A HARBOUR TRAGEDY
The voyage of the _Calipha_ came to its usual termination about ten
o'clock on the following morning, when she passed Boston lights and
steamed slowly down the smooth waters of the harbour. The seven
passengers were all upon deck in wonderfully transformed guise. Already
the steamer chairs were being tied up and piled away; the stewards,
officiously anxious to render some last service, were hovering around.
Mrs. Watson, in a plain tailor gown and quiet felt hat, was sitting
heavily veiled apart and alone. There were no signs of either Mr. Watson
or Mr. Sabin. The captain was on the bridge talking to the pilot.
Scarcely a hundred yards away lay the _Kaiser Wilhelm_, white and
stately, with her brass work shining like gold in the sunlight, and her
decks as white as snow.
The _Calipha_ was almost at a standstill, awaiting the doctor's brig,
which was coming up to her on the port side. Every one was leaning over
the railing watching her. Mr. Watson and Mr. Sabin, who had just come up
the gangway together, turned away towards the deserted side of the boat,
engaged apparently in serious conversation. Suddenly every one on deck
started. A revolver shot, followed by two heavy splashes in the water,
rang out clear and crisp above the clanking of chains and slighter
noises. There was a moment's startled silence--every one looked at one
another--then a rush for the starboard side of the steamer. Above the
little torrent of minor exclamations, the captain's voice sang out like
thunder.
"Lower the number one boat. Quartermaster, man a crew."
The seven passengers, two stewards, and a stray seaman arrived on the
starboard side of the gangway at about the same moment. There was at
first very little to be seen. A faint cloud of blue smoke was curling
upwards, and there was a strong odour of gunpowder in the air. On the
deck were lying a small, recently-discharged revolver and a man's white
linen cap, which, from its somewhat peculiar shape, every one recognised
at once as belonging to Mr. Sabin. At first sight, there was absolutely
nothing else to be seen. Then, suddenly, some one pointed to a man's
head about fifty yards away in the water. Every one crowded to the side
to look at it. It was hard at that distance to distinguish the features,
but a little murmur arose, doubtful at first, but gaining confidence. It
was the head of Mr. Watson. The murmur rather grew than increased when
it was seen that he was swimming, not towards the steamer, but away from
it, and that he was alone. Where was Mr. Sabin?
A slight cry from behind diverted attention for a moment from the
bobbing head. Mrs. Watson, who had heard the murmurs, was lying in a
dead faint across a chair. One of the women moved to her side. The
others resumed their watch upon events.
A boat was already lowered. Acting upon instructions from the captain,
the crew combined a search for the missing man with a leisurely pursuit
of the fugitive one. The first lieutenant stood up in the gunwale with a
hook in his hand, looking from right to left, and the men pulled with
slow, even strokes. But nowhere was there any sign of Mr. Sabin.
The man who was swimming was now almost out of sight, and the first
lieutenant, who was in command of the little search party, reluctantly
gave orders for the quickening of his men's stroke. But almost as the
men bent to their work, a curious thing happened. The fugitive, who had
been swimming at a great pace, suddenly threw up his arms and
disappeared.
"He's done, by Jove!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "Row hard, you chaps. We
must catch him when he rises."
But to all appearance, Mr. J. B. Watson, of New York, never rose again.
The boat was rowed time after time around the spot where he had sunk,
but not a trace was to be found of him. The only vessel anywhere near
was the _Kaiser Wilhelm_. They rowed slowly up and hailed her.
An officer came to the railing and answered their inquiries in execrable
English. No, they had not seen any one in the water. They had not picked
any one up. Yes, if Herr Lieutenant pleased, he could come on board, but
to make a search--no, without authority. No, it was impossible that any
one could have been taken on board without his knowledge. He pointed
down the steep sides of the steamship and shrugged his shoulders. It was
indeed an impossible feat. The lieutenant of the _Calipha_ saluted and
gave the order to his men to backwater. Once more they went over the
ground carefully. There was no sign of either of the men. After about
three-quarters of an hour's absence, they reluctantly gave up the search
and returned to the _Calipha_.
The first lieutenant was compelled to report both men drowned. The
captain was in earnest conversation with an official in plain dark
livery. The boat of the harbour police was already waiting below. The
whole particulars of the affair were scanty enough. Mr. Sabin and Mr.
Watson were seen to emerge from the gangway together, engaged in
animated conversation. They had at first turned to the left, but seeing
the main body of the passengers assembled there, had stepped back again
and emerged on the starboard side which was quite deserted. After then,
no one except the captain had even a momentary glimpse of them, and his
was so brief that it could scarcely be called more than an impression.
He had been attracted by a slight cry, he believed from Mr. Sabin, and
had seen both men struggling together in the act of disappearing in the
water. He had seen none of the details of the fight; he could not even
say whether Mr. Sabin or Mr. Watson had been the aggressor, although on
that subject there was only one opinion. Mrs. Watson was absolutely
overcome, and unable to answer any questions, but as regards the final
quarrel and struggle between the two men, it was impossible for her to
have seen anything of it, as she was sitting in a steamer chair on the
opposite side of the boat. There was at present absolutely no further
light to be thrown upon the affair. The sergeant of police signalled for
his boat and went off to make his report. The _Calipha_ at half-speed
steamed slowly for the dock.
Arrived there her passengers, crew and officers became the natural and
recognised prey of the American press-man. The captain sternly refused
to answer a single question, and in peremptory fashion ordered every
stranger off his ship. But nevertheless his edict was avoided in the
confusion of landing, and the Customs House effectually barred flight on
the part of their victims. Somehow or other, no one exactly knew how or
from what source they came, strange rumours began to float about. Who
was Mr. J. B. Watson of New York, yacht owner and millionaire? No one
had ever heard of him, and he did not answer in the least to the
description of any known Watson. The closely veiled features of his
widow were eagerly scanned--one by one the newspaper men confessed
themselves baffled. No one had ever seen her before. One man, the most
daring of them, ventured upon a timid question as she stepped down the
gangway. She passed him by with a swift look of contempt. None of the
others ventured anything of the sort--but, nevertheless, they watched
her, and they made note of two things. The first was that there was no
one to meet her--the second that instead of driving to a railway depot,
or wiring to any friends, she went straight to an hotel and engaged a
room for the night.
The press-men took counsel together, and agreed that it was very odd.
They thought it odder still when one of their number, calling at the
hotel later in the day, was informed that Mrs. Watson, after engaging a
room for the week, had suddenly changed her mind, and had left Boston
without giving any one any idea as to her destination. They took counsel
together, and they found fresh food for sensation in her flight. She was
the only person who could throw any light upon the relations between the
two men, and she had thought fit to virtually efface herself. They made
the most of her disappearance in the thick black head-lines which headed
every column in the Boston evening papers.