If ever there was a born fighter, Captain Jim Irving was one. He looked the part and acted it, was strong-purposed and revengeful. He wanted Macdonnell for his money and he wanted to demonstrate his prowess over that of the agency detectives.
“I hate them,” he confided to me once, “as the devil hates holy water. I’d wade through the infernal regions to beat them out at anything. They are too much on the level, and they interfere with me. They’d better steer clear of Jim Irving, for I’m likely to be a peril to them one of these days.”
Not the smallest detail essential to the furtherance of his plan to get first hands on George Macdonnell was neglected. He ordered the Seneca’s boiler steamed up to the top of its capacity, and the safety-valve was weighted down to an unheard-of degree. He would have had the engineer take even further risk, but that the latter wouldn’t do. The furnace was kept well coaled and the stokers were under orders not to bank the fires. The extra crew was ordered below, that they might be in readiness should the ship be sighted that night. He said he wanted no weary men on duty at the critical moment.
“I’m going to give ’em a bitter race,” Irving said with an oath to Phil Farley. “I swear to the imps of hades them Pinkertons won’t get Macdonnell.”
One advantage that Irving believed he had was the Seneca’s speed. There was reason, he said, to feel satisfied that it was much greater than that of the Pinkerton tug, and with an even start, when the ship was sighted, victory would be certain to top his efforts. A watch, consisting of two of the picked men of the crews, was ordered on duty until midnight, when, the ship not being in sight, another watch would relieve it. Irving offered a reward of one hundred dollars to the man who’d first bring to him the news of the sighting of the ship, and fifty dollars to the second man so reporting. He believed that this incentive would obviate any danger of the Pinkertons’ getting a lead on him in this respect. Regardless of this precaution, Irving resolved to keep an eye out himself, and he smiled happily over nature’s favoring, for the night was just what he would have it. The sky was cloudless and the stars shone brilliantly, and as the night wore on to morning the full moon swept up from the bosom of the ocean and spread a broad expanse of silver which made it possible to discover anything within a mile or more in shape of a ship. The deep-sea roll played roughly with the Seneca, but the wind, which had blown treacherously in the early hours of the watch, had settled to a breeze, and left the sea very favorable to the Seneca in a race. Irving had hoped that this condition would prevail, for the big Pinkerton tug was as stanch as a pilot-boat at breasting rough seas. In fact, it seemed as though the infernal one, were it possible, had control of the night for the sole benefit of Jim Irving’s scheming and was doing everything to crown him with victory.
And thus the hours—mighty long ones to those on board the Seneca—went by, but utilized by the captain to the best advantage. Among other things, he drilled Detective Farley in the part he was to play on boarding the ship. In this drama on the sea, Farley was to follow a close second when Irving climbed to the ship’s deck, and when Macdonnell was arrested, it was Farley’s part to cover Irving when the Macdonnell package was passed. To insure success, the engineers and pilots were promised a hundred dollars each if the Seneca was first alongside the Thuringia. As a matter of fact, talk of rewards was reeled off by the yard, until every man on board was fired to a pitch of enthusiasm that satisfied all the craving the captain had for action. He was gloating over the prospect when at last a light, that could only come from a steamship, hove in sight to the southward. There wasn’t anything to tell whether or not this light came from the ship Irving sought, but he wouldn’t take a chance of losing a minute. He would know what ship it was that carried the light.
There was prompt action on the Seneca, and the Pinkertons were also stirring. The anchors of both craft were quickly weighed and full speed was ordered. Not three minutes had passed ere the race was on. The morning—for it was close on four o’clock—was still flooded with moonlight, and the sea was, perhaps, a trifle rougher than before midnight. When the two vessels had gotten well under way, it was seen that the Seneca had the better of the Pinkerton tug by about an eighth of a mile in the start. Again, the infernal one had scored a point for graft as against honesty. Captain Irving patted Phil Farley on the back and smiled gleefully. On dashed the police boat, throwing the spray over half her length, as she plunged through swell after swell and received each time a shaking from stem to stern.
“She’s doing well,” shouted the captain down to the engineer in charge. “Crowd on all steam—remember the reward—a hundred to every man if we win over them hounds behind us.”
Meanwhile the Pinkertons were forcing the race, too. The big tug was ugly to look at, but in her machinery and tenacity to break through the swells there lay danger to Irving’s success. Presently—perhaps fifteen minutes after the start—the tug showed certain and startling gain on the police boat. Irving was the first to discover it, and the glee with which he had taken the previous conditions was suddenly turned into concern. The ship’s lights were fully two miles distant yet, and if the race continued under the existing conditions, the Pinkertons would win beyond doubt. Irving had erred in estimating the speeding qualities of the tug. Something must be done. He began to fume and curse—at which he was proficient—and wondered if it were forgotten that rewards had been offered to all hands if victory came to the Seneca.
“I’ll double them!” he cried down to the engineer. “Put on every pound of steam you’ve got. More speed!”