“’Tis my opinion that ye wish to make folks happy and that you will do no harm with your money,” was the reply. “And there’s few rich men that can say the same. No; ’tis not crack-brained to want to be a king. Power is what men desire, and they will trample on others to get it. I have heard ye talk here on board ship, and I have admired what you had to say. You will live your own life in your own way, but ye will not forget to make this island of yours a place for men and women to call home and to be glad that they have found it.”
“I thank you, Captain O’Shea,” said the other. “I cannot help thinking now and then of what will be the fate of my principality when death comes to me. If I am spared for ten or fifteen years longer, I shall have time to set my affairs in order, to make Trinadaro self-sustaining, to win the recognition of foreign governments, to arrange for an administration to succeed my reign.”
“May you live to be a king until you are a hundred!” cried O’Shea. “And a man who is as happy and contented as you are is pretty sure of a ripe old age.”
“I hope that you and Mr. Kent will consent to sail under my flag as long as I live,” earnestly said the king. “I have learned to depend on you, and I need not tell you that the financial arrangement will be more favorable than you could make elsewhere.”
“We have no notion of quitting your service,” replied O’Shea, with a smile. “’Tis up to us to see the kingdom fairly under way before we turn rovers again.”
It was early in the morning of the second day after this when the officer on watch roused Captain O’Shea with the news that land had been sighted on the starboard bow. The master of the Tarlington stared through his binoculars and saw a black, jagged foreland of rock lifting from the sea. He sent word to the passengers that Trinadaro lay ahead of them.
King Osmond had left word that he was to be called whenever the first glimpse of his island should be revealed. But he came not to the bridge in response to the message from Captain O’Shea. In his stead appeared his physician, with a demeanor terribly distressed. His voice was unsteady as he said:
“It is my sad duty to inform you that His Majesty passed away some time during the night. His heart simply ceased to beat. It had been somewhat feeble and irregular of late, but the symptoms were not alarming. His strength was overtaxed during those last weeks in London.”
O’Shea bared his head and stood silent. The announcement was very hard to believe. Pulling himself together, he murmured to the chief officer:
“The king is dead. Please set the flag of Trinadaro at half-mast.”