BY T. F. ANDERSON AND H. D. UMBSTAETTER.
At eight o’clock on the morning of March 14, 1903, the Anglo-American liner, the Oklahoma, left her dock in North River on her regular trip to Southampton.
The fact of her departure, ordinarily of merely local interest, was telegraphed all over the United States and Canada, and even to London itself; for there was a significance attached to this particular trip such as had never before marked the sailing of an ocean steamship from these shores.
It was not because the great vessel numbered among her crowd of passengers a well-known English duke and his young bride, the grand-niece of a world-famous New York railroad magnate, that her sailing was heralded by such a blowing of trumpets, nor because she also had upon her lists the names of the august British ambassador to the United States, returning home on a brief furlough, the noted French tragedian, fresh from his American triumphs, and a score of other illustrious personages whose names were household words in a dozen countries.
The presence of all these notables was merely incidental. What made this trip of the Oklahoma an event of international interest was the fact that at this, the apparent climax of the great gold exporting movement from the United States, now continued until it had almost drained the national treasury of its precious yellow hoard, and had precipitated a commercial crisis such as never before had been experienced, the Oklahoma was taking to the shores of insatiate John Bull the largest lump amount of gold ever shipped upon a single vessel within the memory of man.
Not even in the memorable gold exporting year of 1893, ten years previous, had any such sum as this been sent abroad at one time.
It was not the usual paltry half million or million dollars that she was carrying away in her great strong room of steel and teak wood, but thirty million dollars’ worth of shining eagles and glinting bars, hastily called across the ocean because of the adverse “balance of trade” and the temporary mistrust of American securities by the fickle Europeans.
The mere insurance premium on this vast sum was in itself a comfortable fortune. Business men wondered why such a large amount was intrusted to one steamer. Suppose she should collide in the fog and sink, as one great ship had done only a few weeks before—what would become of the insurance companies then?
Suppose some daring Napoleon of crime should hatch a startling conspiracy to seize the steamer, intimidate the crew and passengers, and possess himself of the huge treasure? “It would be a stake well worth long risks,” thought some of the police officials, as they read the headlines in the evening papers.