The Grip of Honor

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."

"Surely not that last, my Lord," said Coventry, impulsively raising his hand in deprecation.

The admiral hesitated, looked long and earnestly at his handsome son. "You may leave off the part about conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, Pearson," he answered.

"Thank you, sir," said Coventry, gratefully.

"Good heavens, my Lord!" cried Pearson; "the punishment is death-I pray you-"

"Silence, sir!" he cried sternly; "you have your order. Shall I be more merciful to this gentleman than to the poor marine I would have had shot a moment since for less than he has done?"

"But he is your son. Have mercy on him, my Lord!"

"So much the more imperative that he should receive justice-not mercy from me. Besides, from this hour he is no longer son of mine," said the old man, inflexibly. "Let the prisoner be confined under double guard; you will see that he at least does not escape you."

"It is just," said Coventry, no less resolutely than his father; "I expected it. It was for her I did it."

There was a sudden bustle upon the deck forward.

"Sail ho! Light ho! Light ho!" rang out from a dozen rough throats.

"Where away?" said the officer of the watch.

"Off the starboard quarter," was the reply, – "there, coming up from Flamborough Head."

"They will be the Bon Homme Richard and the rest of that scoundrelly pirate squadron, Captain Pearson. I saw them off Bridlington Bay this afternoon," said the admiral.

"We will go out and meet them at once, with your permission, my Lord," cried the captain, enthusiastically. "All hands up anchor! Mr. Pascoe, show the signal for the Scarborough to get under way. Lively! we have him now, men! This is our chance at last! There's prize money and honor for you by yonder lights!"

With wild cheers the eager crew broke for their stations. The capstan bars were shipped and manned, and the clanking pawls clicked merrily as the men heaved away as lustily as a crew homeward bound from a foreign station.

"Good luck to you, Captain Pearson," said the admiral, turning away. "Bring him back a prisoner or sink him, and I will pledge you my word your king's sword shall be laid upon your shoulders. Would that I were younger and might go with you! but my duties, as well, prevent me. Good-bye."

"Sir-my Lord-my father!" said Coventry, who had stood unnoticed in the excitement of the moment.

"Do I see you still here, sir?" answered the admiral, coldly.

"I would ask a favor of you, sir-as-as-as my father."

"Ask no favors of a father, sir; you have none!"

"Let me beg of the man, then," said Coventry, resolutely. "We are about to engage the enemy. For God's sake, sir, for the love of my mother, do not condemn me to inaction now! Let me serve as the humblest volunteer! You shall not regret it."

The old man hesitated. He was a father in spite of what he had said, and he could not forget it. His heart was throbbing beneath his iron exterior and appearance of outward composure.

"Go!" he replied at last. "You are free of any charges until to-morrow. When next I see you I shall have to prefer them, therefore let me not look upon your face again, sir. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes; good-bye, sir!" said the young man, brokenly. "I thank you and bless you for this. To-morrow I shall plead my cause in a higher court. Think of me kindly, sir."

"And you have done this work and wrecked yourself for a woman! You have been a fool, sir; what woman that ever lived was worth it?" said the admiral, shortly.

"This one," replied his son. "I loved her; I love her still."

The two men looked at each other in silence. The admiral relented a little, – it was for the last time, – and drew the boy to him. He lifted his head to the sky in silent prayer.

"All hands make sail!" hoarsely cried the boatswain at the instance of the executive officer. "Lay aloft, topman!"

The admiral turned away, and Coventry was alone. He walked over to Captain Pearson.

"Father gives me a chance to die," he said. "Please assign me to some duty."

"I am glad to hear it," said the captain, his face lighting up. "We are short a lieutenant; I confide to you the forward division of the main-deck battery. Do your best with it."

"I hope to serve it well," said the young officer, saluting proudly, and springing toward his station.

"Anchor's away, sir!" cried the officer forward on the forecastle.

"Man the topsail sheets and halliards, let fall, sheet home, hoist away!" roared the captain, himself seizing the trumpet. As the broad folds of canvas dropped from the wide-reaching yard-arms, the noble ship gathered way and sailed out to try her fortune.