Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, February 2, 1901, Page 6

, j /% iB BY AN #& § = UNSEEN @ HAND #& § S % + oy A Story of the Secret Socicty Known as + the “Ragged 2 2 @ Thirteen” © 2 0 @ By Edward Hughes. | 3 2 Ne CHAPTER IX. (Continued. “Tha: fis hand. “You may be nearer the truth than you imagine regarding your destination. It is men of your mettle that we juire, Tremayne, and I feel more hopeful of our cause than I have ever done. And now I want to speak to a very delicate matter, and 1 hor that you won't think 1 meddling in your private af- no secret to me that you y cousin Nora with very warm id a e are to be fellow- the same glorious organiz- > tell you that, to supply the 1 her dowry Ishall give up to a considerable portion of and some day I membe ation, I m deficiency hope to see you established, a Janded propr in the country we both love 60 well. It required all the self-control of which I was master to enable me to answer him correctly, but I managed to thank n and make him understand that I required no incentive, great as was the one he offered, to do what I mow considered my duty, and I asked settled that I 2dy to go to any place on him to look upon it 4 uld be ri e, I contemplated no farther a railway journey to Man- ehester, and the I hoped that the Ragged Thirteen would come to an end, and that I should be a ready helper in euch a desirable consummation. As soon as I had told Angu the once more n with a e to visit his flock, and t to make all arrange- surrounding the meeting at Manchester. Before he left us” me minute instructions as to e moment of the and, seeing that tion of con- ully attended ttack, n be in a po: able danger, I ca to them. I met noon, on the Thursday after- her that I was going Nora told away few days, and that when I «came back I should have good news for her. “You're keeping something from me, Jack,” she said. “You can’t deceive me. what is it?” I tried to isfy her as best I could | generali . but she would not be 1. Ah! do tell me!’ t it so hard to keep bac Yedge as I did then, when I hi pleadin: im her eyes. 1 me the truth,” she said, be good.” And so I told her what we hoped to do, making light of the danger, and dwelli 5 upon the f: that our plar o carefully laid that ailure was impossible. “Just think!” “your father and mine, and you will be free agents again, and afterward ‘tis my Irish heart that won't be auiét, and when you go from me to-day there’s that within me tells me that it will be long before I look apon you again. Ah! Jack, what will do when you are away from me?” Little did I think that her words were to come so true, and that before I saw her again I should have sailed around the world, and all that I should | have to take with me, so far as she was eoncerned, would be the memory of her sorrow-stricken face and the know- ledge that her heart would beat true to sme. I bade her good-bye at the gate of ‘Connemara Cottage, and carried vay with me an early rosebud that she plucked for’ me, and when I had ‘watched her to the door, and waved to ther as she lingered for a while on the tep, I hurried home to make all pre- parations for meeting D’Orville on the morrow. Mindful of what he had said with regard to being prepared for a Journey: and fearful of arousing his suspicions by failing to comply with what was nothing less than a polite command, I packed my largest Glad- etone ba On the next day, before I started, 1 Yooked in upon Travers, and told him as going to town for a few but one glance at face ~d me that the spirit which actu- -chimides still lived, and had, for time being, entered into my the friend and possessed him. He bade me good-bye with the air of one who was 4mpatient of disturbance, and wwould certainly be relieve taken myself off and left him to resume his studies, and no doubt he had com- pletely forgotten my existence long be- ere I reached the station, D'Orville met me at Liverpool street. “We'll lunch here,” he said, “and we start by the 3:20 train. Is this your suggage?” “Yes,” I said. “It doesn’t look much, ut there’s enough to last me for a trip round the world in these fast days.” “Glad to see you're so philosophical,’ fhe said. “Come along. I ordered lunch, end it will be ready for us. Wise men eat when they can. Let us be wise.” ‘And presently I found myself discuss- ‘mg a very pleasant meal with the man Z so shortly hoped to lay by the heels. “We've just time for a smoke,” said he, swhen we had finished, “and then we can take a cab to Waterloo.” You have mot asked me yet where our meeting is te be held, and you most likely supposed from what I told you, that it would be 4m Manchester to-morrow evening. Well, we have changed our place and plans, and we intend to meet at South- ampton, so that those of us who may be ‘ealied upon to go abroad will be able to start at once.” It was fortunate for me that my back wes to the window, and that the room swas rather dark, otherwise, had there feeen.a full light upon my face he must tones and saw the love-light | ) back to Ireland, and live hap- | | who | when I had | | went on: have seen the look of blank astonish- ou!” he said, stretching out | ment that his announcement called up, and so fearful was I lest my voice might betray me, that I made no answer, but followed him in silence to the smoke- room. An hour before I met this man I had been full of hope, and now, unless I could shake him off, I had not the slightest chance of communicating with Anguish, and unless I did so he woula y in the dark as to my where- and might naturally imagine that I had met with foul play. And, indeed, at first, as I made a rapid ment- al survey of the situation, it occurred to me that this might ly happen; but before I was half-way through with my cigar I reflected that D’Orville had made no secret of the fact that I was to meet him—at least I knew that he had not done so to Mr. Courtney—and that if I disappeared he would certainly be interrogated. If I went the length of withdrawing from the undertaking now I should im- mediately become a suspect, and should I call in the aid of the authorities and have D’Orville arrested I must make some specific charge; and the news of his arrest and the reason thereof would bring down upon me the veng- eance of the remainder of the gang. And I felt that this would reach me, no matter how I might be guarded; and so I went on, desperate as matters s:emed, and trusted to Providence to provide me with some opportunity of writing a few lines or sending a telegram to the we found nto it he hurried me, r way rapidly. I in h power nov 1 he do with me? The pa rmit of conversation, d along in the waning ght of the water, and anished and the woods side of us for some up an avenue toa a Southampton but as we whi light I caught s when this had v had been on eac space, we drove large house. “Here we are,” said D'Orville. “Jump down and come with me. I should to have a few minutes’ chat before we begin busir y I followed him up a broad staircase, and we found ourselves in a well-lit, cheerful room. se that chair,” said he: and when we had mae ou ‘Ives comfortable, he “We are obliged to act with the greatest caution. The house we are in has been n for a fortnight, but our occupation of it will be of the briefest. We shall be here to-night and gone to-mo You are about to take upon yours solemn responsi- bility and in a solemn manner, ten u if and your heart is in most but that need have no re true to us right p! 2 I remembered the '‘mummery and so forth that he had spoken of to the worthy Sweeney, and however much solemnity. they might impart into the ceremony of installation, I should put it down at its own valuation. ow,” he went en, “before you go fupther, teli me whether you have any serples about becoming one of wi If you have, and you wish to retire, now is the time to do it. In less than t will be impossible. S: the and the carriage that brought word, you here shall take you back to South- ampton.” “I don’t know why you should harp on such a string,” I said. “I have gone so far now that you ought to know that I intend to go through with the matter. Let me ask you, on my side, whether you think I shall be a useless member? “Perish the thought!” he said, gaily. And now I must leave you for a while. You will shortly summoned to the ‘Presence.’ Follow your guide and do exactly as you are told.” With that he left me. eTn minutes or so might have passed —and I employed the time in examining the place closely—when a figure, wrap- ped in a long cloak, and wearing a mask solemnly stalked in, and, standing still a few seconds, to impress me the more, as I supposed, uttered the words, “Follow me!” in a deep, sepulchral tone. We passed along a passage to a door at the far end. Three knocks were giv- I | en, and scarcely had the third sounded when the door flew open and we were admitted. I was left standing close by the en- trance, while the individual who had guided me so far slipped quietly to the chair that was placed at the end of the half-circle of seats, in which, wrapped | in long cloaks and a profound silence, sat eleven other persons. “The mystic number is made up,” said one of the twelve, in a deep voice. “We are now thirteen. Let the rules of the Ragged Thirteen be read to him who would become one of us, to him who may not leave this room alive unless he subscribes to our regulations.” And then in basso.profundo a rigma- of which did I pay any attention, though the penalty of death for the in- fringement of this, that or the other was repeatd with tiresome iteration. 1 signed a document with a pen dipped in a fluid supposed to be blood. The lights were lowered. The men gathered round me, and drew the swords, which up till now had been concealed, and as the blades clashed above my head, I uncer- stood clearly how helpless I was, did they meditate mischief. And when the wild dance, that I was;sure had been improvised for my benefft, was finished, they glided back to their chairs, and I was informed that I was now a mmber of the society. “You have not seen the faces of your fellows, and you do not know their names,” said the man who had first address that Anguish had given me. We took in at Waterloo, but never | for one mo nt did D’Orville lose sight of mé@, and as soon as we arrived at a carriage | role of laws was read to me, to not one | spoken, “and we do not permit a new he has been one of us a year. Neither do we tell him What our signs and passes are, and for the period men- tioned you may be breaking bread with a fellow-member and not know it. You may reveal as many of our secrets as you can, and be revealing them to a brother member, whose answer will come swift and sure, straight from his heart to yours. We have work to do which must be accomplished as speedi- ly as possible, and which may call some of us abroad. You will take your chance with the rest. Sit yonder.” I had neither robe nor mask, and from the position in which the chair was placed my face was full to the light. “t think we need no farther delay,” the voice went on. “The cards may be dealt, and he who receives the ace of di; amonds takes the commission assigned, and will learn full particulars as to his destination from the paper handed to him.” And with that, one of them proceed- ed to walk around, distributing a card to each as he went, and leaving one for | himself in the chair he had just vaeat- ed. The ecard named fell to the man nearest to me, and, in silence, he held it | up and withdrew to a corner of the room, taking the envelope containing his instructions with him. Then the cards were collected, another envelope | was displayed, and the deal went on, | and this was repeated several times un- | til the ace came to me. I did as the others had done, and accepted a sealed envelope, at the contents of which I could have hazarded a shrewd guess, and mine was the last dealt out. “I must tell you, men,” said he who seemed to be president, ‘“‘who have had | missions intrusted to you, that you will find within the envelopes as to the lo- When you reach the destination indi- cated you will receive further orders. If you fail to use your utmost endeav- 5ors to do what you are requested, you ‘orfeit your lives. Nothing must stand in the way of Ireland’s welfare. You | | are now at liberty to open the envel- | | opes and read their contents.” | And this is what I read: “You sail from Southampton to-night for Auckland, New Zealand. You will ! be met there and further orders given you. Your passage has been paid, and nelosed is £51 A | CHAPTER Xl | On the Raft. | s taken from the large room and j lea back to the smaller one by my | | former guide, and I. had not been a} te alone when D’Orville joined me. “Your behavior has impressed me | most favorably,” said he. “You know your destination, and I have to tell you that you will start almost immediately. It is too late to raise objections now, | and if you fail to obey orders you for feit your life, as I should mine if I terfered. You have £50 in notes, and here is a like sum, for which, if you | please, you will give me your check.” When I had complied with his re- quest, he went on: “And now, Tremayne, that I have nas your chief, I may speak as a and I dare say that England did not contain at that moment a brace of more thorough-paced hypocrites than we were. “Yes, as a friend and a brother! You must not, of course, be- i4ray the secrets of our society, ana your m™ ion is viewed in that light. Still, I know the some one who will be anxious about you, and I can see no harm in your Writing to Nora and teil- ing h that you will be away from | ng 1 for some time. You will find writing materials yonder, and I'll act as postman for you.” He sat and smoked while I wrote the nd when I had finished I passed to him, but he waved it aside with a fine air. dear fellow,” said he, “pray n't stand so much on ceremony. |You are surely free where ‘affairs of the heart’ are concerned. I don’t say cality to which you have to travel, | | ing that any gther letters you might write | from here wouldn't be looked at, but I pledge you my word that this one wil go unopened until fair fingers break the enveloye.” And then, caring little whether he should read it or not, I dipped my pen “in my heart,” and ‘added that which would set another heart beating warm- ly for me. “And now, Tremayne, if you are ready, we must start.” In a very few minutes we were being carried swiftly to Southampton, and, until the steam- er was under way, D’Orville never Jost sight of me for a moment. And so, not a word could I send to Anguish, and I felt that his disappointment would be keen, for, when we might have secured three or four of the very worst of the Ragged Thirteen we had let them’ £0, and now we had caught none of them, and they had me fairly in their toils. T felt half-inclined to send a note by the pilot when he left the ship; but, in all probab‘lity, if I did ‘so, D’Orville would hear of it, and, moreover, I knew that I was under observation. The man watching me was the man whose features had struck me so remarkably on the night of the meeting at Court- ney's house. And so the pilot carried no missive from me. My position was one of great peril, put, after all, I kenw exactly why ) was being sent abroad, and it was not at all probable that any attack would ‘be made pon me until I met my fath- er, about whom I was not so very greatly concerned, because I imagined he would be warned by my letter, and so be ready for his enemy or enemies, and their capture in Fiji would be pref- erable to their being taken at Mr. Courtney’s house. F It must not be forgotten that when Nora gave us her help it was on the distinct understanding that nothing should be done to compromise her fath- er, and this we could hardly have avoided had we made any arrests, al- though I believed then, and I know now, that he was never a member of thé Ragged Thirteen. Still, he was im- plicated in other ways, and if Nora had known the nature and depth of the im- plication she would not have given us such useful information as she had done. When I thought matters over I came to the conclusion that for the present I was safe and that no harm would be- fall me unless I tried to betray the member to have such knowledge unti} , brethren, and, if I were to do this, the very man whom I chose for a confi- dant might be one of the Ragged Thir- teen. ‘ I had already found one of D’Or- ville’s friends, and before we had been out two days I discovered another in the person of the big-limbed James Sweeney. When I first caught sight of him he was pacing the main deck and looking somewhat gaunt and cadaver- ous, by reason, I supposed, of his being a bad sailor. He made no pretense of disguising himself, since, from his point of view, why should he? He, no doubt, knew me perfectly weil, but how was I to know him? ‘We were on board a large trading trading steamer, and as we were to make straight for Auckland and not call at any intermediate port, I had not the remotest chance of writing to Anguish or Nora, or of communicating with any of my friends. There were eight saloon passengers besides my- self, and some fifteen or sixteen in the | second-class and the steerage, but as nothing occurred on the run out that has any bearing upon my story, I shall omit any account of the voyage, neither need I enter into wearisome details of Auckland. Scarcely was the ship berthed than a man came aboard and asked for me, and handing me a letter, bade me come below with him and read it. The instructions in this letter were very simple. It ran:— As you are on your trial you must acccmpany the bearer of this, who will on no account lose sight of you, and any communication you may wish to make to any person whatever must be made through him. If you fail in this particular you will bring upon your- self instant punishment. For the very short time you are in Auckland you will live with the companion we have chosen for you. He will tell you your destination, and how you are to pro- ceed thither. And most certainly the man who brought me this stuck closer to m= than a brother for the twenty hours during which we remained in town. At the end of this period we found ourselves once more afloat in the trad- schooner Nightingale, bound for one of the Fiji Islands, at which island I was to disembark, and where the ob- ject of my journey would be fully ex- plained, and I should begin to work “for the cause.” Could I possible haye shaken off my companion or given him) the slip I think I should have done so, and have found some speedier craft to take me to Fiji, but he watched rm every movement, and~looking through the window as we sat at dinner to- gether, I saw Sweeney and the other man I knew walking slowly to and fro. So I made no demur, but went aboard apparently as cheerfully as though I were on a pleasure trip, and I found that Sweeney and the man with the peculiar face were still voyaging with me; indeed the latter had told me, when we were on the Shannon, that he was going on to Fiji. And so in this remote corner of the earth Providence had decreed that I should meet the father from whom I had parted in London; and the mem- ories that came to me were more ten- der than I can well say, and I prayed to God for strength to play the man, and te prove m pringing and bresd The schooner had, in her day. trim enough craft of about 150 tons burthen, and with a favorable breeze and as much canvass as could be got on her, we went bowling north with a daily and hourly accompaniment of oaths from those who had to man the pumps, for the Nightingale’s seams were of the leakiest. But the weather kept so fine that life would have beer bearable had I not been in such a state of an: The man who had come out of England with me in the Shan- non messed with myself and the cip- tain and mate. Sweeney lived for’arl with § e three or four other passen- gers, and I saw very little of him. Where was D’Orville, I wondere4, and what was he doing? In all proba- he had already reached Fiji, and where my father was, and, no pad so arranged matters that, opiricn, he would be able to ac- h the sacrifice when the two victims met. I felt a grim satisfaction en T reflected that the said victims vere already aware of his amiable in- tentions, and that one of them at least would have secured such help that the tab! weuld be cas'ly turned. Stil, the change that D’Orville had made with re: d to the meeting place had completely upset my plans, and so closely had I bem watched that it had been quite impossible for me to even as much as secure a weapon. And so, on and on we went, farther and farther north, while every day prought us nearer to the final scene. “T don’t like the look ef the weather,” said the skipper to me, one evening: and, truth to tell, landsman as I was, T could read signs of ill-omen’ in the “gloomy red” globe that was dropping behind a dark-gray bank of clouds, and in the moan’ng wind tHat blew in puffs, driving us at racing speed for a few. minutes, to lsave us drifting slow- ly until it piced us up again. “We'll get some of the canvas off her, Rates,” said he to the mate, and presently we lay under easy sail, with everything snug alow and aloft, wait: ing for the first real buffet of the hur- ricane. “Tl carry on as long as I can,” said the skipper; “and we ought to fetch up at Totoya in a very few days. It we don’t, we must lie to, or we'll run slap on to it, when we shan’t many of us get ashore.” And so, when at last the winds of Heaven were let loose upon us, the Nightingale drove straight ahead and laid her course. (To Be Continued.) The New Reporter Again. “Your ‘story of the fire is not cor: rect,” said the critical city editor. “What's: wrong?” asked the new re- porter, “Well,” you don’t say anything about the ‘red demon of destruction,’ neither do you state that ‘the scene baffled de- scription,’ as an introduction to a com- plete account of the affair.” ‘The new reporter did not feel utterly crushed, however, as he had not for- gotten to refer to the fire as a “holo- caust,”"—Baltimore American. 4 EPIDEMIC OF GRIP WORST EVER KNOWN GIODIHOIOOANLGOOAGONYGHOGGH G©OVGWHOWHOOHH9OEDIOWOIOSOOOHIONSO GRIP BACILLUS EVERYWHERE—IN THE AIR WE BREATHE, 8 IN THE WATER WE DRINK, IN THE FOOD WE EAT. Hundreds of car loads of Peruna are shipped in all directions to meet the extraordinary Cemand of the grip epidemic. Everybody laying in a stock of this valuable remedy in time to meet the terrible enemy, the Grip. The extensive facilities of the manufacturers taxed to their ut- most to meet the urgent demand fcr Peruna. Almost everybody has the grip. Almost everybody must have Pe- @ Tuna. §| Taken at the appearance of the first symptoms of the grip, not only is Peruna a prompt cure for the grip but it prevents those dis- astrous after effects so character- € istic of this dread disease. Peruna not only cures the grip but prevents it. i Taken in time thousands of lives will be saved in this present epi- demic. .Every family should take the precaution to secure a supply of Pe- runa at once, for the retail and wholesale stock of the remedy may be exhausted by the enormous demand for it. It is wisdom to have Peruna in the house even before the grip at- tacks the household. 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