CHAPTER XIV.

A CHASE TO THE YACHT.

Possibly Jerome Wellington had made a study of the tactics employed so successfully by the great and famous general whose name he bore with so little lustre.

At any rate he believed in a quick and masterly attack, whereby the enemy might be demoralized, providing said enemy chanced to be inferior to him in power or endurance.

Roderic did not deceive himself with any false hope that the game was not worth the candle, nor that his opponent intended only a gigantic bluff. He had prepared for business, and meant to be in the game from start to finish.

Besides, deep down in his heart he realized that the handsome Adonis had been playing his cards with the idea of centering the affections of the charming Georgia upon himself, and this alone was a positive crime in the eyes of the man who lived only to win her for his own.

That rampant spark of jealousy has much to account for in this world--kingdoms have fallen, principalities been sacked, and countless homes been broken up because of it; while on the other hand it has urged men to great and noble deeds in order to win in the game of hearts.

Roderic, therefore, rather enjoyed the prospect of a little bout with this dashing cavalier whom he had once called his friend--he believed it would do him a world of good to embrace Jerome--he had more than once suspected that the modern Beau Brummel was guilty of the awful crime--in a gentleman--of wearing stays inside his coat, so that he might appear more military in his figure; and the opportunity was at hand to ascertain the truth.

Thus he stretched out his arms and took the man who leaped forward, to his heart.

Such an embrace as he gave the Adonis--Georgia thought she heard his ribs crack under the anaconda-like strain, and his tongue certainly did protrude from between his teeth.

Again Captain Beven's accommodating sneeze sounded like a trumpet through the vessel.

It was the last call--the little party was in the act of leaving the cabin--he had exhausted all his resources in the endeavor to hold them back a while longer.

Roderic was hardly in a condition to carry out his part of the programme, nor did he care very much, now that his secret had been juggled with, and the truth must be made known to all.

First Jerome should be attended to.

His ardor had really run away with his usual discretion--it must be cooled off, and Roderic for one knew a means of accomplishing the same.

Time was a factor in his calculations also, since at any moment General Porfidio and the others were apt to appear on the scene.

The little De Brabant had ceased uttering confused prayers to the Virgin for her lover's safety, since he had thus speedily reduced the blustering hero to a state of "innocuous desuetude"--she was now more deeply concerned in the manner whereby the said Senor Roderic was to free himself from the incubus that held on with such a tenacious grip.

"Drop him over the rail, _amigo_--a bath, give the handsome Adonis a bath--it will surely be good for his complexion. The rail Senor Roderic--it is close at your hand and _so_ convenient. Besides, better such a soft fall than broken bones on the lower deck!"

Thus she cried in her excitement, modulating her voice until it was hardly more than a tense whisper.

And Owen knew it was not so much resentment against Jerome for his persistent attentions as the eager desire to serve the man she adored, that actuated her course.

The voices of the gentlemen could be plainly heard as they emerged from the chart room and sauntered toward the side of the steamer where Beven had left his yawl--no doubt the visitor was still cracking some of his old chestnut jokes, for the laughter of Don Porfidio bubbled over almost continually--besides; that champagne had been very extra dry.

At any rate the suggestion advanced by Georgia coincided with Roderic's own views on the subject.

Perhaps Jerome, had he been given a voice in the matter, as the party most interested, might have strenuously objected--baths he liked, indeed, was very partial to, in their proper season, but to be thus unceremoniously tumbled from the deck of a steamer into the briny deep, with his most elaborate evening garments on his person was really too much of a good thing, and he must have protested earnestly could he but have found wind with which to clothe his argument.

That luxury was in a great measure denied him, and the best he could do was to make a feeble kick against the decision of the fair court being carried into execution.

It counted for nought.

The American having started could hardly be restrained--once the match is applied to a train of powder it is difficult to prevent the fire from running its entire length.

So Jerome was dragged ignobly over the deck to the rail, past the beauty who had ordered his ducking--he endeavored to so wind himself about the affections and also the limbs of his intended executioner that the latter would have to change his desperate plans or else take the plunge in his delectable company; but Roderic knew a trick or two that might be used with profit under such conditions, and he readily broke the hold of the desperate and vanquished beau.

Then came the finish.

Wellington took a tumble.

He exhausted what breath he chanced to have in his lungs with one awful whoop as he went plunging down, arms and legs outspread after the manner of a gigantic frog.

Perhaps he found some satisfaction in the fact that he made the greatest splash ever known in that lovely harbor, a splash that would go down in the annals of the Azores as beyond all precedent, and which suddenly quelled the merry laughter, together with sounds of music that had floated across the bay.

It is worth considerable to excel in _something_, even if it is only a ducking.

Roderic had crossed the Rubicon.

He knew his summary treatment of the Adonis would create tremendous excitement on board the blockade runner.

There were English sailors in charge and these men could not be treated with the same measure of scorn that he might have bestowed had they one and all been Spaniards.

Nevertheless Roderic was far from being panic-stricken in any sense.

He had no sooner dropped Jerome over the rail than he turned to Georgia, and as the noise of the splash still sounded, said grimly:

"He has been disposed of as you suggested, sweetheart. Let us hope the temperature of the water will be sufficient to cool his ardor."

"But you must fly--_sanctissima!_ they will harm, perhaps murder you, and I should never forgive myself for having been the cause. Go, Senor Roderic, go with all haste!" she exclaimed, her hands on his arm, her lustrous midnight orbs glowing as they filled with intense excitement.

The man either had a contempt for the peril that threatened or else hardly grasped its serious nature--at least he showed a recklessness in dealing with the situation that might possibly have been expected when the fact of his having Irish blood in his veins was taken into consideration, for seldom have Ireland's sons been in battle without leading some forlorn hope in the van.

"Not until you tell me again that you love me," he declared, eagerly.

Some men would have called him a fool, but evidently they could never have adored a woman--to the man who loves, all else gives way before his passion.

So nature has constituted him.

"You already know it," she said, quickly, endeavoring to push him towards the ladder, and even her eagerness to insure his safety was a source of deep satisfaction to the lover.

"But I must hear you say it--consider, weeks may elapse before I see you again and I shall be exposed to all manner of danger. Tell me," he insisted with a determination nothing could move but acquiescence.

Perhaps there was one particular danger in her mind that would hover over him constantly, and against which she in her innocent, loving heart prayed that he might be delivered--Cleo.

However, she realized that he would accept no half way compromise.

The sailors on board were shouting and running to the rail to ascertain what species of porpoise or shark kicked up such a fiendish racket alongside their vessel, for the wretched Jerome, unable to shout, and actually half strangled, was threshing the water like a young steam engine in the endeavor to keep himself afloat and frighten away the voracious monsters of the deep.

"_Carramba!_ foolish man to risk so much for a woman's word. Know then that I do love you with all my heart and soul--the good Father above preserve you, for me!"

It was all he asked.

He snatched one burning kiss and then with a hasty "adieu, beloved," sprang to the ladder.

It was time.

The ship was heaving with commotion.

Had the startling cry of "fire," always dreaded above all else at sea, been sounded aboard the blockade runner, loaded as she was with much ammunition, it could hardly have created greater excitement than now reigned.

Roderic remained quite cool, which was an advantage to the success of his venture.

Garbed as he was as a sailor any one might have taken him for one of the crew hastening to his station, since the boatswain's shrill whistle had called the sailormen to man one of the boats.

It was easy enough work dropping down the ladder, but as some one chanced to be ascending it at the same time an unavoidable collision ensued.

Consequently Roderic and the unknown came to the lower deck in a bunch, and being above, the American found a comfortable lodging place on the body of his confrere.

He did not linger.

One ejaculatory Spanish swear word from the ascending figure as he swooped down upon him gave Roderic a pretty good idea as to his identity.

Wretched Roblado, fated to again endure all the flings of outrageous fortune at the hands of the man from over the sea!

Roderic halted not neither to assist the damaged Spaniard to arise nor to offer apologies for such unceremonious conduct.

At such times men cannot be particular as to their _modus operandi_ in conducting their retreat--the end justifies the means.

Happily he had not been at all injured by the fall.

He heard an anxious exclamation skyward and had a glimpse of Georgia looking over the edge of the upper deck.

It was just like the man to wave his hand and even kiss his fingers to the girl ere resuming his course toward the spot where in all probability Captain Beven anxiously awaited his coming.

A splash announced the launching of a boat.

It was fortunately on the other side of the steamer, since Jerome had gone over to port.

Even such a small matter might count in the end, should pursuit be inaugurated when Wellington was rescued and managed to regain enough breath to splutter out the facts.

At any rate Roderic made a note of this point which was all the more singular because he had other fish to fry just then.

Fortunately no one attempted to stay his flight--fortunately for them perhaps, as well as his own success, for Roderic was just in the humor to handle any interference roughly.

What he had just passed through had the effect of arousing the lion that lay beneath the surface in his nature, and he was in a condition to do more than his share of battle.

Passing the groups of sailors hurrying to the rail, he crossed the deck to where he believed Beven awaited him, for a glimpse of one or more figures in this quarter announced that it was not deserted.

To his surprise he saw two men.

Captain Beven had company, and Roderic at first glance guessed the identity of that tall figure.

It was Don Porfidio.

He had walked with the captain to where his yawl awaited, instead of proceeding to the quarter deck; and now he was also able to resist the temptation to rush across to the other rail in order to gratify his natural curiosity.

It meant something.

Don Porfidio had somehow guessed the truth, or been let in on the ground floor by Beven.

Was it war, or peace?

Roderic should have disliked the job exceedingly had he been compelled to administer any sort of drubbing to his excellency the good and gruff don, but nevertheless had the fates demanded it he must have obeyed the call to duty.

On the whole, therefore, he was well pleased when the big Porto Rican soldier suddenly thrust out his hand, saying:

"_Por Dios!_ I honor a brave man who risks much to see one he loves. Senor Owen, success to you!"

Roderic took the hand that was offered--he had much respect for this patriot and veteran.

"Thank you, senor," he replied.

"All is well?"

"Delightfully so."

"_Cospita!_ good. And pray, what is the cause of all that wonderful splashing yonder?" asked the don, as if suspecting that the Yankee knew.

Roderic, already in the act of following Captain Beven down the rope ladder that stretched to the yawl below paused long enough to look up at the general, and laughing say:

"Ask Jerome!"

"Aha! it is as I thought--ask Jerome--undoubtedly Senor Wellington has met his Waterloo."

But Owen had already dropped down the side of the blockade runner and into the boat.

Hardly had he gained the yawl than Beven, who was in the stern sheets said huskily:

"Push off, and away. Pull like tigers, my hearties, for unless all signs fail we may have a chase before we reach the yacht."

The men needed no urging.

Once clear of the steamer and they began to ply their ashen blades with an energy that sent the little boat flying through the water.

It was a period of suspense.

Roderic kept his eyes fastened upon the stern of the steamer, for in this quarter would the pursuit be inaugurated, should one follow.

The shouts had ceased.

An ominous silence seemed to rest upon the scene.

All depended upon whether the wretched Jerome, upon being rescued from the bay, was in a state to disclose what he knew, and the readiness that bold Captain Shackelford would show in following up the clue thus given.

And as he looked, too soon he saw the boat shoot into view propelled by sturdy arms.

"Faster!" cried Beven at the same moment.

There were six pair of English arms against two, but the little yawl was light and trimly built, so the chances seemed pretty evenly divided.

Roderic surveyed the chase as calmly and critically as though it were a college regatta, with an ordinary loving cup as the stake instead of his own liberty, perhaps his life.

"Captain, we shall make it," he said, quietly.

"Undoubtedly," replied laconic Beven, whose practiced eye had also measured the distance yet to be traversed, and the slow if steady gain made by their pursuers.

"Steady, boys, do your level best," he added, and the sturdy tars grunted as they strained at the oars until the veins stood out like whip cords on their brows.

Meanwhile from the pursuing craft came a variety of oaths and exclamations characteristic of the bold adventurer Shackelford, and by means of which he doubtless expected to secure better work from his toiling men; while Jerome, having recovered his tongue, and boiling over with rage, joined his shrill voice to that of the captain, promising fabulous rewards--which he would doubtless pay in notes if called upon--should they overhaul the will-o'-the-wisp boat that tauntingly kept just so far ahead.

It was quite exciting while it lasted.

This romantic harbor in the peaceful Azores had seldom known a more remarkable scene.

Pity it was the darkness robbed those who might have enjoyed the spectacle, of such a rare sight.

The steam yacht was now close at hand and while those who pursued still kept up their mad pace it must have been painfully evident to them that the chase was hopeless.

Perhaps the daring spirit who led them on had desperate designs of boarding the yacht and dragging away the object of their vindictive spleen.

Captain Beven was holding the tiller ropes and under his skillful guidance the yawl turned the yacht's stern, coming up alongside.

Instantly a hand clutched the painter.

"Aboard with you!" called the skipper.

Roderic was the first to spring on deck, but the others were at his heels.

To sight the oncoming boat was now their design, and accordingly they leaped across the deck, believing Shackelford would head direct for that nearer quarter.

Nor were they mistaken in this surmise, for as they reached the rail the boat from the blockade runner shot under them and hauled up alongside.