adjoining the pantry. We pushed the door open and entered. A sigh of
relief escaped from my bosom. The very first object on which my eye
rested was the cadaverous face of Flannigan, with his hard-set mouth
and unwinking eye. His companion sat opposite to him. They were both
drinking, and a pile of cards lay upon the table. They were engaged
in playing as we entered. I nudged Dick to show him that we had found
our quarry, and we sat down beside them with as unconcerned an air as
possible. The two conspirators seemed to take little notice of our
presence. I watched them both narrowly. The game at which they were
playing was “Napoleon.” Both were adepts at it; and I could not help
admiring the consummate nerve of men who, with such a secret at their
hearts, could devote their minds to the manipulating of a long suit or
the finessing of a queen. Money changed hands rapidly; but the run of
luck seemed to be all against the taller of the two players. At last he
threw down his cards on the table with an oath and refused to go on.
“No, I’m hanged if I do!” he said; “I haven’t had more than two of a
suit for five hands.”
“Never mind,” said his comrade, as he gathered up his winnings; “a few
dollars one way or the other won’t go very far after to-night’s work.”
I was astonished at the rascal’s audacity, but took care to keep my
eyes fixed abstractedly upon the ceiling, and drank my wine in as
unconscious a manner as possible. I felt that Flannigan was looking
toward me with his wolfish eyes to see if I had noticed the allusion.
He whispered something to his companion which I failed to catch. It was
a caution, I suppose, for the other answered, rather angrily:
“Nonsense! Why shouldn’t I say what I like? Over-caution is just what
would ruin us.”
“I believe you want it not to come off,” said Flannigan.
“You believe nothing of the sort,” said the other, speaking rapidly
and loudly. “You know as well as I do that when I play for a stake I
like to win it. But I won’t have my words criticised and cut short by
you or any other man; I have as much interest in our success as you
have--more, I hope.”
He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at his cigar for a few
minutes. The eyes of the other ruffian wandered alternately from Dick
Merton to myself. I knew that I was in the presence of a desperate man,
that a quiver of my lip might be the signal for him to plunge a weapon
into my heart; but I betrayed more self-command than I should have
given myself credit for under such trying circumstances. As to Dick, he
was as immovable and apparently as unconscious as the Egyptian Sphinx.
There was silence for some time in the smoking-room, broken only by the
crisp rattle of the cards as the man Muller shuffled them up before
replacing them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat flushed
and irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar into the spittoon, he
glanced defiantly at his companion, and turned toward me.
“Can you tell me, sir,” he said, “when this ship will be heard of
again?”
They were both looking at me; but though my face may have turned a
trifle paler, my voice was as steady as ever as I answered:
“I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when it enters
Queenstown Harbor.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the angry little man; “I knew you would say that.
Don’t you kick me under the table, Flannigan; I won’t stand it. I know
what I am doing. You are wrong, sir,” he continued, turning to me;
“utterly wrong.”
“Some passing ship, perhaps,” suggested Dick.
“No, nor that either.”
“The weather is fine,” I said; “why should we not be heard of at our
destination?”
“I didn’t say we shouldn’t be heard of at our destination. No doubt we
shall in the course of time; but that is not where we shall be heard of
first.”
“Where, then?” asked Dick.
“That you will never know. Suffice it that a rapid and mysterious
agency will signal our whereabouts, and that before the day is out. Ha,
ha!” and he chuckled once again.
“Come on deck!” growled his comrade; “you have drunk too much of that
confounded brandy-and-water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!”
and taking him by the arm he half led him, half forced him out of the
smoking-room, and we heard them stumbling up the companion together,
and on to the deck.
“Well, what do you think now?” I gasped, as I turned toward Dick. He
was as imperturbable as ever.
“Think!” he said; “why, I think what his companion thinks--that we have
been listening to the ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk
of brandy.”
“Nonsense, Dick! you saw how the other tried to stop his tongue.”
“Of course he did. He didn’t want his friend to make a fool of himself
before strangers. May be the short one is a lunatic, and the other his
private keeper. It’s quite possible.”
“Oh, Dick, Dick,” I cried; “how can you be so blind? Don’t you see that
every word confirmed our previous suspicion?”
“Humbug, man!” said Dick; “you’re working yourself into a state of
nervous excitement. Why, what the devil do _you_ make of all that
nonsense about a mysterious agent who would signal our whereabouts?”
“I’ll tell you what he meant, Dick,” I said, bending forward and
grasping my friend’s arm. “He meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far
out at sea by some lonely fisherman off the American coast. That’s what
he meant.”
“I didn’t think you were such a fool, Hammond,” said Dick Merton,
testily. “If you try to fix a literal meaning on the twaddle that
every drunken man talks, you will come to some queer conclusions. Let
us follow their example, and go on deck. You need fresh air, I think.
Depend upon it, your liver is out of order. A sea-voyage will do you a
world of good.”
“If ever I see the end of this one,” I groaned, “I’ll promise never to
venture on another. They are laying the cloth, so it’s hardly worth
while my going up. I’ll stay below and finish my smoke.”
“I hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant state of mind,” said
Dick; and he went out, leaving me to my thoughts until the clang of the
great gong summoned us to the saloon.
My appetite, I need hardly say, had not been improved by the incidents
which had occurred during the day. I sat down, however, mechanically
at the table, and listened to the talk which was going on around me.
There were nearly a hundred first-class passengers, and as the wine
began to circulate, their voices combined with the clash of the dishes
to form a perfect Babel. I found myself seated between a very stout and
nervous old lady and a prim little clergyman; and as neither made any
advances, I retired into my shell, and spent my time in observing the
appearance of my fellow-voyagers. I could see Dick in the dim distance
dividing his attentions between a jointless fowl in front of him and
a self-possessed young lady at his side. Captain Dowie was doing the
honors at my end, while the surgeon of the vessel was seated at the
other. I was glad to notice that Flannigan was placed almost opposite
to me. As long as I had him before my eyes I knew that, for the time
at least, we were safe. He was sitting with what was meant to be a
sociable smile on his grim face. It did not escape me that he drank
largely of wine--so largely that even before the dessert appeared
his voice had become decidedly husky. His friend Muller was seated a
few places lower down. He ate little, and appeared to be nervous and
restless.
“Now, ladies,” said our genial captain, “I trust that you will consider
yourselves at home aboard my vessel. I have no fears for the gentlemen.
A bottle of champagne, steward. Here’s to a fresh breeze and a quick
passage! I trust our friends in America will hear of our safe arrival
in twelve days, or a fortnight at the very latest.”
I looked up. Quick as was the glance which passed between Flannigan and
his confederate, I was able to intercept it. There was an evil smile
upon the former’s thin lips.
The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea, amusements, religion,
each was in turn discussed. I remained a silent though an interested
listener. It struck me that no harm could be done by introducing the
subject which was ever in my mind. It could be managed in an off-hand
way, and would at least have the effect of turning the captain’s
thoughts in that direction. I could watch, too, what effect it would
have upon the faces of the conspirators.
There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The ordinary subjects of
interest appeared to be exhausted. The opportunity was a favorable one.
“May I ask, captain,” I said, bending forward and speaking very
distinctly, “what you think of Fenian manifestoes?”
The captain’s ruddy face became a shade darker from honest indignation.
“They are poor cowardly things,” he said, “as silly as they are wicked.”
“The impotent threats of a set of anonymous scoundrels,” said a
pompous-looking old gentleman beside him.
“Oh, captain!” said the fat lady at my side, “you don’t really think
they would blow up a ship?”
“I have no doubt they would if they could. But I am very sure they will
never blow up mine.”
“May I ask what precautions are taken against them?” said an elderly
man at the end of the table.
“All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly examined,” said Captain
Dowie.
“But suppose a man brought explosives aboard with him?” said I.
“They are too cowardly to risk their own lives in that way.”
During this conversation Flannigan had not betrayed the slightest
interest in what was going on. He raised his head now, and looked at
the captain.
“Don’t you think you are rather underrating them?” he said. “Every
secret society has produced desperate men--why shouldn’t the Fenians
have them too? Many men think it a privilege to die in the service of a
cause which seems right in their eyes though others may think it wrong.”
“Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in anybody’s eyes,” said the
little clergyman.
“The bombardment of Paris was nothing else,” said Flannigan; “yet the
whole civilized world agreed to look on with folded arms, and change
the ugly word ‘murder’ into the more euphonious one of ‘war.’ It seemed
right enough to German eyes; why shouldn’t dynamite seem so to the
Fenian?”
“At any rate their empty vaporings have led to nothing as yet,” said
the captain.
“Excuse me,” returned Flannigan, “but is there not some room for
doubt yet as to the fate of the Dotterel? I have met men in America
who asserted from their own personal knowledge that there was a coal
torpedo aboard that vessel.”
“Then they lied,” said the captain. “It was proved conclusively at the
court-martial to have arisen from an explosion of coal-gas--but we
had better change the subject, or we may cause the ladies to have a
restless night;” and the conversation once more drifted back into its
original channel.
During this little discussion Flannigan had argued his point with a
gentlemanly deference and a quiet power for which I had not given him
credit. I could not help admiring a man who, on the eve of a desperate
enterprise, could courteously argue upon a point which must touch
him so nearly. He had, as I have already mentioned, partaken of a
considerable quantity of wine; but though there was a slight flush
upon his pale cheek, his manner was as reserved as ever. He did not
join in the conversation again, but seemed to be lost in thought.
A whirl of conflicting ideas was battling in my own mind. What was I to
do? Should I stand up now and denounce them before both passengers and
captain? Should I demand a few minutes’ conversation with the latter in
his own cabin, and reveal it all? For an instant I was half resolved
to do it, but then the old constitutional timidity came back with
redoubled force. After all there might be some mistake. Dick had heard
the evidence, and had refused to believe in it. I determined to let
things go on their course. A strange reckless feeling came over me. Why
should I help men who were blind to their own danger? Surely it was the
duty of the officers to protect us, not ours to give warning to them. I
drank off a couple of glasses of wine, and staggered upon deck with the
determination of keeping my secret locked in my own bosom.
It was a glorious evening. Even in my excited state of mind I could
not help leaning against the bulwarks and enjoying the refreshing
breeze. Away to the westward a solitary sail stood out as a dark speck
against the great sheet of flame left by the setting sun. I shuddered
as I looked at it. It seemed like a sea of blood. A single star was
twinkling faintly above our main-mast, but a thousand seemed to gleam
in the water below with every stroke of our propeller. The only blot in
the fair scene was the great trail of smoke which stretched away behind
us like a black slash upon a crimson curtain. It seemed hard to believe
that the great peace which hung over all Nature could be marred by a
poor miserable mortal.
“After all,” I thought, as I gazed upon the blue depths beneath me,
“if the worst comes to the worst, it is better to die here than to
linger in agony upon a sick-bed on land.” A man’s life seems a very
paltry thing amid the great forces of Nature. All my philosophy could
not prevent my shuddering, however, when I turned my head and saw
two shadowy figures at the other side of the deck, which I had no
difficulty in recognizing. They seemed to be conversing earnestly,
but I had no opportunity of overhearing what was said; so I contented
myself with pacing up and down, and keeping a vigilant watch upon their
movements.
It was a relief to me when Dick came on deck. Even an incredulous
confidant is better than none at all.
“Well, old man,” he said, giving me a facetious dig in the ribs, “we’ve
not been blown up yet.”
“No, not yet,” said I; “but that’s no proof that we are not going to
be.”
“Nonsense, man!” said Dick; “I can’t conceive what has put this
extraordinary idea into your head. I have been talking to one of your
supposed assassins, and he seems a pleasant fellow enough; quite a
sporting character, I should think, from the way he speaks.”
“Dick,” I said, “I am as certain that those men have an infernal
machine, and that we are on the verge of eternity, as if I saw them
putting the match to the fuse.”
“Well, if you really think so,” said Dick, half awed for the moment by
the earnestness of my manner, “it is your duty to let the captain know
of your suspicions.”
“You are right,” I said; “I will. My absurd timidity has prevented my
doing so sooner. I believe our lives can only be saved by laying the
whole matter before him.”
“Well, go and do it now,” said Dick; “but for goodness’ sake don’t mix
me up in the matter.”
“I’ll speak to him when he comes off the bridge,” I answered; “and in
the mean time I don’t mean to lose sight of them.”
“Let me know of the result,” said my companion; and with a nod he
strolled away in search, I fancy, of his partner at the dinner-table.
Left to myself, I bethought me of my retreat of the morning, and
climbing on the bulwark I mounted into the quarter-boat, and lay down
there. In it I could reconsider my course of action, and by raising my
head I was able at any time to get a view of my disagreeable neighbors.
An hour passed, and the captain was still on the bridge. He was talking
to one of the passengers, a retired naval officer, and the two were
deep in debate concerning some abstruse point in navigation. I could
see the red tips of their cigars from where I lay. It was dark now--so
dark that I could hardly make out the figures of Flannigan and his
accomplice. They were still standing in the position which they had
taken up after dinner. A few of the passengers were scattered about the
deck, but many had gone below. A strange stillness seemed to pervade
the air. The voices of the watch and the rattle of the wheel were the
only sounds which broke the silence.
Another half-hour passed. The captain was still upon the bridge. It
seemed as if he would never come down. My nerves were in a state of
unnatural tension, so much so that the sound of two steps upon the deck
made me start up in a quiver of excitement. I peered over the side of
the boat, and saw that our suspicious passengers had crossed from the
other side and were standing almost directly beneath me. The light of
a binnacle fell full upon the ghastly face of the ruffian Flannigan.
Even in that short glance I saw that Muller had the ulster, whose use
I knew so well, slung loosely over his arm. I sank back with a groan.
It seemed that my fatal procrastination had sacrificed two hundred
innocent lives.
I had read of the fiendish vengeance which awaited a spy. I knew that
men with their lives in their hands would stick at nothing. All I could
do was to cower at the bottom of the boat and listen silently to their
whispered talk below.
“This place will do,” said a voice.
“Yes, the leeward side is best.”
“I wonder if the trigger will act?”
“I am sure it will.”
“We were to let it off at ten, were we not?”
“Yes, at ten sharp. We have eight minutes yet.”
There was a pause. Then the voice began again--
“They’ll hear the drop of the trigger, won’t they?”
“It doesn’t matter. It will be too late for anyone to prevent its going
off.”
“That’s true. There will be some excitement among those we have left
behind, won’t there?”
“Rather! How long do you reckon it will be before they hear of us?”
“The first news will get in in about twenty-four hours.”
“That will be mine.”
“No, mine.”
“Ha, ha! we’ll settle that.”
There was a pause here. Then I heard Muller’s voice in a ghastly
whisper, “There’s only five minutes more.”
How slowly the moments seemed to pass! I could count them by the
throbbing of my heart.
“It’ll make a sensation on land,” said a voice.
“Yes, it will make a noise in the newspapers.”
I raised my head and peered over the side of the boat. There seemed no
hope, no help. Death stared me in the face, whether I did or did not
give the alarm. The captain had at last left the bridge. The deck was
deserted, save for those two dark figures crouching in the shadow of
the boat.
Flannigan had a watch lying open in his hand.
“Three minutes more,” he said. “Put it down upon the deck.”
“No, put it here on the bulwarks.”
It was the little square box. I knew by the sound that they had placed
it near the davit, and almost exactly under my head.
I looked over again. Flannigan was pouring something out of a paper
into his hand. It was white and granular--the same that I had seen him
use in the morning. It was meant as a fuse, no doubt, for he shovelled
it into the little box, and I heard the strange noise which had
previously arrested my attention.
“A minute and a half more,” he said. “Shall you or I pull the string?”
“I will pull it,” said Muller.
He was kneeling down and holding the end in his hand. Flannigan stood
behind with his arms folded, and an air of grim resolution upon his
face.
I could stand it no longer. My nervous system seemed to give way in a
moment.
“Stop!” I screamed, springing to my feet. “Stop, misguided and
unprincipled men!”
They both staggered backward. I fancy they thought I was a spirit,
with the moonlight streaming down upon my pale face.
I was brave enough now. I had gone too far to retreat.
“Cain was damned!” I cried, “and he slew but one; would you have the
blood of two hundred upon your souls?”
“He’s mad!” said Flannigan. “Time’s up! Let it off, Muller.”
I sprang down upon the deck.
“You shan’t do it!” I said.
“By what right do you prevent us?”
“By every right, human and divine.”
“It’s no business of yours. Clear out of this!”
“Never!” said I.
“Confound the fellow! There’s too much at stake to stand on ceremony.
I’ll hold him, Muller, while you pull the trigger.”
Next moment I was struggling in the herculean grasp of the Irishman.
Resistance was useless; I was a child in his hands.
He pinned me up against the side of the vessel, and held me there.
“Now,” he said, “look sharp. He can’t prevent us.”
I felt that I was standing on the verge of eternity. Half-strangled
in the arms of the taller ruffian, I saw the other approach the fatal
box. He stooped over it and seized the string. I breathed one prayer
when I saw his grasp tighten upon it. Then came a sharp snap, a strange
rasping noise. The trigger had fallen, the side of the box flew out,
and let off--_two gray carrier-pigeons_!
* * * * *
Little more need be said. It is not a subject on which I care to dwell.
The whole thing is too utterly disgusting and absurd. Perhaps the best
thing I can do is to retire gracefully from the scene, and let the
sporting correspondent of the _New York Herald_ fill my unworthy place.
Here is an extract clipped from its columns shortly after our departure
from America:
“Pigeon-flying Extraordinary.--A novel match has been brought off,
last week, between the birds of John H. Flannigan, of Boston, and
Jeremiah Muller, a well-known citizen of Ashport. Both men have
devoted much time and attention to an improved breed of bird, and the
challenge is an old-standing one. The pigeons were backed to a large
amount, and there was considerable local interest in the result. The
start was from the deck of the Transatlantic steamship Spartan, at ten
o’clock on the evening of the day of starting, the vessel being then
reckoned to be about a hundred miles from the land. The bird which
reached home first was to be declared the winner. Considerable caution
had, we believe, to be observed, as British captains have a prejudice
against the bringing off of sporting events aboard their vessels.
In spite of some little difficulty at the last moment, the trap was
sprung almost exactly at ten o’clock. Muller’s bird arrived in Ashport
in an extreme state of exhaustion on the following afternoon, while
Flannigan’s has not been heard of. The backers of the latter have
the satisfaction of knowing, however, that the whole affair has been
characterized by extreme fairness. The pigeons were confined in a
specially invented trap, which could only be opened by the spring. It
was thus possible to feed them through an aperture in the top, but any
tampering with their wings was quite out of the question. A few such
matches would go far toward popularizing pigeon-flying in America,
and form an agreeable variety to the morbid exhibitions of human
endurance which have assumed such proportions during the last few
years.”
A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS.
“Robinson, the boss wants you!”
“The dickens he does!” thought I; for Mr. Dickson, Odessa agent of
Bailey & Co., corn merchants, was a bit of a Tartar, as I had learned
to my cost. “What’s the row now?” I demanded of my fellow clerk; “has
he got scent of our Nicolaieff escapade, or what is it?”
“No idea,” said Gregory; “the old boy seems in a good enough humor;
some business matter, probably. But don’t keep him waiting.” So
summoning up an air of injured innocence, to be ready for all
contingencies, I marched into the lion’s den.
Mr. Dickson was standing before the fire in a Briton’s time-honored
attitude, and motioned me into a chair in front of him. “Mr. Robinson,”
he said, “I have great confidence in your discretion and common
sense. The follies of youth will break out, but I think that you have
a sterling foundation to your character underlying any superficial
levity.”
I bowed.
“I believe,” he continued, “that you can speak Russian pretty fluently.”
I bowed again.
“I have, then,” he proceeded, “a mission which I wish you to undertake,
and on the success of which your promotion may depend. I would not
trust it to a subordinate, were it not that duty ties me to my post at
present.”
“You may depend upon my doing my best, sir,” I replied.
“Right, sir; quite right! What I wish you to do is briefly this: The
line of railway has just been opened to Solteff, some hundred miles up
the country. Now, I wish to get the start of the other Odessa firms in
securing the produce of that district, which I have reason to believe
may be had at very low prices. You will proceed by rail to Solteff, and
interview a Mr. Dimidoff, who is the largest landed proprietor in the
town. Make as favorable terms as you can with him. Both Mr. Dimidoff
and I wish the whole thing to be done as quietly and secretly as
possible--in fact, that nothing should be known about the matter until
the grain appears in Odessa. I desire it for the interests of the firm,
and Mr. Dimidoff on account of the prejudice his peasantry entertain
against exportation. You will find yourself expected at the end of
your journey, and will start to-night. Money shall be ready for your
expenses. Good-morning, Mr. Robinson; I hope you won’t fail to realize
the good opinion I have of your abilities.”
“Gregory,” I said, as I strutted into the office, “I’m off on a
mission--a secret mission, my boy; an affair of thousands of pounds.
Lend me your little portmanteau--mine’s too imposing--and tell Ivan to
pack it. A Russian millionaire expects me at the end of my journey.
Don’t breathe a word of it to any of Simpkins’s people, or the whole
game will be up. Keep it dark!”