"My orders are to deliver the letter to the President with my own hand."
"You shall do so. The President is there."
The officer pointed to a high, white monster of distinction. "He is
aboard there. He is watching you this minute. Jump in!"
The boy paled. For only a moment his courage deserted him, and he almost
tumbled into the launch.
A great crowd of witnesses had gathered about the President, as if to
protect him.
The word "assassin," was whispered from man to man. Even the officer
could not command an avenue to the Chief Executive.
"Let him be brought," said the President authoritatively. With a marine
glass he had watched the motions of the vessel, the boy, and the
officer.
"I know him. Give way there! Let him come alone."
Then the men formed a living circle with the President in its midst, and
Rupert stood alone with him in it, with head bared, and with a letter in
his shaking hand.
"You are Rupert Odminton," said the President distinctly, after a long
searching gaze. "You have come with a noble purpose. What is it?"
Without answer, with blood beating a wild tattoo, the boy bowed his head
in acquiescence. He handed the President the letter. This the President
took, and opened and read. Then he did what the people will not soon
forget. He drew the son of his captor towards him, put his left hand
protectingly upon the lad's head, and with a ringing voice read the
letter aloud.
"Mr. President, and people of the United States:--I thought
myself a god, and know myself a felon. I, who meant to instruct
the people, have learned a lesson such as even death cannot
teach. I render to you my account. My son will show you in what
secret safe in the vessel is preserved the gold that I stole
from the Treasury. It belongs to the Country. There lack a
hundred and twenty thousand dollars. I hereby bequeath the boat
to the United States in payment for the balance I owe. It cost
much more, and is the fastest vessel in the world.
Re-christened, it may be of service in the approaching war; and
the stain upon it, which my soul tells me is indelible, may
fade. I give my son to you as hostage of my good faith.
"Mr. President, I am without a country. I have no citizenship in
the world. I beg you, if your kindness prompts you, to offer me
pardon, that my bones may rest upon the soil I love. My son
will guide such a messenger of forgiveness to me. Let him be
sent soon, if at all, for my crime scourges me so that I cannot
live.
"ODMINTON."
"He was no common man," said the Secretary of State, in a voice of great
feeling. "Mr. President, I suggest that the pardon be sent immediately.
I think he has suffered enough."
The President smiled benignly.
"Mr. Secretary," he said, turning to the head of the navy, "shall we
accept the yacht? I think the Treasury will find room for the gold. Can
the navy find room for Colonel Odminton's atonement?"
The eyes of the Secretary of the Navy glistened.
"With that vessel fixed into a torpedo boat, we can whip the world! I
shall put the youngster as middy aboard of her; he understands her
better than any one else. With your permission, Mr. President, the boy
is enrolled, and his commission will be made out at once."
The Secretary bowed deferentially.
"Do you wish to enter the United States navy?" The great head of the
nation bent to the lad as he would have to his own son.
"Oh, sir! But my father," cried Rupert, broken by pride and shame and
filial love.
"You will bear the pardon to-morrow," said the President kindly.
"I would rather go now. I think he needs it," whispered Rupert timidly.
Then the boy, keyed so high, fell and was borne away.
* * * * *
Who does not love the Everglades when he knows them? The adorer of the
warm woods had rather put his arm about a palmetto, and his cheek
against its rough surface, than be softly met by the tenderest of women.
Oh, the witchery of the moss-waving Everglades!
"Father! Father!"
A longing treble cut the languorous air.
The hidden hut behind the hidden bay was empty.
The boy and the officer searched hastily and fearfully.
"He is in the woods. Oh, you know--come!"
Behind the terror-stricken son the officer plunged into the thicket.
Gloomy shades surrounded him. Warm breaths and new odors caressed him.
Almost lifted out of the body by these new sensations, he followed with
speeding feet.
"Help! Quick!" The shrill voice recalled him. Before the officer knew
it, he was upon a figure kneeling beside a body under a great tree.
"Father! _Father!_ He has forgiven you. It is all right!"
But the pleading voice of the lad faltered into an awful silence. The
soldier put his hand upon the penitent's head. It was warm. The dead
man's arms were outstretched upon the great tree. His body was upon the
huge roots. His lips were as if he had but just kissed the bark.
Did his sin at the last restrain him, that he dared not to touch the
soil of America, and fondle it as his own?
He had died unpardoned: it was to be, that he should be tortured to the
end. But as to when he died, they could not tell--for his strong limbs
were set; the swarming Southern ants had not desecrated him, and the
moaning tree seemed to be explaining that she had kept him warm upon her
lap.
He was buried beneath the sod to which, with the home-sickness of the
true Southerner, he had crawled back to die. They laid the pardon in
his folded hands.
The officer walked out of the Everglades, with bared head. He could not
understand his own emotion. But the weeping lad followed slowly. He
heard a cadence above the grave. Rupert understood it. It was the dirge
of the Live Oak.