University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
A DARK COMPACT.

Enthusiastic, ambitious and vain, Thomas Vrail was fully
resolved from the outset to accept the tempting offer of a commission
in the patriot army, which the emissary was empowered to
offer him, many nominations of the kind having been placed at
his disposal by those who had assumed command of the provisional
government of the provinces.

He exhibited the fullest credentials from his superiors, who evidently
placed great confidence in his tact and discretion, and who
were as liberal in the bestowal of their chimerical honors, as in the
distribution of the yet unconquered soil which they were about to
invade. He was, of course, instructed to offer these higher prizes
only to the educated and influential classes, to whom the private's
pay and bounty could not be expected to prove a sufficient inducement
to enlist.

Of course, the majority of these appointments, although conferring
rank from their date, were entirely prospective, as far as
related to the command bestowed upon the various officers. Colonels
of regiments yet unraised, and captains of companies still
unformed, awaited with ardor the hour when, stepping upon Canadian
soil, they should behold the eager hosts which they were to
lead to battle and to victory, and they were content, meanwhile, to
perform the duty of privates in the first movements of the invasion.

Col. Allen, after much secret instruction to his new allies, left
them on the ensuing day, to pursue his mission in other quarters,
promising to visit them again within a fortnight, and to give due
notice of the time and place of rendezvous to such of them as
should determine to engage personally in the cause.

The intervening period was devoted by the younger Vrail to the
most incessant efforts to induce Harry to accompany him to the
field. The infection and sympathy was spreading more and more
rapidly throughout the country, and Tom brought daily to his brother
reports of fresh accessions to the ranks, and new accounts both
of the sufferings of the Canadian people, and of the extent and
progress of the insurrection.

“Beacons,” he said, “are placed on a hundred hills, ready to
be fired the moment that the invading army lands, and these
are to be the signals for a simultaneous rising throughout the
country.”

Harry did not lack courage, and his heart was full of generous
eelings for the oppressed, but his scruples were not entirely overcome.

But he knew that Tom could not be dissuaded from his own
purpose, and his extreme solicitude for his safety in so perilous
an enterprise went further towards deciding his movements than
all other influences combined. He resolved to go for Tom's sake
—that he might watch over his welfare, and keep him from unnecessary
dangers. It would be so very dreadful, he thought, if anything
should happen to Tom, while his own fate seemed of comparatively
trifling moment. Such was Harry's nature, and such is
the nature of many whom the world decry as wanting in energy
and force of character.

When Allen returned, a lieutenant's commission was easily
obtained for the new recruit, although, if he had chosen to make
terms, he might easily have procured a higher rank, but he took,
of course, what his brother chose to ask, and Allen to bestow. It

was true Tom was a captain, but what was that to Harry but a
source of pleasure? He did not doubt that the latter would
become a major-general if the patriots succeeded.

The returned emissary assembled his lodge, and informed them
with much excitement, and with many injunctions of secrecy and
caution, that the time and place of attack were fully decided upon.
The frontier village of Oswego, he said, was the place of rendezvous
for a large part of the recruits, where they were to repair
quietly and without arms, which would be provided in due time.
They were not to go in numbers of more than three or four
together, nor were they publicly to discuss the object of their expedition,
lest they might subject themselves to arrest and detention
by their own government, which, he said, was taking sides with
tyranny against the rights of man. Having imparted these instructions
to the neophytes, together with such other information as
was necessary for their guidance, he departed northward, to visit
other clubs, and give them like notice of the time of the intended
invasion.

Secret as had been the proceedings of the lodge, its existence and
object, and even the names of the volunteers for service in the
field, were generally known throughout the village. True, they
were rather whispered than openly proclaimed, and it was said, not
that such and such an one had enlisted for the war, but that he
had become a hunter. This plan was universal and was everywhere
understood. Officers of the United States government were
not obliged to understand it unless they chose to do so, and Mr.
Deputy Marshal Stone never dreamed of knowing what it meant,
when used among his own neighbors and acquaintances. If people
chose to go north in search of game, which had become very
scarce at home, it was no business of his. But he caused it to be
understood that they must not go to the chase with military accoutrements,
or with the accompaniments of drum and fife, or he
should be obliged to suspect them of other designs. In short,

there was a very good understanding between the deputy and his
fellow-citizens, upon whose favor he counted for assistance in obtaining
a renewal of his term of office.

Old Guert Rosevelt made no serious opposition to the designs
of his grandsons, which he very imperfectly understood, but he
had great confidence in the good sense of the elder, and he was
so impatient of the long idleness of both, that he was glad of any
change which gave them occupation and even a remote prospect
of success.

But there was another quarter in which the tidings of Harry
Vrail's changing fortunes were received with more interest, and
were contemplated with more anxiety. Although Gertrude Van
Kleeck had long tried to convince herself that she cared little or
nothing for her old associate and visitor, she could not repress the
fears which continually arose in her mind for his safety, now that
he was about to engage in a war of which the theatre was distant
and the issue very uncertain. True, he was only a friend, and
would never be anything more to her, but she felt that it would
be very dreadful if anything serious should happen to him. Yet
not for the world would she have him or any one else know that
she felt this solicitude in his behalf, and the necessity of so closely
locking her emotions within her own breast rendered them doubly
oppressive. Again and again she reverted to the subject, only to
feel her utter impotency to plan or do anything which should
counteract Harry's anticipated movement. She reflected upon the
great wealth of which she was the mistress, and thought how freely
she would be willing to dispense of it, if there was any way by
which she could avert from her friend what seemed to her so very
pressing and imminent a danger.

She continued to receive tidings from day to day, through
various members of her household, in relation to a subject which,
of course, formed a large part of the current gossip of the neighborhood,
but her principal reliance for information was upon a

negro servant, named Abram, but more usually called Brom, who
was almost daily sent to the village on domestic errands. At
times, indeed, Gertrude invented little wants, which aunt Becky
thought superfluous and extravagant, for the purpose of dispatching
Brom to the village store, to bring back his accustomed budget
of intelligence. She seldom, indeed, questioned him herself in
relation to the news, but she usually contrived to be busy in the
kitchen on his return, and thus to hear what he was quite sure to
relate to his fellow-servants in regard to the exciting topic of the
day.

Now, Brom had become not a little attached to Harry Vrail in
former days, having often obtained permission to accompany him
in his fishing and hunting expeditions, and he frequently expressed
his regret that Master Harry had ceased for the past year to pay
his accustomed visits to the Van Kleeck woods and streams.

Of this sable individual a few words of description may not be
amiss. He was a man about thirty years of age, who had lived
from infancy in the family of Gertrude's father, having been a
slave until the general emancipation of 1826. Since that time he
had received wages as a hired servant, or rather he had them
placed to his account, for Brom never “took up” anything more
than was required for his yearly suit of linsey-woolsey, the remainder
of his stipend remaining in his employer's hands.

Notwithstanding his freedom, he was in spirit as much a slave
as ever, and he possessed that strong attachment for his master's
family which characterizes his race, and which is, alas, so often
sadly requited.

But Brom was a light-hearted, merry fellow, whose humble
condition seemed fully compensated for by a perpetual freedom
from cares and anxieties. Everything was food for Brom's mirth,
and almost everything was food for his mouth. His appetite and
his spirits were equally unflagging.

It was while listening to one of the negro's daily reports in relation

to the village recruits, in which he always spoke particularly
of “Massa Harry,” that the idea occurred to the anxious Gertrude
of furnishing her friend with a body-guard in the person of this
very African, who manifested so much interest in his welfare.
Startled and relieved by the thought, she hastily retired to her
room to reflect on the means of carrying it into execution; but this
was a task not easily performed with that entire secrecy which was
essential to her design. She sent at once for the negro, and after
questioning him a little more in relation to the tidings which he
had brought, she said to him:

“Brom, you have always been a good servant, and my father
ever placed great confidence in you. I think I can do the same.”

Brom grinned widely as he replied—

“Yes, Miss Getty, you can trust Brom sartin.”

“But can I trust you in a very important matter, far more important
than any which you were ever engaged in, and one which
requires both courage and secrecy?”

The negro remained silent for a moment and seemed greatly
surprised, but at the next instant his large eyes flashed with the
earnest spirit of his reply.

“Yes, Miss Getty, you can trust Bron in anything.”

“Are you willing to go to the war with Mr. Vrail as his servant?”

“With Massa Harry! To the war with Massa Harry! Yes, I
is willing, Missis Getty! Dat I is—if you and Missis Becky will
let me go.”

“You are a free man, Brom, and can do what you choose.”

“I will never go without your consent. Besides, I want to
come home when the war is over, and Missis Becky wouldn't let
me do that if I should run away.”

“But I am mistress now,” replied Gertrude, with a very pretty
air of command, which she had never before been able to assume,
but which the exigency of her position rendered necessary. “Aunt
Becky has nothing to say about it.”

“Aunt Becky nothing to say, hey? Don't you believe it! She
has a mighty great deal to say about everything,” replied the
negro hastily.

“Well, well,” answered Gertrude, laughing, “she must be
allowed to talk, but you understand that I am the mistress in this
house and on this farm—that it is all mine. Don't you understand
that, Brom?”

“Y-e-s,” said Brom, hesitatingly—“but Missis Becky”—

“Never mind Missis Becky.”

Brom looked hastily over his shoulder to make sure that the
object of his dread was not within hearing of this treasonous
speech.

“And if you choose to go away, you shall be allowed to come
back here whenever you wish on exactly the same footing as before,
and I will furnish you with plenty of money for the journey; but
you will have to enlist as a soldier. What do you say?” Are you
afraid?” she continued, as the negro seemed to hesitate in replying.

“Golly, no! I isn't afraid of the war—but—Missis—Becky”—

The young lady impatiently interrupted him, and, by dint of much
argument, succeeded in allaying his deeply implanted fears in relation
to the one sole object of his terror, and when this disenthrallment
was completed, there was no limit to the exuberance of the
negro's joy at the prospect before him.

“As I said, you will have to enlist as a soldier.”

“List? Oh yes, I'll do that, sartin; and then I'll get three hundred
acres of land after we've drove the Canaders all out.”

“You must not think of that. You may get it or not, and it
will probably be worth very little if you do. But remember that
you go as Master Harry's servant, and that I will pay you liberally
for all your time and danger. You will be a soldier it is true, and
must do your duty as such; but remember, that you are a volunteer,
and that you must enlist on the express condition that you are

always to fight at Master Harry's side, and that you are always to
be quartered near him, and where you can wait upon him. You
are to be within his call at all times of night and day. You are
to watch over him in battle, and be always ready to help him when
he needs help. If he is wounded (here Gertrude's voice trembled)
you are to carry him off the field; and if he is taken prisoner, you
are to go with him. Will you do all this?”

“Yes, Missis, I sartingly, will.”

“Will you swear to do it?”

“Yes, on all the Bibles in the house.”

“But there is yet another thing. Neither he nor any one else
must ever know anything of this arrangement between you and
me. You are a free man, you wish to enlist as a soldier, but you
wish to go with your old friend, Master Harry. All this is true, is
it not?”

“All berry true.”

“As to the rest, you must not say a word to anybody. You
must not even tell Mr. Vrail that you are to be his servant, nor
must you ask any wages of him; but you are to do everything
for him you possibly can.”

Brom was sagacious and discreet. He was easily made to comprehend
everything in relation to his young mistress' views except
two things. He did not comprehend her reason for secrecy, nor
how he was to avoid the wrath of his ancient enemy, Mistress
Becky. But he faithfully promised compliance with all the
instructions of Gertrude, which she repeated many times over to
him, and impressed on his mind with indelible distinctness. Before
he left the room he knew his whole rôle by heart, and he proceeded
at once to business, making his boldest strike first, and the
one which he dreaded far more than all the rest. Before the day
was over, he gave Miss Becky notice that he was about to quit the
service of the family, and was going to the war, and then he stood
patiently for half an hour, and bore the expected torrent of invective

which his announcement elicited, merely repeating at its close
his first remark.

“You shall do no such thing, you black Mollyhack, you. You
sha'n't go! So just go about your work, and let me hear no more
about this nonsense. You sha'n't stir a step, I say. Now,
then.”

“I must go, Missis Becky.”

“What for must you, then? I should like to know that, now
—hey!” she said, in the very altissimo of scolding keys.

“I must go.”

“You shall not! You sha'n't have a cent of money; and if
you do go you shall never come back. You know very well that
Baltus would never have let you go on such a wild goose chase
as this, and neither will I.”

“I am a free man, Missis Becky,” said Brom, trembling from
head to foot with the violence of the effort to make so bold an
assertion, “and I sartingly shall go.”

So saying, Brom turned away and walked off to the barn, followed
by a rattling volley of words, which came less and less
distinctly to his ear until the interposing door of his place of
refuge shut out the fearful sounds.

Dame Becky, after scolding for some time at the empty air, went
grumbling into the house, and sought out her niece, whom she
informed of the servant's audacious design, which intelligence
Getty, to her great surprise, received with much coolness, assuring
her that she already knew Brom's wishes on this point, and
had consented to his going.

There was something in the air of the young lady as she made
this remark which impressed the aunt with a sense of her niece's
authority, and it was with some abatement of tone that she
remonstrated against the project. Getty heard her through and
replied with composure—

“As I said before, aunt, my mind is made up to let Brom go,

and I desire that he may be allowed to go in peace, and without
further reproof.”

“Hoity, toity!” exclaimed the old woman in a subdued tone,
turning away from her niece; “these are new airs! Well, let
him go them to the old scratch, as he most assuredly will; but he
shall never darken these doors again.”

“He has my permission to return here whenever he chooses.”

“Oh, has he indeed? Pretty management this is! Perhaps
you do not know that all Brom's wages for the last ten years are
unpaid, and that he holds your father's note for a great part of it,
with interest, and that if he goes away it has all got to be paid.”

The last word was shot out from between the dame's thin lips
with much force, and with an air of no little spitefulness.

“I know all about it,” replied the niece. “I do not think it is
Brom's intention to take up any part of his money yet; but if it
is, I am able to pay him without difficulty.”

The aunt, after a little subdued grumbling, left the room, and
retired to her own department in no amiable mood, and greatly
wondering at the change which had suddenly taken place in her
niece.