The men on board had noticed the confusion on the shore. They thought
little of it.
When they had escaped down the Potomac with the ransom, they forgot that
a hundred cameras were trained upon them. Even their stupendous speed
could not outstride the sensitive plate that can catch a perfect
likeness in one two-thousandth part of a second. The duplex shutter is
craftier than the criminal. The camera can outwit the cannon ball.
It did not occur to the Colonel that the United States Government would
send proclamations to every friendly nation in the world, begging each
to distribute them broadcast to every port; and that these contained a
reproduced picture of Colonel Odminton's venture, with a description of
himself; calling upon the nations to do him no harm, but to grant him no
hospitality whatever. While the Colonel was dawdling across the water,
the telegraph and the swift "Liners," had alarmed the world.
There was neither admiration nor mercy in the hearts of the millions who
were watching for the "Lightning's" appearance. For once, there were no
sentimental women waiting to cosset the bandit. He had held the
President's wife his prisoner. At last the soft heart of womanhood was
turned to stone.
In short, Colonel Odminton and his crew were declared outcasts from the
world; and even the most abandoned nations sprang to the appeal of the
United States, and stood ready to enforce the decree.
Colonel Odminton watched his launch approaching the beach. He had not
allowed his son to go, and the two stood together facing the enraged
town. Already the coast guards were drawn up, awaiting the launch. When
it had come within fifty yards of the pier, the man in command,
cried:--"Stop her!" in a loud voice.
Captain Christian obeyed quickly. He and his crew were near enough to
see that the hand of every inhabitant had grasped a stone, ready to
hurl. Hate distorted the faces of the honest Englishmen, who
traditionally loathed a pirate worse than a papist.
"We will give you half an hour to leave the harbor!" bawled the Captain
at the launch. "My orders are to fire upon every one of you who attempts
to land. There is no landing for pirates on England's shores. Get out!"
"D---- ye, get out!" The refrain was caught up from throat to throat and
hurled at the frightened sailors. The shouts reached to the vessel,
until the Colonel easily understood their import. But neither he nor
his, as yet, knew that the sight of this beautiful vessel would raise a
similar howl of hate, a like demonstration of hostility, in every port
from China, westward to San Francisco.
Hastily he gave orders to trip the anchor: in ten minutes he picked up
his men, who were cursing civilization. With the pale skin cramped upon
his face, with trembling hands and blinded eyes he guided the
"Lightning" out of the inhospitable harbor.
In an hour the world knew what had happened at Penzance. The smallest
harbor on the English and French coast thrilled with the excitement of
the novel sport, while Colonel Odminton sat in his cabin alone, bereft
of his complacency, and beginning to be touched with the terrors that
the hunted fox feels when it sights the first hound.
"Where now?" Captain Christian had been knocking gently, and now opened
his commander's door for orders. The Captain was a cautious man, and was
the only one on board, who by reason of his temperament, felt the
serious position to the full.
Colonel Odminton turned his head moodily, and scowled at his Captain.
"To hell with you!" he ejaculated.
"Yes, sir," said Captain Christian respectfully, "but we cannot get
provisions there."
* * * * *
It was deepest night when a gurgling thud, a splash of returning waters,
a rustling of chain, told that another anchor had been dropped, and that
another vessel had found rest in the harbor of Brest. Her side lights
were quickly extinguished, and a white light at her bow as she swung to
the tide, told curious eyes, if there were any, that the stranger was
snug for the night. Four bells tinkled here and tinkled there, nor did
the new-comer omit the resonant salutation to Father Time.
To starboard and to port, great hulls, not many hundred feet away, could
be distinguished by the sharpest eyes, rising blacker than the night.
The Mediterranean squadron of France had but made port the day before,
and were due in Cherbourg on the morrow. The last patient launch had
brought the last gay officer aboard, and peace commanded the formidable
fleet.
Through the port-holes, veiled with silk, a light glimmered from the
unconscious vessel that had just dipped anchor. Colonel Odminton, at
that moment, was parting the curtains from his son's bed, and was
regarding him with conflicting expressions. The lad slept restlessly,
and under his father's eyes began to toss and mutter. Fearing to waken
him, the unhappy man withdrew softly to his own cabin. There he poured
himself out a full glass of brandy and began to pace the floor
furiously.
It was a changed face that looked apprehensively at the door every time
the timbers creaked in the chop of the sea. He was no longer the
elegant, complacent, and successful criminal; he was the bandit at bay.
He was distrustful, suspicious, ready for revenge. If he had only had
Gatling guns aboard, he would have taught the inhabitants of Penzance a
costly lesson for their threats and curses. Now, for the first time he
rebelled against his lineage, and hated Englishmen and England with a
virulent abhorrence.
But France was different. Tolerant blood ran in her veins. Here he felt
secure from insult. The nation that had died in ecstasy under the nod of
Napoleon, could not be otherwise than liberal to him. Colonel Odminton
did not exactly expect a reception by the President of the Republic; but
he did look forward to a respectful and harmless curiosity that would
titillate his pride and remove the memory of his indignities.
His face began to assume a more benevolent expression, and the cowering,
snarling look which comes to those who find themselves detested for good
reasons, and thrust out, gave way to one of hope, such as comes to the
convict when his term of imprisonment is nearly over.
Soothed by such imaginations, the Colonel smiled with disdain, snapped
his finger at all the world, furtively examined his secret safe, and
went to bed.
It did not seem to him that he had been slumbering as many minutes as he
had hours, when he was startled by a violent tramping upon the deck
above him, by the clanking revolutions of the machinery that hoisted the
anchor, and then, before he had mastered his laggard senses, by
imperative knocks at his door. Colonel Odminton pulled the spring, and
his Captain bounded in. Terror was engraved on every line of that
usually calm and observant face.
"For God's sake!" he cried in broken English and Danish, "we are to be
blown up in ten minutes!" His jaws chattered without saying any more. He
was stiff with fear.
With inconceivable rapidity Colonel Odminton thrust himself into his
clothes and rushed upon deck. He had not time to put on his cap, and as
he emerged in the rosy light of the breaking sun, his bare head was seen
in all its now notorious characteristics. A cry greeted him.
Encompassed about by the huge mastiffs of war, more formidable than
anything the vaunted navy of the United States could boast, the toy
terrier shivered.
At the earliest dawn, the look-out upon the "Formidable" had discerned
the stranger, and had reported the suspicious-looking vessel to his
superior officer.
The French Republic, so friendly to the Government of the United States,
had eagerly distributed placards describing the nefarious Colonel and
his yacht. But yesterday, copies had been delivered into the hands of
the officers of the squadron with orders to keep a sharp watch for the
outlaw. He was not to be harmed, but to be driven away from France, if
necessary, at the torpedoes breath.
The Admiral gave quick orders, which were enthusiastically obeyed. A
fleet of launches were now untethered upon the "Lightning."
"No masts! No steam! Propelled by electricity! It is she!" Such
exclamations mixed with oaths were exchanged by the Frenchmen as they
surrounded Colonel Odminton's venture.
"Ahoy there!" cried an officer.
The sleepy Scandinavian in the Colonel's pay made no answer. He scowled
at France vindictively.
"I know you. I give you ten minutes to depart. Va t'en! Sacre Nom de
Dieu, if you ever appear on ze coast of France again, pouf! sink!"
By this time the Colonel had appeared on deck. The French natives, a
hundred of them, within less than a biscuit's throw of the most eminent
malefactor of the age, gazed at him curiously, and then burst into a
medley of curses.
As these envenomed oaths struck Colonel Odminton, he staggered as if he
had been slapped in the face. Carbines were levelled at him
threateningly; but the French officers imperiously gave orders for all
weapons to be laid aside.
By this time, Captain Hans had the anchor raised. Although this was done
by electricity, still the men worked furiously. These embryonic pirates
tottered like their commander with an overwhelming fear.
This terrible, this unexpected, this deadly persecution--how far did it
extend? What was its origin? Was it a chance indignation that had
fomented in England, and had leaped the channel, or was it a decree of
outlawry that was passed by all the world?
It was enough to scatter the Colonel's pride, to tear out of him his
complacency. The proud Southerner now knew, like the prisoner at
Chillon, what it was to feel the hair turn white. An arch traitor may
lose his own country, and get a footing in a foreign land, however
contemptible his position may be: but Colonel Odminton and his crew had
no country whatever to turn to. Civilization had with one accord arisen
against him. The islands of the sea were three thousand leagues away.
Unsteadily he touched the lever and his ill-omened craft forged ahead.
As it did so, it grazed the side of a boat. With a final curse, one of
the men in the launch stood up, wadded a piece of paper in his hands and
flung it at the Colonel. It struck the malefactor full in the face. The
paper itself did not hurt him, but that malicious act was as fatal to
him as if he had been hit in the groin by a French bullet.
Amid derisive shrieks and whistles the "Lightning" sped out of the
harbor. The men upon its decks shook their fists at France, and cast
sinister looks at their employer.
As the Colonel went below, his face white as the silver poplar, his
hands trembling like leaves in a storm, he mechanically turned at the
companionway and picked up the wad of paper that had rolled to the sill.
It was a copy of the Proclamation warning every nation not to grant him
hospitality; in the name of the American Republic.
* * * * *
Two hours later, the Colonel and his Captain sat opposite each other,
talking in low tones. The Proclamation lay open on the table between
them.
"It is impossible then to provision her at all," said the Captain
slowly; "there is no hope for us, but to surrender or starve: disguise
is impossible."
The Colonel nodded wearily.
"We have food for twenty men for three days; we have power left to go
three thousand knots at ten knots an hour. The men are murmuring; where
can we renew our power? The yacht is useless in two weeks."
"It is lucky," continued Captain Hans, after a pregnant pause, "that
none of the men picked up this paper; you would have been knifed before
night."
If it is possible, Colonel Odminton turned a shade paler, but he did not
say anything. The smallest child could see that he was a broken man.
What a trap had he sprung for himself!
"The case is desperate, sir," began the Captain again. "What do you
propose?"
The Colonel shook his head vacantly.
"We can take the launch, the men, and the gold, abandon her here, and
land on the coast. We might escape clear."
The Colonel shook his head vigorously. He was ready to give up his life,
but not his venture.
"Then we will go, sir. Pay us, give us the launch, and we will go. We
cannot stay to be starved and tossed upon the sea with not even a
jury-mast and a handkerchief."
"Let them go, father!" Rupert had entered from his own room, and stood
pleadingly before the criminal.
The unhappy man looked at his son: back at his Captain; and nodded
assent.
"Then we will go now," said the Captain decidedly. "We are within ten
miles of the coast. The launch will carry us easily. Will you give us a
hundred thousand in gold? You may keep the rest, you and the boy and the
three niggers."
The Colonel mechanically went to an inner room, unlocked a secret safe,
took out a heavy weight of gold and threw it upon the table before the
Captain with a clang.
The stolen money was newly coined, and the gold glistened in the
port-hole light. The Captain tied the bag, and held out his hand as he
arose. He was honest after his kind, though a masterful man; but the
Proclamation had thrown him upon his self-interest. Still, he felt sorry
for the man whom the Proclamation had shrivelled.
One of the Colonel's faithful colored sailors was sent to the wheel. For
a half an hour there was a bustle of chests and men. There was a
counting of gold, and a commanding and warning voice. Finally there was
a splash, as the powerful launch dipped into the water from its davits.
There was a bounding of many feet, and a cry to shove her off.
"Good-bye, Colonel!" one man shouted; but the rest kept a silence. They
knew that many dangers were before them.
Then the launch became a speck against a gray coast.
"Where now, father?" asked Rupert timidly.
For the first time since the conception of his infamous deed, the man
looked his son straight between the eyes. Both faces were furrowed, and
worn, and prematurely aged; the eyes of both were sunken and rigid.
"Home, my son--home," said the Colonel gently.
"Oh, father!" cried the lad.
"Kiss me, my son, if you care to, and now leave me."
* * * * *
The United States had been plunged into a war with Patagonia. The How of
it was a disgrace to the Great Republic. Jingoism had done the deed,
and the mischief of the matter was that the Patagonian cruisers
outnumbered our own.
There was scurry in the navy yards, especially within that upon the
Potomac. Old, disabled monitors were galvanized into the delusion of
life: guns were hurried to bombard an inhospitable coast thousands of
miles away.
Officials at their desks were telegraphing cipher dispatches to England
to furnish vessels of war on hire, which she politely refused to do.
Congress was passing an unrestricted maritime bill.
During this hubbub a very unusual thing happened to increase the
confusion of the Navy Department at Washington.
About nine o'clock in the morning, while several ships of war were
making ready for sea, a foreign torpedo boat was seen to _ricochet_ up
the river, passing by hidden torpedoes as if she were inspired, and then
suddenly, with a swirl, coming to a dead halt before one of the largest
of the formidable vessels.
In alarm, the crew of the American flagship was drummed to arms, and the
gunners were called to their ports. Evidently the virulent torpedo-boat
was a foe, bent to suicide after she had destroyed. The fact that she
carried no flag, no masts, nothing but a bare hull, made her alarming in
the extreme. It was an apparition of death. The American fleet
trembled. At what invincible vessel would the bolt be launched? Officers
paled and swore. At this terrible display of audacity, a paralysis had
overtaken them.
Only a boy was visible on the stern of the ominous stranger. He pulled
out a handkerchief and waved it. He seemed to touch a button, and the
anchor rattled to its length. Captain and gunners breathed relief. By
this time the murmur of the arrival had spread, and thousands of quaking
men lined the wharves to inspect the mystery.
At last someone thought of sending a boat to board her. Twenty men
manned a launch and steamed out cautiously.
"Ahoy, there! Where do you belong?" demanded the officer in charge of
the launch.
"I have a letter to the President of the United States," answered the
boy with quivering lips.
"Whose vessel is this? Let down the gangway."
Two black sailors sprang from the hold of the mysterious vessel to obey.
"She belongs to the United States," replied the boy. "Please let me take
the letter. You can take the boat."
Astounded beyond measure, the officer leaped on board. No name was
visible.
"What is her name?" he asked eagerly.
"She has none. The President can name her. She was called the
'Lightning,'" said the boy steadily.
"By ----! I might have known," cried the officer. "Where is He? Who are
you?"
"He is not here. The letter tells, sir. I am his son."
Rupert put both hands upon the spokes of the wheel, and held his head up
straight. He faced the officer who had ordered the chase when the
"Lightning" escaped with his country's gold.
What thoughts went through the lad's mind? Did he regret this last and
most quixotic step? Did he long to "up the anchor," and give the signal
to fly ahead? Did he regret freedom and lawlessness? Or was his heart
that was broken by disgrace, healed by the atonement?
"Let me have the letter." The officer spoke after a long look at the son
of America's most execrated malefactor. His voice was not harsh, for he
divined how the boy's loyalty to his father and his country really
blended into an emotion which men call honor.