The Face And The Mask - Robert Barr
So it happened that Mrs. Assistant-Attorney-to-the-Senate Brownrig came
to the steward and said that, ranking all others on board, she must sit
at the right hand of the captain. Afterwards Mrs. Second-Adjutant-to-
the-War-Department Digby came to the same perplexed official and said
she must sit at the captain's right hand because in Washington she took
precedence over everyone else on board. The bewildered steward confided
his woes to the captain, and the captain said he would attend to the
matter. So he put Mrs. War-Department on his right hand and then walked
down the deck with Mrs. Assistant-Attorney and said to her:
"I want to ask a favor, Mrs. Brownrig. Unfortunately I am a little deaf
in the right ear, caused, I presume, by listening so much with that ear
to the fog horn year in and year out. Now, I always place the lady
whose conversation I wish most to enjoy on my left hand at table. Would
you oblige me by taking that seat this voyage? I have heard of you, you
see, Mrs. Brownrig, although you have never crossed with me before."
"Why, certainly, captain," replied Mrs. Brownrig; "I feel especially
complimented."
"And I assure you, madam," said the polite captain, "that I would not
for the world miss a single word that," etc.
And thus it was amicably arranged between the two ladies. All this has
nothing whatever to do with the story. It is merely an incident given
to show what a born diplomat Capt. Rice was and is to this day. I don't
know any captain more popular with the ladies than he, and besides he
is as good a sailor as crosses the ocean.
Day by day the good ship ploughed her way toward the east, and the
passengers were unanimous in saying that they never had a pleasanter
voyage for that time of the year. It was so warm on deck that many
steamer chairs were out, and below it was so mild that a person might
think he was journeying in the tropics. Yet they had left New York in a
snow storm with the thermometer away below zero.
"Such," said young Spinner, who knew everything, "such is the influence
of the Gulf Stream."
Nevertheless when Capt. Rice came down to lunch the fourth day out his
face was haggard and his look furtive and anxious.
"Why, captain," cried Mrs. Assistant-Attorney, you look as if you
hadn't slept a wink last night."
"I slept very well, thank you, madam." replied the captain. "I always
do."
"Well, I hope your room was more comfortable than mine. It seemed to me
too hot for anything. Didn't you find it so, Mrs. Digby?"
"I thought it very nice," replied the lady at the captain's right, who
generally found it necessary to take an opposite view from the lady at
the left.
"You see," said the captain, "we have many delicate women and children
on board and it is necessary to keep up the temperature. Still, perhaps
the man who attends to the steam rather overdoes it. I will speak him."
Then the captain pushed from him his untasted food and went up on the
bridge, casting his eye aloft at the signal waving from the masthead,
silently calling for help to all the empty horizon.
"Nothing in sight, Johnson?" said the captain.
"Not a speck, sir."
The captain swept the circular line of sea and sky with his glasses,
then laid them down with a sigh.
"We ought to raise something this afternoon, sir," said Johnson; "we
are right in their track, sir. The Fulda ought to be somewhere about."
"We are too far north for the Fulda, I am afraid," answered the
captain.
"Well, sir, we should see the Vulcan before night, sir. She's had good
weather from Queenstown."
"Yes. Keep a sharp lookout, Johnson."
"Yes, sir."
The captain moodily paced the bridge with his head down.
"I ought to have turned back to New York," he said to himself.
Then he went down to his own room, avoiding the passengers as much as
he could, and had the steward bring him some beef-tea. Even a captain
cannot live on anxiety.
"Steamer off the port bow, sir," rang out the voice of the lookout at
the prow. The man had sharp eyes, for a landsman could have seen
nothing.
"Run and tell the captain," cried Johnson to the sailor at his elbow,
but as the sailor turned the captain's head appeared up the stairway.
He seized the glass and looked long at a single point in the horizon.
"It must be the Vulcan," he said at last.
"I think so, sir."
"Turn your wheel a few points to port and bear down on her."
Johnson gave the necessary order and the great ship veered around.
"Hello!" cried Spinner, on deck. "Here's a steamer. I found her. She's
mine."
Then there was a rush to the side of the ship. "A steamer in sight!"
was the cry, and all books and magazines at once lost interest. Even
the placid, dignified Englishman who was so uncommunicative, rose from
his chair and sent his servant for his binocular. Children were held up
and told to be careful, while they tried to see the dim line of smoke
so far ahead.
"Talk about lane routes at sea," cried young Spinner, the knowing.
"Bosh, I say. See! we're going directly for her. Think what it might be
in a fog! Lane routes! Pure luck, I call it."
"Will we signal to her, Mr. Spinner?" gently asked the young lady from
Boston.
"Oh, certainly," answered young Spinner. "See there's our signal flying
from the masthead now. That shows them what line we belong to."
"Dear me, how interesting," said the young lady. "You have crossed many
times, I suppose, Mr. Spinner."
"Oh, I know my way about," answered the modest Spinner.
The captain kept the glasses glued to his eyes. Suddenly he almost let
them drop.
"My God! Johnson," he cried.
"What is it, sir?"
"_She's_ flying a signal of distress, _too_!"
The two steamers slowly approached each other and, when nearly
alongside and about a mile apart, the bell of the Adamant rang to stop.
"There, you see," said young Spinner to the Boston girl, "she is flying
the same flag at her masthead that we are."
"Then she belongs to the same line as this boat?"
"Oh, certainly," answered Mr. Cock-Sure Spinner.
"Oh, look! look! look!" cried the enthusiastic Indianapolis girl who
was going to take music in Germany.
Everyone looked aloft and saw running up to the masthead a long line of
fluttering, many-colored flags. They remained in place for a few
moments and then fluttered down again, only to give place to a
different string. The same thing was going on on the other steamer.
"Oh, this is too interesting for anything," said Mrs. Assistant. "I am
just dying to know what it all means. I have read of it so often but
never saw it before. I wonder when the captain will come down. What
does it all mean?" she asked the deck steward.
"They are signalling to each other, madam."
"Oh, I know _that_. But what _are_ they signalling?"
"I don't know, madam."
"Oh, see! see!" cried the Indianapolis girl, clapping her hands with
delight. "The other steamer is turning round."
It was indeed so. The great ship was thrashing the water with her
screw, and gradually the masts came in line and then her prow faced the
east again. When this had been slowly accomplished the bell on the
Adamant rang full speed ahead, and then the captain came slowly down
the ladder that led from the bridge.
"Oh, captain, what does it all mean?"
"Is she going back, captain? Nothing wrong, I hope."
"What ship is it, captain?"
"She belongs to our line, doesn't she?"
"Why is she going back?"
"The ship," said the captain slowly, "is the Vulcan, of the Black
Bowling Line, that left Queenstown shortly after we left New York. She
has met with an accident. Ran into some wreckage, it is thought, from
the recent storm. Anyhow there is a hole in her, and whether she sees
Queenstown or not will depend a great deal on what weather we have and
whether her bulkheads hold out. We will stand by her till we reach
Queenstown."
"Are there many on board, do you think, captain?"
"There are thirty-seven in the cabin and over 800 steerage passengers,"
answered the captain.
"Why don't you take them on board, out of danger, captain?"
"Ah, madam, there is no need to do that. It would delay us, and time is
everything in a case like this. Besides, they will have ample warning
if she is going down and they will have time to get everybody in the
boats. We will stand by them, you know."
"Oh, the poor creatures," cried the sympathetic Mrs. Second-Adjutant.
"Think of their awful position. May be engulfed at any moment. I
suppose they are all on their knees in the cabin. How thankful they
must have been to see the Adamant."
On all sides there was the profoundest sympathy for the unfortunate
passengers of the Vulcan. Cheeks paled at the very thought of the
catastrophe that might take place at any moment within sight of the
sister ship. It was a realistic object lesson on the ever-present
dangers of the sea. While those on deck looked with new interest at the
steamship plunging along within a mile of them, the captain slipped
away to his room. As he sat there there was a tap at his door.
"Come in," shouted the captain.
The silent Englishman slowly entered.
"What's wrong, captain," he asked.
"Oh, the Vulcan has had a hole stove in her and I signalled----"
"Yes, I know all that, of course, but what's wrong _with us_?"
"With us?" echoed the captain blankly.
"Yes, with the Adamant? What has been amiss for the last two or three
days? I'm not a talker, nor am I afraid any more than you are, but I
want to know."
"Certainly," said the captain. "Please shut the door, Sir John."
* * * * *
Meanwhile there was a lively row on board the Vulcan. In the saloon
Capt. Flint was standing at bay with his knuckles on the table.
"Now what the devil's the meaning of all this?" cried Adam K. Vincent,
member of Congress.
A crowd of frightened women were standing around, many on the verge of
hysterics. Children clung, with pale faces, to their mother's skirts,
fearing they knew not what. Men were grouped with anxious faces, and
the bluff old captain fronted them all.
"The meaning of all _what_, sir?"
"You know very well. What is the meaning of our turning-round?"
"It means, sir, that the Adamant has eighty-five saloon passengers and
nearly 500 intermediate and steerage passengers who are in the most
deadly danger. The cotton in the hold is on fire, and they have been
fighting it night and day. A conflagration may break out at any moment.
It means, then, sir, that the Vulcan is going to stand by the Adamant."
A wail of anguish burst from the frightened women at the awful fate
that might be in store for so many human beings so near to them, and
they clung closer to their children and thanked God that no such danger
threatened them and those dear to them.
"And dammit, sir," cried the Congressman, "do you mean to tell us that
we have to go against our will--without even being consulted--back to
Queenstown?"
"I mean to tell you so, sir."
"Well, by the gods, that's an outrage, and I won't stand it, sir. I
must be in New York by the 27th. I won't stand it, sir."
"I am very sorry, sir, that anybody should be delayed."
"Delayed? Hang it all, why don't you take the people on board and take
'em to New York? I protest against this. I'll bring a lawsuit against
the company, sir."
"Mr. Vincent," said the captain sternly, "permit me to remind you that
_I_ am captain of this ship. Good afternoon, sir."
The Congressman departed from the saloon exceeding wroth, breathing
dire threats of legal proceedings against the line and the captain
personally, but most of the passengers agreed that it would be an
inhuman thing to leave the Adamant alone in mid-ocean in such terrible
straits.
"Why didn't they turn back, Captain Flint?" asked Mrs. General Weller.
"Because, madam, every moment is of value in such a case, and we are
nearer Queenstown than New York."
And so the two steamships, side by side, worried their way toward the
east, always within sight of each other by day, and with the rows of
lights in each visible at night to the sympathetic souls on the other.
The sweltering men poured water into the hold of the one and the
pounding pumps poured water out of the hold of the other, and thus they
reached Queenstown.
* * * * *
On board the tender that took the passengers ashore at Queenstown from
both steamers two astonished women met each other.
"Why! _Mrs.--General_--WELLER!!! You don't mean to say you were on
board that unfortunate Vulcan!"
"For the land's sake, Mrs. Assistant Brownrig! Is that really
_you_? Will wonders never cease? Unfortunate, did you say?
Mightily fortunate for you, I think. Why! weren't you just frightened
to death?"
"I was, but I had no idea anyone I knew was on board."
"Well, you were on board yourself. That would have been enough to have
killed me."
"On board myself? Why, what _do_ you mean? I wasn't on board the
Vulcan. Did you get any sleep at all after you knew you might go down
at any moment?"
"My sakes, Jane, what _are_ you talking about? _Down_ at any
moment? It was you that might have gone down at any moment or, worse
still, have been burnt to death if the fire had got ahead. You don't
mean to say you didn't know the Adamant was on fire most of the way
across?"
"_Mrs.--General--Weller!!_ There's some _horrible_ mistake.
It was the Vulcan. Everything depended on her bulkheads, the captain
said. There was a hole as big as a barn door in the Vulcan. The pumps
were going night and day."
Mrs. General looked at Mrs. Assistant as the light began to dawn on
both of them.
"Then it wasn't the engines, but the pumps," she said.
"And it wasn't the steam, but the fire," screamed Mrs. Assistant. "Oh,
dear, how that captain lied, and I thought him such a nice man, too.
Oh, I shall go into hysterics, I know I shall."
"I wouldn't if I were you," said the sensible Mrs. General, who was a
strong-minded woman; "besides, it is too late. We're all safe now. I
think both captains were pretty sensible men. Evidently married, both
of 'em."
Which was quite true.
THE DEPARTURE OF CUB MCLEAN.
Of course no one will believe me when I say that Mellish was in every
respect, except one, an exemplary citizen and a good-hearted man. He
was generous to a fault and he gave many a young fellow a start in life
where a little money or a few encouraging words were needed. He drank,
of course, but he was a connoisseur in liquors, and a connoisseur never
goes in for excess. Few could tell a humorous story as well as Mellish,
and he seldom dealt in chestnuts. No man can be wholly bad who never
inflicts an old story on his friends, locating it on some acquaintance
of his, and alleging that it occurred the day before.
If I wished to write a heart-rending article on the evils of gambling,
Mellish would be the man I would go to for my facts and for the moral
of the tale. He spent his life persuading people not to gamble. He
never gambled himself, he said. But if no attention was paid to his
advice, why then he furnished gamblers with the most secluded and
luxurious gambling rooms in the city. It was supposed that Mellish
stood in with the police, which was, of course, a libel. The idea of
the guardians of the city standing in with a gambler or a gambling
house! The statement was absurd on the face of it. If you asked any
policeman in the city where Mellish's gambling rooms were, you would
speedily learn that not one of them had ever even heard of the place.
All this goes to show how scandalously people will talk, and if
Mellish's rooms were free from raids, it was merely Mellish's good
luck, that was all. Anyhow, in Mellish's rooms you could have a quiet,
gentlemanly game for stakes about as high as you cared to go, and you
were reasonably sure there would be no fuss and that your name would
not appear in the papers next morning.
One night as Mellish cast his eye around his well-filled main room he
noticed a stranger sitting at the roulette table. Mellish had a keen
eye for strangers and in an unobtrusive way generally managed to find
out something about them. A stranger in a gambling room brings in with
him a certain sense of danger to the habitues.
"Who is that boy?" whispered Mellish to his bartender, generally known
as Sotty, an ex-prize fighter and a dangerous man to handle if it came
to trouble. It rarely came to trouble there, but Sotty was, in a
measure, the silent symbol of physical force, backing the well-known
mild morality of Mellish.
"I don't know him," answered Sotty.
"Whom did he come in with?"
"I didn't see him come in. Hadn't noticed him till now."
Mellish looked at the boy for a few minutes. He had the fresh, healthy,
smooth face of a lad from the country, and he seemed strangely out of
place in the heated atmosphere of that room, under the glare of the
gas. Mellish sighed as he looked at him, then he turned to Sotty and
said:
"Just get him away quietly and bring him to the small poker room. I
want to have a few words with him."
Sotty, who had the utmost contempt for the humanitarian feelings of his
boss, said nothing, but a look of disdain swept over his florid
features as he went on his mission. If he had his way, he would not
throw even a sprat out of the net. Many a time he had known Mellish to
persuade a youngster with more money than brains to go home, giving
orders at the double doors that he was not to be admitted again.
The young man rose with a look of something like consternation on his
face and followed Sotty. The thing was done quietly, and all those
around the tables were too much absorbed in the game to pay much
attention.
"Look here, my boy," said Mellish, when they were alone, "who brought
you to this place?"
"I guess," said the lad, with an expression of resentment, "I'm old
enough to go where I like without being brought."
"Oh, certainly, certainly," said Mellish, diplomatically, knowing how
much very young men dislike being accused of youth, "but I like to know
all visitors here. You couldn't get in unless you came with someone
known at the door. Who vouched for you?"
"See here, Mr. Mellish," said the youth angrily, "what are you driving
at? If your doorkeepers don't know their own business why don't you
speak to them about it? Are you going to have me turned out?"
"Nothing of the sort," said Mellish, soothingly, putting his hand in a
fatherly manner on the young fellow's shoulder. "Don't mistake my
meaning. The fact that you are here shows that you have a right to be
here. We'll say no more about that. But you take my advice and quit the
business here and now. I was a gambler before you were born, although I
don't gamble any more. Take the advice of a man who knows. It doesn't
pay."
"It seems to have paid you reasonably well."
"Oh, I don't complain. It has its ups and downs like all businesses.
Still, it doesn't pay me nearly as well as perhaps you think, and you
can take my word that in the long run it won't pay you at all. How much
money have you got?"
"Enough to pay if I lose," said the boy impudently; then seeing the
look of pain that passed over Mellish's face, he added more civilly:
"I have three or four hundred dollars."
"Well, take my advice and go home. You'll be just that much better off
in the morning."
"What! Don't you play a square game here?"
"Of course we play a square game here," answered Mellish with
indignation. "Do you think I am a card-sharper?"
"You seem so cock-sure I'll lose my money that I was just wondering.
Now, I can afford to lose all the money I've got and not feel it. Are
you going to allow me to play, or are you going to chuck me out?"
"Oh, you can play if you want to. But don't come whining to me when you
lose. I've warned you."
"I'm not a whiner," said the young fellow; "I take my medicine like a
man."
"Right you are," said Mellish with a sigh. He realized that this
fellow, young as he looked, was probably deeper in vice than his
appearance indicated and he knew the uselessness of counsel in such a
case. They went into the main room together and the boy, abandoning
roulette, began to play at one of the card tables for ever-increasing
stakes. Mellish kept an eye on him for a time. The boy was having the
luck of most beginners. He played a reckless game and won hand over
fist. As one man had enough and rose from the table another eagerly
took his place, but there was no break in the boy's winnings.
Pony Rowell was always late in arriving at the gambling rooms. On this
occasion he entered, irreproachably dressed, and with the quiet,
gentlemanly demeanor habitual with him. The professional gambler was
never known to lose his temper. When displeased he became quieter, if
possible, than before. The only sign of inward anger was a mark like an
old scar which extended from his right temple, beginning over the eye
and disappearing in his closely-cropped hair behind the ear. This line
became an angry red that stood out against the general pallor of his
face when things were going in a way that did not please him. He spoke
in a low tone to Mellish.
"What's the excitement down at the other end of the room? Every one
seems congregated there."
"Oh," answered Mellish, "it's a boy--a stranger--who is having the
devil's own luck at the start. It will be the ruin of him."
"Is he playing high?"
"High? I should say so. He's perfectly reckless. He'll be brought up
with a sharp turn and will borrow money from me to get out of town.
I've seen a flutter like that before."
"In that case," said Pony tranquilly, "I must have a go at him. I like
to tackle a youngster in the first flush of success, especially if he
is plunging."
"You will soon have a chance," answered Mellish, "for even Ragstock
knows when he has enough. He will get up in a moment. I know the
signs."
With the air of a gentleman of leisure, somewhat tired of the
frivolities of this world, Rowell made his way slowly to the group. As
he looked over their shoulders at the boy a curious glitter came into
his piercing eyes, and his lips, usually so well under control,
tightened. The red mark began to come out as his face paled. It was
evident that he did not intend to speak and that he was about to move
away again, but the magnetism of his keen glance seemed to disturb the
player, who suddenly looked up over the head of his opponent and met
the stern gaze of Rowell.
The boy did three things. He placed his cards face downward on the
table, put his right hand over the pile of money, and moved his chair
back.
"What do you mean by that?" cried Ragstock.
The youth ignored the question, still keeping his eyes on Rowell.
"Do you squeal?" he asked.
"I squeal," said Pony, whatever the question and answer might mean.
Then Rowell cried, slightly raising his voice so that all might hear:
"This man is Cub McLean, the most notorious card-sharper, thief, and
murderer in the west. He couldn't play straight if he tried."
McLean laughed. "Yes," he said; "and if you want to see my trademark
look at the side of Greggs' face."
Every man looked at Pony, learning for the first time that he had gone
under a different name at some period of his life.
During the momentary distraction McLean swept the money off the table
and put it in his pockets.
"Hold on," cried Ragstock, seemingly not quite understanding the
situation. "You haven't won that yet."
Again McLean laughed.
"It would have been the same in ten minutes."
He jumped up, scattering the crowd behind him.
"Look to the doors," cried Pony. "Don't let this man out."
McLean had his back to the wall. From under his coat he whipped two
revolvers which he held out, one in each hand.
"You ought to know me better than that, Greggs," he said, "do you want
me to have another shot at you? I won't miss this time. Drop that."
The last command was given in a ringing voice that attracted every
one's attention to Sotty. He had picked up a revolver from somewhere
behind the bar and had come out with it in his hand. McLean's eye
seemed to take in every motion in the room and he instantly covered the
bartender with one of the pistols as he gave the command.
"Drop it," said Mellish. "There must be no shooting. You may go
quietly. No one will interfere with you."
"You bet your sweet life they won't," said McLean with a laugh.
"Gentlemen," continued Mellish, "the house will stand the loss. If I
allow a swindler in my rooms it is but right that I alone should
suffer. Now you put up your guns and walk out."
"Good old Mellish," sneered McLean, "you ought to be running a Sunday-
school."
Notwithstanding the permission to depart McLean did not relax his
precautions for a moment. His shoulders scraped their way along the
wall as he gradually worked towards the door. He kept Pony covered with
his left hand while the polished barrel of the revolver in his right
seemed to have a roving commission all over the room, to the nervous
dread of many respectable persons who cowered within range. When he
reached the door he said to Pony:
"I hope you'll excuse me, Greggs, but this is too good an opportunity
to miss. I'm going to kill you in your tracks."