It was a responsible job. Not every day is specie to the tune of half a million British sovereigns shipped from a Liverpool dock; and because gold-boxes are made in a conventional pattern, the shipment was spotted, and crowds gathered to stare at the cased-in wealth. As staring dumbly is dry work, self-appointed orators amongst the crowd naturally distributed gratis their own private opinions upon the situation; and, according to their luck or eloquence, these attracted larger or smaller audiences. No one took them very seriously, and they for the most part treated the subject in a jocular vein. It was not till Captain Kettle and the Mersey pilot had gone on to the upper bridge, and the mate on the fore-deck had cast off the first bow-fast, that a prophet arose who spoke of the gold shipment in another key. He was a wild, unkempt, knock-kneed man, who attracted first attention by tying a crimson handkerchief to an umbrella and brandishing it above his head. Being on the face of him a creature who never, if he could avoid it, put his hand to honest labor, he naturally addressed the crowd at large as “Fellow workers.” These things awoke a slight humorous interest; and because the man had the gift of glib and striking speech, the crowd continued to listen after the first pricking up of their ears. The man’s discourse need not be reported in detail. He was an anarchist, red, rampant, and ruthless; and by means of arguments, some warped, some fair enough, he pointed out to his hearers that the mission of the _Port Edes_ was another knife-thrust of capital into the ribs of labor. The statement met with a very mixed reception, but the anarchist silenced both the jeers and the applause with a beseeching wave of his hand, and followed along the curb of the wharf the steamer, which was commencing to float towards the dock gates. He spoke to those on board her now rather than to his more immediate following, and unclean faces stared at him from over the line of bulwarks. “To any man of you who values life,” he cried, “I offer a solemn warning. That ship is doomed; she will sink in mid-ocean, blown apart by our petards, and her ill-gotten cargo will be hurled out of capital’s reach forever. Those who are misguided enough to be her guardians will be blown into space. Listen, you men of her crew. Jump on the pier-head yonder as she passes into the basin, and take the consequences. The brutal laws of this country will hurl you into prison; but better a season dragging out a martyr’s sentence, than death as an enemy to the workers’ cause.” At this point the strong right hand of the law descended on to the speaker’s elbow; and then, because he attempted to resist, the willing right knee of the law jerked up suddenly into the small of that anarchist’s back; after which he was haled ignominiously to a police-station, and the place of his speaking knew him no more.