be pulled
asunder. When he finally tore himself loose and rushed into our office,
the operators and messenger boys were equally demonstrative, but he did
not mind them.
I stood at my desk with a swelling heart, waiting for him. Suddenly he
turned and caught my hand.
"He that is born to be hanged will never be drowned----"
He was laughing when he spoke the jest, but his voice trembled, and all
at once he broke down. Quickly withdrawing both hands, he put them over
his face and cried like a heartbroken child. He had stood it like a hero
to this point, but now, with the crowd outside peering into the windows,
he sobbed with uncontrollable emotion, while my own heart was too full to
speak.
As soon as he could master himself he said:
"I must not wait any longer; mother expects me."
He was out of the door in a twinkling, and in a few minutes the mother
and son were in each other's arms.
The reader may think that the most remarkable part of Ben Mayberry's
adventure on the night of the flood has already been told, but it proved
to be the beginning of a train of incidents of such an extraordinary
nature that I hasten to make them known. There was a direct connection
between his experience on that terrible night in February and the
wonderful mystery in which he became involved, and which exercised such a
marked influence on his after-life.
Fortunately, little Dolly Willard suffered no serious consequences from
her frightful shock and exposure. She received such excellent care that
she speedily recovered, and as soon as we could re-establish
communication with Moorestown and engage her in conversation, we learned
something of her history.
She lived in New York City and had come to Moorestown on a visit with her
mother and Uncle George. He was the G. R. Burkhill who failed to receive
the cipher dispatch which Ben Mayberry undertook to deliver to him on
that eventful night.
Dolly said her father was dead, or had been gone from home a very long
time. Uncle George claimed and took her to the city, first sending a
cipher dispatch to a party in the metropolis, and directing me, in case
of an answer, to hold it until he called or sent for it.
Two days later an answer arrived in the same mystic characters as before.
As it has much to do with the incidents which follow, I give this
remarkable telegram in full:
"New York, February 28th,----
"George R. Burkhill, Moorestown:
"Nvtu vzhs ujmm ezkk tbn gzr b adssdg dizodf rntsg zpvs azmj
xjmm jddo.
"Tom."
Cipher telegrams are sent every day in the week, and we did not concern
ourselves with this particular one, which would have received no further
thought, but for an odd circumstance.
On the day Mr. Burkhill sent his message to New York, he was followed
into our office by a man who was shabbily dressed, and who impressed me
as what is commonly called a "beat." He spoiled several blanks without
sending a message and then abruptly tore them up, put the pieces in his
pocket, and walked out after Mr. Burkhill.
He was in the office several times the succeeding two days, made some
inquiries, and sent off a couple of messages. Just after Ben Mayberry had
received the cipher telegram given above, I happened to look across my
desk and observed that the fellow had taken every letter, marking it
down, as he easily interpreted it by sound.
It was only by accident that I made this discovery, for the man acted
precisely as if he were preparing a message to send away.