"Not so, Mr. Grantham; you have sufficiently established your right to repose, and I have already issued the necessary instructions. Yet, while you have nobly acquitted yourself of your duty, let me also perform mine. Gentlemen," he continued, addressing the large circle of officers, "I was the first to comment on Mr. Grantham's supposed neglect of duty, and to cast a doubt on his fidelity. That I was wrong I admit, but right I trust will be my reparation, and whatever momentary pain he may experience in knowing that he has been thus unjustly judged, it will, I am sure, be more than compensated for, when he hears that by General Brock himself his defence was undertaken, even to the pledging of his own honor. Mr. Grantham," concluded the gallant officer, "how you have obtained your knowledge of the conversation that passed here during your absence, is a mystery I will not now pause to inquire into, but I would fain apologize for the wrong I have done. Have I your pardon?"
At the commencement of this address, the visible heaving of his full chest, the curling of his proud lip, and the burning flush of his dark cheek, betrayed the mortification Gerald felt, in having been placed in a position to be judged thus unjustly; but, as the commodore proceeded, this feeling gradually passed away, and when the warm defence of his conduct by the general was alluded to, closed as the information was with a request for pardon, his temporary annoyance was banished, and he experienced only the generous triumph of one who is conscious of having won his way, through calumny and slander, to the well merited approbation of all right minded men.
"Come, come," interposed the general, more touched than he was willing to appear, by the expressive manner in which the only hand of the commodore now grasped that of his lieutenant, and perceiving that the latter was about to reply—"We will defer all further explanation until a later period. But, before we depart, this person must be disposed of; Major Montgomerie, excuse my asking if you will be personally responsible for your fellow prisoner?"
"Certainly not!" returned the Major quickly, and with something like alarm at the required responsibility; "that is to say, he does not belong to the United States regular service, and I know nothing of him. Indeed, I never saw him before last night, when he joined me with a verbal message from Detroit."
Hitherto the individual spoken of had preserved an unbroken silence, keeping, as we have already shown, his gaze riveted upon the ground, except at intervals, when he looked around with an eye of suspicion, as if to measure the distance that separated him from the groups of Indians in the background. The disclaimer of the major had, however, the effect of restoring to him the use of his tongue. Casting his uncertain eye on the gentlemanly person of the latter, he exclaimed, in a tone of insufferable vulgarity:
"I'll tell you what it is, Mister Major—you may think yourself a devilish fine feller, but I guess as how an officer of the Michigan Militia is just as good and as spry as any blue coat in the United States rig'lars; so there's that (snapping his fingers) for pretendin' not to know me."
An ill-suppressed titter pervaded the group of British officers—the general alone preserving his serieux.
"May I ask your name?" he demanded.
"I guess, gin'ril, it's Paul Emilius Theophilus Arnoldi, ensign in the United States Michigan Militia," was answered with a volubility strongly in contrast with the preceding silence of the speaker.