“I have something to tell you, and I trust you will say nothing about
it to any one else. There’s a man under those chairs.”
The look that came into the lawyer’s face showed that he thought me
demented; but, when I told him the whole story, the judicial expression
came on, and he said, shaking his head—
“That’s bad business.”
“I know it.”
“Yes, but it’s worse than you have any idea of. I presume that you
don’t know what section 4738 of the Revised Statutes says?”
“No; I don’t.”
“Well, it is to the effect that any person or persons, who wilfully or
with malice aforethought or otherwise, shall aid, abet, succor or
cherish, either directly or indirectly or by implication, any person
who feloniously or secretly conceals himself on any vessel, barge,
brig, schooner, bark, clipper, steamship or other craft touching at or
coming within the jurisdiction of these United States, the said
person’s purpose being the defrauding of the revenue of, or the
escaping any or all of the just legal dues exacted by such vessel,
barge, etc., the person so aiding or abetting, shall in the eye of the
law be considered as accomplice before, during and after the illegal
act, and shall in such case be subject to the penalties accruing
thereunto, to wit—a fine of not more than five thousand dollars, or
imprisonment of not more than two years—or both at the option of the
judge before whom the party so accused is convicted.”
“Great heavens! is that really so?”
“Well, it isn’t word for word, but that is the purport. Of course, if I
had my books here, I—why, you’ve doubtless heard of the case of the
Pacific Steamship Company _versus_ Cumberland. I was retained on behalf
of the company. Now all Cumberland did was to allow the man—he was sent
up for two years—to carry his valise on board, but we proved the
intent. Like a fool, he boasted of it, but the steamer brought back the
man, and Cumberland got off with four thousand dollars and costs. Never
got out of that scrape less than ten thousand dollars. Then again, the
steamship _Peruvian versus_ McNish; that is even more to the—”
“See here, Cupples. Come with me to-night and see the man. If you heard
him talk you would see the inhumanity—”
“Tush. I’m not fool enough to mix up in such a matter, and look here,
you’ll have to work it pretty slick if you get yourself out. The man
will be caught as sure as fate; then knowingly or through fright he’ll
incriminate you.”
“What would you do if you were in my place?”
“My dear sir, don’t put it that way. It’s a reflection on both my
judgment and my legal knowledge. I _couldn’t_ be in such a scrape. But,
as a lawyer—minus the fee—I’ll tell you what _you_ should do. You
should give the man up before witnesses—before _witnesses_. I’ll be one
of them myself. Get as many of the cabin passengers as you like out
here, to-day, and let the officers search. If he charges you with what
the law terms support, deny it, and call attention to the fact that you
have given information. By the way, I would give written information
and keep a copy.”
“I gave the man my word not to inform on him and so I can’t do it
to-day, but I’ll tell him of it to-night.”
“And have him commit suicide or give himself up first and incriminate
you? Nonsense. Just release yourself from your promise. That’s all.
He’ll trust you.”
“Yes, poor wretch, I’m afraid he will.”
About ten o’clock that night I resolved to make another appeal to Roger
Cupples to at least stand off and hear the man talk. Cupples’
state-room, No. 96, was in the forward part of the steamer, down a long
passage and off a short side passage. Mine was aft the cabin. The door
of 96 was partly open, and inside an astonishing sight met my gaze.
There stood my stowaway.
He was evidently admiring himself in the glass, and with a brush was
touching up his face with dark paint here and there. When he put on a
woe-begone look he was the stowaway; when he chuckled to himself he was
Roger Cupples, Esq.
The moment the thing dawned on me I quietly withdrew and went up the
forward companion way. Soon Cupples came cautiously up and seeing the
way clear scudded along in the darkness and hid in the aft wheelhouse.
I saw the whole thing now. It was a scheme to get me to make a fool of
myself some fine day before the rest of the passengers and have a
standing joke on me. I walked forward. The first officer was on duty.
“I have reason to believe,” I said, “that there is a stowaway in the
aft wheelhouse.”
Quicker than it takes me to tell it a detachment of sailors were sent
aft under the guidance of the third mate. I went through the saloon and
smoking room, and said to the gentlemen who were playing cards and
reading—“There’s a row upstairs of some kind.”
We were all on deck before the crew had surrounded the wheelhouse.
There was a rattle of steamer folded chairs, a pounce by the third
mate, and out came the unfortunate Cupples, dragged by the collar.
“Hold on; let go. This is a mistake.”
“You can’t both hold on and let go,” said Stalker, of Indiana.
“Come out o’ this,” cried the mate, jerking him forward.
With a wrench the stowaway tore himself free and made a dash for the
companion way. A couple of sailors instantly tripped him up.
“Let go of me; I’m a cabin passenger,” cried Cupples.
“Bless me!” I cried in astonishment. “This isn’t you, Cupples? Why, I
acted on your own advice and that of Revised Statutes, No. what
ever-they-were.”
“Well, act on my advice again,” cried the infuriated Cupples, “and go
to—the hold.”
However, he was better in humour the next day, and stood treat all
round. We found, subsequently, that Cupples was a New York actor, and
at the entertainment given for the benefit of the sailors’ orphans, a
few nights after, he recited a piece in costume that just melted the
ladies. It was voted a wonderfully touching performance, and he called
it “The Stowaway.”