A BURIAL AT SEA.
Without waiting to learn how the rulers of Europe received the
confidential reports made to their governments by the delegates, Brent
took passage for New York on the first steamer leaving after the
adjournment of the conference. Every man who shared the great secret
feared that a dangerous crisis, requiring sharp, decisive action, might
arise at any moment. The deep discretion of diplomacy successfully
conceals many momentous truths, but here was a fact less easy to control
than the contents of Pandora’s box, once the cover had been raised. It
was to be made known, under pledge of secrecy, to be sure, in six
capitals of Europe. Was it reasonable to expect that a piece of
knowledge of stupendous interest to the whole world would remain long in
the keeping of several scores of men without a hint of it transpiring?
It had been the judgment of the conference that simultaneous
announcement should be made in all countries of the result of the
deliberations within two weeks of the adjournment. Brent desired to
reach New York in time to arrange for the loading upon a man-of-war
such portion of his treasure as was to be sacrificed before the public
disclosure of his plans should make their execution a matter of supreme
popular curiosity and interest. If the verdict of the conference should
fail to win the approval of the great powers, the only safety would lie
in coupling the news of the existence of the gold with the announcement
that it had already been sent to its fathomless grave. He took the
precaution before sailing to cable Wharton to begin at once the transfer
of three thousand tons of the treasure from the vault to a suitable
dock, whence it could be shipped at a few hours’ notice to a vessel
moored alongside.
Brent arrived in New York eight days after the dissolution of the Paris
conference. He found dispatches assuring him that his secret was still
safe and that all the powers concerned except Great Britain had already
given unreserved indorsement to the recommendations of the international
board. Not only that: the cable told him that personal acknowledgments
of his generosity and humanity from all the sovereigns of Europe would
soon be in his hands. England’s assent was hourly expected, and then the
judgment of the world would be unanimous. A letter from the president
contained warmest congratulations, and a request that Brent would visit
Washington as soon as possible after landing.
Wharton greeted him with a return of that almost boyish enthusiasm which
Brent feared had been permanently banished from his friend’s nature by
the anxieties of the last few months. His task during the time that the
great problem was under discussion in Paris had been an arduous one, but
with the help of the government, serious evils had been successfully
combated. More than half the contents of the vault--more dangerous than
dynamite--was safely stored and guarded in a North River dock, and the
new battleship _Massachusetts_ lay with steam up in the stream ready to
respond to any call.
Wharton advised Brent to go at once to Washington, and early the next
morning both men called at the White House. They were warmly welcomed by
the president. Brent described at some length the work at Paris, and the
final arguments which produced substantial unanimity among the
delegates. The president’s congratulations were heartily sincere, and he
expressed himself in unreserved accord with the verdict which had been
reached. While they were talking, a message arrived from the State
Department announcing Great Britain’s approval of the findings of the
conference. The dispatch added that in compliment to the United States
government, the flagship of the British North Atlantic Squadron had been
ordered to New York to act as escort to the American man-of-war which
should carry the condemned portion of the treasure to its ocean grave.
Wharton expressed an ill-natured suspicion that the real motive behind
this compliment was a desire to make sure that the mid-ocean burial
actually took place. The president smiled at the suggestion, but he said
nothing. The British government evidently notified this action to the
other powers, for later in the day similar messages from Paris, Berlin,
and Rome announced that men-of-war of the respective countries had been
ordered to New York on the same errand.
The president discussed with his visitors the time and manner of making
the momentous announcement to the public. The Paris plan to publish the
news simultaneously in all countries two weeks after the conference
adjournment, or five days from the present date, could now be carried
out without difficulty. Brent desired to send the _Massachusetts_ to sea
with her condemned cargo before the news was made public, but the
courtesy of European governments in sending ships to take part in the
ceremony made this impossible. It would be at least a week, in all
probability, before the fleet could be assembled. There was no way,
therefore, of avoiding the big popular demonstration that would surely
be made over the affair.
“It is just as well,” said the president, smiling a little at Brent’s
evident shrinking from the ordeal of public clamor. “It will furnish a
harmless vent for the excitement that the news will arouse, and it will
enable you to get over once for all the lionizing that the public will
insist on giving you.”
“I suppose so,” replied Brent, sighing so ruefully that both the
president and Wharton burst out laughing.
It was determined, if possible, to bring to Washington within the next
four days the 2,500 tons of gold remaining in the New York vault, and to
store it in the United States Treasury, according to the conference
plan. The condemned gold was to be loaded at once on the
_Massachusetts_, and the battleship was to be ready to proceed to sea
the moment her foreign convoys arrived. Then the news should be given to
the country in the form of a proclamation from the president, to be
distributed to the press by telegraph late the night before the day
agreed upon for publication.
Brent and Wharton returned the same day to New York. It required sharp
work to arrange for the transportation of the remaining contents of the
big vault to the custody of the Treasury at Washington in the short time
available. There was risk of discovery, too, in the large number of men
employed at the task at both ends of the line, and some of the
safeguards against detection and loss which had been used in all
previous movements of portions of the treasure were now disregarded.
Extraordinary precautions were hardly necessary now that the hour of
disclosure was close at hand. The secret did not escape, in spite of the
almost careless publicity of the hurried transfer by means of scores of
wagons and several special trains.
The clerks of the Treasury received the strange boxes, and made room for
them with difficulty in the already crowded vaults. Their instructions
were to store them unopened for the present in the strongrooms reserved
for gold bullion, giving merely receipts for so many wooden boxes,
“contents unknown.”
Late in the afternoon of Friday, February 14, the managers of the
Washington bureaus of the great news agencies received an intimation
from the White House that an important piece of information would be
given out by the president’s private secretary at eleven o’clock that
evening. The correspondents who called at the Executive Mansion at the
hour named received from the secretary a document which caused them some
surprise when they first glanced at it. The secretary remarked in
handing them each a copy that there was not a word additional to be
said that night in regard to the matter contained in the paper either
by the president or any member of the administration. The newspaper men
read a paragraph or two, and then suddenly even the serene stoicism of
well-seasoned Washington correspondents was disturbed. They scanned the
succeeding pages of type-written manuscript hastily, and one or two of
the men slipped out without waiting to say good-night. Others stopped to
ask a vain question or two before joining in the race for the wires.
An hour later the excitement had spread to the editorial rooms of every
morning newspaper in the country. It was too late at night to do more
than print without comment the stupendous news contained in the
president’s proclamation. None of the devices for giving emphasis to
intelligence of the highest moment were omitted. Black type and
wide-spaced lines made the first pages of the morning papers bristle
with importance as on the day after a presidential election. Soon the
news was in everybody’s mouth--not in America only, but throughout
civilization. It was a story which, although told in official language,
appealed to every one who knows the passion of envy. Few outside the
small circles of finance tried to estimate the effect of the strange
news upon their own affairs, few imagined it would have any such
influence. It was simply to the masses the most marvelous tale of the
age, and another proof that fact is stranger than fiction.
But American curiosity promptly demanded something more. Who was this
strange billionaire who quietly sacrificed his wealth upon the
recommendation of a board of advisers? His fellow-countrymen clamored
for his personality, and the whole machinery of journalism was brought
into action to comply with the demand. The president’s proclamation gave
no clue to the present whereabouts of “Mr. Robert Brent of New York,”
nor to the location of the private vault in which the treasure had been
stored. No other name had been mentioned in the proclamation, but it did
not take long for the New York editors to identify Strong & Co. as the
agents of the new king of finance, and to see in the news the
explanation of many of the mysteries of the previous year.
The Wall Street representatives of all the papers were very early at the
Nassau Street banking house on the morning of the publication of the
president’s proclamation. Most of them were personal friends of John
Wharton by this time, as are all the magnates of “The Street” with this
trusty corps of newspaper men. Wharton came in about nine o’clock,
accompanied by a man about his own age whom some of the writers
remembered having seen at the office before. The reporters smilingly
barred their passage to the inner office. Wharton threw up his hands in
mock despair. The other man smiled slightly.
“You can’t go in unless you take us with you and tell us the whole
story,” remarked a genial young man, who smilingly headed the
intimidating squad.
“What--” Wharton began, then changed his mind. “No, I’ll not bluff you,
gentlemen. It’s of no use. But I can’t talk now, really. Come back at
three o’clock, and I’ll give you all I can.”
“That won’t do. Where’s Robert Brent?” insisted the head of the
journalistic corps.
“He’ll be here at three o’ clock,” replied Wharton conciliatingly, and
edging toward the door by a flank movement.
“And will you promise us a talk with him?”
“Yes.”
“All right, Mr. Wharton, you may go in,” and the group stepped on either
side and bowed with mock humility to the young banker and his companion.
They were busy enough, and scores of their fellows also, in the
intervening six hours, in watching the effect of the great news upon
trade and finance, and in collecting the opinions of men whose advice in
such a crisis might prove valuable. The first effect everywhere in great
markets was paralysis. The tidings were so unexpected, so stupendous,
that even the masters of finance were dumfounded. There was no precedent
to guide them. They did not even know at first whether the news was good
or bad. Self-protection was the only instinct aroused in most cases, but
in what direction was this to be sought? Many put themselves on the _qui
vive_ to watch the tendency of the current, ready to act accordingly.
Brent and Wharton, in coöperation with some of the members of the Paris
conference, had made such preparations as were possible to prevent any
extreme fluctuations of values either way during the first hours
following the disclosure of the secret. The London, Berlin, and Paris
markets opening some hours before those of New York, set an example of
steadiness. So great was the popular timidity and hesitation that for
some hours the markets were almost stagnant. It was London, the
controlling head of the financial world, that preserved the general
equilibrium. It was apparent, before the close of the day’s business
there, that the new element suddenly added to the monetary situation was
not regarded as a serious menace to financial stability. Most of the
precautionary measures which had been provided in the principal centers
proved to be unnecessary. There was nothing extraordinary in the course
of the markets during the day in Europe or America.
Anxious hours for the two men in Strong & Co.’s New York office were
followed by genuine relief and satisfaction, when three o’clock came
without panic or serious disturbance in that most excitable of all
thoroughfares--Wall Street. The promised interview with the newspaper
men became a congratulatory reception. Brent felt an uncomfortable
resemblance between himself and a museum freak when the group of writers
was presented to him, but he speedily found himself chatting affably and
familiarly with gentlemen who regarded and treated him in no other way
than as a man of the world like themselves. They were genuinely
interested in the brief personal narrative which they encouraged him to
tell. He quite forgot that his companions were journalists. The
conversation was general and it didn’t become serious for some time.
There are no better judges of human nature, no men whose knowledge of
affairs is more varied, practical, and symmetrical, than the leading
news-gatherers of the New York press. The ordeal which Brent had dreaded
became a pleasure. His interviewers talked more than he did, and talked
in such an entertaining way that his mood soon changed. Their jokes and
cynicisms, their _bon mots_ and good-natured raillery, which held
nothing sacred--not even his billions, furnished a relief which he
enjoyed with keenest relish after the unremitting anxieties of many
days. He did not realize until afterwards that every man in that gay,
careless group knew instinctively at the first moment his aversion to
the meeting, and sought first of all to overcome that aversion and
establish a footing of good fellowship.
The natural result followed. Brent finally discussed with far greater
freedom than he had intended the details of his own life and the history
of his treasure. Two hours passed in conversation so absorbing that
nobody noticed the flight of time. At last Brent glanced at his watch,
and exclaimed:
“I declare, gentlemen, it is nearly six o’clock. You have made the time
pass so pleasantly that I had no idea it was so late. Well, we must make
the interview very short. Get out your note-books and fire away.”
“We don’t want any more interview, thank you, Mr. Brent,” said the
representative of the _Herald_ quizzically, “unless there is something
more you would like to have us say.”
“But you haven’t been interviewing me for publication all this time?”
inquired Brent rather aghast. “You haven’t taken down a word, one of
you.”
The newspaper men smiled.
“Evidently this is your first experience with reporters, Mr. Brent,”
remarked the _Times_ man. “If any man here had been so stupid as to
produce a pencil during our very interesting talk, we would have
expelled him from the profession. And as for a note-book, there isn’t a
man of us who has possessed such a thing since he left the infant class
of journalism. You’ll have to go to England to find that intimidator
still in use. If any of us was incapable of reporting accurately the
essential points of all you have told us, he would be unfit for his
position.”
“But you are not going to publish all or a large part of what I have
told you, I hope,” expostulated Brent. “I make no secret of the fact
that I dread very much the notoriety which you are going to give me,
gentlemen. Why cannot we draw up a brief outline of such facts as will
be demanded by popular curiosity and let the world be content with
that?”
“Really, Mr. Brent, you will do much better to leave the matter to our
discretion,” remarked the gentleman from the _Sun_. “You cannot escape
being made the most prominent figure of the day. More will be said and
printed about you in the next few weeks than about any other living man.
If the simple truth in reasonable detail is not made known, then there
will be speculation and fables without end. Better let us give the facts
in straightforward fashion, and satisfy the thirst for information at
the outset. Am I not right, Mr. Wharton?”
Wharton’s practical experience during the previous few months led him to
frankly indorse the journalist’s advice.
“At all events, gentlemen,” observed Brent ruefully, “I hope to escape
without having my face made as familiar to the world as a presidential
candidate’s. Don’t, I beg of you, print pictures of me.”
“Just what I was going to mention,” said the _World_ man eagerly.
“Pictures of you will certainly be printed in nine tenths of the
newspapers of America within a week. Why not give us a good photograph,
and then the sketch artists won’t be compelled to draw bad caricatures
of you.”
“Never!” exclaimed Brent in despair. “The worse the caricature the
better I shall like it, if I cannot escape altogether. At least I shall
not be in danger of recognition from the sketch artist’s efforts.”
Brent groaned in spirit when he glanced at the next morning’s papers.
They seemed filled with nothing but the story of himself and his gold.
His interview of the previous afternoon was reproduced all too
faithfully. He was amazed by the completeness and accuracy of the
narrative, which filled three or four columns of each journal. Wharton
cheered him up. It was the best thing that could happen, he declared.
There was nothing left to be told, and the excitement would soon wear
off. Nothing was ever more than a nine days’ wonder in New York, and
then he would be left comparatively in peace. Besides, the newspaper men
had scrupulously acceded to Wharton’s request that nothing should be
said about the whereabouts and personal plans of the young master of
millions. They had even hinted that he would resent very sharply any
attempt to invade the privacy of life which he prized above wealth.
Four days later the last of the foreign warships that had been assigned
to convey the condemned gold to its fathomless grave arrived in New York
harbor and anchored in North River. The _Massachusetts_ had already
taken on board her precious cargo. Enough had become known about the
plans for destroying the treasure to raise public curiosity and
excitement to fever pitch. The authorities determined to abandon all
secrecy in the arrangements, and to carry out their execution with
imposing formalities.
Noon of Thursday was the time fixed for the departure of the fleet.
Certain naval evolutions and much saluting and other courtesies would
attend the farewell. Every available vessel of the United States navy
would take part in the ceremonies. The president and the cabinet would
come from Washington, and a great banquet, at which Mr. Brent and the
officers of the foreign ships would be the principal guests, would be
given on the eve of sailing. These and other plans for making memorable
an occasion unique in human history were hastily prepared.
These few days were not particularly happy ones for Brent. He was able
to escape many of the honors and much of the publicity which would have
been forced upon him. He was most pleasantly disappointed by the absence
of all envious and abusive notes from the chorus of public comment upon
the situation. The criticism would come later, he told himself, but he
was thankful for the present immunity. Not that he relished much more
the fulsome laudations that were poured upon him from all sides. He
speedily wearied of praise which he was sure was not deserved.
Especially irksome did this become at the great banquet, where he and
his gold were the almost exclusive themes of after-dinner eloquence.
He acknowledged these tributes from great men with a diffidence and
brevity which might have signified lack of appreciation, but his words
were received with flattering enthusiasm. The extravagant though
eloquent eulogy in which his health was proposed by a famous orator,
aroused emotions more gloomy than proud in the young man’s breast, and
many noticed the expression of sadness upon his face as he silently
acknowledged the compliment.
The next day was given over to those forms of public pleasure-making
which America loves best. It was a holiday by common consent. The
metropolis was thronged. Thousands had come from all parts of the
Atlantic seaboard and the interior to witness all that could be publicly
seen of an event for which history could find no parallel. Nobody seemed
quite sure whether it should be a solemn or a gay occasion. It was the
celebration of an escape from a great though unknown peril, and at the
same time it was the funeral ceremony of what the world regards as the
most potent of its material possessions.
At all events, it was a moment which called for the most imposing
display of civic and political splendor, and nothing within the
resources of a spectacle-loving people was withheld. The city was
decorated from end to end as for a great fête. There was a great naval,
military, and civic procession on Broadway, stretching almost from the
Battery to Central Park.
The descent of the fleet of home and foreign warships down the North
River was a triumphal parade, not less imposing than the great naval
review in celebration of the Columbian anniversary. Whistles shrieked,
sirens screamed, cannon roared in deafening, unbroken chorus from the
Palisades to the Narrows. An unnumbered multitude of craft great and
small swarmed in the wake of the majestic warships. Down past the
Statue of Liberty, past the green slopes of Staten Island into the
whitening waters of the open sea the floating city moved. New York
escorted to her very gates the dumb guest whose presence she coveted but
dared not tolerate. No prisoner ever went to execution so honored by his
judges.
Sandy Hook was the farthest limit to which the majority of the vast
fleet cared to venture. The choppy sea beyond was too rough for most of
the frail and overloaded pleasure boats which composed the greater part
of the volunteer escort. It had been announced that the warships would
steam straight out to sea at full speed for fully forty-eight hours
before executing their strange mission. No ordinary craft could hope to
witness the final act to take place almost in mid-ocean. Some few
private yachts and other sea-going vessels convoyed the stately
men-of-war some miles farther toward their vague destination, but by
sundown none but the five great battleships remained upon the sea.
They sailed abreast almost due east. The _Massachusetts_, in the center
of the line, was flanked on the right by the British and Italian
men-of-war, and on the left by the French and German ships. Nearly a
mile separated each vessel from its nearest neighbor. In the same
relative positions they steamed on through the night and all the next
day. A stiff wind from the southeast and a lowering sky made a
turbulent, forbidding sea, and it was not deemed wise to engage in any
of the evolutions and sea-courtesies that would otherwise have been
indulged in.
The night brought a welcome change. When the morning of Saturday dawned,
the blue depths of the sky and the green depths of the sea were as clear
and calm as though the stately ships lay anchored in the Bay of Naples.
All the morning the signal flags fluttered greetings and congratulations
from ship to ship. At ten o’clock the _Massachusetts_ signaled a request
that the fleet should reduce speed and draw in closer, so that half a
mile only should separate the ships. An hour later the flags on the
United States vessel signaled an invitation to the admiral and staff on
each of the other ships to come on board, and the fleet came to a stop
for the purpose.
The wind had entirely died away, and the slow swell of the ocean was
like molten glass. No sooner did the screws cease to revolve than the
ships changed suddenly from grim, threatening engines of destruction to
bright and gay brides of a smiling god of the sea. They bedecked
themselves from stem to stern, from mast-head to gun-ports, in a glory
of bunting and color. Boats were launched and richly uniformed officers
sped over the green water to the flagship of the international squadron.
Ensigns were dipped, salutes were fired, and guests were welcomed with
all the dignified courtesies of naval etiquette.
On board the American battleship every preparation had been made for the
peculiar duty which had been assigned to her. The admiral in command
desired to make Robert Brent, who was the only civilian on board, the
central figure in the performance of the day’s task. Brent had declined
positively to act any part save that of spectator. The only special
privilege he asked was permission to present to every man in the fleet a
souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a substantial nugget from the
gold-laden boxes. So when the foreign commanders came on board the
_Massachusetts_, the boats which brought them took back each to its ship
a box so heavy that davit and tackle was necessary to raise it to the
deck.
Many boxes from the magazine of the _Massachusetts_, where the gold had
been stored, were brought upon deck before the visitors arrived, but
none of them had been opened. A squad of marines stood guard over them
on the upper deck forward. A large iron chute, projecting about six feet
beyond the side of the ship and directly over the water, had been placed
in position. At the upper end of the chute a small inclined platform had
been constructed. It was so contrived that when by means of tackle and
falls one of the wooden boxes had been placed there, its contents might
easily be tipped into the chute, and carried by gravity over the side
and into the waves.
Just before twelve o’clock the visiting officers and all the ship’s
company of the _Massachusetts_ were assembled on her deck in full view
of the nearest ships of the squadron on either side. The American
admiral signaled the fleet to move forward in the same order at quarter
speed. As noon drew near the ensigns were dipped on each of the four
convoys, and their heaviest guns began to thunder forth a national
salute.
Just before eight bells struck, the company on the deck of the
_Massachusetts_ was startled by an unexpected incident. The first box of
gold had been placed on the platform at the mouth of the chute, and by
the admiral’s direction the ship’s carpenter had removed the screws and
taken off the cover. A shining yellow mass was exposed to the view of
the four hundred men assembled. There was a moment’s silence. Then,
before the admiral could step forward, there came an inarticulate cry
from the ranks of the sailors. A veteran seaman sprang forward and ran
to the open box. His face was distorted with a kind of rage. He cried
out brokenly but incoherently. Before anybody could check him he reached
the gold and plunged his hands into the bright treasure. He lifted it up
and watched it drip through his fingers.
The moment’s paralysis of the spectators was quickly over. The sergeants
of marines seized the madman on either side and without unnecessary
violence led him away. There were others among those who watched the
incident who shared the feelings which had been strong enough to unhinge
the intellect of the poor maniac. To most of the man-of-war’s company,
in fact, it seemed little less than a crime thus to destroy gold, which
to them was the symbol of comfort and happiness. To Brent alone of all
in those mustered ranks was the condemned treasure the representative of
evil. He alone awaited its burial in bottomless depths with unmixed
satisfaction.
The United States admiral, when the ship’s bell signaled the meridian,
stepped to the side of the platform. He invited the British commander to
cast the first handful of gold into the sea. There was an instinctive
reluctance in the bearing of the veteran sailor as he complied with the
request. Slowly he dipped his hand into the shining metal. It seemed to
resist and resent the profanation. He attempted to lift a heaping palm
of nuggets and yellow dust into the track of the chute. The great weight
held it back. It clung to its kind.
A few nuggets from the surface of the yellow heap were all that remained
in the admiral’s fingers as he raised them from the box and held them
above the chute. He dropped the heavy particles slowly, regretfully
upon the inclined plane of iron. They rattled noisily but musically down
the smooth track. A moment later, a few tiny, hissing splashes caused
the solemn face of the British admiral to assume an expression almost of
guilt as he watched the vanishing bright specks in the water below.
The box of gold was raised to a sharp angle directly over the mouth of
the chute. The American commander with a quick motion tipped the rest of
its contents upon the iron slide. A swift yellow stream sped down the
sharp incline, and the waves swallowed it with a thirsty suction that
was intolerable in the covetous ears of those who listened.
Neptune received that day a mighty tribute which should placate him
toward the children of men through long generations. He accepted it with
a dignified gratitude, which those who carried it to his altar always
remembered in delightful contrast to his wrath when he makes reprisals
upon those who go down to the sea in ships.
* * * * *
_THE GOLDEN CALF._
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to present to a friend, especially if he is a lover of the beauties
of Thackeray.--_Zion’s Herald._
⁂ _Sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers._⁂
FLOOD & VINCENT, MEADVILLE, PA.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] That section of the Exchange where stocks are loaned and borrowed.
Transactions of this kind are made necessary by “bear” or “short”
dealings. An operator, for instance, “sells short” 100 shares of
Union Pacific at 28. He does not possess the stock which he has sold;
therefore he must borrow it for delivery to the purchaser before the
close of business that day. The rate charged for such stock loans is
usually very small, but it sometimes happens that stock is “oversold”
or the supply is limited, and in that case the “bear” may have to pay a
round sum to obtain the shares he requires to complete his contracts.
The “bear’s” profit or loss depends on the future course of the market.
In the case mentioned, if Union Pacific rises to 30 and the “bear”
closes his speculation at that figure, that is, if he buys 100 shares
in the market to repay his loan, he loses $200. On the other hand, if
the price drops to 26 and he buys the necessary 100 shares at that
quotation, he makes a profit of $200.