Part 10

“But I have had all the confidence in the world in Baron Strothers, and as a British sailor of the tarry breed, Captain Handy----”

“The two of them are tarred with the same brush,” exclaimed O’Shea. “They fixed it up between them to pay twenty-four thousand pounds for the _Tyneshire Glen_ and sell her to you for thirty thousand. ’Tis a simple matter to produce the evidence. Send a messenger to Tavistock & Huntley in Leadenhall Street. They named the price to Captain Handy and your precious minister of finance. ’Tis a clear case.”

“You can buy her yourself from George Huntley, and he’ll be darn glad to get his price,” chimed in Johnny Kent. “That ought to prove it. But if you’ll listen to me, you’ll have nothin’ to do with the _Tyneshire Glen_.”

King Osmond’s faith in human nature had been severely jarred, but somehow he could not doubt the statements of these rugged men who drove their words home as with a sledge-hammer. Toward the graceless minister of finance he felt more sorrow than anger as he wove together in his mind this and that circumstance of previous transactions which should have made him more vigilant. But the culprit was the son of a dear friend, and his credentials had been impeccable.

“I shall obtain from Tavistock & Huntley confirmation of your story, as you suggest,” he slowly replied to O’Shea. “In the meantime I wish you would tell me about yourselves.”

“We are looking for big risks and big wages,” said O’Shea with a smile. “Johnny Kent and I are better known in the ports of the Spanish Main than in London River. We have made voyages to Hayti and Honduras and Cuba without the consent of the lawful governments, and we know our trade.”

King Osmond I reflectively stroked his white imperial, and his face assumed an expression of vivid interest. These men were different from Captain Handy. They would neither cringe nor lie to him, and they looked him squarely between the eyes.

“Will you be good enough to come into my own rooms?” said he. “We shall find more privacy and comfort. I should like to hear of your adventures along the Spanish Main.”

With a courteous gesture he showed them into a much larger and more luxurious room which was used as a library or private office, inasmuch as a large flat-topped desk was strewn with books, pamphlets, and documents, and more of them were piled on tables and on shelves against the walls. As temporary headquarters for royalty at work, the room suggested industry and the administration of large affairs.

So friendly and unconventional was the reception granted them that Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent were made to feel that their intrusions demanded no more apologies. Their curiosity fairly tormented them. It was on the tips of their tongues to ask the host what kind of a kingdom was his, and where it was situated, but this would be rudeness. O’Shea took note of several admiralty charts on the desk, two of them unrolled with the corners pinned down, and a rule and dividers for measuring distances.

While O’Shea talked, Johnny Kent let his eyes wander to a small table at his elbow. It was covered with magazines, government reports, and newspaper clippings. One of the latter was so placed that he was able to read it from where he sat, and with absorbed interest he perused the following paragraphs:

Colonel Osmond George Sydenham-Leach, of the ancient Norfolk family, has lived on the Continent for the last dozen years, and is better known to the boulevards of Paris than to London. He was never considered eccentric until recently when his claim to the island of Trinadaro in the South Atlantic as a sovereign realm aroused much interest and amusement. He assumed the title of King Osmond I.

It is said that he has created an order of nobility, and that the insignia of the Grand Cross of Trinadaro have been bestowed upon the fortunate gentlemen composing his cabinet and coterie of advisers. A Court Circular is expected to appear shortly, and a diplomatic service will be organized.

Until His Majesty is ready to sail for Trinadaro to occupy his principality, the royal entourage will be found in the state apartments of the Hotel Carleton. Elaborate preparations are in progress for colonizing the island of Trinadaro, and a ship-load of people and material will leave London in a few weeks.

King Osmond I has a very large fortune. He is unmarried, and his estates, at his death, will pass to the children of his only brother, Sir Wilfred Sydenham-Leach of Haselton-on-Trent. The kinfolk of His Majesty are alarmed, so it is reliably reported, lest his wealth may be squandered on this curiously mediæval conception of setting up an independent principality upon an unproductive, volcanic island in mid-ocean which no nation has taken the trouble to annex.

Slowly and carefully Johnny Kent possessed himself of this information with never a flicker of a smile. The solution of the mystery of King Osmond I impressed him as neither grotesque nor curiously mediæval. In all London the King of Trinadaro could not have found two men of readier mind to fall in with his project and pretensions. To play at being a king on a desert island, to have the means to make it all come true--why, thought Johnny Kent, and he knew O’Shea must instantly agree with him, any man worth his salt would jump at the chance.

He was anxious to pass the tidings on to his comrade, and when the conversation slackened he edged in:

“We must be on our way, Cap’n Mike. His Majesty is good-hearted to listen to us, but it ain’t polite to talk his ear off.”

With this speech went so elaborate a wink that O’Shea comprehended that the engineer had something up his sleeve. Their host cordially declared that he must see them again, and made an appointment for ten o’clock of the next forenoon. They took their departure after friendly farewells and steered a course for Blackwall and the tavern of the Jolly Mermaid.

O’Shea was as delighted as a boy to learn that Osmond I was about to found an island kingdom. It was a more attractive revelation than if he had been discovered to be the inconsequential ruler of some effete little domain of Europe. And if one planned to set himself up in business as a sovereign, it was proper to use all the pomp and trappings and ceremony that belonged to the game.

“If he is to have a navy,” cried O’Shea as he pounded his friend on the back, “I know where he can find an admiral and a fleet engineer.”

“Not so fast, Cap’n Mike. I have a notion that he’ll have his own troubles gettin’ to his kingdom. Any man that can be buncoed as easy as he was is liable to have all his playthings taken away from him before he has a chance to use ’em. I’ll feel safer about him when he gets clear of London River.”

Before seeking the royal audience next morning they went to Leadenhall Street to see George Huntley. The ship-broker greeted them indignantly.

“You would try to hoodwink me, would you?” exclaimed he. “I have found out who your mysterious king is. I received a letter from him last night, asking information about the price of the _Tyneshire Glen_. I had no idea it was this crazy Colonel Sydenham-Leach that calls himself ruler of Trinadaro.”

“Own up like a man, George,” shouted O’Shea. “Ye would like nothing better than to be this kind of a king yourself.”

“You have read my thoughts like a wizard. But, confound you, you have spoiled the sale of a steamer for me. How about that?”

“We have tried to keep an estimable king from going to Davy Jones’s locker in a floating coffin that ye call the _Tyneshire Glen_,” severely retorted O’Shea. “Have ye any steamers that will pass honest men’s inspection?”

“Plenty of them,” promptly answered Huntley.

“Then we will look at two or three of them to-day, after we have paid our respects to His Majesty. We will not let him be cheated out of his eye-teeth. We have decided to protect him. Isn’t that so, Johnny?”

“He needs us, Cap’n Mike.”

Huntley became serious and took them into the rear office before he confided:

“I don’t know, I’m sure, whether you chaps are joking or not. However, here is a bit of news for you on the quiet. I met a friend of mine, a barrister, yesterday. We had luncheon at the Cheshire Cheese and something or other set him to talking about this Sydenham-Leach affair. It seems that the lawyers are quite keen about it. The family relations are planning to kick up a devil of a row, to bring proceedings under the lunacy act, and prevent this King Osmond from sailing off to his silly island of Trinadaro. They hate to see a fortune thrown away in this mad enterprise, as they call it.”

O’Shea was righteously wrathful as he flung out:

“Would they interfere with a gentleman and his diversions? Hasn’t he a right to spend his money as he pleases? Have ye ever seen him, George? He is a grand man to meet, and ’tis proud we are to be his friends.”

“Oh, I imagine they will have a job to prove he is insane,” said Huntley. “But they may make a pot of trouble for him.”

“I suppose they can pester him with all kinds of legal foolishness and haul him before the courts, and so on,” agreed O’Shea. “It would break his heart and spoil all his fun. ’Tis an outrageous shame, George. What is the system in this country when they want to investigate a man’s top story?”

“I asked the barrister chap,” replied Huntley. “The friends of the person suspected of being dotty, usually his near relatives, lay the case before one of the judges in lunacy, and he orders an inquiry, which is held before a master in lunacy. Then if the alleged lunatic demands a trial by jury he gets it. If he can’t convince them that he is sound in the thinker, his estate is put in charge of a committee duly appointed by law.”

O’Shea listened glumly and glowered his intense displeasure. If the law could interfere with a man who wished to be king of an island which nobody else wanted, then the law was all wrong.

“And these indecent relatives who want his money will wait and spring a surprise on him,” said the aggrieved shipmaster. “They will take his ship away from him and knock all his beautiful schemes into a cocked hat.”

“I imagine he would not be allowed to leave England if the proceedings were started,” said Huntley.

Johnny Kent, who had been darkly meditating, aroused himself to observe explosively:

“We’ll get him to sea in his ship whenever he wants to sail, and the relatives and the judges and the masters in lunacy be darned. It ain’t the first time that you and me have broken laws in a good cause, Cap’n Mike. You come along with us, George Huntley. We’re on our way to have a confab with His Majesty, and maybe you can do some business with him right off the reel. He ought to load his ship and head for blue water as quick as the Lord will let him.”

II

Behold, then, the pair of exiled Yankee mariners stanchly enlisted on the side of King Osmond I of Trinadaro, against the designs of all who would thwart his gorgeous and impracticable purposes. That his rank and title were self-assumed and his realm as yet unpeopled impressed these ingenuous sailormen as neither shadowy nor absurd.

King Osmond I was an elderly gentleman of a singularly guileless disposition, and the notoriety attending his unique project had caused him to be surrounded by persons who knew precisely what they wanted. Of these the vanished minister of finance, Baron Frederick Martin Strothers, of the brisk demeanor and the red waistcoat, had been a conspicuous example. It was a rare piece of good fortune for the amiable monarch that there should have come to his aid two such hard-headed and honest adventurers as O’Shea and Johnny Kent.

As the result of several interviews they were engaged to select a steamer and to take charge of her for the voyage to Trinadaro. Their qualifications were warmly indorsed by the well-known ship-broking firm of Tavistock & Huntley, of Leadenhall Street. The managing partner, that solid man with the romantic temperament, took the keenest interest in every detail of the picturesque enterprise. It would have been a temptation not easy to resist if King Osmond had offered him the place of minister of marine, with the bestowal of the insignia of the Grand Cross of Trinadaro.

The august personage was prodigiously busy. Several secretaries and stenographers toiled like mad to handle the vast amount of clerical work and correspondence. The king planned to carry with him a sort of vanguard of subjects, or colonists, who were to erect buildings, set up machinery, till the soil, prospect for mineral wealth, and otherwise lay the foundations of empire. These pioneers were largely recruited from his own estates and villages in Norfolk, and formed a sturdy company of British yeomanry.

Captain Michael O’Shea was never one to smother his opinions from motives of flattery or self-interest, and what information about Trinadaro he had been able to pick up on his own account was not dyed in glowing colors.

“I have not seen the island meself, Your Majesty,” said he, “but the sailing directions set it down as mostly tall rocks with a difficult landing-place and a dense population of hungry land-crabs as big as your hat. And if it was any good, would not some one of these benevolent Powers have gobbled it up long ago?”

King Osmond pleasantly made answer to such objections.

“Several years ago I made a long voyage in a sailing-ship on account of my health, Captain O’Shea, and we touched at Trinadaro to get turtles and fresh water. It was then that I conceived the idea of taking possession of the island as an independent principality. Although it has a most forbidding aspect from seaward, there is an inland plateau fit for cultivation and settlement. It contains the ruined stone walls of an ancient town founded by the early Portuguese navigators. And it is well to remember,” concluded the monarch of Trinadaro with a whimsical smile, “that available domains are so scarce that one should not be too particular. Trinadaro appears to have been overlooked.”

“’Tis a rule that the Christian nations will steal any territory that is not nailed down,” was the dubious comment of O’Shea. “They must have a poor opinion of Trinadaro, but, as ye say, ’tis about the only chance that is left for a king to work at his trade with a brand-new sign over the door.”

Johnny Kent spent most his time down river among the London docks. Wherever sea-going steamers were for sale or charter his bulky figure might have been seen trudging from deck to engine-room.

At length, with the royal approval, O’Shea had the purchase papers made out for the fine steamer _Tarlington_, which was berthed in a basin of the East India Docks. She was a modern, well-equipped freighter of four thousand tons which had been in the Australian trade and could be fitted for sea at a few days’ notice. The transfer of ownership was given no needless publicity. George Huntley attended to that. He had another interview with his friend, the barrister, who hinted at forthcoming events which gravely threatened the peace and welfare of Osmond I and the kingdom of Trinadaro.

O’Shea and Johnny Kent discussed this latest information at supper in the Jolly Mermaid tavern with a platter of fried sole between them.

“’Tis this way,” explained O’Shea. “There is no doubt at all that this grand king of ours will figure in the lunacy proceedings that we heard was in the wind. His relatives are getting greedier and more worried every day. And until the matter is decided one way or another they will use every means the law allows to head him off from spending the good money that belongs to him.”

“And how can they stop him from scatterin’ his coin for these wise and benevolent purposes of his?” demanded the engineer.

“Well, George Huntley says the law will permit them to clap some kind of a restrainin’ order on the ship and hold her in the dock with the judges’ officers aboard till the proceedings are over. And they can serve the same kind of documents on King Osmond to prevent his chasing himself beyond the jurisdiction of the court.”

“But all this infernal shindy can’t be started unless there’s proof positive that His Majesty intends to fly the coop, Cap’n Mike.”

“Right you are, Johnny, you old sea-lawyer. They can’t bother the king until he is actually on board and the ship is cleared, so the barrister lad tells George.”

“Then they’ll be watchin’ the _Tarlington_ like terriers at a rat-hole,” exclaimed the engineer.

“No, they won’t,” cried O’Shea with tremendous earnestness. “Do ye mind how we slipped out of Charleston Harbor in the _Hercules_ steamer, bound on the filibusterin’ expedition to Honduras? ’Twas a successful stratagem, and it could be done in London River.”

“Sure it could,” and Johnny Kent chuckled joyously. “And the king needn’t know anything about it.”

“Of course we will keep it from him if we can,” agreed O’Shea. “I will do anything short of murder to keep him happy and undisturbed. And it would upset him terribly to know that he must be smuggled out of England to dodge the rascals that would keep him at home as a suspected lunatic.”

“We’d better put George Huntley next to this proposition of ours,” suggested Johnny. “He itches to be a red-handed conspirator.”

The ship-broker admired the scheme when it was explained to him. Yes, the old _Tyneshire Glen_ which they had so scornfully declined to purchase was still at her moorings, and they were welcome to use her as a dummy, or decoy, or whatever one might choose to call it. O’Shea could pretend to load her, he could send as many people on board as he liked, and put a gang of mechanics at work all over the bally old hooker, said Huntley. If the enemies of King Osmond I took it for granted that the _Tyneshire Glen_ was the ship selected to carry him off to Trinadaro, that was their own lookout. It was a regular Yankee trick, by Jove!

O’Shea and Johnny Kent took great care to avoid being seen in the vicinity of the _Tarlington_. Such inspection and supervision as were necessary they contrived to attend to after dark. The king was up to his ears in urgent business and was easily persuaded to leave the whole conduct of the ship’s affairs in their capable hands and to waive preliminary visits to the East India Docks.

O’Shea employed a Scotch engineer, who understood that his wages depended on his taciturnity, to oversee such repair work as the _Tarlington_ needed, and to keep steam in the donkey-boilers.

All signs indicated that the _Tarlington_ was preparing for one of her customary voyages to Australia. Soon the cargo began to stream into her hatches. The ostensible destinations of the truck-loads of cases and crates and bales of merchandise were Sydney, Melbourne, Wellington, Fremantle, and so on. One might read the names of the consignees neatly stencilled on every package. This was done under the eye of Captain O’Shea, who, in his time, had loaded hundreds of boxes of rifles and cartridges innocently labelled “Condensed Milk,” “Prime Virginia Hams,” and “Farming Tools.”

But the place to find roaring, ostentatious activity was on board the old _Tyneshire Glen_. This rusty steamer fairly hummed. Captain O’Shea visited her daily, and Johnny Kent hustled an engine-room crew with loud and bitter words. It appeared as though the ship must be in a great hurry to go to sea. While they were stirring up as much pretended industry as possible, the question of a cargo was not overlooked. It was shoved on board as fast as the longshoremen in the holds could handle it. Nor did these brawny toilers know that all these stout wooden boxes so plainly marked and consigned to Trinadaro “via S.S. _Tyneshire Glen_” contained only bricks, sand, stones, and scrap-iron.

They were part of the theatrical properties of Captain O’Shea, who could readily produce a make-believe cargo for a faked voyage in a steamer which had no intention of leaving port.

The London newspapers showed renewed interest in the schemes and dreams of King Osmond I of Trinadaro. The _Tyneshire Glen_ was visited by inquisitive journalists with note-books and cameras. Captain O’Shea welcomed them right courteously, and gave them information, cigars, and excellent whiskey. They returned to their several offices to write breezy columns about the preparations for the singular voyage of the _Tyneshire Glen_. So severe are the English libel laws that never a hint was printed of the possible legal obstacles which might bring the enterprise to naught. For purposes of publication, King Osmond I was as sane as a trivet unless a judge and jury should officially declare him otherwise.

Nevertheless, the intimation had reached the newspaper offices that the relatives of Colonel Sydenham-Leach were likely to take steps to prevent him from leaving England. And reporters were assigned to watch the _Tyneshire Glen_ up to the very moment of departure.

Now and then Johnny Kent quietly trundled himself on board the _Tarlington_, usually after nightfall, and was gratified to find that progress was running smoothly in all departments. So nearly ready for sea was the big cargo-boat that the time had come to devise the final details of the stratagem.

Accordingly, Captain O’Shea went boldly to the custom house, and took out clearance papers not for the _Tarlington_ to Australia, but for the _Tyneshire Glen_ to the island of Trinadaro. The chief officer whom he had selected to sail with him held a master’s certificate and the ship was cleared in his name.

As for the _Tarlington_, which was really to sail while the _Tyneshire Glen_ remained peacefully at her moorings in the East India Docks, O’Shea decided to omit the formality of clearances. As he explained to Johnny Kent:

“The less attention called to the _Tarlington_ the better. Once at sea we will hoist the flag of Trinadaro over our ship, and His Majesty’s government will give her a registry and us our certificates. ’Tis handy to be an independent sovereign with a merchant marine of his own.”

The services of an employment agency enabled O’Shea to muster several score bogus colonists or subjects of King Osmond, persons of respectable appearance who were glad to earn ten shillings apiece by marching on board the _Tyneshire Glen_ with bags and bundles in their hands. There could be no room for doubt in the public mind that the eccentric, grandiose Colonel Sydenham-Leach was on the point of leaving his native shores with his people and material to found his island principality.

It seemed advisable to Captain O’Shea to take the _Tarlington_ out of the docks late in the afternoon, swing into the river, and anchor until King Osmond should be brought aboard in a tug furnished by George Huntley. There was much less risk of observation in having the royal passenger join the ship after nightfall and away from the populous docks, in addition to which O’Shea preferred to get clear of the cramping stone basins and gates and hold his ship in the fair-way with room for a speedy departure in the event of a stern chase.

He artlessly explained that this arrangement would allow the king to spend several more hours ashore in winding up the final details of his business. The unsuspecting Osmond I approved these plans and had no idea that they were part of an elaborate conspiracy to smuggle him out of England under cover of darkness.

As a crafty device to throw the enemy off the scent, O’Shea conceived what he viewed as a master-stroke. George Huntley was called into consultation and promptly sent for a superannuated clerk of his office staff who had been pensioned after many years of faithful service. He proved to be a slender, white-haired man who carried himself with a great deal of dignity, and at the first glimpse of him O’Shea exclaimed delightedly: