The Crime of Edmund Challoner.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1151, 23 March 1894, Page 10

The Crime of Edmund Challoner.

By JAMES KNAPP KEEYE.

[.Copyright, 1593, by American Press Association.] When the steamer Pelican set sail from the port of Vera Cruz for Havana on tho afternoon of Jan. 23, IBS— -, it had beforo it as fair prospect for fair voyage as ever did ship that put to sea. The passengers, mostly tourists who had come down the long rail route through Mexico or across from that ocean which is misnamed the Pacific, lounged contentedly about the decks and congratulated themselves that their lines had fallen in pleasant places. The voyage was begun Saturday. Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. The sea was without a ripple, except as the sharp prow of the ship cut through it. Tho water lay like a mass of molten silver, and the hot sun-beat upon it and was reflected back as from a shield.

The captain ordered awnings stretched upon the decks, and beneath their shade the passengers lounged and read novels and sipped ices which the steward brought and dozed. Just before nightfall a little cloud came up out of tho south. It was the forerunner of one of those storms which iweep the southern seas so swiftly and so terribly.

By the time the sun was fairly below the horizon the storm was upon them. The passengers, who had hurried below, 3puld hear the rain dashing \tpon the leeks, feel the wind and waves sweepjig against the ship and see at intervals the wild and vivid play of the lightning.

The calm sea was churned into a mass }f angry foam that seethed and leaped ibout the ship, but the beating of the jreat engines never ceased, and the ship held steadily upon its course.

Except when the lightning revealed .»he tossing sea it was but sailing for•ivard into the ocean of inky and impenetrable blackness. Such a night demands oonfidence in your captain and your t.orapass. The captain himself held the wheel k ,nd took a sailor's grim delight in watching how nobly his vessel withstood the buffeting of the storm. A single passenger, for whom the contention of the elements seemed to have no terror, stood a little within the shelter tif the pilothouse. When the lightning played, the man at the wheel looked clown and observed him curiously. "My friend, you seem to like this sort of thing," he said. "Yes, it is a diversion," the other answered briefly. The storm had awakened the social clement that usually lay dormant beneath the captain's gruff exterior. He teemed disposed toward conversation. "Come, I like that," he said, then added questioningly, "you are not a seafar-

ing man?" '/No.?,' was driving the ship so tiereely- that the wheel for a time demanded the captain's whole attention. When the lightning revealed the pastenger again, he stood with head bent down, like one who listens. In an instant all was black again, but cut from the darkness the captain heard the stranger's voice asking quietly: "Are you sure of your course, sir?" "Sure," said the officer firmly;. "I have Leen over it too often to make any mistake. I caii read this sea like a book in a blacker night than this." '/Nevertheless," replied the other quite 88 firmly, "I have just heard a whistling buoy, and that would be impossible upon your true course." "Tut! You are crazy!' said the,captain sharply. "There is no whistling buoy nearer than Captiva island inlet, and that is a good 20 miles away. You must Lave sharp ears."

"It was the bu,oy that I beard." The captain muttered an oath. "Who are you?" he cried. "They call me the king of Captiva," feaid the other. Even as he spoke there, came to both, distinctly in the pauses of the storm, the melancholy soughing note of the whistling buoy so close and so. distinct that there was no chance for question even had there been time. But simultaneously there came a shock that made the- ship tremble "from stem to Stem*, ' ' ' ____________

The captain signaled to reverse the engines, but before the order could be obeyed the waves had lifted the ship, carried it forward and let it fall -vrith an awful crash and breaking and spraining of timbers. "We are on the reef!" cried tho captain, and a moment later:

"We are breaking In two! To the boats! To the boats!" There was little need of the order. The crew, realizing their peril, were at the davits and working to lower away. The passengers excitedly thronged the deck and hampered the crew and officers in their efforts. So many swarmed into the first boat lowered that it swamped before leaving the vessel's side. The crew, with some of the male passengers, were about to take possession of the second boat when tho stranger who had warned the captain sprang to the rail. "Stand back, you cowards!" he shouted. "No man shall enter that boat until the women have been taken off!"' The lightning showed him standing beside tho davits, a pistol raised in either hand, For a moment he held the men at bay. Then one hulking fellow spoke, "They can't go without some one to handle the boat, master." "It will need men and not cowards for that." The sailor stood irresolute for an instant, and then sprang forward, thinking to catch the other off his guard. There was the Hash of a pistol, and the big body dropped like a log and rolled over into the sea.

"There will be no more trouble now," said tho stranger, "but we have no time to lose. Hand the women forward." Close beside him stood an old man and a young woman, evidently his daughter. These two hung back, and the young man touched the older one impatiently upon the arm. "Come, sir," ho said, "the ship is breaking up. Let us get the lady into the boat."

The girl threw herself upon her father's bosom. "Oh, I cannot go until you do," she cried. "If we must die, let us die together." "No, Helen, be brave. Go, and I will take m} T chance with the others." The boat was filling rapidly. "You are too late now," said the stranger. "Perhaps it is just as well. The boat is too full to last in such a sea."

As each succeeding boat was filled the father and daughter still drew back because they coi'ild not secure places without becoming separated. As the last one was lowered the young man seized the girl bodily and swung her safely into it, then, giving his hand to her father, assisted him to a place beside her. Others followed rapidly, and when the boat was ready to pull away only himself and the captain remained upon the ship. "Shall we go?" asked the .latter- of his companion.

'.'.What is. the use! She may get away as it is, although I think she has more now than she can carry. But with two more"—he finished with a suggestive shake of his head.

The young girl, perceiving his determination, started to her feet. "Father! We must not go," she cried. "Don't you see he has given his chance to us?"

But her protest was, o£ no avail, as the oarsmen were already pulling away from the dangerous proximity of the ship. When the boat was fairly away, the two men faced each other questioningly. "We have yet one chance," said the captain. "Yes, a raft, if we have time," responded the other.

It required but a few moments to splice some planks together and launch them into the sea, but the task was completed none too soon. The waves had Carried them only a little way, off when sie ship, broke in two where it hung upon the rock and \yent down, amid a gurgle and swirl of black waters that sucked into its maelstrom every floating particle that swam within its reach. The two men with, difficulty maintained their hold upon the slender means that lay between themselves, and death. Through the long night they were tossed to and fro ; the wash of the waves all the time, carrying them further seaward. When morning came, theyscanned the horizon anxiously for any sign, of land or of their missing companions. Far away to the east lay the white line of breakers that marked the reef where the ship struck.

"Beyond that lies Captiva," said the 3-oung man.

"It might as well bo a thousand miles,'' replied the captain. "We can never reach it."

As the light grew stronger they made out a faint, black speck upon the water a long way off, yet nearer than the reef and between themselves and it. Both men watched it a long time in silence. "It is a boat," said the captain, "and bottom up. Some of the poor souls have gone, but only by a little shorter route than we shall."

"It is drifting this way," said the other, "but more slowly than we, because it lies deeper in the water. If we could paddle toward it or even bold ourselves here"

The men looked down upon the bare planks of the raft, then, moved by a common impulse, threw themselves prostrate upon it and began to paddle with their hands against the beating waves. It was slow and exhausting work, but for an hour they continued their effort steadily. At the end of that time they were perceptibly nearer the boat.

The sun was now hot and fierce, and unprotected from its scorching rays, and without food or drink, the men were beginning to give way under the strain. Still they toiled desperately on. They became dizzy from the glare of light upon the water, yet kept their eyes fixed steadily toward the boat. It was high noon before they were near enough to feel safe in resting. Then the captain, after a long and steady look toward the boat, uttered a sudden exclamation.

"There is some one clinging to it," he said. Then added, painfully, aftor a brief pause, "There are two." His mouth was parched and cracked so that he could hardly utter the words.

"It is a man and a woman." answered his companion; "wo must reach them." Then they fell to work again.

An hour more' and the raft and the !r»oat touched. The throats of the men had become so dry that they could not hail, and the two upon the boat were so nearly exhausted that they had not observed the approach of the raft. Getting close alongside, the occupants of the raft drew first the woman and then the man to a place of greater security and then attempted to right the boat. This, which would not have been u great task for such experienced seamen nnder ordinary circumstances, was now, owing to their exhausted condition, only accomplished, after a long effort. At last they were able to place their rescued companions in the boat, to clamber in themselves and to make the raft fast against possible future needs. Then nature would stand no more, and the four slept and. drifted. A sudden passing rain, a shower falling from a clear sky, came upon the faces of the sleepers and wakened them. It was a rain of the tropics, sudden, heavy and brief. The four lay with upturned faces and let it fall into their mouths. They caught it in their hands and moistened their parched throats. When it had passed, they were refreshed and hopeful.

The one who had called himself the king of Captiva began taking the raft to pieces. He pulled the smaller planks into the boat and sent the balance adrift.

"We must use these for paddles," he said. "Captiva island lies behind that reef. 1 know the inlet well. Before nightfall we shall be safe." It required the last vestige of strength which they possessed to make this promr ise good, but by the time the stars be* gan to come out the. keel of the boat touched upon, a sloping sandy beach. "Here wa are at least safe," said their guide, as with the captain he helped the others from the boat, "and a second time we are indebted to you for our lives," said the girl, who was none other than the one whom the stranger had put into, the last boat that left the ship. "I thinkwe are the only ones who are saved." She shuddered as sho looked out upon the sea.

A little way "HP from the beach they came, upon a cabin —a mere thatched hut of the most primitive construction Bet in the midst of a grove of palms. "This is my house," said the stranger; "To it and the little I have here I make you welcome." He hastily arranged a couch of pain* leaves for the old man, who seemed weaker than his daughter from the ex-, posure of the shipwreck, and brought out some, rugs and some of his own, clothing for him. Then motioning the captain, to, follow he led the way to a small shed which served the purposes of kitchen and storehouse. Here a fire was soon started, some coffee put or* and some meal cakes stirred together. Then some plantains were stripped from the trees close by and thrust into the fire to, roast. Going a little farther away, the stranger returned with, an armful of ripe oranges. When the plaur tains and cakes were done, the two bore the repast to the cabin in triumph. As they ate and became strengthened: they began to talk together,. "This is quite as wonderful as any of our past experiences," said the old man to their host. "I beg that you will tell us who you are and how you chance to

have hero such provision for our sudden need."

"As for names, it. does not much matter," was the answer, "but if you Wish one you may call mo Abbott. Our friend the captain has heard of me, I think, as the king of Captiva. This island is my kingdom; right of possession my only title to sovereignty; I have no subjects." "Wo would be glad to know more," said the old man courteously as Abbott paused, "unless, indeed," he added, "we seem unwarrantably curious." The king of Captiva looked so long and steadily at his guest before he answered that the latter shifted uneasily. "Perhaps you have a right to know," he said at last, "so long as you are forced to be my guests." He paused again and looked around upon the little circle: "I am a fugitive from justice." The.captain gave a side glance at the speaker and drew a quick breath, as if this but confirmed his suspicions. The girl involuntarily shrank nearer her father.

"Twelvo years ago," continued Abbott, speaking slowly and watching the effect upon his hearers, "I was accused of a crime. It does not matter now what or if I was guilty or innocent, the only safety from a long imprisonment lay in flight. After a time I reached Mobile and found that the officers were close behind me. Tired of being haunted on land, I determined to take to the water. Having money, I bought a small sloop, one that I could handle by myself, being something of a sailor, and laid in stores which would answer for a long cruise if it became necessary. For three days and nights I ran due south, going most of the time before a strong wind. On the morning of the fourth day the wind changed and began to drive me toward the east. Before night the wind had changed into a gale, and it was raining. The night came on black and ugly. 1 made everything tight and waited for what might come. About midnight I was driven on the rocks just off yonder.'* He paused, and with a slow gesture motioned toward the sea. It lay a dead black mass, except where the swelling; waves caught and sent back the scintillating reflection of the stars that gleamed brilliantly from the southern sky. Beyond a streak of silver showed against the black, where the sea beat unceasingly upon the reef. "Aye„" continued Abbott as he followed the thought of his hearers, "it looks pretty and gentle enough now, and it makes pleasant music. But you have seen it when it was angry. It is without mercy then. "It was so that night. Wild and dark as it was, I knew what was coming. I could hear the roar of the breakers and see the white lino they made upon the rocks. I grasped the tiller firmly with ooth hands to keep her head straight foi it and braced myself for the shock. That was the last I knew. The next wave must have carried the sloop off again and carried me to a safe point upon, the rocks. When I came to myself,. the-sun was shining, and I could see tins, island across the calm bit of water. I found some debris upon the rocks, and putting it together for a raft made- my way across."

As Abbott stopped in- his recital! the silence sat heavily upon the group* "Twelve years," said the old man at last, "is a. long time.. One may repent snd expiate much wrong in that time." "Twelve years of exile and loneliness,.* said Abbott thoughtfully. "It would be a hard thing to look forward to* but it i& not much to look back upon.. I was a man of few wants;, these I made less and learned to satisfy them myself. I have lived almost, independent of the world. This was. the first time that I have gone out into, it, and I think it will be the last."

'■'That may be all very well," inter* rupted the captain impatiently, "but perhaps we do not all care to become Crusoes. How are we ever to get away from this blessed island? No ship will ever come inside that reef, and otherwise we cannot be seen."

"There are two ways,** said Abbott. "Perhaps twice a year a Spanish lugger lays to outside and sends in a boat to» supply me with some small necessaries and to buy my oranges and coeoanuts* You may wait for that or do.'as I did—go outside the reef and lay until soma ; passing vessel spies you." \ / , \) "How long did you wait?* "Four days. I had taken, food! and; * water to last a week, A schooner came and took me to Vera Cruz." [

Abbott and the captain went out aaci slept beneath the palm trees and the stars, leaving the cabin to. the old mar* and his daughter.. \ The following day and the next they rested and began to recuperate from, the fatigue and exposure to which they had / been subjected. On the third day the, captain announced his intention of leav- , ing them. It was arranged that he* and; j Abbott should take tho boat and lay out-1 side the reef and wait for some vessell I If they met a schooner or trading vessel,, n they were to persuade it to lay to-while j I they came back for the others. If a-' steamer, then the captain was to pro- ft ceedto the nearest port and dispatch all ' ' " ' '*" m - wmi k

vessel for them. It was of course out of the question for the old man and the girl to take the chance of spending some days in the open boat. Abbott and tho captain went out upon the highway of the sea until the reef and the island were far behind and their little boat the only visible speck upon the -whole Waters; and then they waited one Say; two days, until the evening Of the ihird. Then a steamer bound for New Orleans bore down upon them, hove td and took the captain on board, and releasing Abbott from his weary office permitted his return to Captiva. "When the captain arrived at New Orleans, he first made out and forwarded to tho owners a full account of tho loss of the Pelican. Then he called at the office of the chief of police. His conference with that official was long and animated. Before its conclusion two of the oldest detectives upon the force were brought into the consultation.

"There can bo no question as to who your man is," said the chief finally. "The record is very straight. Twelve years ago the Bunker Hill bank of Boston lost Ihe sum of $50,000. The money was taken from the vault after the bank had been closed for the night. But two men had access to the vault—Frederick Nelson, the cashier, and Edmund Challoner, the president." "Edmund Challoner 1" exclaimed tho Captain. "Edmund Challoner! That name Was upon the passenger list of the Pelican. I cannot remember" "A mere coincidence of names," said the chief. "This Challoner was a man of the highest type of irreproachable character. It was said that he had the greatest confidence in Nelson, so much so that when the loss was discovered he demanded that the accusation be made equally against them both, as they each had the same opportunity to take the money. But before any arrests were made Nelson had fled, and the crime was fixed. The man Nelson," continued the chief, "was traced to Mobile, where ho disappeared. The bank offered a reward of SIO,OOO for his capture. The reward is still pending."

Tho captain got up and mopped his face with his handkerchief. thousand dollars was a goodly sum fo? a man who had just lost his ship. And it was almost within his grasp. The chief's office seemed very close. What a fool he had been to come away and leave the man there with every opportunity for escape. He beg*n to doubt if Abbott had ever gone back to the island. "See here," he exclaimed finally, turning to the chief, "we have no time to lose. The man is bagged safely enough, if he doesn't take the alarm, but we had better move spry. So give me two of your best "men for this business, and I will show you where he is, and we will divide the reward."

Under such a spur the "law's delays" are easily brushed aside. A few hours sufficed to put a good boat under way for Captiva, with three men in her determined upon vindicating the majesty of the law and securing the reward of SIO,OOO. Meanwhile life went smoothly with the three upon the island. The girl was constantly surprised and delighted by new discoveries, which showed how ap" tly Abbott had adapted himself to the hermit life. The conditions were such as forced them into much free intimacy, and it was not in nature that she should fail to become more than ordinarily interested in Abbott's personality. Her father held aloof and seemed distrustful of Abbott, albeit he said nothing to influence or prejudice her. This sh« attributed to the fact that Abbott had confessed himself suspected of a crime, while not even asserting his innocence, and that her father could not forget this, even though the man had saved their lives.

One night the three sat long together beneath the skies talking in a desultory way. Abbott, drawn on by the girl's questionings, had been telling of his life on the island, how it had been so lonely at first; then how he had grown to love it and willing to remain there always; then how the desire had grown to clear his name from the shadow of the crime which rested upon it and of the journey back into the world which he had essayed for that purpose; then how at Vera Cruz he had veered suddenly about.

"Why did you not go on?" demanded the girl. "Because I chanced to see there the only man living who knew whether I was innocent or guilty." "Yes?" She breathed the question softly, waiting for him to finish.

"And I saw that it was better for one to suffer than for many." She reached out her hand in the dark and touched his in quiet sympathy. "Where is he now?" "He, rob, was a passenger on the Pelican." The girl glanced out shudderingly upon the sea. "And now it is too late," she said. The old man, who had been listening to them, arose and walked down the beach. "It is time that fellow was back," he

said petulantly. "Does he mean to keep us here forever?" Abbott, with a more accustomed ear than the others, heard just then a plashing of oars. "There is some one within the inlet now," he said. "It could hardly be any one but the captain."

They watched, and gradually the form of a boat drew out from the further darkness and made toward the beach. As it touched the shore three men sprang out and came toward the group waiting to receive them. The captain was in the lead, and he came close and scanned their faces eagerly. Laying his hand, upon Abbott's arm, he turned to the men with him.

"This is the one, my lads. Make sure of him." Abbott made no resistance of the men who seized him. "Now," said the captain briskly, "we won't waste any time. We have a good sloop lying outside, and we will get aboard as quickly as possible. We shall put into New Orleans very shortly, and then we can attend to this gentleman here, who will be apt to get his deserts at last." There was no opportunity for Abbott's companions to utter any remonstrance. They were at once embarked for the sl«op, where he was placed apart from the others.

The run to New Orleans, which should have been made in a few days, had because of contrary winds lengthened into a week, and yet no land was in sight. The voyage, which was monotonous to the girl from the start, became almost unendurable. Her father was ill and kept to his own cabin most of the time. Her aversion for the captain was so great that she couid hardly speak to him. But she finally overcame this in her anxiety to know what was in store for AbbottFinding him alone upon the deck one morning, she put the question to him. He replied with unfeigned surprise: "I thought you knew. You heard him confess that he was a fugitive from justice. Well, I found out what he had done. He stole $50,000 from the Bunker Hill bank of Boston." "The Bunker Hill bank!" exclaimed the girl. "Does my father know this?" "Why, I had supposed so. Somehow I took it for granted that you both did. But now that you ask me I see that it hasn't been mentioned."

The girl began to speak again, but checked herself, turned and going to her father's cabin knocked impetuously upon the door. After some delay it was opened, and she was startled to see how ill and worn her father appeared. He had been writing, as she could see from an open portfolio. It required but few words to tell him why she had come. When she had finished, he took some papers from the portfolio and gave them to her with shaking hands.

"I have tried to tell you," he said, "but had not the coui'age. But I have prepared this, which you must read and then give to the man Abbott." He placed the paper in her hand and gently urged her from him. With a heart filled with misgivings the girl went to her own stateroom before daring to glance at the document. It was headed, "The Confession of Edmund Challoner." In the briefest and clearest phrase it stated that the writer, Edmund Challoner, president of the Bunker Hill bank of Boston, becoming involved in speculation, did, in the year 18—, abstract from the vaults of said bank the sum of SOO,OOO. Furthermore, he had intended to -ase this but temporarily and to replace it before the loss should become known. Failing to do this, the loss was discovered. Challoner then intended to confess the whole matter. But delaying in this, suspicion fell upon the cashier, Frederick Nelson, who gave color to it by his immediate flight. Then, as the need of saving an innocent man from imprisonment had passed, Challoner kept silence rather than tarnish his good name and destroy the happiness of his family. Then there were a few weak words to testify ho\f he had Buffered mentally for this double crime, and a pathetic prayer to his daughter not to judge him too harshly, as he had done it for her sake. When Miss Challoner had finished her reading, she was very pale, but composed. Going at once in search of Abbott, whom she found sitting idly near the rail in the forward part of the vessel, she placed the paper in his hands. ' : Do you know who I am?" she asked, and as he nodded slightly in answer sho

c'otitirivreo': "Yes. .1 am Helen Challoner. It is for us that you have suffered all these years. But, believe me, I never knew' tin* til now."

Abbott read tho paper through slowly. "What do you want me to do with this?" he asked finally.

"Why, you must use it. Make yourself free. Clear your name of suspicion:" "Have you thought what that means?"

She looked at him with sudden fear in her wide eves. "My father"

Abbott had been twisting the' paper tightly in his hands. Now with a feudden movement he attempted to fling it from him into the sea. But Miss Challoner, as suddenly divining his purpose, grasped his arm and wrenched the paper from him.

"No," she cried, "justice must be done you at last." She turned and saw the captain near them. "This is for you," she said, giving him the paper. The captain read it through with a lowering face and handed it without comment to the two detectives who had joined him.

"Well, this does not matter much to us," one of them said; "we shall only have to take the other one, the real thief, and let this one go." He ma.de as if he were going at once to the cabin oc-" cupied by Mr. Challoner. "Stop," said Abbott, springing before him. "That will profit you nothing. The reward is offered 'for the arrest and conviction of Frederick Nelson.' I remember the wording well. I ana Frederick Nelson, and, as you see, I am innocent, and there is no reward offered for any one else." "We are beaten," said tho man, "and as there is no money in it I don't care how the job is settled. I for one shall not trouble the old man."

The balance of the run into port was uneventful, except for a talk between Abbott, Miss Challoner and her father. The latter was weak and childish and begged Abbott’s forgiveness. “I shall go home and make restitution to the bank and take whatever punishment they see fit to give me,” he said. But Abbott, noting his weak condition, thought otherwise. “He can never stand the journey to Boston,” he felt bound to tell Helen. “We must make him as comfortable as we can in New Orleans and wait for the end.” The end came very soon, and they put him to rest in the beautiful Metaire cemetery. As they turned away from the tomb Helen said to Abbott: “You will go now and clear your name?” “And smii'ch your father’s? No. Let the dead past remain dead. But you?” “I do not know. I am alone in the world.” “Helen,” said Abbott gently, “could you be content to be queen of Captiva and of my heart?” “Oh,” she said, “if you will share your kingdom with me I will be very glad.” And so they returned to Captiva, but it is no longer a place of exile. I was there last summer and had from Nelson himself something more of this story.

By employing a confidential agent he was able to close up Mr. Challoner's affairs and reimburse the bank so quietly that there was no scandal about the matter. The reward for his own apprehension was withdrawn, and it was announced by the bank that ho had been unjustly accused. But Helen was so charmed with Captiva that she did not care for any other home. So the little cabin gave way to a roomy low roofed mansion. Gardens and groves sprang up, and the island became a little earthly paradise. ' The inlet has been deepened, and now when storms blow ships find safe refuge behind the reef. And the fame of the king and queen of Captiva has gone so far abroad that many a pleasure yacht puts in for the purpose of enjoying their generous hospitality. And the men who come away say of Helen Challoner that she is a queen among women, and the women Bay of her husband that he is every inch a king. TJIE END.