The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea, amusements, religion, each was in turn discussed. I remained a silent though an interested listener. It struck me that no harm could be done by introducing the subject which was ever in my mind. It could be managed in an off-hand way, and would at least have the effect of turning the captain's thoughts in that direction. I could watch, too, what effect it would have upon the faces of the conspirators. There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The ordinary subjects of interest appeared to be exhausted. The opportunity was a favourable one. "May I ask, captain," I said, bending forward, and speaking very distinctly, "what you think of Fenian manifestoes?" The captain's ruddy face became a shade darker from honest indignation. "They are poor cowardly things," he said, "as silly as they are wicked." "The impotent threats of a set of anonymous scoundrels," said a pompous-looking old gentleman beside him. "Oh, captain!" said the fat lady at my side, "you don't really think they would blow up a ship?" "I have no doubt they would if they could. But I am very sure they will never blow up mine." "May I ask what precautions are taken against them?" said an elderly man at the end of the table. "All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly examined," said Captain Dowie. "But suppose a man brought explosives aboard with him?" said I. "They are too cowardly to risk their own lives in that way." During this conversation Flannigan had not betrayed the slightest interest in what was going on. He raised his head now, and looked at the captain. "Don't you think you are rather underrating them?" he said. "Every secret society has produced desperate men--why shouldn't the Fenians have them too? Many men think it a privilege to die in the service of a cause which seems right in their eyes, though others may think it wrong." "Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in anybody's eyes," said the little clergyman. "The bombardment of Paris was nothing else," said Flannigan; "yet the whole civilised world agreed to look on with folded arms, and change the ugly word 'murder' into the more euphonious one of 'war.' It seemed right enough to German eyes; why shouldn't dynamite seem so to the Fenian?" "At any rate their empty vapourings have led to nothing as yet," said the captain. "Excuse me," returned Flannigan, "but is there not some room for doubt yet as to the fate of the _Dotterel_? I have met men in America who asserted from their own personal knowledge that there was a coal torpedo aboard that vessel." "Then they lied," said the captain. "It was proved conclusively at the court-martial to have arisen from an explosion of coal-gas--but we had better change the subject, or we may cause the ladies to have a restless night;" and the conversation once more drifted back into its original channel.