The Hidden Enemy by Christ69

"This is most astounding news!" exclaimed Captain Horatio Passford.

It was on the deck of the magnificent steam-yacht Bellevite, of which he was the owner; and with the newspaper, in which he had read only a few of the many head-lines, still in his hand, he rushed furiously across the deck, in a state of the most intense agitation.

It would take more than one figure to indicate the number of millions by which his vast wealth was measured, in the estimation of those who knew most about his affairs; and he was just returning from a winter cruise in his yacht.

His wife and son were on board; but his daughter had spent the winter at the South with her uncle, preferring this to a voyage at sea, being in rather delicate health, and the doctors thought a quiet residence in a genial climate was better for her.

The Bellevite had been among the islands of the Atlantic, visiting the Azores, Madeira, the Canary Islands, and was now coming from Bermuda. She had just taken a pilot fifty miles from Sandy Hook, and was bound to New York, for the captain's beautiful estate, Bonnydale, was located on the Hudson.

As usual, the pilot had brought on board with him the latest New-York papers, and one of them contained the startling news which appeared to have thrown the owner of the Bellevite entirely off his balance; and it was quite astounding enough to produce this effect upon any American.

"What is it, sir?" demanded Christopher Passford, his son, a remarkably bright-looking young fellow of sixteen, as he followed his father across the deck.

"What is it, Horatio?" inquired Mrs. Passford, who had been seated with a book on the deck, as she also followed her husband.

The captain was usually very cool and self-possessed, and neither the wife nor the son had ever before seen him so shaken by agitation. He seemed to be unable to speak a word for the time, and took no notice whatever of his wife and son when they addressed him.

For several minutes he continued to rush back and forth across the deck of the steamer, like a vessel which had suddenly caught a heavy flaw of wind, and had not yet come to her bearings.

"What is the matter, Horatio?" asked Mrs. Passford, when he came near her. "What in the world has happened to overcome you in this manner, for I never saw you so moved before?"

But her husband did not reply even to this earnest interrogatory, but again darted across the deck, and his lips moved as though he were muttering something to himself. He did not look at the paper in his hands again; and whatever the startling intelligence it contained, he seemed to have taken it all in at a glance.

Christy, as the remarkably good-looking young man was called by all in the family and on board of the Bellevite, appeared to be even more astonished than his mother at the singular conduct of his father; but he saw how intense was his agitation, and he did not follow him in his impulsive flights across the deck.

Though his father had always treated him with great consideration, and seldom if ever had occasion to exercise any of his paternal authority over him, the young man never took advantage of the familiarity existing between them. His father was certainly in a most extraordinary mood for him, and he could not venture to speak a word to him.

He stood near the companion way, not far from his mother, and he observed the movements of his father with the utmost interest, not unmingled with anxiety; and Mrs. Passford fully shared with him the solicitude of the moment.

The steamer was going at full speed in the direction of Sandy Hook. Captain Passford gave no heed to the movement of the vessel, but for several minutes planked the deck as though he were unable to realize the truth or the force of the news he had hastily gathered from the head-lines of the newspaper.

At last he halted in the waist, at some distance from the other members of his family, raised his paper, and fixed his gaze upon the staring announcement at the head of one of its columns. No one ventured to approach him; for he was the magnate of the vessel, and, whatever his humor, he was entitled to the full benefit of it.

He only glanced at the head-lines as he had done before, and then dropped the paper, as though the announcement he had read was all he desired to know.

"Beeks," said he, as a quartermaster passed near him.

The man addressed promptly halted, raised his hand to his cap, and waited the pleasure of the owner of the steamer.

"Tell Captain Breaker that I wish to see him, if you please," added Captain Passford.

The man repeated the name of the person he was to call, and hastened away to obey the order. The owner resumed his march across the deck, though it was evident to the anxious observers that he had in a great measure recovered his self-possession, for his movements were less nervous, and the usual placid calm was restored to his face.

In another minute, Captain Breaker, who was the actual commander of the vessel, appeared in the waist, and walked up to his owner. Though not more than forty-five years old, his hair and full beard were heavily tinted with gray; and an artist who wished for an ideal shipmaster, who was both a gentleman and a sailor, could not have found a better representative of this type in the merchant or naval service, or on the deck of the finest steam-yacht in the world.

"You sent for me, Captain Passford," said the commander, in respectful but not subservient tones.