There the first and last King of Trinadaro was laid to rest, and the guns of the cruisers thundered a requiem. The British lieutenant counted the guns and turned to Captain O’Shea to say:
“It is the salute given only to royalty, according to the navy regulations. It is the least we can do for him.”
“And it is handsomely done,” muttered the grateful O’Shea as he brushed his hand across his eyes.
“Will you take your ship back to England?”
“Yes. I can do nothing else. ’Twill be a sad voyage, but God knows best. As it all turned out, this king of ours had to die to win his kingdom.”
When the mourners had returned to the Tarlington, Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent went into the chart-room and talked together for some time. At length the simple-hearted chief engineer said with a wistful smile:
“I’m glad we stood by and did what we could for him, ain’t you, Cap’n Mike?”
“You bet I am, Johnny. He was a good man, and I loved him. Here’s to His Majesty, King Osmond of Trinadaro! Even the pair of court officers we kidnapped had come to be fond of him and wished him no harm. There may be trouble waiting for us in London River on account of them and the ship that took out no clearances. But we will face the music. ’Tis not much to do for him that was so good to us.”
“Right you are, Cap’n Mike; but do you suppose we’ll go to jail?”
“No; for the blame will be laid to poor King Osmond, and the law will hold him responsible for the acts of his agents. But we would not mind going to jail for him.”