The second lieutenant turned pale, then red. He walked up and down the state-room several times in silence. He could not deny the fact alleged.

While he walked, Somers explained how he had read the note, and then put it back in the box. Pillgrim understood it.

"Of course you know Coles," continued Somers, placing a heavy emphasis on the name of this worthy.

The lieutenant halted before his companion, and looked earnestly and inquiringly into his face. Somers returned his gaze with unflinching resolution. There was a smile upon his face, for he believed that he had thrown a red-hot shot into the enemy.

"Coles!" said Pillgrim.

"Coles!" repeated Somers.

"Mr. Somers, you are a fool!"

"Pray, where were you when human wisdom was distributed?"

"Do you know Coles?" asked Pillgrim.

"I think I should know Coles if I saw him."

"No, you wouldn't."

"He is the greatest villain that ever went unhung."

"Except yourself. Somers, this is child's play. You have made me your enemy, but let us fight it out like men."

"I will do so with pleasure when you take your place on the deck of a rebel vessel, where you belong."

"A truce to child's play, I say again. We must settle this matter here and now."

"It can't be done."

"It must be done, or I will inform Captain Cascabel who and what you are before the first watch is out. Probably he will wish to see your Confederate commission and your letter of instructions."

"When he does, I have something else to show him," replied Somers, whose answer was sufficiently indefinite to make the traitor look very stormy and anxious.

"Can you show him a Confederate oath of allegiance signed by me?"

"No."

"Then he will be more likely to hear me than you," added the lieutenant, whose countenance now looked as malignant as that of a demon. "You have subscribed to that oath; I have not."

"It is false!"

"So you said before."

"Prove it."

"Here," continued Pillgrim, taking from his pocket the doc.u.ment which had been offered to Somers by Wynkoop.

The young officer glanced at it, and on the line for the signature, he saw, with horror and indignation, the name of "John Somers," apparently in his own handwriting. Undoubtedly it was a forgery, but it was so well done that even the owner of the name could hardly distinguish it from his usual signature.

"It is a forgery," gasped Somers, appalled at the deadly peril which seemed to be in his path.

"Prove it," said the lieutenant, with a mocking smile.

Somers groaned in spirit. It would be impossible for him to prove that the signature was a forgery. Even his best friends would acknowledge it, so well was it executed.

"I have you, Somers," said Pillgrim, exultingly. "Let us understand each other. You are mine, Somers, or you hang! Somers, I am Coles!"

CHAPTER X.

THE CHIEF CONSPIRATOR.

Lieutenant Pillgrim rattled off the sentences in which he acknowledged his complicity with treason with a smile of malignant triumph on his face. He gloated over his victim as the evil one might be supposed to do over a soul wrenched from truth and virtue. He believed that he had Somers in a position where he could not betray him, or even resent his tyranny.

For the first time Somers realized that he had been imprudent in exposing himself to the machinations of these evil men. Before he had only felt a little uncomfortably, and harbored a vague suspicion that, in attempting to overreach others, he had committed himself. He had learned in his babyhood that it is dangerous to play with fire, but had never believed it so fully as at this moment. He had touched the pitch, and felt that he had been defiled by it. Though his conscience kept a.s.suring him he was innocent, and protesting against a harsh judgment, he could not help regretting that he had not exposed the villains before he left Philadelphia, and permitted the consequences to take care of themselves.

But stronger than any other impression, at this eventful moment, was the feeling that he was no match for men so deeply versed in treason and wickedness as Pillgrim and his confederates. He had played at the game of strategy, and been beaten. While he thought he was leading them on to confusion, they were actually entwining the meshes of the net around him.

Mr. Pillgrim had just declared that he was the mysterious Coles. Somers, at first, found it very difficult to realize the fact. He had really seen Coles but once; but they had spent some hours together. At that time Coles wore long, black whiskers, which concealed two thirds of his face; Pillgrim wore no beard, not even a mustache. Coles was dressed in homely garments; Pillgrim, in an elegant uniform. Coles's hair was short and straight; Pillgrim's, long and curly at the ends.

In height, form, and proportions, they were the same; and the difference between Coles and Pillgrim was really nothing which might not have been produced with a razor, a pair of barber's shears, and the contrast of dress. The familiarity of the lieutenant's expression, before unexplained, was now accounted for; and before his tyrant spoke again, Somers was satisfied that he actually stood in the presence of Coles.

Pillgrim stood with folded arms, gazing at his victim, and enjoying the confusion which Somers could not conceal. The persecutor was a confident man, and fully believed that he was master of the situation, and that Somers would do anything he asked of him, even to going over into the rebel ranks. He was mistaken; for Somers, deep as he felt that he was in hot water, would have chosen to hang at the fore yard-arm, rather than betray his country, or be false to her interests.

"You just now remarked that you should know Coles if you saw him,"

sneered Pillgrim.

"I know you now," replied Somers, bitterly.

"I see you do; but you will know me better before we part."

"I know you well enough now. You are a rebel and a traitor; and what I said of Coles I say of you,--that you are the greatest villain that ever went unhung."

"I don't like that kind of language, Mr. Somers," replied Pillgrim, with entire coolness and self-possession. "It isn't the kind of language which one gentleman should apply to another."

"Gentleman!" said Somers, with curling lip; "I applied it to a rebel and a traitor."

"In the present instance it is mutiny. I am your superior officer."

"You are out of place; you don't belong here."

"Your place is on the quarter deck of the Ben Nevis; and perhaps it will be when she goes into commission as a Confederate cruiser."

"Never!" exclaimed Somers, with energy.