# The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 1/Number 1/The Unturned Trump

The Unturned Trump.
by Barnes MacGreggor.
THE ferry-boat, "Rappahannock," had an experience in the winter of 1873 that will never be forgotten by any of her passengers.
During one of her regular trips between New York and Brooklyn this boat suddenly quitted her respectable, though somewhat monotonous, career, and became a common tramp, without port or destination.
The day awoke in fog such as the oldest inhabitant had never seen. The East River was blocked with ice and soon became a shrieking bedlam of groping and bewildering craft, whose pilots could scarcely see their hands before their faces.
At half past nine the "Rappahannock" left Brooklyn, well laden with passengers, and started on her customary trip almost directly across the river—a very short and unusually easy voyage. Before even reaching the middle of the stream, how ever, the ice and fog had thrown her completely out of her course. Back and forth, up and down stream, the pilot vainly groped, amid the shrieking whistles, ringing of fog bells, and loud crash of ice boulders, until, in the confused clangor, he had entirely lost his bearings.
When, after long and perilous battling with ice jams and many hair-breadth escapes from collisions, he suddenly sighted the landing place on the New York side, he found it occupied by a sister boat, which had been driven there to avoid destruction. He backed out, only to be lost again, and for three hours this boat, now become a mere tramp, wandered aimlessly up and down the East River with its load of excited passengers, whose emotions ranged anywhere between the rage and impatience of the belated Wall Street speculator, to whom the delay might mean a loss of fifty thousand dollars, to the hysteria of a nervous little woman ​who had left her baby alone at home, and who begged the other helpless passengers for the love of heaven to help her set her feet once more on land.
Between these two extremes of impatience and excitement was a small proportion of passengers who remained calm, even endeavoring to while away the time by exchanging pleasantries and making wagers as to the time of their deliverance. Among these was a group of men in the cabin who, after having read and re-read the morning papers, were casting about for some other method of killing time. One suggested a game of cards.
"Cards!" laughed one of his companions in misery. "Who'd carry cards on a ferry-boat? Who, outside of a lunatic asylum, would start on a ten minutes' voyage provided with games to pass away the time?"
"Here is a euchre deck which is at your service."
The speaker, evidently a globe-trotter, drew from under the bench a traveling-bag, so much worn and embellished by tags, labels, and hieroglyphics that it resembled some old veteran just returned from the wars and still covered with surgeons' plasters. From this he produced a pack of cards and tendered it to the man who had suggested a game.
"Certainly, if you will join us; but what shall we do for a table?"
"Here is a camp-stool," said the man of the world. And in a moment four men were sitting around it, cutting for deal, which chanced to fall to the stranger.
The cards were distributed rapidly, and the dealer was about to turn the trump when a loud shriek pierced the air and a woman opposite suddenly sank fainting to the floor.
The tension among the passengers had become so great that a panic seemed imminent.
"Don't be alarmed, gentlemen; it is nothing serious," said the dealer calmly. "The lady simply caught sight of her own frightened face in the mirror, and the shock caused her to faint. It reminds me of a thrilling experience an American traveler had while bumping through Syria. But, pardon me, the game!"
Once more he made a movement to turn the trump, when one of the party exclaimed:—
​"There can't be a better time or place than this for telling a thrilling experience."
"Yes," said another; "do give us some other kind of bumping than we are having here. Let's have the story before we begin the game."
The stranger leaned back, passed his cigar case, and, having lighted a weed himself, began:—
"It is an unwritten law among the wild Bedouins east of the Red Sea that if an infidel traveler is attended on his journey by one of the faithful he is safe from the attacks of Mohammedan robbers. As long as the 'Frank,' as all foreigners are called, is under the protection of the Star and Crescent, the rascal's hand is stayed, and as they meet, the villain, who would otherwise show no quarter, salutes with the grave suavity of a courtier. But let that same traveler become separated from the Arab guard that he has bribed to give him safe conduct through his own bandit-infested country, and he becomes legitimate prey. He will be plundered and perhaps killed, or, worse, if the robber thinks that cruelty will extort any secrets of hidden spoil, tortured or held for ransom, with each day's delay losing a few fingers, which are forwarded to the captive's friends to signify that the rascals mean business .
"The party in which this American was traveling had been entering Syria from the south, and were progressed some twelve days from the sacred base of old Sinai. At a place called Bir-es-Sheba, on the regular caravan route to and from Mecca from the north, they heard of some interesting archeological treasures just unearthed some two days' journey to the east, and, having made the detour, the party snugly encamped by the side of a beautiful stream under the shadow of the Tubal chain of mountains.
"The treasures were vastly exaggerated, as is the custom with everything oriental, and they soon determined to turn back to the caravan route and 'bump' on up into Syria—'bumping' being the familiar term for camel riding, and a very expressive word at that. But on the afternoon of the first resting-day some one suggested a jaunt to a famous old well, where it was said were some very ancient tumuli. But, knowing the Bedouins to be conscientious liars, and sick of this unrewarded chase for phantom treas​ures, the American begged to be left behind in charge of two tents, which were pitched side by side on the bank of the stream.
"This was at last agreed upon, the whole party except himself going off on their three days' trip, leaving their comrade stretched at full length on a rug, his narghili, or water pipe, lighted for company.
"This oriental atmosphere, gentlemen , is a powerful drug. Do what you will to fight against it, its subtle charm holds you captive. The man succumbed to its influences and went fast asleep.
"Out of this sweet, trance-like repose he suddenly bounded into the horrible consciousness of a torturing pain in one of his hands, as though some wild beast was crunching the bones. But, as he writhed to his knees to grapple with the foe, he saw instead three swarthy, evil-faced Bedouins bending over him with ghoulish glee. One had just cut off, with a hideous dirk-knife, the first three fingers of his left hand. In an instant it flashed upon him that these were to be sent to his friends with a demand for ransom. He was correct in this supposition, for no sooner had the bleeding hand been rudely bandaged than two of his captors set out upon this mission, leaving him in care of the third, who was heavily armed.
"No one knew better than the prisoner how impossible such a ransom would be. His fellow-travelers had brought as little money into Syria as would meet their actual necessities while there. He therefore began to cast desperately about in his mind for a loophole of escape before the fellows should return with these unsatisfactory tidings, which would result, no doubt, in further mutilations.
"As his gaze swept the tent for something suggesting a plan for deliverance, he saw it had been gutted of everything except two articles,—his light silk coat, which hung upon the partition between the two tents, and the tourist's shaving mirror which it concealed. The coat had been overlooked because it was as grimy as the tent wall itself.
"In moments like this one grasps at straws. As it is said a drowning person reviews his past experiences perfectly in a brief moment, so to this man, facing desperate odds, came a desperate suggestion.
​"He called loudly on a supposed protector in the adjoining tent to come to the 'window,' and prove to his captor that he was under protection of a Moslem. As he spoke he slowly drew the coat from before the mirror in front of which the sheik was standing.
"No words can express the unutterable consternation pictured upon that blazing face, livid with fright and wonder, as for the first time it saw its own awful reflection, not knowing it was its own. One instant he stood stock-still, fascinated, horrified, over whelmed; then collapsed, just as that lady did but a moment ago, and the American quickly possessed himself of his captor's arms and was master of the situation.
"And now, gentlemen," concluded the story teller, "we will have our game."
As he spoke he again reached forward to turn the trump. There was a quickly drawn breath of horror from those who observed him, for the first three fingers of his left hand were missing.
Before he could turn the card, a savage lurch of the boat, accompanied by the creaking of timbers, announced the arrival of the Rappahannock at her New York slip—and the trump was never turned.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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