"
"Ah! Well of course you can put in that plea if you wish at your
trial, but I am afraid it will avail you little. Your arms, too, are
of an American pattern, similar to that known to be used by the
Fenians."
"Good Heavens! do they take me for a Fenian?" said Fairfield,--"why,
I am an English officer, captain of a merchant vessel of the port of
Glasgow."
"Have you any papers to prove this?" said the lawyer.
"No, they all went down with the vessel, but they can easily find
out whether my statements be correct by communicating with the agents."
"That will be for you to do, when you are brought to trial, which
may not be for some time, as there is a surplus of work on hand this
session."
"But can I not demand a trial?"
"No, the _Habeas Corpus_ Act is suspended, and you must just make
yourself as comfortable as you can under the circumstances."
Poor Fairfield wrung his hands and stamped the floor with rage. He
cursed Ireland and her people and laws, or rather the want of them;
then, as reason took the place of passion, he sat down and wrote a
letter to his wife, informing her of his deplorable condition, and
urging her to communicate with the agents of his vessel immediately.
This letter never reached her, for, having heard of the wreck of
the Glenalpine (some portions of the bows being found by a
homeward-bound steamer imbedded in a large block of ice), she never
doubted for an instant but that her husband had gone down with the
vessel.
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