Leon Lyndon knew that his time was short. The last words must be
hurried, and he continued:
“If you escape this horror, Jessie, go to New York to Mrs. Dalrymple.
Tell her you are her daughter, sent to her at last by her erring
husband. Tell her that in his last hour Leon Dalrymple’s heart was true
to her as from the first hour he saw her beautiful face. Tell her he
prayed her pardon for the impatient temper and cruel pride that turned
her heart against him; that while both were wrong, he was most to
blame; though if she had only looked back the day she went she would
have seen his arms extended to take her back, and he would have gone
on his knees to beg her to stay! All is past and gone--the hopes, the
fears, the longings, the despair, the vengeful anger that deprived her
of her child--but I have loved her always--I could not thrust her from
my heart!”
His strained voice broke in agony and he hid his face against her
shoulder, all the anguish of more than eighteen years crowding on him,
blent with the horror of the moment.
Ah, those cruel years of separation, what agony, what hopeless love,
what mad yearnings, what unutterable despair had been crowded in them!
If they had known the wastes lost love must cross
The wastes of unlit lands--
If they had known what seas of salt tears toss
Between the barren sands.
If she had known that when in the wide west
The sun sank gold and red,
He whispered bitterly: “’Tis like the rest,”
The warmth and light have fled.
If he had known that she had borne so much
For sake of the sweet past,
That mere despair said: “This cold look and touch
Must be the cruel last!”
If she had known the longing and the pain.
If she had only guessed--
One look--one word--and she perhaps had lain
Reconciled on his breast!
Too late! Too late! All was ending now, the pain, the despair, of weary
years and Death stared him in the face--Death that he had longed for
often as the best friend of the wretched!
Why should we fear the beautiful angel Death,
Who waits us at the portals of the skies,
Ready to kiss away the struggling breath,
Ready with gentle hands to close our eyes?
Leon Lyndon had only one tie to bind him to life--this fair, loving
daughter--but he knew they must be parted now, and he drew her close to
the ladder, followed by Laurier, who had been most impatiently waiting,
and again renewed his prayers to the men who were still crowding into
the last boats.
It was a sight to touch the coldest heart to anger to see such
selfishness, so many men crowded into the few boats with just a few
fortunate women and children who had had husbands and fathers strong
enough to force a way for them.
But on deck there were a score of people, two-thirds women and
children, who were preparing to cast themselves into the sea on frail
planks and life preservers, their only refuge.
The last boat was filled, and there was but one woman in it. The rowers
were putting off when a loud voice cried authoritatively:
“Hold! You can crowd in another and you shall take this lady, or I will
sink the boat, by thunder, and send your selfish souls to Hades!”
It was a threat not to be lightly treated, and the rowers waited,
turning their white, angry faces to the ladder where a man clambered
down, assisting a beautiful young girl.
It was Frank Laurier who had broken in on Lyndon’s unheeded and
uncared-for pleadings, crying abruptly:
“They will not hear you, sir, but give her to me and I will force them
to take her in, or I will spring into the sea and overset the boat!”
And catching the astonished girl from her father’s clasp, for the
exigencies of the moment admitted of no ceremony, he made the bold
stroke that insured Jessie’s safety, placing her swooning form in the
boat with the grumbling crew who yet dared not refuse his command.
Then they rowed quickly away out of reach of the storm of vituperations
from the captain and other men who remained on the deck working away at
a raft, on which they hoped to escape with the remaining women.
Laurier looked back at Leon Dalrymple as we may call him now, and the
look on his face, the pain, the sorrow, was one never to be forgotten.
He cried out, though Laurier could not catch the words:
“My God, what have I done? I have sent her from me, penniless, with the
belt of jewels, all our worldly wealth, secured around my waist! I must
follow and cling to the boat until I can remove it and leave it with
her, my darling; then no matter what becomes of me!”
The next instant he sprang over the deck rail into the sea, and, guided
by the light of lurid flames, swam after the vanishing lifeboat.
“Poor fellow, I was about to propose to share with him the spar I see
floating yonder, but he is doubtless crazed with excitement! I will
follow and try to help him, for he cannot swim long in such a sea
without support!” thought Laurier, springing into the sea and clutching
the spar.
At that moment the first gray light of dawn shone over the sea, hailed
with joy by scores of voices, and the raft was quickly launched, the
rest of the passengers escaping gladly from the burning ship that was
scattering them with firebrands and cinders.
But the raft so hastily constructed and overcrowded, began to give way,
threatening instant destruction to those who had trusted to its frail
support.
At that moment an empty lifeboat was observed floating near them, and
they comprehended at once that the first lifeboat, overcrowded with
selfish men, had somehow overturned and cast them all into the sea.
They had no time to bemoan this new horror, they were too glad of this
chance to save the imperiled women and children.