CHAPTER XIV
Almost the End
"I am glad to see you, my friend," said O'Neill, smiling at him in a melancholy way.
"Would God that I could see you in any place but this!" answered the young Englishman.
"Ah, yes!" replied O'Neill, his eyes brightening; "then we might fight it out, man to man, sword to sword, and-"
"Not so," mournfully replied Coventry. "The battle has been fought, and you have won again. Whether you live or die, Elizabeth Howard is not for me."
"My poor friend, may the day upon which I crossed your paths be accursed! I have brought to each of you nothing but sorrow," replied the young sailor, sadly, touched at the other's surrender.
"It was fate, O'Neill. Do not reproach yourself with that. All day long I have been striving to think of some means to delay this accursed execution, until I could communicate with the king. An appeal to his clemency might-but no-I see no way, nothing, unless-you know-" he hesitated and hung his head, blushing painfully.
"No more of that, if you love me, Coventry," said O'Neill, gravely "Put yourself in my place! Could you do it? Ah, you shake your head, you see! Neither could I, not even to purchase heaven." There was a long pause between them.
"O'Neill," said the Englishman at last, "would that I could take your place!"
"But you cannot, Major Coventry," replied the other, gratefully. "You honor me in the thought; but if you could, I should refuse to allow it. You are the better man; all my life I have been a gay, reckless, pleasure-seeking soldier of fortune, with never a serious purpose until now, and now it is too late! You are the worthy one, and you must live to watch over, to care for her whom we both love. Perhaps-surely-in days to come she will forget; time, absence, you know-she will reward your devotion, she must-you will be happy-" His voice broke, and he turned away his face and looked out of the open port. Coventry shook his head.
"You know her not, sir. She is not for me, nor would I take her loving you; my love is too deep for that-nor would she come. She will never forget you." O'Neill's heart leaped at this assurance.
The ship's bell on the deck above them struck four times; it was six o'clock! There was a little silence within the screen.
"The hour approaches," said O'Neill, softly, at last. "I would be alone for a few moments before-you understand?"
"Yes," said the other, rising and pressing his hand. "Have you nothing to say, no message to send to-" he asked magnanimously.
"Nothing-nothing-'tis best so. You will come for me at the time?"
"Yes, and I will stand by you to the end, like a soldier."
"You do me great honor," replied the other, thankfully. Coventry looked at him a moment, shook his head, and turned away.
In the prayers of the young Irishman the face of the girl he loved would obtrude itself. It seemed but a moment before he heard the tramp of armed men coming along the deck. They stopped before the screen. It was opened, and Coventry, pale as death, presented himself at the opening; the screen was promptly folded back; there were marines fully armed before it, the chaplain, too, in the white robes of his office.
"I am ready, gentlemen," said O'Neill, calmly. "May I not go to my death unbound?" he asked.
At a nod from Coventry, the master-at-arms unlocked the fetters about his feet and hands. The prisoner took his place in the midst of the little squad of men, and ascended to the spar-deck. The ship's company of marines was drawn up aft on the quarter-deck. Most of the seamen of the crew were arranged in orderly ranks in the starboard gangway. Forward a grating had been rigged on the bulwarks under the port fore-yard-arm. A new rope led from the grating, up through the block in the yard-arm, came inboard to another block under the top, and thence through a block fixed to the deck. Some sixty or seventy men chosen by lot from the ship's company had hold of the rope which was led aft along the port gangway. In front of the marines stood Captain Pearson and his officers in full uniform. The prisoner was halted before him.
"Are you aware, sir," said the captain, gravely, "that the hour for the carrying out of the sentence of the court approaches?"
"Yes, sir," answered O'Neill, courteously.
"Have you anything to say before that time?"
"I have to thank you all for your kindness to me, nothing else, sir."
"Allow me, sir," said the captain, "to assure you of the great personal distaste and regret I feel at being compelled to take this action."
"Your feelings do you honor, sir," replied O'Neill, gravely; "but it is a matter of duty. Pray, proceed."
"Captain Pearson," said Coventry, in great agitation, "can nothing be done to delay this execution a few hours? There are considerations, sir, in my possession, which I feel sure would incline his Majesty, could he be communicated with, to extend clemency to this gentleman, – circumstances which-"
"Are these circumstances within the knowledge of Lord Westbrooke, Major Coventry?" answered the captain, surprised at the unusual nature of the interruption.
"They are, sir."
"Have you mentioned them to him? Have you called his attention specifically to them, I mean?"
"Yes, sir, I have," answered the soldier, reluctantly.
"And they have evidently not influenced him, you see. Therefore I fail to see how I can permit them to weigh with me."
"But a delay, sir, of a day, of an hour even, until I can communicate with the admiral again! For God's sake, sir, do not hang this gentleman like-"
"Major Coventry, you are a soldier, and should not make such an appeal. I have my orders. You have shown me no cause to disregard them; I cannot take it upon myself to do so. I dare not!"
"But an hour, sir, until I-"
"Not a moment! At five bells they must be carried out," said the captain, inflexibly. "No more, sir," he added, as Coventry made an impetuous step forward. "I have indulged you too long already. Mr. Pascoe, take the prisoner forward."
"It is useless, Coventry. Why prolong this agony longer? You have done what you could. I thank you and bless you," said O'Neill, as they walked along the deck to the place of the grating.
"Will you please to step up here, sir?" said Pascoe, the first lieutenant of the Serapis, who had the matter in charge, pointing to the grating on the rail as they came abreast of it.
"It is a fair and easy place from which to step to heaven, sir, or to the other place as well," said the Irishman, smiling, as he stepped on the rail. "I pray you to tell your men to start me on my way with a quick pull and a swift run." Pascoe nodded in comprehension. This would be a case in which speed would be merciful.
A boatswain's mate now stepped up beside the prisoner, and bound his feet and hands with a lashing. A hangman's knot had been made by expert fingers in the rope leading from the yard-arm, and the running noose was quickly cast about O'Neill's neck.
"The collar of an ancient order, this," observed O'Neill, still smiling. "And now one last request, sir," he added, turning to the lieutenant.
"And that is?"
"Throw away that black cap, sir. Let me go with my eyes open." The lieutenant hesitated a moment. The whole ship's company was filled with admiration for the intrepid and gallant Irishman.
"Do it, for God's sake, Pascoe!" whispered Coventry, springing up alongside O'Neill and the sailor, who, to avoid him, stepped back and stood on the rail by the fore shrouds.
"What are you doing there, Major Coventry?" answered Pascoe.
"Nothing. I promised to stand by him to the last," replied Coventry. The officer hesitated a moment, and then threw the cap into the water.
"I thank you," said O'Neill, huskily. "How much time is there?"
"About two minutes, I think," said the lieutenant, nervously.
"You will run away with the fall at the first or last stroke of the bell?"
"The last, sir."
"No more," said O'Neill to Coventry, turning his face in the direction of the shore. The deep voice of the white-robed priest alone broke the silence, -
"'Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not Thy merciful ears to our prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Saviour, Thou most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death, to fall from Thee.'"
Out on the water a white-sailed little boat was speeding swiftly toward them. There was a woman in it. The eyes of love, even in the presence of death, are keen, perhaps even keener then than ever. It was Elizabeth Howard. O'Neill recognized her at once. Good heavens! Why had she come here? She would arrive in time to see him swinging lifeless from the yard-arm, – a hideous sight for any woman. He could not take his eyes from her.
"See!" he whispered to Coventry, "that boat yonder; she is there."
"My God!" said the officer. "What shall we do?"
"Nothing; 'tis too late."
"She has something in her hand," cried Coventry. "What can it be?"
"Forward, there!" cried the captain, watch in hand. "Strike the bell five!"
The mellow tones of the first couplet of the ship's bell rang out in obedience to the command. The hour was come! It was his death signal, but O'Neill never turned his head from the approaching boat. The old quartermaster struck the bell deliberately, lingering over it reluctantly; a little shiver ran through the men.
"Stand by!" shouted the lieutenant, in a voice he strove in vain to make firm. "Make a quick jerk and a lively run, lads, for God's sake!"
The men grasped the rope more firmly, sprang into position for the jump. The next couplet was struck on the bell. The boat was nearer now. Coventry saw that the woman waved something that looked like a paper in her hand. The last stroke of the bell rang out on the breathless, silent ship.
"Set taut!" cried the lieutenant, hoarsely. The men leaped forward instantly to the shrill piping of the boatswain and his mate. "Sway away!" he cried.
The tightened rope caught the Irishman by the throat. A lightning flash seemed to cleave the skies: he saw, as in a vision, a great hall hung with arras, a picture frame, a woman radiant, beautiful, her eyes shining; an upraised hand; like silver bells a voice murmured, "I love him, I love him." She moved-ah, a gigantic hand caught him by the throat; he strove to cry out; it clutched him tighter and tighter; blackness like a pall fell before him, shutting out the smiling face-death-agony-he saw no more-he swung into the air and was nothing.
The quick eye of Major Coventry had detected, at last, what the girl was waving.
"That paper," he cried frantically, as the last bell struck. "It must be a reprieve; the admiral has relented."
Was it too late? Quick as thought he snatched the sheath knife from the belt of the sailor near him. It was too late to stop the men on the rope, even had he possessed the power; but as O'Neill rose in the air, he caught him around the waist, and with one rapid blow severed the straining rope above his head. Assisted at once by the sailor alongside of him, they lowered the bound, unconscious man upon the deck beneath them. It was all done in the twinkling of an eye. The men on the ship broke out in ringing cheers.
The rope, being relieved of the weight of the body, of course ran rapidly through the block, and the men hauling it pitched pell-mell over themselves upon the deck. There was a moment of intense excitement. The seamen on the other side of the deck, cheering wildly, started eagerly forward; the officers, sword in hand, sprang in front of them, driving them back. The marine officer aft brought his men at once to attention with a sharp word or two, and every piece was made ready in case of disturbance. Pearson, white with rage at the interruption, leaped forward.
"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted. "Who has dared to interfere in this manner?"
"I, sir," replied Coventry, fearlessly, looking up from his place by the unconscious man.
"And by what right, sir?" cried the enraged captain. "Though you be the son of the admiral, you shall dearly rue this unwarranted assumption of authority. What excuse have you to offer for interrupting the sentence of a court-martial? What reason can you urge for your presumption?"
"Boat ahoy!" cried a seaman stationed at the port gangway.
"Sir," said Coventry, quietly meeting the eye of the thoroughly infuriated captain, "if I mistake not, you will find my excuse in that boat."
"Well for you, sir, if it be there! Never, in my twenty years of service, have I been so braved, and on my own ship, too. See what boat it is," said the captain, turning to one of his midshipmen, "and find out what is wanted." The lad came running back presently, and saluted.
"'Tis a lady, sir, – the governor's ward, – Lady Elizabeth Howard; she wishes to come on board," he said.
"Lady Elizabeth Howard! This is no place for women; this man is still to be hanged. What can she wish?" exclaimed the captain, frowning.
"Receive her at once, sir, I beg," said Coventry. "She has a paper, – my excuse, sir," he added, smiling.
"Show her on board," said the captain, shortly, to the midshipman. Then he looked down on the still, unconscious form of O'Neill. "Send a surgeon here at once, sir," he continued; and as the latter presented himself, "Is the man dead?" he asked.
"No, sir," said the surgeon, examining him hastily, and making ready to apply some necessary restoratives, for which he despatched an assistant to the sick-bay.
"Get him in shape, then, and quickly, for another attempt; for hang he shall, if he has to be held up for it," ordered the captain, sternly.
At this moment the midshipman, followed by Lady Elizabeth, pale as death, a blue boat cloak, which belonged to her guardian, which she had caught up in the castle, fluttering in the breeze, her hat gone, her hair dishevelled, her hand clutching a paper, broke through the little group.
"Captain Pearson, where is he?" she cried nervously; then, as her eyes fell on the prostrate form of O'Neill, she dropped the paper to the deck, covered her face with her hands, and rocked to and fro in agony. "Oh, my love, my love! Too late! too late!" she wailed, faltering.
"Not so, madam," said the captain, turning toward her. "The man still lives, the surgeon assures me. He has but fainted. Have you a warrant to stop the execution? If not, it must go on, and it shall go hard with Major Coventry as well."
"The prisoner is reprieved, sir; here is the paper," said Elizabeth, life coming back to her, "sealed and signed by the admiral himself. Oh, I had it a moment since-where has it gone?"
"Here it is, your Ladyship," said one of the officers, lifting it from the deck and handing it to her.
"There!" she said, presenting it to the captain. He opened it deliberately and glanced over the brief contents. She watched him with a nervousness she vainly attempted to conceal. Meanwhile the doctor had succeeded in rousing O'Neill. The first glance of his eye fell on Elizabeth, and nothing else he saw.
"Heaven and the angels!" he murmured faintly, not yet comprehending the position.
"It seems to be made out properly and duly signed and sealed," said the captain, slowly, – "a reprieve for the prisoner until further notice, and permission for the bearer to see him alone," he added suspiciously. There was a little pause. He turned the paper over in his hand, and looked sharply at the girl.
"The admiral chooses a strange messenger," he added. "I cannot say if this be regular or no. His handwriting is unfamiliar to me. I do not recognize this; you say you had it from him, madam?"
Elizabeth could not trust herself to speak; she only bowed. There was evidently something very suspicious to the captain in the whole proceeding. The signature did not seem just right.
"Ah! I have it-Major Coventry!" he cried suddenly.
That miserable young man, sick at heart, had shrunk into the background since Elizabeth had come aboard, and the girl had not seen him before. He had felt that his work was done when she appeared; but, no, he was to find out that his troubles had but just begun.
"Oh!" she cried, as he stepped forward, clutching him wildly by the arm, a look of terror in her eyes, as she added, in a whisper, "not you-I had forgotten you-we are lost!" In the bitter knowledge that she had forgotten him, he overlooked the clue to her action furnished by her last words.
"Here is a reprieve from the admiral," said the captain. "It seems to be correct, and yet-will you look over it and give me your opinion? you are familiar with his writing, at any rate. My Lady, forgive the questioning, but the matter is most serious, and I must be absolutely assured."
"Here is the paper, Edward," said Elizabeth, desperately, taking it from the captain's outstretched hand. "Is not that the writing of the admiral?" she added entreatingly, and then clasping her hands, she looked at him with all her soul in her eyes and waited, full of apprehension. A word, and he hanged her lover, and incidentally, but surely, killed her; a word, and he set them free! What the consequences to himself of his decision might be, with the sublime egotism of love for another, she neither knew nor questioned. Coventry gave a brief glance at the document; he saw what was expected of him; his life or her happiness trembled in the balance; true to his determination, he did not hesitate a moment. In that glance of a single second he realized the truth, which he had more than suspected before.
"It is," he replied briefly and indifferently aloud. A little prayer to God for forgiveness leaped within his heart at the falsehood. He had connived at her deceit, failed in his soldierly duty, broken his honor-for this woman. The reputation of a lifetime of loyal service to his king, the honorable record of years of devotion to duty had been thrown away in a moment for her. He had sacrificed more than life itself for his love-and she loved another! He turned the paper over in his hand and then quietly returned it to the captain. He said no other word, he scarcely even looked at Elizabeth. He could not trust his own gaze. There might be reproach in it. And he would fain make the sacrifice like a gentleman at least.
"Thank God-thank God-" whispered Elizabeth, under her breath; and the look of gratitude she flashed at him would have gone far to repay even a greater sacrifice-perhaps.
The keen captain was not yet satisfied, however.
"You wished to release him yourself, I remember," he said uncertainly. "I am by no means persuaded that-but it is impossible for me to proceed now until I have seen the admiral. Take the prisoner below," he said to the guard, "and allow Lady Elizabeth to see him alone. Mr. Pascoe, tell the boatswain to pipe down, and call the watch."
CHAPTER XV
A Soldier and a Gentleman
Accompanied by the marine guard, and leaning upon the arms of the surgeon and Coventry, who tenderly assisted his faltering steps, O'Neill was taken below, followed by Elizabeth, scarcely yet comprehending what had happened. The girl's heart was exulting madly. So far she had triumphed. What next? When they reached the little screened enclosure between the guns, in which O'Neill had been confined, the guard saluted and released the prisoner. He had not been ironed again, and by some oversight no one, in the confusion following the reprieve, called attention to it. As he stepped within the screen, and Elizabeth prepared to follow him, Coventry interrupted her by holding out his hand with a mute glance. Was she going to pass him by without a single word of gratitude, of farewell even?
"Oh!" she said, with unconscious cruelty which pierced his heart, for this was the second time, "I forgot you." And then, as if repenting for the situation, and to make amends for that forgetfulness, which was, to say the least, most ungrateful, in spite of the presence of the seamen and marines, she seized his hand, drew him toward her, and pressed a long, sweet kiss upon his forehead.
"God bless you for what you did," she whispered.
"What you do, do quickly," he replied. "I will replace the sentry; you will be safe. God grant you may succeed. 'Twas bravely done; good-bye."
"Good-bye; we shall not forget you," she said hurriedly, withdrawing within the screen. And this was the only reward he received for his sacrifice. By his direction the sentry on guard withdrew to the opposite side of the deck, and he himself mounted guard in front of the canvas. With what feelings he paced to and fro in front of that little strip of cloth which alone separated him from the woman he loved, in the arms of the man who loved her-and he had put her there!
As soon as she entered the enclosure, Elizabeth threw herself in the arms of the bewildered O'Neill.
"Oh!" she whispered, "you are saved-saved-and through me!"
"No, dearest, not yet," replied he, straining her to his heart and kissing her fondly. "I scarcely yet understand it all; but if I heard aright, 'tis but a reprieve until to-morrow; build no hope upon it."
"We will not wait for the morrow, my dearest," she answered softly, "for the boat swings under the counter yonder. When night falls and it is quite dark, we will slip out of the port and go away together; in a few moments it will be time."
The Irishman caught eagerly at the suggested idea. It was full of improbability, but it did present a bare possibility of escape if they were fortunate.
"Very good," he whispered, "excellent; but the sentry there?"
"We will wait until there is some bustle on the deck," she answered, "and in the confusion and noise they will not hear; at any rate, we must risk it." Something told her she would better not inform him that Coventry was keeping watch.
"How did you prevail upon the admiral to grant the reprieve?" he asked, after another pause, not unemployed, however.
"I-well, you see-oh, I scarcely know how; the admiral loves me, you know-I cannot explain it. It seems like a bewildering, frightful dream to me," said the girl, passing her hand over her hair and turning a shade paler as she spoke, and studiously avoiding his eye. "Do not speak of it now. You are safe for the moment-you saw the paper-Edward also-it was all right. Let that suffice."
He soothed her with tender words and loving caresses; the sound of them was death to the pale-faced young man, alone with his own broken thoughts on the other side of the screen. Unheeded the night came stealing over the harbor, lights in the town twinkled here and there, the boatswain's whistle rang out between decks on the frigate. There was a call, a hoarse cry or two, a hurrying of feet, a little confusion.
"Now is the time," said Elizabeth, releasing herself from his unwilling arms, and looking out through the port. "The man is watching; I met him on the strand as I was seeking for a boat to bring me out to you. He is faithful; he says he knows you-has served under you."
"Knows me!" said O'Neill, surprised, thrusting his head through the open port. There, right beneath him, a little skiff was being brought up deftly and without noise, from where it had lain unnoticed under the counter, in the confusion since the girl's arrival. The side of the ship was in deep shadow, and the broad main chains extending over their heads, above the ports, further concealed them from notice.
Gathering her skirts about her, Elizabeth slipped first through the port. O'Neill held her firmly until the man below lifted her gently into the stern of the boat. Noiselessly, and as quickly as possible, O'Neill followed her. By Elizabeth's direction, he lay down in the bottom of the boat, and she covered him entirely with her boat cloak. The man in the bows, whom O'Neill had not recognized in the shadow, and who had said nothing, slowly worked the boat back under the counter again; then, with a strong thrust, shoved her clear of the ship. The flooding tide carried them slowly away. In a few moments he cautiously got out his oars, and by a very gentle pulling added a little to the way of the boat.
The ear of the watchful Coventry had at once apprised him of their departure. He could scarcely resist the temptation to enter the screen, – to call them back that he might see her once again. But he had duty to do. So soon as he was persuaded that they had left the ship, he called the sentry from the opposite side of the deck, and told him to mount guard again, and on no account to disturb the prisoners. Then he ran rapidly up to the quarter-deck, and made his way aft to the marine on guard there. The man was looking out into the darkness at a dark blur on the water, – a boat; two figures could be distinguished in it, one of them a woman; Coventry saw them at once, and as he looked they disappeared, – the last sight of her, he thought bitterly. The marine had just opened his mouth to give the alarm, when the clear voice of the officer rang in his ear.
"Sentry!" said Coventry. The man instinctively sprang to attention at once, and for the moment forgot the boat.
"Have you seen any signals from the castle?"
"No, sir; but I seen a little boat off there that looked suspicious like."
"Whereabouts did you see it?"
"There, sir, right off there."
"No," said Coventry, straining his eyes through the darkness. "There is no boat there. You have been mistaken, I think," he added indifferently, his gaze still fixed on the place where they had drifted away and disappeared. He knew what was coming, since they had gone. He must pay for it, so he leaned on the rail and waited. A few moments later, a large barge, full manned, darted out of the darkness, coming toward the ship. Coventry knew what it was, of course.
"Boat ahoy!" shouted the watchful sentry at the gangway.
"Flag," was the answer, as the admiral dashed alongside. Almost before the officer of the watch could reach the gangway the old man clambered to the deck.
"Good-evening, sir," he said, in response to the former's salutation. "Captain Pearson?"
"I have sent for him, my Lord," replied the officer, and the next moment the captain himself came bustling out of the darkness to do honor to the old admiral.
"Ah, Captain Pearson, good-evening."
"Good-evening to your Lordship."
"The prisoner I sent off-he has been duly executed, I presume?"
"Why, no, sir!" said the captain, alarmed at this confirmation of his suspicions. "We were about ready to carry out the sentence; the command to sway aloft had been given, in fact, when we received your reprieve."
"My reprieve!" said the admiral, in great surprise. "What mean you? I sent no reprieve."
"Sir, sir!" cried the astonished captain. "It was brought here by your ward, Lady Elizabeth Howard."
"Elizabeth! Good God!" cried the old man, starting violently. "Her maid said she was ill-she must have-did you inspect it carefully, sir?" he asked, checking himself.
"Yes, my Lord. It seemed to be all right; but the whole proceeding was so irregular and unlike you that I called upon-"
"Where is the paper?" cried the admiral, interrupting impatiently.
"I have just sent to fetch it, sir."
They waited in silence, until a midshipman placed it in the hand of the admiral. Pascoe held a light while the old man seized it, scrutinized it eagerly, and handed it back to the captain.
"This," he said slowly, "is a forgery. You should have disregarded it, sir."
"'Twas passed upon by your son and aide, Major Coventry, my Lord," replied the captain, shortly.
"How! Edward! Where is he?"
"Here, my Lord," said the young man, stepping forward, pale as death, and saluting.
"Did you examine this paper, sir?"
"I did, sir."
"You knew it was a forgery?"
"Yes, sir."
"And yet you declared it to be correct?"
"I did, sir."
"For what purpose?"
"Will you direct these others to retire out of hearing, Captain Pearson?" said Coventry, indicating the officer of the watch, the midshipman, and all of the others; and when his request had been complied with, he added: "'Twas to save the honor of your ward, my Lord, to insure happiness to the woman I love more than life, to effect the escape of the man upon whom that happiness depended."
"Have you dared, sir," said the admiral, furious with rage, "to thus derange my plans and disregard my orders, to thwart me, to interfere between a duly constituted court and its prisoner?" He stamped his foot and looked fiercely at his son.
"Me as well," said the captain; "upon the deck of my own ship-to put this dishonor upon me."
"The prisoner!" cried the admiral, impetuously. "Have him brought on deck at once, Captain Pearson."
"But your ward, my Lord; she is with him," said the captain.
"Bring her too, then," the old man answered passionately.
"But the crew-the men-not before them all!" said Coventry, striving to gain time.
"Before Heaven itself the offence was given," said the admiral, losing all control over himself in his fury, "and the punishment shall have equal publicity." The midshipman who had hastened below now came running on deck in terror.
"There's no one there, my Lord; they've gone, escaped, sir!" he cried.
"Impossible!" exclaimed Pearson.
"Escaped!" said the admiral, turning to the captain. "Had you no sentry to watch them, sir?"
"Yes, my Lord, certainly," said Pearson.
"Let him be tried and shot forthwith, then, for gross neglect of duty in permitting-"
"My Lord, the sentry is innocent," interrupted Coventry; "I replaced him; I alone am guilty."
"Worse and worse! You knew they escaped, sir?" said the admiral.
"I did; 'twas to prevent discovery I took his place," replied his son, bowing. Captain Pearson opened his mouth to speak, but his superior silenced him with a wave of his hand.
A bitter fight raged in the old man's bosom, but he saw his duty, and knew it must be done. There was a long and awful pause. When the admiral spoke again it was in an altered tone; he had regained his self-control.
"Captain Pearson," he said slowly and deliberately, in a strained and unnatural voice, "let the court-martial which passed judgment upon the prisoner be re-convened at once to try Major Edward Coventry for disobedience of orders in time of war, and for aiding and abetting the escape of an enemy, and for knowingly declaring a forged order, purporting to bear my signature, to be correct, – in short, for conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman."