So hot and close was the pursuit of the _Cadmus_ and the _Hornet_ that they, too, narrowly escaped similar disaster. The _Cadmus_ was not half a mile to windward when the _Schiller_ went ashore. The _Hornet_, nearer in, only escaped by being refloated on the first great wave that drowned the _Schiller_’s lights. Of all on board the German liner only the one passenger was saved. This passenger, bruised, exhausted, with a broken arm, received the prompt and kindly attention of the coastguard. Little did these rough but sympathetic folk suspect the exalted rank and dignity of the sufferer. He seemed to be a foreigner, but knew much more of the King’s English than was known to the humble islanders themselves. When the stranger gave them a massive gold ring, set with a brilliant stone, by way of parting gift, these good folk began to think they had entertained an angel unawares. In truth they had ministered, not to an angel--but to an emperor. The skipper of the Trinity steamer that conveyed the stranger to St Mary’s Island for temporary surgical treatment was a man who had seen many illustrated newspapers. Though at first incredulous, he thought he recognised the illustrious foreigner. He was quite sure of it before the steamer left St Mary’s for Penzance with the passenger on board. Lord Downland, as the reader is aware, knew who the stranger was before his lordship left Berkeley Square--to run the gauntlet of the bomb brigade--on his way to Windsor Castle. The prisoner of England was none other than Kaiser William, King of Prussia, German Emperor. CHAPTER XXXV THE KING AND THE KAISER London went mad when all the news was known--mad with amazement, relief, anger, joy: amazement at the deadly reality of the national danger that had been averted; relief at the safety of England; anger with the “New majesties of mighty States”-- that, with “great contrivances of power,” had sought to encompass our inviolable island. And there was joy--delirious, exuberant--that the hydra-headed mob no longer held the field in London. The main thoroughfares were densely packed with shouting multitudes. In the sharp reaction of the moment, in the complex excitement occasioned by the news, people laughed and wept and sang. Social distinctions were broken down; the gloved hands of cultured women were given gladly into the grip of the grimiest workmen. Men and women of every rank exchanged greetings and congratulations. Everywhere it was “Rule Britannia!” “God save the King!” “England for ever!” Those who recalled the street scenes on Mafeking night declared they were as nothing compared with the wild and jubilant excitement of the present hour. Banners were slung across the streets; nearly every upper window displayed a flag of some sort; and, when darkness came, Chinese lanterns, lamps and candles, supplied the want of public lighting--which, however, was speedily restored.