The Telegraph Messenger Boy; Or, The Straight Road to Success Read online

  A THRILLING VOYAGE

  On the night that Ben Mayberry started across the bridge to deliver thecipher message to Mr. Burkhill in Moorestown, he had reached the centerspan before he felt he was in personal danger. The few lamps whichtwinkled at long distances from each other were barely enough for him tosee where he was going, and they did little more than make the darknessvisible.

  By the faint light he observed a carriage and single horse approaching.The animal lifted his feet high, walked slowly, and snuffed the air as heturned his head from side to side, like an intelligent creature whichfeels he is approaching danger. The rattling of the narrow planks underhis hoofs and the carriage wheels could be heard above the roar and sweepof the angry river beneath.

  Suddenly the bridge trembled under a blow received from a gigantic pieceof ice, which went grinding and splashing with such violence that itscourse could be followed by the bulging upward of the planks between Benand the horse.

  "My gracious! this won't do," exclaimed the boy, more alarmed for thevehicle and its occupants than for himself.

  He ran forward to grasp the bridle of the horse with the purpose ofturning him back, when he saw that he had stopped of his own accord, andwas snorting with terror. Ben reached up to seize the bit, when he wasmade dizzy by the abrupt lifting of the planking underneath, and wasthrown violently forward on his face.

  The brave boy knew what it meant, and kept his senses about him. It wasutterly dark, and he was in the icy water with a terrified horsestruggling fiercely, and in danger of beating out the boy's brains withhis hoofs, while the shriek of the agonized mother rose above the horriddin:

  "Save my child--save my child!"

  Fortunately for Ben Mayberry the bridge broke up in a very unusualmanner. Instead of the roof coming down upon him, it seemed to fallapart, as did the narrow planking. Thus his movements were not interferedwith by the structure, and realizing what a desperate struggle for lifewas before him, he drew off his cumbersome overcoat with great deftness,and then swam as only a strong swimmer can do in the very extremity ofperil.

  He heard nothing more of the horse, which had doubtless perished after astruggle as brief as it was fierce; but, unable to see anything at all,Ben struck out toward the point whence came the cry of the mother, andwhich was close at hand.

  He had scarcely made three strokes when he came in violent collision witha huge block of ice in his path. Without attempting to go around it, hegrasped the edge, and, by a determined effort, drew himself upon it.Fragments of the bridge were all around, and he felt some of the timberupon the support.

  While crawling carefully toward the other side, he shouted:

  "Helloa! where are you? Answer, and I'll help you."

  A faint cry made itself heard amid the rushing waters and theimpenetrable darkness. It was just ahead, and the next instant Ben hadreached the other side of the ice raft, where, steadying himself with onehand, he groped about with the other, uttering encouraging words as hedid so.

  Suddenly he caught hold of a delicate arm, and with another cheery shout,he began drawing with all his strength.

  It was a hard task, under the circumstances, but he quickly succeeded,and was not a little amazed to find that instead of a lady he had helpedout a small girl.

  But it was the cry of a mother that had reached his ears, and he did hisutmost (which unfortunately was little) to help her. He called again andagain, but there was no answer. He asked of the child the whereabouts ofher parents, but the little one was almost senseless with bewilderment,cold, and terror, and could give no intelligible answer.

  "She must be drowned," was the sorrowful conclusion of Ben, who wasforced to cease his efforts; and I may as well add at this point, that hewas right; the mother's body being carried out to sea, where it was neverfound.

  For the time, Ben and the little girl were safe, but it will be seen thattheir condition was pitiable. It was a wintry night, the water was of anarctic temperature, and their clothing was saturated. The icy floor onwhich they were supported would have added to their terrible discomfort,had he not been able to gather together several of the planks withinreach, with which he made a partition between them and the freezingsurface.

  Ben shouted at the top of his voice, but he was so far below the placewhere the bridge had stood that no one heard him, and he finally gave itup, knowing that even if he made himself known to friends, they would bepowerless to help him so long as the darkness lasted.

  The child, so far as he could judge, was no more than nine or ten yearsold, but she was richly clad, as he learned from the abundance of furs,silks, and velvet. She had luxuriant hair, which streamed about hershoulders, and he was sure she must be very beautiful.

  She was alive, but faint and suffering. She did not wish to talk and Bendid not urge her, although he was curious to know her identity.

  "I will learn all in the morning," he said to himself; "that is, if weare spared until then."

  He was too excited and terrified to fall asleep, even had his discomfortnot been too great to permit it, and he found he needed his wits abouthim.

  Now and then the cake of ice which supported them was crowded by others,until it seemed on the point of being overturned, in which event anotherterrible struggle would be necessary to save himself and the little girl.

  Then again, there seemed to be eddies and whirlpools in the current,which threatened to dislodge them or to break up the miniature iceberginto fragments, as the bridge itself was destroyed.

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE CIPHER TELEGRAM

  The almost interminable night came to an end at last and the dull gray ofmorning appeared in the east.

  Ben Mayberry chafed the arms of the little stranger, and even slapped hervigorously to prevent her succumbing to the cold. He was forced to riseto his feet himself at intervals and swing his arms and kick out hislegs, to fight off the chilliness which seemed to penetrate to his verybones.

  As soon as the boy could make use of his eyes he found himself driftingthrough the open country, where the river was fully double the width atDamietta. This gave the masses of ice much more "elbow room," anddecreased the danger of capsizing.

  Houses and villages were seen at intervals, and multitudes of people werealong the bank gathering driftwood and "loot," and watching theunparalleled flood of waters.

  Ben swung his hat and shouted, and at last caught the notice of thepeople on the bank. Two sturdy watermen sprang into a boat and beganfighting their way out to the helpless ones. It was a hard task, but theysucceeded, and Ben and little Dolly Willard (as she had given her name)were safely taken off. A crowd waited to welcome them and they receivedevery possible attention. Both were taken to the nearest farmhouse, wherea kind-hearted mother took Dolly in charge, for the little one needed itsadly enough.

  They were within half a mile of a village which was connected withDamietta by telegraph, and before Ben would do anything more than swallowa cup of hot coffee, and change his clothing, he was driven to theoffice, where he sent the message which was the first word we received inDamietta to tell us that he was alive.

  I lost no time in hurrying to the humble dwelling of Mrs. Mayberry, whereI made known the joyful tidings. I shall never forget the holy lightwhich illumined the thin face as she clasped her hands in thankfulnessand said:

  "I had not given up all hope, but I was very near doing so."

  Ben was driven into Damietta late that afternoon, where a royal welcomeawaited him. He was cheered, shaken by the hand, and congratulated overand over again, and for a time it looked as though he would be pulledasunder. When he finally tore himself loose and rushed into our office,the operators and messenger boys were equally demonstrative, but he didnot mind them.

  I stood at my desk with a swelling heart, waiting for him. Suddenly heturned and caught my hand.

  "He that is born to be hanged will never be drowned----"

  He was laughing when he spoke the jest, but his voice trembled, and allat once he broke down. Qu
ickly withdrawing both hands, he put them overhis face and cried like a heartbroken child. He had stood it like a heroto this point, but now, with the crowd outside peering into the windows,he sobbed with uncontrollable emotion, while my own heart was too full tospeak.

  As soon as he could master himself he said:

  "I must not wait any longer; mother expects me."

  He was out of the door in a twinkling, and in a few minutes the motherand son were in each other's arms.

  The reader may think that the most remarkable part of Ben Mayberry'sadventure on the night of the flood has already been told, but it provedto be the beginning of a train of incidents of such an extraordinarynature that I hasten to make them known. There was a direct connectionbetween his experience on that terrible night in February and thewonderful mystery in which he became involved, and which exercised such amarked influence on his after-life.

  Fortunately, little Dolly Willard suffered no serious consequences fromher frightful shock and exposure. She received such excellent care thatshe speedily recovered, and as soon as we could re-establishcommunication with Moorestown and engage her in conversation, we learnedsomething of her history.

  She lived in New York City and had come to Moorestown on a visit with hermother and Uncle George. He was the G. R. Burkhill who failed to receivethe cipher dispatch which Ben Mayberry undertook to deliver to him onthat eventful night.

  Dolly said her father was dead, or had been gone from home a very longtime. Uncle George claimed and took her to the city, first sending acipher dispatch to a party in the metropolis, and directing me, in caseof an answer, to hold it until he called or sent for it.

  Two days later an answer arrived in the same mystic characters as before.As it has much to do with the incidents which follow, I give thisremarkable telegram in full:

  "New York, February 28th,----

  "George R. Burkhill, Moorestown:

  "Nvtu vzhs ujmm ezkk tbn gzr b adssdg dizodf rntsg zpvs azmj xjmm jddo.

  "Tom."

  Cipher telegrams are sent every day in the week, and we did not concernourselves with this particular one, which would have received no furtherthought, but for an odd circumstance.

  On the day Mr. Burkhill sent his message to New York, he was followedinto our office by a man who was shabbily dressed, and who impressed meas what is commonly called a "beat." He spoiled several blanks withoutsending a message and then abruptly tore them up, put the pieces in hispocket, and walked out after Mr. Burkhill.

  He was in the office several times the succeeding two days, made someinquiries, and sent off a couple of messages. Just after Ben Mayberry hadreceived the cipher telegram given above, I happened to look across mydesk and observed that the fellow had taken every letter, marking itdown, as he easily interpreted it by sound.

  It was only by accident that I made this discovery, for the man actedprecisely as if he were preparing a message to send away.

  CHAPTER IX

  THE TRANSLATION

  Mr. G. R. Burkhill overwhelmed Ben Mayberry with thanks for the heroicmanner in which he saved his niece and strove to save his sister. Heoffered the boy a handsome reward, but I am glad to say Ben refused toaccept it. He promised to write the boy concerning the little one, but hemust have forgotten his promise, as a long time passed without anythingbeing heard from him.

  When I discovered that the seedy lounger about our office had carefullytaken down the cipher telegram addressed to Burkhill, I was indignant,for it was well known that one of the most important duties which thetelegraph companies insist upon is the inviolability of the messagesintrusted to their wires. Nothing less than a peremptory order from thecourt is sufficient to produce the telegrams placed in our care.

  I was on the point of leaving my desk and compelling the impudentstranger to surrender the cipher he had surreptitiously secured, but Irestrained myself and allowed him to go without suspecting my knowledgeof his act.

  "Ben," said I, addressing my young friend, whom I trusted beyond any ofthe older operators, "did you notice that fellow who just went out?"

  "Yes, sir; I have seen him before. He followed me home last night, andafter I went in the house, he walked up and down the pavement for morethan half an hour. He was very careful, but I saw him through theblinds."

  "Has he ever said anything to you?"

  "Nothing, except in the office."

  "He took down every letter of that cipher telegram you just received forMr. Burkhill."

  The boy was surprised and sat a minute in deep thought.

  "Mr. Melville," he said, "if you have no objection, I shall study outthat cipher."

  "That I think is impossible; it has been prepared with care, and it willtake a greater expert than you to unravel it."

  Ben smiled in his pleasing way as he answered:

  "I am fond of unraveling puzzles, and I believe I can take this apart."

  "I will be surprised if you succeed; but if you do, keep it a secret fromeveryone but myself."

  "You may depend on that."

  The odd times which Ben could secure through the day were spent instudying the mysterious letters; but when he placed it in his pocket atnight and started for home, he had not caught the first glimmer of itsmeaning.

  But he was hopeful and said he would never give it up until he made it asclear as noonday, and I knew that if it was within the range ofaccomplishment, he would keep his word. I have told enough to show myreaders he was unusually intelligent and quick-witted, but I am free toconfess that I had scarcely a hope of his success.

  "I've got it!"

  That was the whispered exclamation with which Ben Mayberry greeted me thenext morning when he entered the office.

  "No! You're jesting," I answered, convinced, at the same time, that hewas in earnest.

  "I'll soon show you," was his exultant response.

  "How was it you struck the key?"

  "That is hard to tell, more than you can explain how it is, after youhave puzzled your brain for a long time over an arithmetical problem, itsuddenly becomes clear to you."

  He sat down by my desk.

  "I figured and studied, and tried those letters every way I could thinkof until midnight, and was on the point of going to bed, when the wholething flashed upon me. You know, Mr. Melville, that in trying to unravela cipher, the first thing necessary is to find the key-word, for it mustbe there somewhere; and if you look sharp enough it will reveal itself.One single letter gave it to me."

  "How was that?"

  "If you will look at the telegram," said Ben, spreading it out before me,"you will notice that in one instance only is a single letter seenstanding by itself. That is the letter 'b,' which I concluded must standfor the article 'a,' for I know of no other, unless it is 'I.' Now, theletter 'b' is the second one in the alphabet, and stands next in order to'a.' If this system is followed throughout the cipher, we have only totake, instead of the letters as written, the next in order as they occurin the alphabet. But when I tried it on the following word, it failedentirely. Luckily I tested the second in the same manner, and I wassurprised to find it made a perfect word, viz.: 'chance.' The third cameto naught, but the fourth developed into 'your.' That proved that everyother word of the message was constructed in this manner, and it did nottake me long to bring them out into good English. This was a big help, Ican tell you, and it was not long before I discovered that in thealternate words the system reversed; that is, instead of taking theletter immediately succeeding, the writer had used that which immediatelyprecedes it in the alphabet. Applying this key to the telegram, it readthus:

  "'Must wait till fall; Sam has a better chance south. Your bank willkeep.'"

  "Now," added Ben, who was warranted in feeling jubilant over his success,"that is a very ordinary cipher--one which hundreds would make outwithout trouble. Had the writer run his letters all together--that is,without any break between the words--I would have b
een stumped. Besides,he uses no blind words, as he ought to have done; and it looks very muchas if he calls everything by its right name, something which I shouldthink no person anxious to keep such a secret would do. If he means'bank,' he might as well have called it by another name altogether."

  "I think ordinarily he would have been safe in writing his cipher as hehas done; but, be that as it may, I am confident you have made a mostimportant discovery."

  CHAPTER X

  FARMER JONES

  The conclusion which I formed respecting the cipher telegram, so cleverlytranslated by Ben Mayberry, was that it concerned an intended robbery ofone of the banks in Damietta, and that the crime, for the reason hintedin the dispatch, was postponed until the succeeding autumn.

  Under such circumstances it will be seen that it was my duty tocommunicate with the general manager of the company, which I proceeded todo without delay. In reply, he instructed me to place myself incommunication with the mayor of the city, whose province it was to makeprovision against what certainly looked like a contemplated crime.

  This instruction was carried out, and the mayor promptly took every meansat his command to checkmate any movement of the suspected party. Hearranged to shadow him by one of the best detectives in the country,while I agreed to notify him of the contents of any more suspicioustelegrams passing over the wires.

  It need hardly be said that the friends of Ben Mayberry and myself tookcare that his exploit on the memorable winter night should not pass byunnoticed. The single daily paper published in Damietta gave a thrillingaccount of the carrying away of the bridge, and the terrible struggle ofthe boy in the raging river--an account which was so magnified that welaughed, and Ben was angry and disgusted. One of the best traits of theboy was his modesty, and it was manifest to everyone that this continuedlaudation was distasteful to him in the highest degree.