strong and athletic in figure, with ruddy cheeks and life and fire in his bright eyes, goes aboard with the agent and a few friends, who are to accompany him down the bay.
The pilot instructs the mate to get under way, the anchors are soon on the bow and the chains stowed. The vessel sails out of the harbor, for in these days tugs are a luxury which the sailor despises, and soon the Catalpa is sailing briskly under fore and main topsail, main topgallant-sail, spanker, gafftopsail and staysail and flying jib.
Late in the afternoon the captain says good-by to his friends. The wind is blowing freshly from the southwest.
"Stand on the port tack two hours longer, then tack out and you will be clear of land," said the pilot, and, with the prosaic wishes of "good luck," departs.
Later the wind hauls to the southward. Before midnight the captain has the vessel under short sail and is working off shore.
And this seemingly commonplace commencement of a whaling voyage is, in truth, the story of the departure of one of the most boldly conceived and audacious expeditions against the English government which was ever planned,—the only important Fenian conspiracy which was ever entirely successful.
*******
Standing upon one of the wharves on the waterfront, a man in a dark frieze ulster watched the inci-
