The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 20, 1903, Page 10

\<22))) than mine. If she loves you, and wants you, meke yourself worthy of her. By heaven, I'll help you, if it kills me! You thought I was harsh to-day. I swear to you if you succeed nobody will ac- knowledge it quicker then I!" “Will you tell her so?” “1 will!” “Rhett,” said the other man, stretch- ing out his hand, “the woman I love has this day honored me, but by heav- en, I believe you have hdnored me more. 1 did think it was a low-down for you to go to Miss Glen, but ow why you did it and you were t. It's too late. I can mnever be different. My father and grandfather both died in drunken sprees—it’s in my blood. I ecan’t help it. I've had a chance or two to do something a little out of the ordinary in this war, thank God for it, but I suppose the reason I was able to carry it through was that I cared little whether I lived or died. No, that isn't true. I'd rather die than live, but I would like to go out of existence doing something fine and noble. I—I—might get a better chance on the other side, then, you know. Life is nothing to and there are no possibilities in It. He spoke bitterly. It was rare that any one saw him in that mood. I tell you I'm cursed. I wouldn't take that girl if she did sccept me. 1 onily wanted to trouble you. Well, no, not exactly that, either. I love her, God knows, but the devil's got me in his grip and—" “I can't understand it,"” said Semp- land vaguely. “Oh, of course you can't. You're so strong and so self-contalned—such as you never can understand such as I. But to be a drunkard and a gambler, and a—" He stopped and threw up his hands, and then dropped them heavily by his side. “It's in my blood, I téll you®@ It is not all my fault. Yet there is good in me, enough good to make me go mad if I stop to think of it. I want some ay to get out of th! with honor. ave the fleld for he doesn’t love— “You're a fool, S me—about that woman. ., Not so much the good as the bad, but in some things women are alike, a wo- is & woman whatever she That girl loves the ground you k on.” Nonsense! It's you.” “Pshaw! She s fescinated by what she's heard on one hand, and she s her eyes to what she has heard the other. The war is young. ‘Il be beaten, of course, but not some hard, desperate fight- 1 Your chance will come, and when it does—" “I will master it or die!” “Of course, but don’t die. Master it.: Leave dying to me. I've sought ways for it and now one is at hand.” ““What is 1t2” “I am golng to take out the David to-night.” “What!” “Yes. It's a dead secret, but I can tell you. There are three blockade runners ready to sail. The Wabash lies off the Main Ship Channel. Of course, all the others are blockaded, too, but General Beauregard thinks that if we can torpedo the flagship the others will hurry to her assistance and the blockade runners can get out through the vash Channel. magazines are running low. and we must have arms, powder, and every- thing. There are two or three_ship- loads at Nassau. This is an attempt to get to them. If we can blow up Admiral Vernon's flagship perhaps we can raise the blockade. At any rate, it's the only chance for the blockade runners to get out.” “Did the general this?” “Certainly not. I suggested it to him. They don’t order any one to the David, you know.” “I ghould say not,” returned Semp- land. he been down five times, hasn't sh “Yes, and every time with all of her crew.” “How many all told has she carried to death?” “Seme thirty or more, I believe.” “And she has never done any dam- age to the enemy.” “She scraped the paint off the New Ironsides c night and scared her crew to death, I reckon, but that's all.” “Lacy!” cried Sempland suddenly, “T have 1fo right to ask favors of you, but—" “That’'s all right. Ask.” “Let me go to-night.” “What's the use? One officer is enocugh, and you could not do any good by going along. I should be in command—"" “Let me go in your place!” “Nonsense! If's almost death.” “I don't care. It's my chance. I can run the thing as well as you.” “Oh, anybody can run the thing for that matter.” “My life is of no more value to the South or to me than youra. Come! You have had your chances, and im- proved them; give this to me.” Lacy hesitated. “Sempland, you're & fool, as I sald before. You're running away from the woman who loves you. You're risking your life.” “Never mind about that,” returned the other. “She doesn’t love me and I want to do it. For God’s sake, old man, don't be selfish! Let me have an opportunity!"” Sempland was ordinarily a reticent and a quiet man, but this possibility awoke him into action. He pleaded so long, and so hard, and so deter- minedly that he overbore the weaker man and finally wrung from him a grudging assent te his “If the general is willing I'll give you my chance.” “Thank you. God bless you! If I don't come back remember that you're to make a man of yourself—tor her.” pland—forgive out order you to do certain THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL—CHRISTMAS NUMBER. — ,&‘ SN AR “You will come back. You must come back!” 4 “General Beauregard,” said® Lacy, as the two young officers were ushered into the general's oiffice, “I have a most unusual request to make of you, =ir.” “What is it, Major Lacy?” returned the other man. “I want you to relieve me of the duty of taking out the David to-night, sir.” “What!"” “I want you to give it to Mr. Semp- land here. “You wish to avoid the danger?” queried Beauregard, gazing intently at Lacy. ““He does it as a favor to me, gener- al,” interrupted Sempland. ‘He has had his chance, and I have had none. I begged and implored him to allow me to go, and only wrung a most re- luctant consent from him.” The general turned his head away; his fingers tapped softly on the desk. “Things have not gone as we wished,” he murmured half to him- self, “the South is hard pushed, in- deed. The war has dragged on. It becomes Qarder and harder, but we may not despair for our beloved coun- try when her sons strive for posts of danger and are emulous to die in her service. Do you know what this means, Mr. Sempland ?” ““Whet it means, general?” “There is about one chance in a thousand of your coming back. BEvery time that infernal submarine has been AN 2 o A R used she has done no damage to the enemy and has drowned her crew. Payne was drowned in her with eight men when she was first sent out. She swamped by the wash of a pass- ing steamer on her next trial, and all hands were lost. Then she sank at Fort Sumter Wharf, carrying down gix of her men. Hundley took her in- to the Stone River and made a dive with her. hit mud, stuck there, and every soul was suffocated. They raised her and fixed her up again and tried her once more in the harbor here. She worked beautifully for awhile, but fouled the cable of the receiving ship trying to pass under her keel, and stayed there. She has just been ‘Taised, the dead cleared out of her, now you want to go on her again. “1 do, sir,” returned Sempland. “Is life worth so little to you that you are willing to sacrifice 1t?" “There is Lacy, sir.” “Oh, he is different!” burst out the general, and then bit his llp. “It would be greatly to Lacy's credit,” had flashed into his mind, “if he could manage to die in some such hereic ac- tion.” Lacy and Sempland knew what the general thought, and Sempland could think of no words to bridge over the pause. “You see,” at last sald Lecy smiling satirically at Sempland, “the general understands. You would better let The thing sometimes weorks. Gassell got out alive when he tried to blow up the New Ironsides, and any- way, I want this chance. I have had four years of war and have spent three of it in prison. For God's sake, general—" “Very well. You shall have it,” an- swered Beauregard, ‘but I will not have the boat used as a submarine. You can sink her until her hatch is awash, but no lower.” “Thank you,” answered the de- lighted Sempland; ‘“where shall I get s RS e “One has already been selected from among hundreds who volun- teered. Five seamen are to sttend to the propeller and an artillery officer to look after the torpedo. You can steer the boat?” “I lived on the water before I en- tered the army.” “All right. The Wabash is lying off the Main €hip Channel. T have no in- structions to give you except to go at her and sink her. I am told the most vulnerable spot of a ship is just for- ward of the mainmast. Hit her there. Dan’t explode your torpedo until you are in actual contact if possible, Gas- sell’s went off the moment he saw her without touching, else he would have sunk the New Ironsides. You will find the torpedo boat at the Government Wharf. Everything is repdy. You will leave at 7 o'clock. The three blockade runners will follow you as close as is practicable, and when yvou torpedo the frizate they will dart through the Swarh and try to get to sea. I reckon upon the other Yankee ships running down to aid the Wa- bash. I'll see you on the wharf. Cod bless you and may he have mercy on your sou said the little general solemnly. He put out his hand to the voung man and he shook it vigorously. “I pray that I may succeed for the sake of the South, sir,” returned Sempland firmly. “For the sake of the Bouth, gentle- men. That is our watchword,” cried Beauregard, standing up and bringing - ! “He is going to take out the David” “Yes?"” “And blow up the Wabash.” Her hand went to her heart. Her face turned whiter than the frock she ‘wore. “My God!” she whispered, “Admir- al Vernon's ship!” . “She loves him! She loves him!” flaghed into Lacy’s mind. and for the moment he suffefed agonies of jealous pain. “But,” continued should they—"" “In the first place,” went on Lacy, “if the venture succeeds, we sink a noble ship and put out of the way a most determined enemy, and we hope to let the blockaded cotton ships get to sea.” “But the David!” said the girl, who knew the sinister story of the crazy submarine torpedo boat ag did every- one in Charleston. ‘It is sure death!” “It is dangerous,” said Lacy softly, “but General Beauregard has ordered Sempland to keep her on the surface. That ought to give them a chance. Glassell escaped, you remember, when he tried the New Ironsides.” “He will be killed! He will be killed!” she cried piteously, “and— Admiral Vernon!” ‘“What is the Yankee admiral to vou, to any of us?” Lacy asked, curi, ously interested to know the meaning of her remark. “Why do you tell me of all this?" she asked, falling to notice his ques- tion {n her anxiety and alarm. “Because I want you to know Semp- land as the hero he is and because— forgive my frankness—I believe that you love him. So I want him to hear vou say it before he goes out. It will double his chances of escape if he has your love to think of. You will in- the girl, “why ~ “mpow Dowry YOUR ARVZS, YOU BLACK HOUND ., 7 -~ his hand to a salute. ! ‘““Have you any preparations to make, Sempland?” asked Lacy when they left the office. “I have ‘a letter to write.” “Very well. I will look after the boat and will meet you on the wharf. Shall you see Miss Glen before you go?” No.” “You must.” “I cannot. What difference does it meke to her anyway? I will be at the wharf”—he looked at his watch, it was already 6 o'clock—"“in three- quarters of an hour. Good by. The two men shook hands and sepa- rated. “The boat is ready,” said Lacy to himself, “I saw to that this afternoon. There is nothing for me to do there. I wonder—by Jove, F'll do it!” A few minutes after he was ushered again into the presence of Miss Fanny Glen. BShe had at first pleaded indis- position, but he had insisted upon see- ing he: “I have something of so much im- portance to tell you, Miss Glen,” he began as she entered the room, “that I was forced to override your de- aivas” “Is it about the subject that we—I talked about this afternoon? If so—" “It 1s not. I shall say no more on that score. I had my answer then.” “I am very sorry,” continued the girl. “I admire you, respect you, but —but—but—I do net—" “I understand. Never mind that. You said that Sempland had never done anything to distinguish himself. ‘Well, he's going to do it to-night.” “What is he golng to do?” asked the girl, all the listlessness instantly going out of her manner. spire him to come back. As it is now, I am afraid he does not especially care to. He's too good a man to lose, if we—it you—cdn save him, Miss Fanny.” “And this man abused you to me this afternoon!” murmured the girl. “He sald what was true. I honor him for it. I love you, Miss Fanny. I am proving it to you now as I proved it to him when I gave him my place at his earnest entreaty. The de- tail was mine. I gave him the chance.” “Why did you do it?” “For his sake, for yours. It's his solitary chance. I've had so many, you know.” “And he is going to blow up the Wabash, the admiral’s ship, did you o ““Yes, if he can.” Fanny Glen was a picture of terror plainly apparent in spite of her vali- ant effort to conceal Her feelings. Her agitation was so overwhelming, her anxiety so pronounced, that even on the hypothesis of an ardent affection for Sempland, Lacy was completely at a loss to accqunt for her condition. ‘What could it mean? But he had no tie to speculate upon it. The min- utes were flying by. “Come, Miss Glen,” he said at last, “it isn't so bad as all that.” “But those men on the ship the— the admiral! They won't have a chance for their lives. It is appalling to think of! I cannot bear it! I—" “Let them lift the blockade then,” coolly returned the young officer, “it is a chance of war. Don’t waste your sympathy on them. Bestow it nearer at hand. Sempland starts in half an hour. Won’t you see him before he R “Yes,” whispered the girl, “if you will send him to me.’ “There is no time to lose. I will have him here In a few moments.” As he turned away the girl stretched out her hand to him. “You have been very good—very brave—very noble,” she faltered. “T wish—I—I loved you more ‘than— than I deo.” § He stooped oxer her and kissed her bended head. She was small and so appealing. He breathed a prayer over her and tore himself away. “Thank you,” he said, ‘you have rewarded me. Good by.” CHAPTER IV. STRONG ROOM AND STRONG MAN. As she heard his departing foot- step on the porch the poor girl threw herself dewn upon her knees and lifted her hands. “The South- and—and—he, mistak- en but still—ah, where is my duty? The ship and Rhett Sempland! I love him. I cannot let him go! It would be wicked. God pity me! But how, how to prevent it? If I can enly de- lay him until to-morrow, I can tell the general everything, and-—is there a way, is there a way, oh, God?” She thought deeply, every atom in her being concentrated on the prob- lem which tore her between love and duty, devotion to the cause of the South and those other appeals, which, finding lodgment in her heart, moved her so profoundly. She wrestled with the question as to where her duty lay as Jacob wrestled with the angel of old, and if she did not conquer, at least she decided. Determining on a desperate course of action, she rose to her feet and sharply struck a bell by her side on the table. The house was an ancient mansion when it had been rented by her aunt and herself three years before. It dated back to Colo- nial times. There was a strong room in it, the windows of which were barred. It would make a Safe prison for any one. He should be put in there and kept there until morning. He would be safe there. No harm would come to the ship and when the general knew he would forgive her. She would tell him the first thing in the morning. It would cause her lover pain and grief, this summary ac- tion of hers, but he would forgive her and she would reward him with her- self! There was compensation, she thought proudly and tenderly. “Caesar,” she said as the aged but- ler made his appearance in response to the bell, “send Joe and Sam and Cato to me. Beys,” she continued as three stalwart young negroes pre- sented themselves before her soon after, “Mr. Sempland is coming here to-night to see m2. I—he—" she found it somewhat difficult to explain. “‘General Beauregard wants him de- tained here. I cannot let him get away. Show him into the strong room on the other side of the house when he asks for me, and then lock the door on him. Don’t let him get out’under any circumstances until to- morrow, but on no account are you to do him any hurt. You hear? TYou understand ?”" “Ya-as, Miss Fanny, I specs we does,” answered Cato, the oldest and most intelligent of the three. “Caesar, you show him into the strong room. Say I will meet him there in a moment. The rest of you stay in the passage, and as soon as he enters lock the door upon him. Don't neglect that! He'll try to get out. He may break the door down. But you must keep him there even if he at- tempts to kill you—unless I say for you to release him.” The three slaves were devoted to their young mistress and accepting her orders without a question, they at once begun their preparations to carry V= \:‘. N STV Y them out. As they were talking to- gether a light step sounded on he porch. There was a ring at the door. The men hurried to their places af concealment. Miss Fanny Glen hid in the dark drawing-room, as Caesar shuffied along the hall to the front door. “Your mistress has sent for me,” said Sempland. And from where she stood in the drawing-room, Fanny Glen’s heart leaped at the tones of his volee. “Yas, suh” returned the darky, ob- sequiously ushering him through the hall. “Step right dis way, suh, Mass’ Sempland. Miss Fanny dope axes you to go in dis room at de end of de pas- sage, suh. An’ she told me she gwine be wid you in a minute, suh.” The room was one which Sempland had never entered before. It was small, furnished like a library or of- fice, with several large closets and an old iron safe, and had two grated win- dows and one heavy mahogany door. It had formerly been used as an office and as,a treasure room. Seeing the visitor' safe within Caesar calmly withdrew, and as he adroitly codghed violently in the passage Sempland did not hear the ponderous key turning in the old-fashioned lock. He waited a few minutes and then as time was precious he looked around for a dell Seeing none he walked to the door, laid his hand upon the knob, and tried to open it. It did net give. “Locked!” he muttered in surprise. Ralsing his hand he struck a light blow on the pansls, but there was ne reply. Then he called out and re- cefved no answer. He struck and called again and again, his voice ris- ing to a shout while his hands were bleeding from the blows he had rained on the surface. Finally a volce came to him faintly through the door. “Wat's de matta, suh?” “Open this door instantly, yeu biack dog! Where is Miss Glen?"” “She’s a-comin’, syh?” “] wish to see her immediately!™ he cried impetuously, battering again upon the door in furlous rags, which was stilled the instant he heard her voice outside. “Mr. Sempland 1" “What is the meaning of this ac- tion, this outrage, Miss Glen?” he cried. “You sent for me. I came. Why am I locked in here? Open the door! I must leave immediately!” “You are locked in here by my or- ders, Mr. Sempland,” said Fanny Glea nervously. “Impossible! For what reason?” “Because I—I—" “By heavens, this is maddening! You don’t know what you dof I am ordered to-night on a hazardous ex- pedition. I must be at my post in ten minutes. Let me out instantly!” “I know,” returned the girl “Well, then, why don’'t you opem this door? I will* say nothing of this—" “I cannot.” “Why not?” “I—I—do not wish you to go out on the David.” “What is it to you? How &are you interfere? You sald I had done nothing but lie in prison,” he replied. “I will show you to-night.” “Not to-night.” “This is madness! Think what you are doing!"” “I can't help it.” “Why not?” “Because I—I—" “In God's name, mean ?"” “I will not have you take the risk. It is certain death to you, and the ad- miral's ship—" said the girl so softly that he could scarce hear her. “You will forgive me when you understand. I shall release you to-morrow. Merec: Have pity on me, I am almost crazy “Do you know that you will dis- honor me? If you care let me go.” “There is another reason. I will not have the Wabash blown up. There is a—a—" “Another man?” shouted Sempland. “You are a coquette! Let me out, I say! I will get out! My God, was ever a man in such a situation?” He beat and hammered on the door until his bruised hands bled again. He shook it in its frome like a madman. He was exhausted by the violence of his efforts and of his passion. Through it all the girl stood in the hall frightened nearly to death. What mad scheme had she entered upon? Had she strength enough to carry it through? The three servants were terrified also, their eyes rolling in their sockets, their hands nervous- ly fingering their weapons. Suddenly another voice, Caesar’s, broke though the turmoil, reaching even the ear of the desperate man on the other side of the heavy mahogany door. He stopped to listen. *‘Miss Fanny, said the butler, “dah’s a soger man out at de do’ an’ he wants to know if Mass’ Semplan’ is heah.” “Tell him, no,” said Fanny Glen resolutely. “Say he left a half hour ago.” “My God!" groaned Sempland, “I am a disgraced and ruined man! Lis- ten to me, Fanny Glen! I swear to you, on my honor as a gentleman, if you do not instantly open this door I'll blow miy brains out in this room!"” “Oh, you wouldn’t do that?" , “I would, so help me God!” There was conviction in his volce. The girl listening in the passage heard the click of a raised hammer. “Don’t!” she cried in greater terror than ever, “I will open!” He heard a brief whispered consul- tation, the key was turned in the lock and the door was suddenly flung open. Sempland darted toward it on the in- stant and recoiled from the terrible figure of the little woman barring him with outstretched arms. If he had suffered within, she had suffered without the room. Such a look of mortal agony and anguish he had never seen on any human face. She trembled violently before him. Yet she was resolute not to give way, de- termined to keep the door. Clus- what do you