THE STOKER'S STORY
We were crossing the Atlantic in a Cunarder. I was
second stoker on the starboard watch. In that horrible
gale we spoke of before dinner, the coal was exhausted,
and I, as the best-dressed man, was sent up to the
captain to ask him what we should do. I found him
himself at the wheel. He almost cursed me, and bade me
say nothing
of coal, at a moment when he must keep
her head to the wind with her full power, or we were
lost. He bade me slide my hand into his pocket, and take
out the key of the after freight-room, open that, and use
the contents for fuel. I returned hastily to the engine-room, and we did as we were bid. The room contained
nothing but old account books, which made a hot and
effective fire.
On the third day the captain came down himself into
the engine-room, where I had never seen him before,
called me aside, and told me that by mistake he had given
me the wrong key; asking me if I had used it. I pointed
to him the empty room; not a leaf was left. He turned
pale with fright. As I saw his emotion, he confided to
me the truth. The books were the evidences or accounts
of the British national debt; of what is familiarly known
as the Consolidated Fund, or the "Consols." They had
been secretly sent to New York for the examination of
James Fiske, who had been asked to advance a few millions
on this security to the English Exchequer, and now all
evidence of indebtedness was gone!
The captain was about to leap into the sea. But I
dissuaded him. I told him to say nothing; I would keep
his secret; no man else knew it. The government would
never utter it. It was safe in our hands. He
reconsidered his purpose. We came safe to port and did —
nothing.
Only on the first quarter-day which followed, I
obtained leave of absence, and visited the Bank of
England, to see what happened. At the door was this
placard, "Applicants for dividends will file a written
application, with name and amount, at desk A, and proceed
in turn to the Paying Teller's Office." I saw their
ingenuity. They were making out new books, certain that
none would apply but those who were accustomed to. So
skilfully do men of government study human nature.
I stepped lightly to one of the public desks. I took
one of the blanks. I filled it out, "John Blatchford,
L1747 6s. 8d." and handed it in at the open trap. I
took my place in the queue in the teller's room. After
an agreeable hour, a pile, not thick, of Bank of England
notes was given to me; and since that day I have
quarterly drawn that amount from the maternal government
of that country. As I left the teller's room, I observed
the captain in the queue. He was the seventh man from
the window, and I have never seen him more.
