LEONIDAS
“What do you think of this case of young Bayard?” inquired the earl, as
the two gentlemen drove back to the hotel.
“I cannot think! I have never in my life felt so amazed, so confused,
and so uncertain! The sudden meeting of Anglesea——”
“Stukely, my dear friend! Stukely!” interrupted the earl.
“Stukely, then! the man we have known as Anglesea—and now known as the
blockade runner, slaver and pirate—has—demoralized my mental faculties!”
exclaimed Abel Force.
“Do you believe Bayard to be a voluntary confederate of the pirate?”
“No! no! If you put the question in that way, I say no! I do not believe
it!”
“The young man was a protégé of yours, I have heard.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you do not know his parentage, or what traits of character he may
have inherited, which may have been kept down by circumstances, and only
wanted opportunity to spring into life and activity.”
“I have known Roland from boyhood; I have watched over him as over a
dear son; and I have never seen a low, base, or false trait in his
character. His words, his deeds, and his thoughts—so far as I could read
them—have always been pure, and true, and high. I cannot think of him in
any other light than that of my long knowledge of him—I said from his
boyhood. I meant from his babyhood.”
“I hope the young fellow’s character may be vindicated. But his case
looks very bad just at present.”
“I hope much from his old captain’s interview with him. Roland may be
able to explain his position to our satisfaction. I shall wait anxiously
for news from the captain. Or Le may be able to throw some light upon
this subject. He may be able to tell us why Roland was brought home as a
prisoner, instead of as a rescued man. We must wait for more light,
Enderby.”
“Yes. In the meantime, shall you tell the poor little girl the truth of
Bayard’s position? Is it necessary that she should be told, just at this
point, when we know so little, and that little is so—perhaps—needlessly
alarming?”
“No. I think not. I will not tell Rosemary that he is a prisoner. I must
tell her only that he is alive and well, and that he will come to see us
as soon as he can. Here we are at the hotel. And, thank Heaven! we have
good news for Odalite! Our darling is free—absolutely free—and may marry
her faithful betrothed to-morrow, if she pleases!” said Abel Force, as
he alighted from the carriage, followed by the earl.
They went upstairs together, and entered the parlor, where they found
Mrs. Force and the four young girls anxiously awaiting them.
“Did you find Le?” eagerly inquired Mrs. Force.
“Oh! did you find Roland?” breathed Rosemary, clasping her hands.
Odalite, Wynnette and Elva looked all the interest they did not put into
words.
“No, my dears, we did not find Le, but we heard of him. He and Roland
are both in the city, and both alive and well; and both will come to see
us as soon after they shall have found out that we are in Washington as
they possibly can,” said Mr. Force, throwing himself into a chair.
“Where are they now, papa, besides being in the city, which is a place
of ‘magnificent distances,’ you know?” inquired Wynnette.
“My dear, Le is—everywhere—except here! Le is—ubiquitous! He is a
will-o’-the-wisp! We have spent the day in following him about. He was
on his ship—but when we got there he was gone to the navy department,
and when we reached there he was off to the office of the commissioner
of prisoners. When we arrived at the last-mentioned place he was gone
back to the navy department. So we came here to report and get a little
rest and refreshments, and then we are going down to the navy yard to
board the _Argente_ and wait there until we see him. He is sure to turn
up on the _Argente_—well—sooner or later, as he is in command.”
“And—Roland?” softly murmured Rosemary.
“Roland, my dear, is alive and well, but he does not know where you are
any more than Le does. We must find Le and let him know that we are
here,” said Mr. Force.
Then, with a total change of manner, he began:
“Come here, Odalite, my dear, and sit beside me. I have such good news
for you as shall give you patience to wait for Le, if he does not come
here for a week. But such news that, if he knew it, would bring him
within an hour!”
Full of vague expectancy, Odalite came and threw herself down on the
sofa beside her father, and looked up into his eyes.
“My dear Odalite, what would be the very best news that you could hear
to-day?” he inquired.
Odalite gazed into his eyes, too much excited to speak. Fearing, indeed,
to speak, lest his next words should disappoint her raised hopes, while
Mrs. Force and every occupant of the room, except the earl, waited
breathlessly.
“Oh, tell me, papa! tell me what you have to tell!” pleaded Odalite.
“Tell me, first, what would be the best news you could possibly hear
to-day?” persisted Abel Force.
His daughter gazed into his face, while her color went and came—came and
went; but she did not speak.
“Well, Odalite?” he inquired.
“Father,” she then answered, gravely, “the best news that I could hear,
that any of us could hear to-day, would be that the war was ended, the
country at peace, and the North and South friends again.”
“A conscientious reply, my dear. That would certainly be the best news
that any of us could hear. But it is not the news that I have to tell,
my love. Try again. My news is of a private nature, and concerns
yourself. What would be the best news that you could hear concerning
yourself?” persisted the squire.
“That I were free!”
The words came in a tone of impassioned aspiration that spoke volumes of
the suffering the girl had endured under the incubus that darkened and
oppressed her life.
“Then, my dear, hear it!” said the squire, earnestly.
“Odalite, you are free!”
“Father!”
The cry came from her soul, and it was echoed by her sisters and her
friend.
“Abel!”
This was from his wife.
“Yes, my dears, it is true!” replied the squire. “Odalite is free!”
“Anglesea is dead, then? Our terrible enemy is dead!” exclaimed Elfrida
Force, with a sigh of infinite relief.
“No, my dears, Anglesea is not dead, I thank Heaven! Long may that
gallant soldier and true gentleman live to enrich humanity! But your
enemy is dead to you, Odalite! You are free, my child! As free as either
of your sisters! And you have always been free, my dearest dear,
although I did not know it until to-day.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” demanded Elfrida Force, in a voice of
doubt and pain.
“Tell your sister, Enderby. Tell them all—and all about it! I cannot. I
am not equal to the task! I should talk like a fool!” said the squire,
drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiping his brows.
Thus adjured, the earl looked around on the group of eager listeners,
and said, addressing Mrs. Force:
“You may remember, Elfrida, how amazed and incredulous I was when you
told me of the disgraceful career of one whom you called by the name of
my nearest and dearest friend—Angus Anglesea.”
“Yes! yes!” eagerly exclaimed the lady.
“And with good reason was I thus amazed and incredulous! To think a
gentleman of purest honor in one hemisphere should become an unmitigated
scoundrel in another, was simply impossible! I did not, and could not,
comprehend the enigma, and I did not try!”
“But sometimes you nearly lost your temper with us!” put in Mrs. Force.
“I did; because I thought you ought to have known my brother officer
better than to have believed him guilty of all the crimes of which he
was accused! Elfrida! I had forgotten one matter that might have cleared
up the mystery at once! And that matter was the existence of Byrne
Stukely.”
“‘Byrne Stukely!’ Who was he?” inquired Mrs. Force.
“He was the man who, under the name of Angus Anglesea, tried to marry
your daughter, but failed so signally that he has not even the shadow of
a shade of claim upon Odalite! She will not need the slightest action of
the law to free her from that incomplete ceremony begun in All Faith
Church! No, my dear; Odalite Force, as my brother-in-law has just said,
is as free as either of her sisters! Byrne Stukely has a wife and half a
dozen children, more or less, living in the town of Angleton, and
supported by the charity of Angus Anglesea!”
“But who then, in the name of Old Scratch, is this Byrne Stukely?”
demanded the irrepressible Wynnette.
“My dear, wait until I tell your mamma! Byrne Stukely is a distant—very
distant—relation of Angus Anglesea, and yet the two distant cousins
were, up to the age of twenty or thereabout, as much alike as twin
brothers. They must each have inherited the form, features and
complexion of some common ancestor; but there all the resemblance
between the men ended; for one inherited all the virtues of his
progenitors and the other all the vices! They were as opposite in
character as they were alike in form. This resemblance lasted, as I
said—lasted in its completeness—until the young men grew to be about
twenty years of age, when the character of each began to impress itself
upon his face, manner and expression. Anglesea developed into a man of
the highest and purest moral and intellectual excellence, and became a
Christian gentleman and soldier. Stukely sank down to the level of the
beasts, and below them—and became a bloated, brutalized criminal and
sensualist. No one, who has known both for the last twenty years, could
possibly mistake one for the other. Each has grown ‘into the likeness of
his spirit,’ and therefore they have grown far apart.”
“I ought to have known he was an impostor!” put in Wynnette. “I don’t
mind other people being deceived in the fellow! but for me—me—not to
know, the minute I saw the portrait of the real Col. Anglesea, that the
other fellow was a fraud!”
“There were many other people deceived in times past by the exact
resemblance between the two men! It was a source of continual
embarrassment to the Angleseas of Anglewood. The father of Angus
Anglesea procured for young Stukely a midshipman’s warrant, and got him
sent off to one of our most remote naval stations, to get him out of the
way and get rid of him. He went on pretty well for a while. And he
received much indulgence, too, for the sake of the benefactor behind him
But rectitude was not the forte of Byrne Stukely, and in the end he
disgraced his patron and was dismissed the service.”
“But how came he in the army?” inquired Wynnette.
“He was never in the army. He was no more a colonel than he was an
Anglesea. Nor more a soldier than he was a gentleman. He was in the
navy, as I said, and was kicked out of it. Lastly, he has turned up in
the slave trade and the general piracy line of business as Capt.
Silver.”
“Capt. Silver!” echoed every voice, except that of Abel Force.
“Yes, my darlings—Capt. Silver, of the _Argente_. Ostensibly blockade
runner only. Subject only to the laws of war—to be held only as a
prisoner of war. But really a slaver and a pirate, likely to be tried
for his life and hanged for his crimes by this government; or if he
should chance to escape conviction and execution here, where the
punishment of crime is so very uncertain, still sure to be claimed by
the British Government, under the extradition act, and hanged by us,
who, you know, will stand no nonsense from slavers and pirates. But now,
my darlings, let us leave the subject of the villain and turn to
something pleasanter. Odalite, my dear, I congratulate you on your
escape. And I hope, when we go down to the _Argente_ this afternoon, we
shall be able to bring Lieut. Force back with us.”
“Heaven grant it!” breathed Odalite, in a low and fervent voice.
“Where is Capt. Grandiere?” inquired Mrs. Force.
“He has gone to look up his mate, young Bayard,” replied Mr. Force.
“Oh, I hope he will bring Roland back with him!” sighed Rosemary, who
was the frankest little creature in the world.
“I hope he may,” said Mr. Force.
“Come! Let us go down to dinner,” suggested the earl.