Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 21, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 November 1899 — THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN.

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.

CHAPTER XVIII. “You know the way to Eastcourt’s bouse?” he said to the old man. “Yes.” “Then make all haste. You will find me there.” Then he leaped back into his saddle, and shouted, with a wondrous energy: “Attention! Captain Douglas, you will form column by sections!” Then he called to a sergeant, who had been reared in Philadelphia. “Sergeant, you know where Jacob Eastcourt lives?” “Yes, sir.” “The rear garden of his house extends back to Pine street?” “Yes, sir.” “Then wheel out your section and dash down to the foot of that garden, and see that no human being leaves the premises by that way. You will know when I sweep into Spruce street. When I do, you will advance up the garden towards the house. Away you go!” In a very short time Major Seaton dismounted before the door of Eastcourt’s dwelling, and having seen that the building was entirely surrounded, he entered, accompanied only ~by Capt. Douglas, though others of the troop came up into the outer hall. When he entered the drawing room, which he did without ceremony, he beheld four persons—two men and two women. One of the men he recognized at a glance as the old bishop of Christ Church. The other he could not mistake. It was the man who had led him out from the Walnut street prison! Aye—he knew —the Earl of Wenlock! The, earl and—the bishop! What did it mean? With a tumultuous throbbing of the heart he turned and saw Lillian. “O! Robert! Robert!—My love!—heaven have mercy!” So cried the stricken girl, from her bursting heart ,and then sank upon the bosom of Patience Angell, whose strong arms supported her. Before our hero could recover himself sufficiently to speak, his sergeant, whom he had sent around by the way of the garden, with another trooper, came In by the rear door, leading between them .Jacob Eastcourt, whose arms had been lashed behind him, and who looked like a very demon in his black rage and furious despair. And in a moment more, as though an over-ruling Providence had set the work of the strange drama in motion, the door from the front wall was opened, and Stephen W’ilson entered. “My dear master!” cried the old man when he saw the earl, at the same time advancing and extending his hand. “Thank heaven, I find you alive and well! and thank heaven, I am alive to tell you so!” “Good Stephen, I have expected you. But—excuse me for a moment. Gentlemen,”—to Major Seaton and Captain Douglas—“if you will permit the ceremony for which our good bishop waits to proceed, I will, at its conclusion, be at your service. Major Seaton, I do not think you will refuse me.” Before our hero could answer, a startling cry from Stephen Wilson • arrested attention. He had just discovered the master of the house in the hands of two troopers. His old face was the picture of terrified amazement. His eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets as he ■tood like one petrified. ‘ Stephen,” said the earl, “what is it?” The old man came back to life. He gazed again upon the evil face of the prisoner, utterly demon-like now in its malenity, and then turned to his master. “Where—where did you find him, my lord?” “Find whom, Stephen?” “Why,” returned the aged servitor in surprise, at the same time pointing to the bound prisoner, “him!—that man!—Jason Bittern!” Allan Fitzgerald, Earl of Wenlock, started and staggered as though he had been struck a heavy blow. At the same moment Wilson caught sight of Lillian, who had raised her head, and was looking towards him. He caught his hands together and gasped for breath. A moment so, and then he seized Wenlock by the arm. “Merciful heavens! Look, my lord! Is it not the countess’ own self? And with Jason Bittern!” The earl looked, and then staggered tack against the wall, and tore away the tiff cravat from his throat. Then he covered his face with his hands, and for a full minute he stood thus, those around regarding him in speechless amazement. By and by he started back to life. “Stephen—on your life!—do you know that man?” « “Do I know him? Don’t you know him, my lord?” “I have only known him as Jacob Eastcourt.” “How? Eastcourt? And this his daugh“So— l ' . “Good heavens! my master, what wonder is here! It is all plain to me now. You did not know the man as I did. That man is Jason Bittern! Ask him who the lady is.” • The earl was shaken as by the palsy, but he quickly controlled himself and strode forward. “Villain!” he cried, when he had looked upon the man’s furiously contorted visage. “I know you now! Who is that girl?” 'Had the man- held -better control of himself, or had his malignity been less deep and demoniac, he might not have answered; but his passion made him insane, even to the revealing of the secret which he had guarded for so many years. ■ Aye—he was, in truth, Jason Bittern. He had seen and recognised Wilson a year before, and had carefully kept out of his way. But he had been caught at last. The British had forsaken him—had spurned him with loathing—and new his worst enemies bad him in their power. In truth, he was insane with furious and malignant hatred. "Fool! dolt!” be gasped, gnashing his ntft ift bf mfr Mg twin fl®. ami

though my crowning triumph is denied me, yet I have had sweet revenge. O! how I have made you suffer all these years! The blow killed your wife, as you killed mine when you drove me from Wenlock borough.” “Liar!” pronounced old Stephen. “It’s true!” persisted Bittern. “The disgrace heaped upon me killed my wife. She might have got well else. And her child died with her. Ah! Allan Fitzgerald, you didn’t count the cost when you set the hounds of the law upon me. I have made you suffer! —suffer! —suffer! And if I could have seen you married to your own daughter, I wouldn’t have cared what became of me!” “God have mercy!” ejaculated Stephen, like one awaking from a dream. The earl tottered back a few paces, and might have sunk to the floor had not Stephen supported him; but by and by his senses and his strength came back, and he turned towards Lillian, and in another moment he was upon his knees at her feet, his hands clasped, and raised supplicatingly. His utterance was convulsive and choked, and the tears poured down his cheeks like rain. “0! my child! my child! Pardon! pardon! pardon! May the good God have mercy, and forgive me! O! Lillian —my child!—can you ” She was upon her knees by his side, her arms entwined around his neck—and she called him—Father! She saw it all—she knew it as old Stephen knew it. Within the hour she had heard the story of his earlier life—the story of the terrible calamity that had befallen him —and he had told her then that he had loved her because she looked like the sainted wife and ‘mother! “Father!” she cried, clinging to him, and weeping still, “you loved me first, and you will love me ever, because I look like my mother!” At this juncture Seaton so far gained control of his scattered senses as to motion for his sergeant to rem’ove the prisoner from the room. And here we may bid farewell to Jason Bittern, alias Jacob He died in the Walnut street prison—died after he had been sentenced to death for the attempted murder of Robert Seaton at Valley Forge, by his two Huron agents, which Crime was clearly proved against him. It was said that he had died by his own hand. • After the removal of Bittern, our hero, with Douglas- and Stephen, withdrew into another apartment, where, when he had gathered his wits, he asked the old servitor for an explanation. And Wilson told the story as the earl had told it to Lillian. “But,” he said, in conclusion, “my master was not responsible for the death of Bittern’s wife and child. The woman died of fever, and her child, just born, couldn’t have possibly lived—so the doctor said.” “My soul!” put in Capt. Roderic Douglas, “what a heartless wretch the mar must be! What a vengeance he had plan ned!” “But,” piously added Stephen, “the good God couldn’t have let it succeed. It was not to be.” “And you had come to look for this man Bittern a year ago?” said Seaton ‘ “Yes.” “And you remember your visit to my father?” “Yes. And I have since learned of his death. What did he tell you of my visit?” “He left it for you to tell.” And thereupon Robert told the story of his father’s last moments. “You have the sword?” asked Stephen, anxiously. “Yes. It is here, at my side.” “And has the earl told you nothing?” “The earl?” ’ “He has not told you?” “No.”

“Then wait. He must first speak. Rest easy.- I think I see the end clearly now. But, it is wonderful! wonderful!” “Of course,” said Douglas, addressing the old man, “my presence is not necessary?” “It is not necessary, Captain.” “Then I will retire. What are your orders, Major?” “Good Douglas, leave those who have charge of the prisoner, and leave my orderly within call. With the remainder of the command you will move down toward the Point, and see what the enemy are doing. I suppose the* rear guard is over by this time. Your own judgment will direct you beyond this until Washington can send a force for occupation.” The captain bowed and withdrew, and shortly afterward Lord Wenlock looked in and called old Stephen out. By and by they both returned—the earl and his servant—and were seated. His lordship was pale and shaken, like one who was passing through a terrible ordeal not yet at an end. “Major,” he said, when he had composed himself, “Stephen tells me that he has told to you the story of my suffering at the hands of Jason Bittern—so you know that Lillian is my child.” Robert bowed, with a heavy weight at his heart. What had he to do with the daughter and sole heiress of an English earl? “This story you have heard,” pursued Wenlock, “and now I have another to tell you. Pardon me if I am brief. At some future time, when I am stronger, I may give you more of detail. Listen, young man: As you ant aware, my father was a Peer of the British realm. He was Robert Fitzgerald, Earl of Wenlock. He had two sons, of which I was the youngest Other children had died in childhood. My brother was named John Seaton Fitzgerald, and was Lord Fairford. He was ten years older than L When my mother died I was a boy, wayward and wild. Upon her deathbed my brother gave to her a solemn promise that he would shield and protect me while we both lived. I was her favorite. After ten y ear »~ when John God forgive me! forged a check 'upon my

amount—forged my father’s name. John was then in the metropolis, an officer in the Life Guard, and living extravagantly. He was suspected of the forgery. Suspicion never rested upon me. I was my father’s favorite, as I had been my mother’s. “And there was John had loved Sir Richard Moreton’s daughter, Isabel—had loved her with all the strength of his great heart, though she was of my own age. And so I loved her, and my love she returned. My brother nobly relinquished her to me when he knew that her heart was mine, and this led him still deeper into reckless living. When he knew that the forgery had been committed, and that he was suspected, he came to me. I confessed to him that I had done the deed. He went away and came back in an hour —came back looking pale and old. ‘Allan,’ said he, ‘if I will shield you this time, will you promise never 'to sin again?’ I gave him the promise. Then he said, ‘Allan, our father loves you best. Isabel loves you. You are for their joy. I am nothing. Go home and leave me to bear the burden!* And he pushed me from him. I went home, as he had bidden me. A week later we learned that he had sold his commission in the Guards and left the country; and from that time he was lost to us. Word came, finally, that he had lost his life in Prussia. “And I—l —coward and craven! —suffered the stain to rest upon his name. When we thought him dead, I assumed his title of Lord Fairford, and Isabel became my wife. The fearful visitation of Providence which followed, you know. “Something over a year ago I heard of a man in America answering to the description of Jason Bittern. Stephen Wilson was sent over to find him, if possible. He did not then find the man for whom he searched, but he found another. He saw your face, and that led him to your father; and in your father —the Gerald Seaton of Frederick’s army, and the Gerald Seaton of American fame—he recognized John Seaton Fitzgerald, the true Lord Fairford, and true heir to the Earldom of Wenlock. Hold! —Let me finish before you speak. Stephen, can you produce those papers?” •Stephen Wilson reached out his hand for our hero’s sword, which was drawn from its scabbard, and given to him. He laid the yeapon across his knees, and then, with the point of a stout knife, he drove through the upper part of the hilt a wide, flat, thin spring-pin, the ends of which, when in place, had formed figures in the fret-work of the gold. This done, he easily removed the signet of the pommel, revealing a hollow in the handle, from which he drew a tightly compressed roll of papers which had been wound around the long tang of the blade. “Major,” said the old man, at a nod from his master, “these papers your father placed in here in my presence. Most of them he had owned for years, but a few we prepared together. Will you look them over?” Our hero took the roll with a trembling hand, and for full half an hour he sat poring over the remarkable documents—scanning with military exactness, until he had gained a full knowledge of their contents. He had been strangely excited during the examination, and many times exclamations of wonder had broken from his lips. Finally he looked up. “Well,” said Allan Fitzgerald, “what have you found?” “By these papers,” answered the youthful Patriot, with bated breath, “I find that my father was the eldest son and heir of Robert, Earl of Wenlock; I find clear proofs of his identity with Gen. Gerald Seaton—proofs of his marriage with Christine Verden, in Berlin —proofs of my bfrth —and also clear proofs of my own legitimate heirship. And, further, I have here my father’s dying declaration that sever, in all his life, did be commit a crime against the laws of the land which had given him a home! And I find this, in his hand, addressed to myself—‘My Son —When you know that my brother Allan has acknowledged and established my innocence of the crime for which I suffered in his behalf, you may, if you wish, assume your true name and title.’ And to this he signs his name—‘John Seaton Fitzgerald, Lord Fairford.’ ” “My dear boy,” said Allan, “it has been done. When Stephen came home and reported his wonderful discovery, I made a full confession to my father, and published the same to all whom it could concern; and, as soon as I could, I came to this country for the purpose of finding my wronged brother, and surrendering to him his rights. When I arrived I found my brother dead, and his son where I could not reach him. The next arrival from England brought to me intelligence of my father’s death. Between myself and the earldom stood an unknown boy, who dreamed not of his heirship. The iron entered my soul. I was a coward and villain again! To my brother I would have surrendered my false claim—but to the unknown son—O! the allurement of the coronet was too much! I fell. But God would not let it be so; and I can thank Him now for the in terven tipn of His mighty hand.” At this point Allan Fitzgerald arose, and paced several times across the room. At length he stopped and laid his hand upon his nephew’s shoulder. “Robert, I will leave you for half an hour to consider. Would you like that Lillian should confer with you?” “Sir!—l ’’ “Hush! If you would like her counsel, you shall have it —you may have it for all coming time, if you wish.” And with this Allan and Stephen left the room, and a little while later our hero held Lillian in his arms. That half hour was sacred! At its close Allan Fitzgerald returned. “Robert, have you considered?" “Allan,” returned the youth, holding Lillian by the hand as he spoke, “do you give to me this precious charge, to be mine for life?” “Yes, with all my heart; and I bless God for the opportunity.” “Then, my lord, you are . now. and henceforth, Earl of Wenlock! Lillian and I want not the title. If you can, from your abundant store, help mr, —” Allan put out his, hand. “Hush! Make not the sacrifice hastily; but in any event, know this: My child is wealthy beyond your power to expend in this land; and. moreover, the revenues of Fairford shall be secured to yourself. As for the earldom, and the broad estates of Wenlock ” “They are yours, my lord,” interrupted Robert. “My decision is final. America is my home, and I will not forsake it.” “And you,-my ehild?” "I am Robert’s, and I decide with him!” .0 0 0 0 0 0 • Years had passed. In the drawing room

of an elegant mansion, the deep Day windows of which overlooked the Delaware river, stood Robert and Lilian Seaton, and at their side, playing upon the carpet, were two bright-faced, sunny-haired children—a boy and a girl, named Allan and Marian. Robert wore the undress uniforms of a major general of the American army—he wore it now because he had just returned from a visit to Congress, in session at Princeton, where he had been summoned to meet Gen. Washington. And nobly had the true-hearted Patriot won the right to wear it. Not one in all the army had been more brave; not one had dared more danger; and not one was more generally beloved by all who truly knew him. Robert bent ever and kissed his smiling, happy wife. She had an open letter in her hand, which he had brought from Princeton. “Have you read your father’s letter, Lillian?” “Yes—and oh! Robert, he is coming to see us. And he wonders, now that blessed peace has come, and the dark days of strife are over, if you will be still content to relinquish the earldom, and to remain plain Robert Seaton. What say you, darling?” “What say you, my wife? Do you long for the coronet?” “Oh, no—no! Have I not you, my husband! And look!—Behold our children! Oh, my heaven of love and peace and joy is here!” Robert caught her to his bosom. “Dear Lillian, lam content. Not for George’s royal crown would I exchange the noble heritage I have helped to secure. We shall leave to our children something of far more worth than tinseled insignia and sounding title. We shall leave to them that priceless heritage—a Country Free and Independent! Bless the Lord, O, my soul! for all His tender mercies!” (The end.) Copyright.