THE BOY NIHILIST, or, Young America in Russia

By ALLAN ARNOLD.

CHAPTER I. THE UNSUSPECTING TRAVELER.

The steamship Baltic was on the point of sailing from America to Europe.

The usual scenes were visible on the wharf–the rushing on board of belated freight and baggage–the crush of passengers and their friends on deck, or down in the cabins, where partings were being drunk in wine; the crowd of steerage passengers forward, trying to keep out of the way of the sailors, and at the same time to salute or converse with their friends on the dock; the rattle and bustle all around; the blow of steam from the impatient boilers; the sharp, brisk orders of the junior officers; the rush of carriages with passengers, and the shouting of draymen anxious to get their loads aboard–all these sights and sounds were both felt and visible as a bright-looking young man, distinctly American to all appearances, alighted from a cab and walked up the steamer's gang-plank, followed by a porter and the driver with trunks and parcels.

He was indeed a bright-looking youth, such as you will find in New York oftener than anywhere else, and as he reached the deck his hand was grasped by several young and enthusiastic friends who had come aboard to see him off.

This was William Barnwell, a young New Yorker, slightly over twenty-one years of age, who had recently inherited quite a fortune from a deceased relative, and he was now on the point of starting on a tour which he intended should encompass the globe.

He was now alone in the world, so far as relations were concerned, although he had a large circle of friends to whom he was greatly attached, as they were to him.

From boyhood up he had always been an enthusiast in almost everything, but more especially in politics and revolution, as shown in national struggles, and the pride of his life was the history of the American Revolution, and the success of the patriots in that cause.

But outside of his being an enthusiast and a lover of liberty, he was not known, and had never taken any prominent part in any of the social or political movements of the day, beyond sympathizing with the struggles of the working men and women of the world in their struggles to better themselves.

These facts were not only known to his friends, but to many men belonging to the secret societies of Ireland, Germany, and Russia. That is to say, they knew him only as a bright young fellow, possessing brains and pluck, together with enthusiasm, which, if rightly directed, would make him a valuable member of any secret organization having the liberty of the people at heart. But beyond this nothing particular was known of him.

His friends gathered around and wished him a prosperous voyage and a happy return, and with refreshments and flowers they expressed themselves as only New Yorkers do on such occasions.

And as he stood there on deck, surrounded by his friends, he looked indeed like a representative American young gentleman.

He was light-complexioned, nearly six feet in height, and proportioned like an athlete; bright, smart, and intelligent.

And while the excitement of "sailing-day" was at its height, and young Barnwell was in the midst of his friends, a strange man approached and tapped him on the shoulder.

The young man turned to see who it was, but he did not know him.

"Can I speak a word with you?" the stranger asked, with a strong foreign accent.

"Certainly. Excuse me a moment, my friends. I will join you presently," said Barnwell, walking away with the stranger, a little way forward of the main hatch, out of the crowd.

"You are William Barnwell, I believe?" said the stranger.

"Yes, that is my name," said Will.

"I was sure of it. You are going abroad for pleasure, I understand?"

"Yes."

"You are an American?"

"I am proud to acknowledge it," said Will, drawing himself up to his full height.

"And let me tell you, young man, I know you thoroughly–know you for a thorough-bred American gentleman."

"Thank you."

"You would do almost anything in the cause of human liberty?"

"I would."

"I wish I had known you before."

"Why?"

"I might have bound you closer."

"To what?"

"The heart of human liberty."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot tell you now. But when will you go to St. Petersburg, Russia?"

"Well, I did intend to go there at once, and from there visit the different capitals."

"And will you go to St. Petersburg?"

"Certainly."

"And will you do me a favor–will you do it in the cause of human liberty?" asked the stranger, catching hold of his hand.

"I will."

The stranger appeared like a Russian or a Polish Jew, but there was something about him that seemed to interest Barnwell.

"Can I trust you beyond a doubt?"

"I think you can in ordinary matters. Why do you ask?"

"For very good reasons. And when you know that the lives and liberty of hundreds of brave men and women depend upon your trust and faith, will you swear to be true?"

"I will swear, sir," said Barnwell, earnestly, for he was becoming more strongly interested.

The stranger appeared to hesitate as though not daring to trust the entire importance of the business to the young man. But he finally concluded what to do, evidently, and drawing Barnwell still further away from the throng, he took a large brown envelope from the breast-pocket of his coat.

"Everybody in St. Petersburg knows Prince Mastowix, and it will be an easy matter for you to find and approach him, seeing that you have your passport all right. Will you swear to me to place this envelope in his hand, allowing no one else to see or handle it?" asked the stranger, with great earnestness.

"I will swear to do so if you will tell me your name, and assure me that I shall not be breaking any law of my country by so doing."

"Paul Zobriskie is my name," said he, after hesitating an instant, and gazing sharply at the brave youth before him.

"I think I have heard the name before, in connection with socialistic matters," mused Will.

"Very likely; but keep that to yourself, for it will be better for you not to know me in Russia. As to the other, I assure you that you will break no law, social, moral, or political, in giving this to Prince Mastowix."

"Very well. On those conditions I will convey the packet to him," said he, taking it.

"Good; and the prince will be of great service to you during your stay in Russia, and perhaps furnish letters which will assist you in many other capitals."

"Thanks. That is just what I require, as I have no letters of introduction anywhere beyond my passport, and shall be a stranger everywhere," said Barnwell, evidently delighted with such a prospect.

"Good speed to you," said Zobriskie, shaking him cordially by the hand.

"Thank you," and they parted, Barnwell thrusting the envelope into his breast-pocket.

He returned to his waiting friends and apologized for his protracted absence.

"Do you know that man, Billy?" asked one of his friends.

"Well, not particularly. He wanted me to deliver a letter for him, that's all."

"Well, keep an eye on yourself."

"What for?"

"That man is an exiled Nihilist, and there may be danger in what you are doing," said he.

"Oh, I guess not. It is only to deliver a letter to a certain man in St. Petersburg," replied Barnwell, carelessly.

"Well, in these times, anything that is connected in the remotest way with the city of the Czar is suspicious. Have an eye to yourself, Billy," he added again.

"Oh, never fear. I shall at least do that. But come, I have some good cheer waiting for you in my cabin. Friends, follow me," said he, leading the way through the crowd to the cabin stairway.

And there they gathered to receive his cheer, and to wish him all the fortune and good luck that could wait on mortal man.

But while all this was going on there was a pair of small black eyes fastened upon him, as his own shadow might cling to him–fastened from the moment Paul Zobriskie drew him aside to converse.

Those eyes belonged to one Tobasco, a Russian detective, stationed in New York, and he knew his business thoroughly, having been intrusted with the duty of watching the Nihilists who were fermenting plans against the empire on this side of the Atlantic.

He had overheard but little that had passed between Paul Zobriskie and the unsuspicious young American, but while his eyes appeared directed in some other way, he saw the well-known Russian Nihilist deliver him a parcel, knowing him to be going to St. Petersburg (for this much he had overheard), and it at once became his duty to shadow this young man and ascertain the nature of his mission, even though he did not know it himself.

So he at once took measures to provide himself with a passage, and going on shore, he purchased a few necessaries which he had not time to get from his lodgings, and he wrote a letter to his landlord, informing him of his unexpected departure, together with instructions regarding his personal effects.

Only a few moments after his return to the steamer's deck, the cry "All ashore!" was heard, and young Barnwell came on deck with his companions to take a final leave of them, as dozens of others were doing with the groups of friends surrounding them.

It is at such a time as this that the feelings of friendship come out the strongest.

Those who have taken passage, even on ever so large and staunch a ship, seem like ants on a piece of driftwood, especially when the number of shipwrecks is considered, and that among the first-class steamships; and when friend parts with friend each understands the danger and uncertainty of ever meeting again, and consequently the partings are more pathetic, the handshakes more intense, embraces more fervent and sensational than they would be under other circumstances.

But those embraces were exchanged, those earnest handshakes indulged in, and everybody not going to Europe was ordered ashore. What partings, what expectations!

The gang-plank is finally drawn ashore, the last lines loosened from cleats and spiles, the engineer's bell rings, and the black hull of the Baltic moves slowly from her pier.

Friends on the dock give cheers to those on board, and they, in return, wave their handkerchiefs, kiss their hands–aye, from the cabin to the steerage-passengers, and the forecastle (those not employed), all waft their good-by greetings to those who are left behind, not knowing whether they may be the more fortunate or not.

William Barnwell stood on the after-deck waving his hat to the friends he had just parted with, and in spite of the dangers of the deep, of which he never thought, wondering how long it would be before they would meet again.

The secret police agent stood near the main-hatch, and watched him narrowly.

Darkness was just closing in when the gallant steamer, with her nose pointed to the southeast, passed the Sandy Hook light, and began to lay her course towards England.

CHAPTER II. THE SPY AND THE VICTIM.

The noble steamer Baltic plowed her way through the buffeting bosoms of the blue Atlantic oceanward.

There was no land, in sight, there was no moon to light the waves, but their own phosphorescence made the bounding billows visible to those who came on deck. The sky above was clear, and the stars twinkled in the blue above like diamonds in sapphire setting.

There were a goodly number of passengers on deck, both cabin and steerage, and the hum of voices could be heard above the "clang-clang" of the engines, the "whurr" of the propeller, and the long lines of foam which shot away to larboard and starboard like streaks of silver gave food for reflection and conversation.

Billy Barnwell was on deck, and in a very short time a conversation sprang up between him and an aged gentleman, by whose side sat a young lady with a veil over her face.

Her voice was full and sweet, and the old gentleman's voice was that of a man who was perfectly balanced, showing in all respects a person of more than ordinary conditions in life–a refined gentleman.

But in the uncertain light of the cabin skylights Barnwell could not see plainly enough to distinguish faces, although the voice of both the old man and the young lady were so impressed upon his mind that he could not forget them.

Tobasco was also on deck, as it was his province to be, and he watched young Barnwell, of course, and also the people with whom he was conversing.

Indeed, he seldom allowed them out of his sight during the entire voyage.

It seemed strange to them, but on meeting the next morning on deck, all three of them recognized each other at once, not-withstanding they had only met each other in the dim and uncertain light thrown into the darkness by the lights from the cabin skylights.

But neither of them seemed in the least surprised, the old gentleman was just such a person as young Barnwell judged him to be, and the young man was in no way different from what he had esteemed him. But to Barnwell's mind the young lady was far more beautiful and attractive than her voice had led him to think the night before.

She was about eighteen years of age, well-developed, bright and beautiful, and he was not long in learning that they held the relationship of father and daughter; and after a mutual introduction brought about in this sea-going way, it proved that the old gentleman, whose name was Clark, had been an old-time friend of Barnwell's father, and this brought them into very close relationship while on the voyage.

He was wealthy, a widower, and with his only child was going abroad for pleasure; and before their arrival at London the young couple had become more than ordinary friends, and parted there with an arranged meeting a month hence at Berlin, after which they were to travel in company.

The spy, Tobasco, meanwhile, never allowed Barnwell to escape his observation; and when he set out for St. Petersburg it was only because Barnwell was going there also.

He was one of the keenest spies in the employ of the prefect of police, and had been sent to America to watch the movements of Socialists, who were in active sympathy with the terrible Nihilists of Russia, under the leadership of Paul Zobriskie.

And watching this Nihilist so closely accounts for his being on board the steamer where we first met him, and of his sailing away in the manner he did. He had long suspected Prince Mastowix of infidelity to the Czar, notwithstanding the trust that was reposed in him; and overhearing Zobriskie mention his name in connection with the giving the letter to Barnwell, he suddenly determined to find out whether or not his suspicions were correct.

Arriving at St. Petersburg, Barnwell was driven to a good hotel, intending while there to finish his visit and deliver the letters meantime, that, however, being only of a slight consideration; for, although he understood that it was a message of importance, it, so far as he was concerned, was only a slight, friendly obligation in the delivering of it to Prince Mastowix, after which he would be free to do as he liked.

Indeed, his mind for the most part was filled with pleasant thoughts of beautiful Laura Clark, and the pleasure he should enjoy when they met at Berlin, never to part again if he could have his way about matters which agitated his heart, and to which he knew she was not at all indifferent, if she really were not quite as willing as he was.

Tobasco also took quarters at the same hotel, yet so guarded had he kept himself aloof during all the time, there was not the slightest danger of Barnwell's ever knowing that he had been a fellow-passenger, but he never relinquished his watchfulness for a moment, for if young Barnwell was in his apartments he knew it, and if he was abroad he was sure to be almost as near as his shadow.

The third day after his arrival, and after he had learned how to reach Prince Mastowix, he set out for his palace.

But how little the young man knew of the ways of Russian aristocracy!

Arriving at the prince's palace, he found it guarded at every point by police, and when he made known to them that he had private and important business with his highness, he at once became an object of more than ordinary interest, especially when it was learned that he was an American.

Tobasco, now in the disguise of a Russian peasant, was close at hand, watching everything, while pretending to be a subject for alms.

An officer took Barnwell's name in to the prince, and finally returned, saying that he was empowered to receive any communication the stranger might have for Prince Mastowix, and was astounded almost when the young American told him that he must see the prince in person.

In those Nihilistic days such a proceeding as that would never do, and after further consultation with the prince, the detectives and officers were ordered to search the stranger for concealed weapons.

"No, sir, I refuse," said Barnwell. "I am a simple American citizen, with a message for Prince Mastowix, and if that is not sufficient I will retire."

This was unheard-of audacity; but one of the officers volunteered to say to the prince what the young American had said, all the while believing that the youngster would ordered under arrest for his presumption.

Contrary to expectations, however, the prince ordered stranger to be admitted to his presence, and he was accordingly conducted thither.

"Well?" said the prince, looking at him inquiringly.

"Are you the Prince Mastowix?" asked Barnwell, calmly.

"I am. Who are you?"

"William Barnwell, of New York, United States of America," said he proudly.

"Well, what have you to do or say to me?" asked the prince, haughtily.

"Only this, prince, and a very little. On the eve of leaving New York I was approached by one Paul Zobriskie—"

"Silence!" shouted the prince, and after waiting a moment, as though to recover himself, he waved his attendants from the room. Then, turning to Barnwell, he beckoned him approach nearer. "What did you say?" he asked, in a lower key.

"Simply what I said, sir; and to finish the business between us, allow me to deliver you this letter," said he, presenting to him, feeling somewhat aggrieved on account of the arrogant manner in which he was received both by the prince and his attendants.

The prince took the letter, and Barnwell was about to retire.

"Wait!" said the Prince, severely.

"My mission is fulfilled, sir."

"Wait until we see whether it is or not," replied the haughty aristocrat, and he proceeded to open the letter.

Whatever it contained, it suddenly made a change in facial expression of the prince, who glanced from it to Barnwell.

"Do you know this Paul Zobriskie?" he asked, earnestly.

"No. I never met him until I saw him on the steamer, and he asked me to deliver this letter to you," said he.

"Are you sure of that?"

"I am."

"And know nothing about him?"

"Nothing further than hearing of him as a socialistic agitator."

"And you know nothing of the contents of this letter?"

"Nothing whatever. He told me nothing further than that it was important, and that I must give it to no one but you."

"What are you?"

"A simple American citizen, sir."

"Do you belong to any secret society?"

"No, sir."

The prince regarded him a moment, and then turned to read more of the letter, wondering at the same time why Zobriskie should have trusted such a fatal document to any but a tried and trusted Nihilist.

The conclusion he arrived at was that there was treachery somewhere, or that there was a possibility of such a contingency, and to guard himself he resolved to put the unsuspecting stranger under arrest.

Without a word further, he touched a bell, and in an instant three gendarmes presented themselves.

"This man is a prisoner; remove him to the castle for further disposition," said he.

Young Barnwell started in surprise. What did it mean?

The officers approached him, when he turned to the prince.

"What is the meaning of this, sir?" he demanded indignantly.

"State prisoners are not always allowed to know State reasons."

"But I am no State prisoner; I am an American citizen, and I demand to know why I am arrested."

"You may learn in time."

"I will appeal to the American Minister, to the Czar of Russia even."