VICTORY.
The battle was a short one. The vigorous fire of the Porter soon
convinced those on board the smugglers’ ship that resistance or attempt
at flight would be futile.
The signal of surrender was soon given, and the roar of the cannon
ceased.
A United States officer, with a portion of the crew of the Porter,
boarded the captured vessel and took formal possession.
Then the wounded and dead were attended to. Two of the smugglers had
been killed and five or six injured. The injuries seemed to be slight,
with the exception of those of one man, who was found lying on his face
insensible.
It was Snags.
The discovery was made by Leonard and Mr. Stark, who had been
transferred from the Porter to the captured vessel. They immediately
caused him to be carried into a state-room, where they followed,
accompanied by a surgeon. All others then withdrew, leaving the four
men together.
“How badly is he injured?” asked Mr. Stark of the surgeon, who was
examining Snags’ wounds.
“Very badly,” replied the surgeon. “He will not live more than a few
hours.”
“Will he recover consciousness before he dies? It is important that we
hold some conversation with him if such a thing is possible.”
“I think he will be conscious for a short time. Yes, he is struggling
now. His chest heaves――his eyes open.”
And the surgeon administered a stimulant to Snags.
The latter looked around with a wild, vacant stare.
“Who are you all?” he asked. “Where is Roake? Where is the captain?
Where――let me see――oh, yes, I remember――we were attacked, and must have
been beaten. For you are all strangers. Tell me about it, somebody!”
“Your ship and the whole crew have been captured by the United States
revenue-cutter Porter,” said Mr. Stark. “I am sorry you are so badly
hurt, Snags, and I want to have a little talk with you before――before
it is too late.”
“Before it is too late! What do you mean?”
“Can you not guess? You are seriously ♦wounded, and the surgeon
says――――”
“That I must _die_? Don’t tell me that! I won’t die! I can’t die! I am
not ready for that.”
He raised himself up on his elbow, and spoke in a tone of alarm and
anguish.
“Ready or not, Snags, it may be inevitable.”
“No, no! I have too many sins to answer for.”
“Ay,” said Mr. Stark, “and now is the time for you to make what
reparation lies in your power. Would you hesitate, in your last moments,
to do this?”
“No. Tell me what it is. What can I do? Oh, there is one awful thing
that weighs on my mind!”
Mr. Stark whispered to Leonard to remove his disguise. Leonard obeyed,
tearing off his spectacles, his wig, and his gray side-whiskers. He
stood by the side of Snags.
The latter regarded him with a look of amazement and horror.
“Where did you come from? Did you rise from the dead?”
“No,” replied Leonard, “I am solid flesh and bones. Feel my hand. I
was your prisoner once, but now the table are turned. Since my escape
from the cave at Rocky Beach I have had but one great purpose. You can
imagine what it ♦is.”
“Yes,” sighed Snags.
“You well know that it is the vindication of my Cousin Carlos from the
charge of murder. You also know――do you not?――that you have nothing
to gain by longer keeping the secret, the revelation of which would
demonstrate his innocence.”
Snags made no reply, but lay for some moments in profound thought. At
length he spoke, quite calmly.
“Who are you?” he said to Mr. Stark.
“I am a detective, engaged in the custom-house service of the United
States.”
“And is it true,” turning to the surgeon, “that I have not long to
live?”
“I am sorry to say, my man, that there is but little hope for you.”
There was another pause.
“I’ll confess,” Snags finally said. “Carlos Conrad shall not suffer
from any silence of mine. I think I am growing weaker, and I’ll begin
at once. Do you think it will improve my chances in the next world to
do what I can now toward making things right?”
“Every good act has its weight with the Great Judge of us all,” said
Mr. Stark.
“Will you take down what I say?”
Leonard prepared himself, with pen, ink, and paper, to make a
memorandum of Snags’ statements. Then the dying man began:
“You probably don’t need to be told much about the smuggling business.
You have caught us, and will find enough to satisfy you at Rocky Beach.
Roake and I had charge of the place, and took care of the goods as
they came in. We always selected dark nights, and one night expected
an arrival, when our ‘Boss’ sent me on an errand that has brought about
all this ill luck. It was last August. According to directions, I went
to the house of Colonel Conrad, to make discoveries.
“I was to steal into his room, pry open his desk, and see if I could
find any papers or documents that told of a quarrel with his brother,
and to take particular notice if there was anything like a will――in
which case I was to carry it off with me. I was to make these visits
every ♦night, until I had accomplished something, for the ‘Boss’ wanted
to know, for some reason, all about Colonel Conrad’s plans and purposes.
“On the very first night I found the colonel writing. I stole in
softly, to look over his shoulder. He turned and saw me, and I was
taken off my guard. I drew my knife and struck at him. There was but
one thrust, and it did the work――it killed him. But, before God, murder
was not in the plan. My errand was just what I have stated it to be.
The killing was accidental, as one might say, but let it be understood
that I did it――that Carlos Conrad is innocent.”
The voice of Snags had been gradually growing weaker, and here he
stopped, gasping for breath. The physician gave him a few drops of
brandy, and he resumed:
“I grabbed a pile of gold coin――about a thousand dollars――――”
“Only a thousand dollars?” interrupted Leonard.
“That was all. I took the money, and also snatched a letter from his
hand that he had just been writing. But it tore, leaving a portion of
it in his grip. Just then Carlos Conrad came, seeming to think that
something wrong was going on. He jumped in at the window, and I saw
him take the fragment of the letter from the old man’s hand. Meanwhile
I had read the part in my possession, and wanted the rest of it. Young
Conrad and I had a tussle over the matter, and finally he slipped
from me and ran. He outwitted me, for when I gave chase and supposed
I had caught him, I found it was you”――pointing to Leonard――“instead.
You know what followed. You were a prisoner in the cave, and before I
fairly discovered that you were the wrong man, I let out enough to make
you know that I was the murderer. Then you escaped. It was a night when
we were running in goods. You will remember it was moonlight; and the
goods were some we had intended to get in on the night of the murder,
when it was dark and rainy, but the work was interrupted by my arrival
with my prisoner, and had been postponed. It was contrary to our usual
caution to work on a moonlight night, but the ship that brought the
goods from Europe was ready and impatient to sail, as it wouldn’t do
for her to be seen hanging about the coast too long. After you escaped
I was afraid to remain at Rocky Beach any longer, and on that very
night joined this ship.”
Snags paused again from weakness.
Waiting until the administrations of the surgeon revived him, Leonard
said:
“But there are two unsettled points. First, we want to know who the man
is whom you have designated as ‘Boss,’ and next we want the letter that
Colonel Conrad wrote.
“The ‘boss?’ Well, for a long time I didn’t know him myself. He came to
Rocky Beach but seldom, and then in disguise. Most of the orders were
given through Roake. He knew him. But I got the secret out of him. His
name is Haywood. His home is in Dalton.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Stark; “and now about the letter.”
“Haywood has it.”
“Can you repeat its contents?”
But a pallor suddenly overspread Snags’ face. He looked around in
piteous entreaty, as if it were in the power of those about him to
restore his quickening breath. He gasped, clutched the air with his
hands, and finally seemed to recover himself in a measure. He spoke
with an effort:
“The letter told of a change of plans, of strange revelations, of
important papers, and a new will. It spoke of money. It told――where――to
look.” The voice grew fainter and fainter. “Of a secret recess――hidden
spring――money――will――――”
The words came now in hoarse whispers. The dying man struggled in agony.
He made one more effort.
“The money and the will――in the wall――press――somewhere――a hidden――――”
A ♦convulsive tremor shook his frame, and his voice ceased altogether.
With solemn countenances and bowed heads, Leonard, Mr. Stark, and the
surgeon stood by, and waited for the end.
It came soon. In two minutes more the spirit and the body had parted,
and a form lay before them in the cold pallor of death.
Before leaving the apartment, Leonard, Mr. Stark, and the surgeon
appended their signatures as witnesses to the statement of Snags,
attesting that it was a true and faithful transcription of the words
uttered by him.
Then the body was carefully secured in place, and covered, the room was
vacated and locked, and the three who had been present at the solemn
scene stepped on the deck in the open air.
The return journey to Boston was tedious, for the smugglers’ ship had
been so disabled in the conflict as to necessitate its being towed by
the Porter. Consequently the progress made was slow.
Near daybreak, the surgeon, who had separated from Leonard and Mr.
Stark, came to them, and said:
“There is a sick man below, who does not seem to be one of the
smugglers. I haven’t asked him any questions yet, but his appearance
indicates that he is a prisoner, rather than one of the gang. Will you
come and see him?”
Leonard and the detective followed the surgeon, and, as they entered
the dimly lighted apartment, heard the groans and ravings of one in the
delirium of a high fever.
They stepped to the side of the sufferer. Leonard Lester gazed at the
flushed face and tossing form but a mere instant, and then, bending
forward eagerly, he ejaculated, in extreme amazement:
“Great Heaven! it is Carlos!”
“What!” exclaimed Mr. Stark. “Your cousin?”
“Yes, it is my cousin, Carlos Conrad. But how, in the name of all the
powers, above and below, did he come here?”
“It is indeed a mystery,” said Mr. Stark. “And he is very ill.”
“Yes, he has a raging fever. Can you tell what is the matter with him,
doctor?” turning to the surgeon.
“I can tell better when we arrive in Boston, and get him on a clean bed
in a good room. Meanwhile, I will do what I can for him here. But he is
a sick man, there is no doubt about that.”
“You do not mean to say that he cannot live!” exclaimed Leonard.
“Oh, no. I guess it’s not as bad as that. But he will require good care.
I will remain with him for awhile now, and, as there seems to be some
mystery about his being here, perhaps you gentlemen would like to step
around and investigate the matter.”
Mr. Stark and Leonard made inquiries of some of the captured crew,
and soon learned the truth concerning Carlos’ unexpected appearance at
Rocky Beach and his conveyance to the vessel. But a full explanation of
the mystery――the story of his illness and mysterious disappearance from
the hotel――could not be had until the arrival of the party at Dalton.
The sun had risen, and was well on its way to the zenith, when the
revenue-cutter reached Boston, having in tow its prize and prisoners.
Carlos was immediately placed in suitable quarters, and a physician and
a skilled nurse were employed to attend him.
Having thus left him in good hands, Leonard and Mr. Stark proceeded
without delay to bring to a conclusion the business in hand.
Accompanied by a United States officer, and armed with the necessary
warrants for arrest, they took the first train for Dalton.