Mr. Stephens was only too successful in eluding the vigilance of the police; for finding that he was an exception to the rest of their leaders, whose chief characteristic appeared to be to utterly fail in everything they undertook, the Fenians began to suspect that their head-centre had betrayed them to the Government, who had let him off as the price of his treachery; and this in spite of the declarations of the warder Byrne, who, after his acquittal from want of proof, went to America, and told the story of the escape; how Col. Kelly and friends were outside, and received the prisoner after he had let him out. There were so many believers in the “treachery” view of the question, that Stephens was deposed from office, and has never since been held of the least importance in connection with the movement. It is only fair to state, however, that of late years there has been a growing belief, as expressed in the columns of the so-called “National” press, among the Fenians, that Mr. Stephens was most unjustly accused. After his escape he spent a few months in Ireland, and then visited New York, from whence, disgusted with his reception, he departed for Paris, where he lived for several years in great poverty. A story is told of his meeting with an English detective at the Paris Exhibition, which, if true, would appear to show that he was at least innocent of the “betrayal of his companions for gold,” as was alleged against him by his American accusers. The detective officer in question was enjoying a few weeks’ holiday in Paris, and being unable to speak French at the bar of one of the refreshment rooms in the exhibition, got in dispute with a waiter. After some time, he was helped out of the difficulty by a shabbily-dressed but good-looking gentleman with a bald head.
“Why, you are Mr. Stephens, I believe!” said the policeman, in some amazement, when he had time to take a good look at his new friend.
“Yes, I am indeed,” said the proprietor of the bald head, with a good natured laugh; “and as one good turn deserves another, you shall stand a dinner for old acquaintance sake; for to tell you the truth, I have not been able to dine yet.”
“Why, Mr. Stephens, they say you are doing remarkably well here,” said the other with a knowing wink.
“Ah! they do say so, but they are wrong. I was doing pretty well when I was on here as interpreter, but your good friends in Scotland Yard have got me out of that berth by their kind intercession on my behalf with the French Government here; so make no more fuss about it, but stand treat like a man;” which the correspondent of the respectable English journal who related the story at the time was happy to inform his readers the detective did.
Mr. Stephens is said to be at the present time in Russia.
Charles Scribner & Co.,
654 Broadway, New York,