Read Online El Paso: A Novel by Winston Groom - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Winston Groom
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as the Colonel warmed to his subject. He inveighed against the current horrors that were on everyone’s lips: the infernal federal income tax, Mexico, socialism, unionism, anarchism, trustbustingism, notions of alcohol prohibition and women’s suffrage—but nothing, Strucker observed, about the war in Europe. The speech had gone on for half an hour when the Ajax began a low vibration and a deep shudder emanated from far belowdecks. At this, many of the dinner guests seemed alarmed and looked at one another. Signaling a crew officer, the Colonel leaned off the podium for a moment, then addressed his audience.
“Gentlemen,” he said reassuringly, “there is no problem to concern yourselves with. I have just been informed that a severe storm is reported off Nantucket Island, headed this way. I have been advised by the harbormaster to weigh anchor and remove Ajax to the open seas so as not to run the danger of grounding. We will put in safely at Boston Harbor first thing in the morning.”
Immediately there began a low mumbling from the guest tables, since many of these men had important duties to attend to at their offices—duties that involved millions of dollars, contracts, mergers, businesses to run. But the Colonel, smiling, waved them silent.
“There are comfortable cabins aboard for all of you, and when we arrive at Boston one of my trains will be on hand to carry you back to Newport, New York, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia—wherever you wish to go. The harbormaster has already notified your drivers ashore of the situation, and any of you wishing to send telegraph messages may use the wireless station on the bridge deck. So please, let us finish with the evening’s program. Have another drink and enjoy a comfortable night on the high seas, courtesy of the New England & Pacific Railroad Company!”
This information seemed to calm the guests as the Ajax steamed past the rock-perched beacons guarding Newport Harbor and out toward the dark Atlantic Ocean. The guests relit their cigars, drained their brandy glasses, called for more, and settled back for the remainder of the voyage and the Colonel’s address. A little past midnight Shaughnessy finally wound up to thundering applause from the dining room coterie, which to a man agreed with everything he said—even the German spy Strucker, who, in his drunkenness, had dropped his monocle into a dish of custard.
Before the Colonel closed the ceremonies he asked that certain members of the guest party remain behind. He ticked off their names: Whitney, Hearst, Harriman, Guggenheim, Buckley, and others. They were singled out for this distinction because, like the Colonel, they had a vested interest—a very large vested interest—in the present goings-on in Mexico.
These families and a few more owned practically the entire northern part of that country that adjoined the United States—millions and millions of acres that, for a quarter century and more, they exploited for ranching, farming, mining, railroads, and the like. Now the Colonel had some news he wished to give them.
Shaughnessy led the way to a smaller parlor in which a fireplace had been lit, and more brandy was poured. The Colonel had the select group seated when, just before the doors closed, Strucker appeared in the companionway and lurched in without asking if he could join them. “I am always interested in Mexico,” the German said, “and perhaps I can be enlightened by your information. I have thought of buying a house there somewhere, perhaps on the Pacific Coast.” This seemed harmless enough, and Colonel Shaughnessy showed him to a seat, into which he plopped unceremoniously. Then he noticed on a small bar several bottles of whiskey and liquor. He began to rise toward them but his arms failed him and he sank back resignedly into the deep leather chair.
“Something is happening down in the state of Chihuahua,” the Colonel told them in slow, measured words. “My reports are not precisely clear,
“Gentlemen,” he said reassuringly, “there is no problem to concern yourselves with. I have just been informed that a severe storm is reported off Nantucket Island, headed this way. I have been advised by the harbormaster to weigh anchor and remove Ajax to the open seas so as not to run the danger of grounding. We will put in safely at Boston Harbor first thing in the morning.”
Immediately there began a low mumbling from the guest tables, since many of these men had important duties to attend to at their offices—duties that involved millions of dollars, contracts, mergers, businesses to run. But the Colonel, smiling, waved them silent.
“There are comfortable cabins aboard for all of you, and when we arrive at Boston one of my trains will be on hand to carry you back to Newport, New York, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia—wherever you wish to go. The harbormaster has already notified your drivers ashore of the situation, and any of you wishing to send telegraph messages may use the wireless station on the bridge deck. So please, let us finish with the evening’s program. Have another drink and enjoy a comfortable night on the high seas, courtesy of the New England & Pacific Railroad Company!”
This information seemed to calm the guests as the Ajax steamed past the rock-perched beacons guarding Newport Harbor and out toward the dark Atlantic Ocean. The guests relit their cigars, drained their brandy glasses, called for more, and settled back for the remainder of the voyage and the Colonel’s address. A little past midnight Shaughnessy finally wound up to thundering applause from the dining room coterie, which to a man agreed with everything he said—even the German spy Strucker, who, in his drunkenness, had dropped his monocle into a dish of custard.
Before the Colonel closed the ceremonies he asked that certain members of the guest party remain behind. He ticked off their names: Whitney, Hearst, Harriman, Guggenheim, Buckley, and others. They were singled out for this distinction because, like the Colonel, they had a vested interest—a very large vested interest—in the present goings-on in Mexico.
These families and a few more owned practically the entire northern part of that country that adjoined the United States—millions and millions of acres that, for a quarter century and more, they exploited for ranching, farming, mining, railroads, and the like. Now the Colonel had some news he wished to give them.
Shaughnessy led the way to a smaller parlor in which a fireplace had been lit, and more brandy was poured. The Colonel had the select group seated when, just before the doors closed, Strucker appeared in the companionway and lurched in without asking if he could join them. “I am always interested in Mexico,” the German said, “and perhaps I can be enlightened by your information. I have thought of buying a house there somewhere, perhaps on the Pacific Coast.” This seemed harmless enough, and Colonel Shaughnessy showed him to a seat, into which he plopped unceremoniously. Then he noticed on a small bar several bottles of whiskey and liquor. He began to rise toward them but his arms failed him and he sank back resignedly into the deep leather chair.
“Something is happening down in the state of Chihuahua,” the Colonel told them in slow, measured words. “My reports are not precisely clear,
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