University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
HARRY AND GERTRUDE.

Harry Vrail was not a little astonished when, on the third
day prior to his departure for the seat of war, his old acquaintance
Brom called upon him in a state of great excitement, and requested
to be allowed to enlist as a soldier and accompany him to the
field. To the young man's inquiries the negro replied that he
was going to quit his old home, and that he was free to go where
he chose, and he chose to go with Massa Harry to Canada.

Harry was delighted with this unexpected proof of attachment
in his old companion, and also with the prospect of having always
so powerful a friend and auxiliary at his side, and after ascertaining
that the negro's mind was fully decided upon going, he
assured him that he would arrange everything pertaining to his
enlistment, and said he had no doubt that he could so manage
matters that their positions should at all times be near each other.

Brom could not restrain his ecstasy at the success of his suit.

“I'll take care of your hoss, Massa Harry,” he said, “and
brush your clothes, and—and”—

“Thank you, Brom. I am not certain that I shall have a
horse to take care of, and I fear I shall have but little money to
pay for services of any kind.”

“Never mind the money, Massa Harry. I don't want any
money. Missis Becky has got eight hundred dollars of Brom's
now laid up for when I get to be an old man.”

The negro could not long divest himself of the idea that Dame
Becky was the chief representative of his old master.

“Has she indeed? You are a very fortunate fellow then and I
think you had much better stay at home. You can buy yourself
a small farm with that sum, and run no risk of getting shot.”

The negro was impatient at this advice, and would not listen to
it a moment.

“Very well then, Brom,” said the young man, “you may go if
you wish, and I have no doubt you will make a very good soldier.”

“May I take care of your horse?” repeated the negro earnestly.

“Most certainly, if I have one, you may take care of him, and
if you like you may call yourself my servant when you are off duty,
and in that way we can always be near each other, and I will pay
you for whatever services I require of you.”

“Never mind the pay;” reiterated Brom, “we'll see about that
when you get to be a gineral or govner of Canada; but mind and
tell Colonel Allen that I is your servant.”

The negro next inquired, pursuant to Miss Van Kleeck's instruction,
how much money he would need for his equipment and travelling
expenses, and then hastened home to inform the delighted
Gertrude of the result of his mission.

The young lady now found it necessary to take another step in
the road to domestic authority, by resuming the custody of that
part of her property which remained in her father's “strong box”
at home, where a considerable sum in gold and silver was stored
away, with the family plate. It required some courage to renew
the contest for supremacy with her aunt, but animated by the importance
of the cause in which she was engaged, she struck for
freedom, and after a long and hotly contested battle of words, the
old dame flung down the keys in a rage, and retreated to the
kitchen, growling deeply in Low Dutch, a language to which she
always resorted when much excited.

Getty flew to the box, which had so long been interdicted to her,
and took from it the sum which Mr. Vrail had named as necessary
for the negro's expenses, and in addition thereto a considerable
sum in the smallest kind of gold pieces. This last amount,
she told Brom, he must take with him to use in any emergency,
either of his own or of his master, and that he must conceal it in
some way securely in his clothes, and let no one know that he
possessed it.

Brom chuckled greatly, and promised implicit obedience.

“How much will that leave me, Missis Getty, in there?” he
said, nodding towards the box, which he supposed to contain an
immense treasure, including his own dues.

“It will leave you all that you had before, Brom. This does not
come out of your money by any means.”

“Golly! Missis, are you going to give Brom all that money”—

“And more, if necessary. Only be perfectly faithful and discreet,
and remember all that I have so often told you about—
about”—

“Taking good care of Massa Harry?” asked the negro, grinning.

“Yes,” said Getty, slightly coloring.

“I will sartingly remember.”

“And be sure never to say or hint anything to him about my
sending you to the war, or furnishing you with money, or anything
of that kind.”

“I will be sartin, sure.”

Gertrude thought with some trepidation, that Harry might
possibly call to bid farewell to her aunt and herself before quitting
the country, and such, indeed had been his design for some days
past, during which he had frequently requested his brother to
accompany him there. But Tom objected.

“It would be quite a waste of civility,” he said, “upon old Miss

Van Kleeck, who would as likely as not send for a United States
officer to arrest us; and as to Getty, I have really quite relinquished
my designs upon her.”

Harry hesitated awhile, but at length he resolved to go alone.
Common politeness required it from one who had so long been an
acquaintance of the family, and he was besides anxious to make sure
that he was not contravening the wishes of Miss Van Kleeck by
encouraging Brom's military aspirations.

It was on a cool evening, early in November, that Mr. Vrail
found himself seated in the pleasant parlor of the Van Kleeck mansion,
awaiting the entrance of Gertrude. A glowing fire of wood
blazed and crackled upon the hearth, and without the aid of the two
candles, which burned almost unobserved in tall silver candlesticks
upon the mantel, fully lighted the large room, and was reflected
back from every side by the highly polished surfaces of the old-fashioned
solid mahogany furniture. Everything was scrupulously
clean. The ceiling was dazzlingly white, the carpet seemed guiltless
of dust and lint, and the sofa, drawn out corner-wise to the
fire, had a most tempting air of comfort and repose, while the tall
brass andirons and fender shone as only Dutch servants can induce
brass to shine. The hearth, indeed, and its accessories, were the
crowning specimens of Flemish neatness. The very ashes seemed
to have been taught the duty of falling within certain prescribed
limits, while a very clean brush hung in the chimney corner ready
for quick service in driving back any intrusive flakes.

When Getty entered the room, it was with an air of much embarrassment,
and even alarm, and although she shook hands with
Harry, and replied to his questions after her health, her agitation
gave the appearance of anything but cordiality to the reception.

But Harry did not expect much of a welcome, and he was not
disappointed at this. If it had been Tom, he thought, and he had
chosen to make himself agreeable, how differently Getty would have
acted, and he could not help thinking, as his eyes were riveted

upon the really beautiful face which was before him, yet partly
averted from him, how very strange it was that Tom should think
of going to the war.

Gertrude had seated herself upon the sofa, and her visitor sat
down in a chair at some distance from her; and after he had
inquired about her health, and the health of aunt Becky, there
was an awkward silence, which it seemed impossible for either
party to break.

Harry spoke, at length.

“I am about leaving home for an absence of uncertain duration,”
he said, “and I have called to say good-bye to yourself and
your aunt.”

Getty immediately rose and pulled the bell-cord which dangled
over the mantel, and then reseating herself, replied that she had
heard of Mr. Vrail's intended absence. When she had directed a
servant girl, who answered her summons, to request her aunt's
presence in the parlor, she felt reassured by the expected arrival,
and found courage to say something more.

“Rumor says that you are going far, and on a dangerous
errand. I suppose I must not inquire whether this is true?”

“It is true,” replied Harry, smiling, “although I do not say
so publicly; but the cause in which I am about to engage, is
one which, after much reflection, I have been convinced is a just
one, and fully worthy of the sympathies and assistance of Americans.
I may be mistaken, but if at any time I should see cause
to change my views, before it is too late to retract, I shall undoubtedly
do so.”

“I know very little of the cause,” replied Gertrude, “but I fear
—I would say, I suppose—there must be more than the usual
perils of war attending it.”

“It may be so: I have not counted the danger closely, for
although I lay claim to no unusual courage, my life has heretofore
been one of such dull inaction, that even danger is not with

out its charms for me. I confess I do not think, with Thomas
and Col. Allen, that our entrance into, and progress through
Canada, is to be merely a triumphal march.”

“If that expectation is generally encouraged, it may lead many
to join the ranks of the patriots who would prove but feeble
assistants in the hour of battle.”

“Very true.”

“May I ask if there are many going from this neighborhood?”

“Only six besides my brother and myself, and one of these, you
may be surprised to learn, is your former servant, Brom. Part
of my errand here to-night is to inquire if you approve of his
going—or, rather, to learn if you had any objections to it.”

Getty rose, and adjusted some ornaments on the mantel-piece,
and while doing so, if Harry had thought to steal a side glance at
her face, he would have seen that it was deeply suffused with
blushes as she replied,

“Brom has the entire right to control his own movements, and
I have not the least objection to his going.”

“He is a powerful fellow, and knows no fear, and will undoubtedly
make a very good soldier.”

“Will he be in your company?”

“If I should have a company, he undoubtedly will. He has
already elected me his captain, and I have promised him that he
shall, at all events, be near me. If there is”—

“Excuse me for interrupting you—but I hear aunt Rebecca,
and it may be better not to speak on the subject before her. You
know she is peculiar in her views.”

Harry had only time to thank his fair companion for her caution,
when the door opened, and Dame Becky entered, and
advanced in a hurried way to the middle of the room, where she
stopped.

“I could not come before, Getty, and I can't stay now,” she said

“the apples are not half pared or strung yet. How do you do,
Mr. Vrail? Do you want anything in particular of me?” And
the dame lowered her head, and looked sharply at him over the
black rim of her spectacles.

“I have only called to say good-bye to yourself and your niece,
Miss Van Kleeck,” replied Harry, who had risen on her entrance
and remained standing; “I am about leaving home.”

“Oh, yes! I have heard that you were going away—a pretty
sort of wild goose chase it is, too, that you are going on. There's
Brom, too—he must go. I hope it is not you that has been and
'ticed him into it.”

“Aunt Becky! for shame!” exclaimed Gertrude, coloring scar,
let.

“When I seek to make proselytes for the cause,” replied Harry
smiling good-naturedly, “it will probably not be among his
class.”

“Well, no offence. I am sorry that you are sich a”—

“Aunt Becky!”

“Well, no matter—good-bye—I must go back to my apples.
Getty, see to the fire, and—and the front door, and you had better
come and help us as soon as you can”—and the old woman departed
as unceremoniously as she had entered.

Mortified beyond expression at her aunt's rudeness, Getty knew
not what to say; but Harry did not seem to notice it, nor did he
offer to resume his seat.

“My aunt is very,—inconsiderate,” said Miss Van Kleeck, hesitatingly.
“Do not allow her remarks to hurry your departure.”

“Certainly not. I ought not easily to take offence in a house
where I have received so many hospitalities,” replied the visitor, in
a voice rendered mournful by the retrospect of departed joys.

Getty's eye glanced at the portrait of her father hanging against
the wall, and she would not reject a compliment which belonged
rather to her deceased parent than herself.

“I believe my father always thought your visits a great favor,”
she said.

“He was quite an original thinker, then,” replied the young
man, with a quiet smile. “I know but very few of that way of
thinking.”

Getty now looked mournful in turn, and Harry immediately
thought what a monster he was to speak so frivolously when her
father was the subject of conversation. He added, quickly,

“He was a most kind-hearted and amiable man, and I have
every reason to cherish his memory with regard. But I am
detaining you from your aunt—good-bye.”

Getty gave her hand, but it was utterly impossible for her to
speak—her eyes were full of tears, which Harry, blind to the last,
believed to be caused solely by the renewal of her filial grief. And
so they parted.