CHAPTER XII.

BRYDELL REDEEMS HIS PROMISE.

When Brydell waked it was near daylight next morning. His first thoughts were confused and then the recollection of Black’s blow and the terrible consequences to a sailor of striking an officer rushed to his mind. And he remembered poor Grubb, his early friend, and thought to himself: “If I can do anything for Esdaile, I will for Grubb’s sake.”

He was so troubled that he could sleep no more, and dressed and went on deck very early. As soon as the regular routine was gone through, the admiral sent for him into the cabin, where he asked an exact account of everything, especially in regard to Black’s attack on him.

Brydell at once told him that he felt convinced Black was Esdaile. This troubled Admiral Beaumont as it had troubled Brydell. He had sincerely respected poor Grubb, and the spectacle of his boy’s downfall was a painful one.

“I have issued an order this morning for a court-martial, and you will probably be the first witness called,” said he.

“Admiral,” said Brydell after a moment, “I would like your permission to see Black; I don’t care anything for him, but I promised my poor old friend to do what I could for his son, and I’d like to tell him that I haven’t any animosity toward him.”

The admiral gave his permission and Brydell went below to the dark place where Black was in irons. He was sitting up with a scowl on his face, and even in the dim light of the gruesome place Brydell saw that it was Esdaile.

“I’m sorry to see you here,” said he when the marine on guard had turned his back. “The more so that I believe your father was a man I loved very much.”

“I’m Esdaile, if that is what you mean,” answered the supposed Black coolly. “Of course I’ve gone to the dogs, driven to it by being driven out of my class. My money went a long time ago, and as I knew no way of making a living but by shipping before the mast, here I am.”

Brydell said not a word, but the thought of poor Grubb, his simple honesty, his mistaken indulgence to his boy, his enduring poverty, and privation all his life for this boy almost overcame him. Esdaile, watching Brydell’s face, saw he was deeply moved, and so touching is the sight of magnanimity and sympathy that few hearts can withstand it. Esdaile’s could not.

After a few moments he broke the painful pause, saying hesitatingly and with something like a sob between his words, “And when I saw you standing there last night, an officer, and with such a chance for distinction, I couldn’t help hating you; and when you spoke to me sharply about my duty, I went crazy, I believe, and struck you. Now I suppose I’ll have five or ten years in prison and after that I’ll take my choice between the workhouse and the jail.”

Brydell, like most courageous and upright men, had a tender heart, and the words of the man before him, scarcely a year older than himself, gave him a powerful shock.

“I’m sorry to hear you talk in that way,” he said after a moment; “but I want to tell you this—that although I shall have to tell exactly what happened before the court-martial, I can’t find in my heart the least feeling of revenge against poor old Grubb’s son, and when you are let out of prison, if you’ll come to me, I’ll do what I can for you, because I promised him when he was dying”—Brydell paused, and a slight change came over Esdaile’s face at this, but he said nothing and Brydell turned away.

The next day but one the court met, and it made short work with Esdaile. The testimony was complete, and the offence of striking an officer, under the circumstances, was almost as grave as if it were in time of war.

When Brydell was called upon for his evidence he gave it in a plain and straightforward way, and his examination brought out the fact that the alleged Black was the son of Grubb the marine, who had been known to one or two of the older officers in the court. Brydell could not but make the best showing he could for Esdaile, and something in Esdaile’s face seemed to indicate that a humanizing process was going on within him. It was indeed the turning point in his life. Before that he had not fully realized the wrongdoing of his whole life, but finding himself on trial for a charge that must send him to prison, gave him some awful moments of reflection.

Only a day or two were consumed in the trial. Every time that Brydell saw Esdaile led forward to his place to be tried for what was in military morals and discipline a terrible offence, it gave him a feeling of agony. He thought of his kind old friend, and the tears would come into his eyes in spite of himself. Esdaile was singularly cool and behaved civilly and respectfully to the court.

At last the verdict was given out—five years in prison. Everybody was surprised at its leniency. Esdaile when called up for sentence was asked if he had anything to say.

“Only this, if you please, gentlemen,” he answered calmly, in the tone and manner of an educated man. “The time was when Mr. Brydell and I were not so unequal in our standing. I made a mistake, committed a fault, if you will, in my early youth, that has made me what I am. I had not seen Mr. Brydell since; we had both of us been youths together. On the night of the storm I stood apart from my mates, watching him and envying him. Here, thought I, is he—an officer, suddenly finding himself in the position to reap the greatest credit, with the admiral, the captain, and all the officers in the squadron to witness it, while I, a sailor before the mast, forced to conceal my real name, poor and friendless, might have been where he is. And when I went aloft I scarcely knew what I was doing. When I came down on deck he spoke to me; I believe he acknowledged that he spoke impatiently, and some devil seemed to rise up in me, and I would have killed him if I could. But that has all passed. I have been tried fairly and impartially, and all I can ask is the mercy of the court.”

In the midst of a deep and breathless silence the verdict was read—five years in prison. Esdaile, still wearing his impassive look, neither groaned nor fell as men sometimes do in his awful circumstances; he only said after a painful pause of a few minutes:—

“I thank the court for its very moderate punishment, and I should like the favor of seeing Mr. Brydell.”

Brydell was hastily sent for. He had purposely kept out of the way; the sight of Esdaile’s misery was terrible to him. He was found though, and at once came in response to the summons.

“Mr. Brydell,” said Esdaile in the same composed and reasonable voice, “I have received my sentence and nothing I may say or do now can mitigate it. You will therefore think me sincere when I ask your pardon for my conduct, and tell you that if I live to get out of prison I will lead a different life. Won’t you shake hands with me, sir?”

Brydell, choking with emotion, held out his hand and, for the first time in the lives of the two young men, they met in mutual goodwill.

It was now time for the Naiad to sail for home, and Esdaile had to be taken back in her before he was consigned to prison. He was kept in solitary confinement and treated rigorously but not unkindly.

Brydell asked permission of the admiral to go to Esdaile’s cell every day for a few minutes. They would talk together, and Brydell began to see that Esdaile was indeed a changed man. These visits became the one bright spot in Esdaile’s hard life, and when at last the ship reached New York he felt that he had at least one friend in the world.

* * * * * * * *

One night some years after that Brydell, now one of the brightest lieutenants in the navy, sat in his pleasant quarters writing. His wife sat near him under a softly shaded lamp, reading. After a long silence, broken only by the scratching of Brydell’s pen, he turned to her and handed her a paper.

“Read that, Minna,” he said. “Esdaile, I believe, is a reformed man. These people will give him a place as bookkeeper, but as he told them frankly his past history, they write me that if I will go on Esdaile’s bond for five thousand dollars they will take him. I don’t believe there is the slightest danger; his fault, you know, was not connected with money; but I don’t think it right for any man to assume this sort of responsibility without his wife’s consent. So it rests with you whether I shall guarantee Esdaile or not.”

Minna took the letter and read it carefully. Then handing it back said softly: “Of course you must sign it. Didn’t you promise the poor marine when he was dying that you would befriend his boy?”

“It is you who are befriending him now,” answered Brydell. “Whenever a man is saved there is always a good woman who has a share in it. Between us we will redeem my promise to dear old Grubb. Here goes!” And Brydell signed the letter.

A FOK’SLE STORY.