CHAPTER XLVWINDING UP
When the party returned to the drawing room they found the earl and the general waiting for them.
The squire greeted his friends, and then introduced the general.
The visitors from the country, who had known the counterfeit to their cost, were now very much pleased to make the acquaintance of the genuine officer.
Presently, taking Anglesea aside, Mr. Force said to him:
“I have had a long interview this morning with my invalid wife. There has been a full explanation between us; but the excitement of such a conversation has exhausted her, and nurse and doctor forbid any more talk to-day, and enjoin absolute repose. To-morrow she will see you. In the meantime, will you be so good, if you have no objection, to go with Capt. Grandiere and myself to one of our military prisons? You need not fear anything unwholesome. The place is a miracle of cleanliness.”
“A veteran of the East Indian army need not fear the sight of a military prison,” laughed the earl. “But what may be the object of our visit?”
Mr. Force then explained the real position of Roland Bayard and of Byrne Stukely, and the deception that had been practiced by the slaver captain on his young prisoner to persuade the latter that he was the son of the former, and to prevent him from giving the evidence that would clear himself and hang his supposed father.
“It is to abuse the young fellow of this false impression, and to prove to him his real parentage, that I wish you to accompany us to the prison, general,” concluded Mr. Force.
“Of course, I will do all that with much pleasure. So my estimable relative, Stukely, has wound up his career by turning pirate and slaver in these war times! Well, something of the sort might have been expected of him. And his extradition has been demanded by the British Government, I hear.”
These last words fell on the ear of Capt. Grandiere, who immediately answered:
“Yes, and when they get him they’ll hang him, for they don’t mince matters with such scoundrels as we do! But, Force,” he added, turning to the squire, “an article in this morning’s paper, while it confirms the report about Stukely, denies that the extradition of Craven Cloud, or any other than the slaver captain, has been demanded. And that is plausible, too, for what time had they to hear of Craven Cloud, who has only passed a few weeks on board of the slaver by which he was taken prisoner?”
“And who is Craven Cloud?” demanded the general.
“Craven Cloud is the name our poor Roland took in his dire misery to save his own name from unmerited dishonor and to save his friends from the knowledge ofhis possible fate. I am glad that he is not included in this demand of your government.”
“So am I, for his extradition would have involved painful delays in getting his rights.”
Mr. Force then rang the bell and ordered a carriage—if one could be procured—to be at the door in twenty minutes.
Then he went up to Rosemary Hedge, took her hand, and said:
“Dear little, faithful heart, we are all going to get Roland out of prison. It may take us all day, for there may be lots of red tape to disentangle; but we expect to bring him back with us.”
Rosemary smiled gratefully.
“Did I hear you say you expected to bring my Roland back with you?” inquired Miss Sibby.
“Yes, madam,” replied the squire.
“Well, now, you do it, Abel Force! You better had, squire! If you don’t I’ll walk myself right up to the President! I won’t go to any of your secretaries, nor commissioners, nor any other understrappers! I’ll walk myself right up to the President of these United States, and I’ll demand of him why a brave and honorable young man who is the adopted nephew of a descendant of the great duke of England is kept in prison! If you go to any one, sez I, go to headquarters, sez I!”
“What does she mean by the ‘duke of England’?” inquired the general, in a low voice.
“Oh, she means a duke of England—that is, Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk, one of whose younger sons came over to Maryland with Leonard Calvert in 1633, and from whom Miss Bayard’s mother was really descended—a fact which she never forgets or allows any one else to forget. A long decline, you will say, but, my dear general, there are people descended from your English aristocracy who are working on our roads, or pining inour prisons, as there are also people descended from your English peasantry who are filling the highest places in our social and national life. The waves of rank rise and fall like those of the ocean!”
“‘Here we go up—up—up!And here we go down—down—downy!’”
“‘Here we go up—up—up!And here we go down—down—downy!’”
“‘Here we go up—up—up!And here we go down—down—downy!’”
“‘Here we go up—up—up!
And here we go down—down—downy!’”
murmured Wynnette, who, standing nearest the speakers, had overheard with her sharp ears the low-toned words of this conversation.
The carriage was now announced, and the three gentlemen left the room to go upon their visit to Roland, in the Old Capitol prison, putting the ladies under the care of Sam Grandiere.
Young Sam, too gallant to leave them, yet with his “ruling passion strong,” under all circumstances, proposed to take them to the Agricultural College, and also to the agricultural grounds and conservatories.
All the ladies consented to go, except Odalite, who decided to stay home for the chance of being admitted to see her invalid mother, and of receiving a visit from her lover, should his official duties give him time to call.
But Le found no opportunity to visit his sweetheart that day, and Odalite remained alone, unsummoned even by her mother, who, jealously guarded by her nurse, was kept in a state of complete quietude.
She did not go down to lunch because she disliked to enter alone the public dining room, crowded as it was at all times with officers, soldiers and civilians.
She remained in the ladies’ parlor, ate a few crackers, read a few newspapers, went occasionally to her mother’s door to inquire after the patient, and hearing that she was resting quietly, returned to her parlor and her reading.
So passed the day.
It was late in the afternoon when Sam Grandiere and his party returned from their sightseeing excursion.
The ladies were hungry and fatigued, and anxious to get something to eat, and then to go to their rooms and lie down.
But Sam was full of the wonders of agriculture, horticulture and floriculture to which he had been introduced that day.
“If I was to be condemned for my sins to live in the city—which Heaven in mercy forbid—and was allowed to choose the place of my punishment, it would be the Agricultural College. I could stand that better than any other place,” he said.
And this was high praise, coming from such a quarter.
When they had all lunched the Grandieres and Hedges returned to their lodgings in E Street to rest before dinner. They always went and came under protest, declaring that to sleep in one house and eat in another seemed to them so disorderly as to border on indecency.
But Wynnette always quoted Sancho Panza, reminding them that “Travelers must be content,” especially in war time.
It was dark when at length the three gentlemen returned to the hotel, with Lieut. Force and Roland Bayard in their company.
As they entered the parlor Odalite sprang up with a little cry of joy, given no less to the released prisoner than to her betrothed lover.
“Is it all over? Is Roland quite free now?” she inquired, after she had shaken hands with both the young men.
“Well, no, not quite over, for Roland is detained here in Washington as a witness. Perhaps he will have to goto England as a witness. Find seats, gentlemen. I will tell you all about it, Odalite,” said Mr. Force.
When they were all seated, the squire continued:
“We went from here to the Old Capitol prison, to see this knight, who was going to sacrifice himself upon a hallucination. Never mind that, you will understand by and by. Our friend here was enabled to give Roland the true history of his birth and parentage, being fully acquainted with all the facts and furnished with documents to prove them.”
“And who, then, is he—Roland?” inquired Odalite, with affectionate interest.
“Stay, my dear! Not now! I cannot inform you just yet. You shall know his position presently. Now I wish to tell you how we released Roland. First we told his own story and convinced him that he owed no duty to the impostor who had deceived him. Then we went to the commissioner of prisoners, without much success. Then to the secretary of war, without much more. Finally to the President, who, after hearing what we had to say, signed an order for Roland’s release on parole.”
“But why not release in full?” inquired the young lady.
“Because, my dear, there must be an investigation. And that takes time. However, he is practically free.”