University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

The following epistle from Miss Hendee to Miss
Reed, in answer to the one from the latter, inserted
in a previous chapter, was written in the interval between
the meeting of the Green Mountain Boys
last described, and the general mustering of their
forces for their contemplated enterprise.

`Forgive me, dear Jessy, but really I could not
help laughing, on the receipt and perusal of your vivacious,
and very interesting letter, to see the desperate
attempts you there repeatedly make to conceal
from me, and yourself, by naked, unasked assertions,
and inferences without premises, the heart-hidden
secret which your every third sentence, at
least, most palpably discloses. Yes, my lady, whether
you believe it or not, yourself, you are but little
better than a gone girl, and your doughty major
will find it out, too, as sure as Jealousy has eyes,
and Love none. But never mind it, my dear girl,
nor turn up that pretty, slender nose in a miff at
what I say, since the same letter that gives you
cause of displeasure, if cause there be, will furnish
you also with the means of an ample revenge: for
I, too, have adventures to relate, of the past week's
occurrence, scarcely less extraordinary than your own.
When you said, Jessy, in that little parenthesis
which you threw into your letter concerning Warrington,
`A noble looking fellow, I wish you could see
him,' you little thought that your wish had been
granted ere expressed; and far less did yor dream,
when you added, `I think you would like him,' how
much of a prophetess you was likely to become:
for Charles Warrington I have seen, Warrington
the Green Mountain Boy, Warrington the York outlaw,
and Warrington the generous, high-minded,
and, as you truly say, noble looking fellow! And in
what estimation I secretly hold him, you will better
understand, when I inform you, that my old acquaintance
Howard, of whom you have often heard me
speak, and Warrington are one, and the same person!
You cannot be more surprised at this news
than I was, myself, at the discovery. And not small

was the confusion of thought and feeling, I experienced
at first, I confess, in reconciling the warring
conceptions I had previously entertained of these
two, as I supposed them, different, and almost diametrically
opposite characters. In this, however, I
have at length succeeded, and even to that degree
that I cannot but feel, that the character of Howard,
pure and exalted as I ever thought it, receives
an additional lustre from the noble and disinterested
part he has taken in behalf of these poor, and
as I am now satisfied, unjustly treated settlers.

And with this avowal of opinion, you will of
course understand that I think none the worse of
him for being a New York outlaw.

We have had three interviews. The two first I
must pass over lightly, as I have much of a more
interesting character to communicate. I first encountered
Warrington in the border of the woods
adjoining our opening, where I wandered, a fatalist
would think, but to be frightened by the questionable
appearance of a sergeant from the fort, and
to be relieved by the opportune arrival of my knight
errant Green Mountain boy. Our next meeting was
at our house, where, in the course of the evening,
he made known to me for the first time the identity
of which I have spoken, and where also he came
near being seized by this same sergeant and his soldiers,
who, I feel sure, came here for no other purpose,
being prompted by the reward, and instigated,
as I cannot but suspect, by one who shall be nameless.
But Warrington, and another of the leaders
of the Green Mountan Boys, who happened here
that evening, and who, by the way, was a most extraordinary
man, fairly out-generaled their mercenary
enemies, and, by a little favoring from a quarter

which you are at liberty to guess at, both luckily
made their escape. Our last interview has been to
day, and a most important one, too, I fear it may
prove, to the destinies of your perplexed, and in
some respects, truly unhappy friend. But before entering
upon particulars, I must recur to some events
which transpired in the interim. The next day
after W's visit and fortunate escape, Sherwood came
here and raised a storm in our quiet family, which
has not yet wholly ceased raging. It seems this sagacious
lover of mine, who had often heard my father
recount the Samaritan kindness of Howard,
and perhaps suspected my own secret partialities,
had discovered, by worming himself into the confidence
of the settlers, that Howard and Warrington
were the same, but, for reasons of his own, had
kept the discovery entirely to himself, though he
had been for several months in possession of the secret.
It appears also, that he had been apprised of
each of my interviews with Warrington. And coming
armed with all this annihilating array of facts, as
he believed it, he, without saying a word to me, called
my father aside, and poured the whole story into
his ears, with such additions and embellishments as
he conceived would best subserve his purpose,—the
amount of which was, as near as I could gather,
that my father had been harboring a branded villain,
who, in the guise of a gentleman, had been aiming
at the seduction of his daughter, and the eventual
seizure of his possessions. Trembling from head to
foot with uncontrollable rage, my father immediately
hastened to my apartment. I will not, I cannot,
even attempt a description of the painful scene
that followed. You are not unacquainted with my
father's unfortunate infirmities of temper. You can
therefore, in some measure, fancy, perhaps, how he
would feel and act under such a representation of
things, so nearly affecting his wishes and interests—
a representation, in which fact and falsehood were
so artfully blended, that a much cooler temperament,
under the circumstances, might have been thus
wrought up to anger. He swore and wept alternately.
I wept freely also, but only at witnessing his
distress, and at the thought of my own luckless destiny,
which had placed me in a situation where I
must sacrifice my own happiness for life, or probably
be the means of destroying that of a parent,
who, with all his faults, is still dear to my heart. I
said but little, however. Delicacy, as well as prudence,
forbade my disclosing the state of my feelings.
And as to all other charges, I could only assert
my innocence, for I had then given Mr. W.
scarce a word of encouragement.

After my father had exhausted his store of reproaches
upon my poor head and left me, Sherwood
entered and took up the discourse. I could not but
feel amused, in spite of my indignation and contempt
at his dispicable course, to see all the doubling and
shiftings he went through in his desperate attempts
to regain my favor, which my manner probably pretty
plainly told him he had put in considerable hazard.
After protesting, flattering, apologizing, and
arguing, with the sycophancy of a Frenchman and
the sophistry of a Jesuit, he finally departed, leaving
me to myself, and that negative happiness which
his absence has not very lately failed to afford me.

The next morning I reminded my father, whose
madness seemed to have something more of method
in it than the day before, of a visit which had a few
days previous been projected at his own suggestion.

This was a ride, on horseback, to Otter Creek to carry
a few necessaries to a distant relative of ours,
Aunt Story, as we call her, whose curious subterraneous
abode I have before described to you, I believe.
No serious objection being made to the proposal,
I accordingly set out with Neshobee, my usual
attendant on these excursions, who, on another
horse, accompanied me in capacity of baggage man
and squire. We had a pleasant ride, and arrived
without any particular adventure at the Creek, opposite
her wood-begirt residence. O how delightful is
a morning ride at this season of the year through
these flowering forests! How fragrant the viewless
odours that regale your senses at almost every step!
And, in the present instance, as you near the Green
Mountains, how pure and invigorating the breezes
that, seemingly uncontaminated by a contact with
earth, come wafting down their dark sides fresh
from the mid-heavens! I never approach these
green hilled monuments of sylvan magnificence, but
my physical powers receive an impulse, and my moral
nature becomes sensibly exalted. No wonder
the Green Mountain Boys should be men of such
high-toned character!

On reaching the banks of the Creek, Neshobee
set up his shrill whoop (not war whoop) to make
known our arrival to this fearless woman of the
woods. This being heard and understood by her,
she quickly made her appearance, came across with
her boat, and ferried us all safe over the stream, our
horses having been left tied to saplings on the bank
behind.

I must not stop to describe the cordial reception
I met with, as I always do in this singular, yet interesting
family; nor my romp with the curly headed

brood of children that thronged around me, capering
in wild glee at my arrival, and their eyes fairly
sparkling with joy and gratitude at the sight of the
titbits I had brought them. After the rumpus and
romping with the joyous little creatures had somewhat
subsided, I took the bright-eyed and lisping little
Julia, in my lap; when the pretty rogue immediately
clambering up, and putting her arms round my
neck, in the sweet, pleading, and playful tones of
infantile eloquence exclaimed,

`Now, Couthin Alma, mayn't I kith you again?—
there, I did! I will again! There! ha! ha! Now
I have kithed you ath many timeth ath I did the
Young Captain.'

`And who, pray, my pretty one,' said I quite innocently,
`who is this Young Captain with whom you
appear to have been so familiar?'

`O, he ith the Young Captain,' replied she, hesitating
in her childish simplicity how to define her favorite
by any other appellation than the one by
which she had been accustomed to hear him called:
`he ith—he ith a good Young Captain. I kithed
him three timeth. And wouldn't you kith him too,
Couthin Alma, if he'd let you? Wouldn't the
Young Captain let Couthin Alma kith him, ma?'

Puzzled and confused, at I scarcely knew what, I
turned to the mother for an explanation; when, to
my still greater confusion, I beheld her holding her
sides, while her eyes were fairly dancing in the
bright tears of suppressed risibility, to which she
now gave way in a right hearty fit of laughter.

`Excuse me, Alma,' said she, as soon as she could
command her merry emotions sufficiently to speak
`excuse me for laughing at the child's ludicrous introduction
of a subject, which I was at the very moment

thinking how I could myself break to you.
The Young Captain, as some of the settlers call
him, is no other than the well known leader of one
of the bands of the Green Mountain Boys, Charles
Warrington. Why, bless me!' she continued, with
a look of surprise, as she now lifted her eyes from
her work to my features, `What ails you, Alma?
Why your face is as red as—Oh!—ah!—aha!—
you knew all this before, did you? And you have
seen him yourself, you rogue?' she added mischievously,
shaking her finger at me, and fixing her keen
eyes on my face; `You have, Alma, and you need
not attempt to deny it.'

`I have not denied it, aunt,—have I?' I replied,
rallying as well as I could.

`Well, now, Alma Hendee,' she rejoined, with a
gratified and serious air, `I have not heard any
thing this long while that has done me more good
than this news. Indeed, for the past week in particular,
I have actually prayed that you might meet
him, though I dared not be the means of bringing it
about. And the reason why I wished it is, because
I think so much of the man, and feel such an interest
in the cause which he has done so much to sustain;
and, also, because I knew that you, from your
intercourse and connection with the York party, and
from your hearing, as you naturally would, nothing
but slander and misrepresentation of the man, and
curses on the cause in which he has been so nobly
engaged, that you, I say, must have almost necessarily
imbibed wholly erroneous opinions of both him
and his cause—now, has it not been so?'

`Such,' I answered, `was once, I confess, too
much the case.'

`I thought so,' she resumed, `and but for the fear,

that I might displease you,—for I never knew how
to hold up when I begin,—and, perhaps, be led into
a quarrel with your fiery old father, who has been
so good to me, I should, before this, have spoken to
you on these matters. Why, this same Warrington
and a party of his followers were up on Lake
Dunmore the very day you were last here, and while
you were here in the house playing with the children,
I discovered, as I was out to the edge of the
woods to get cedar boughs for a broom, a gang of
Yorkers going in pursuit of them. Don't you reccollect
I came in and proposed sending Neshobee
out to kill us a partridge?'

I remembered it, and assented.

`Well,' she continued, `it was for no other purpose
than to despatch him to Warrington with a
note that I scribbled in that closet. Neshobee, I
knew, was a friend to the Captain.'

`Neshobee!' said I, in surprise, `why, I never
heard him so much as utter the name!'

`It is true for all that,' she rejoined; `Warrington
once did him a service when they happened to meet
on a hunt, and Neshobee, being made acquainted
with the other's situation, and knowing yours, has
been as prudent as he is faithful.'

`But what became of the Yorkers?' I asked.

`The Green Mountain Boys threw them into the
lake and returned to this neighborhood,' she answered.
`The Captain and his Lieutenant came
and slept that very night in this house, and were
here asleep on the floor, when I came up to the
house, after helping you off the next morning. Do
you remember singing us a song that night, just before
going to bed, and how you were interrupted by
a noise in the woods above us?'

`I do, but what of that?' said I, somewhat startled.

`Why, nothing,' she replied, smiling, `only Warrington,
who rambled out, after his friend fell asleep,
heard your performance.'

`You astonish me, aunt Story,' I replied; `but
surely he could not have distinguished my voice in
that under-ground abode?'

`Not exactly,' answered she, `and yet he was
strangely puzzled, and seemed, when telling me of
the affair the next morning, to have some suspicions
of the truth.'

`But did you tell him who it was?' I eagerly demanded.

`No, Alma,' she said, `I kept your secret for reasons
which I have before named, and sent him off
worse puzzled than before. But how did he introduce
himself—as Howard, or as Warrington? for
that the two were one and the same, is a riddle that
I guessed out long ago.'

I told her the circumstances; after which she resumed,

`So you have had a hurricane at your house.
Well, Alma, let it blow on, and overturn, till it levels
falsehood and corruption to the ground, and
brings truth and justice uppermost. And when that
takes place, if you will believe me, Jake Sherwood
will be swept into the gulph of infamy, where he
ought to be now, instead of being here among men,
with the pretensions of a man, but with the real
character of a spy and hypocrite!'

`You are very severe, aunt,' I remarked, not so
much offended, however, as I might have been.

`I hold, Alma,' she rejoined, `that the boldness
of a truth is no reason for suppressing its utterance.

Why, Alma Hendee, whether you know it or not,—
whether you will believe it or not, it is God's truth,
that with all his smooth manners and gentlemanly
appearance, the heart of that same Jacob Sherwood
is as black as the outside of my dinner pot!'

I began to say something which she took for a
qualified assent, when cutting me short, she went
on,—

`You know that it is so, Alma. And now, that
you have again met with Warrington, I know where
your heart is, or I should not venture to say so much.
Far be it from me ever to interfere with matches—
matches that are truly such. But mis-matches, patched
up on earth, and accursed of heaven, I should
feel myself honored in being the instrument of breaking.
And knowing, as I think I do, all the motives
and circumstances which led you to acquiesce in this
entanglement with Sherwood, and knowing, also,
that a match between you would be yoking darkness
to light, I stand prepared, as your friend, acting in
the place of your sainted mother, now in heaven, to
advise you to say, even in despite of the favorite
schemes of your mistaken and blinded father, to say
to Sherwood, as Peter said to Simon Magus, who
would buy the sacred gift with money, 'Thy gold
perish with thee!'

A long conversation then ensued between us, in
which all the information possessed by either, relative
to the York controversy, and the part taken in
the same by Warrington, Sherwood, and others,
was mutually imparted and received, and our opinions
and feelings on these subjects freely exchanged.
While still engaged on this engrossing theme, one
of the children came running into the house with
the cry, `The Young Captain is coming! the Young

Captain is coming!' I was struck dumb by this unexpected
announcement, and so surprised and fluttered,
that, had I been a bird, I believe I should
have instantly clapped my wings and flown away.
But as it was, I had nothing to do but prepare to
meet the half dreaded, half courted danger, as unconcernedly
as possible. We had little time allowed
us for preparation, however; for scarce had the
announcement been made, before Warrington entered
the door attended by—whom think you, Jessey?
I wish you could have been there! In that
case, to follow up that odd comparison of yours, the
brisk little drummer in your heart would have found
his match, I think, to keep up the accompaniment
with the lively performer at work in my own: for
Captain Warrington's attendant was no other than
your favored knight, the gay, witty, and handsome
Selden. An hour spent in his company was sufficient
to make me feel that these flattering epithets,
and even more, might be justly applied to him. Now
don't be jealous, girl, for though peculiarly pleased
with him, I certainly was, yet my feelings were any
thing but those constituting, what we define to be
that undefinable concern, called love—no, no, not
that, but a singular sort of a flowing away of the
heart towards him, which I can neither describe nor
account for, unless the solution be found in the prepossessions
of him that your letter had implanted.

We were now summoned to a dinner, which our
free-hearted hostess had done her best in preparing
for us. The meal itself, as you know it must have
been, considering the limited store from which it had
to be prepared, was certainly a plain one. But partaken
in such company, how could it be other than
a delightful one! With me, it forcibly exemplified

the proverb of the wise man, `Better is a dinner of
herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred
therewith.'

After dinner, Warrington, with his peculiar delicacy
of manner, proposed a ramble. My tongue
would have declined the proposal, but my heart, rising
in rebellion, suppressed the utterance, and I, silently,
and with a palpitating bosom, assented. All
seemed to understand the object of our walk, and
no one, not even a child, offered to accompany us.
I felt, indeed, myself, that my destiny for life hung
on the events of that hour. We proceeded in almost
unbroken silence to the bank of the river;
when I soon found myself seated, I scarcely know
how, by his side, upon a flowery hillock. The quiet
waters, sparkling in the rays of the meridian sun,
were gently gliding along in soft murmurs at our
feet; while a spreading thorn tree, loaded with blosoms
of snowy whiteness, and filling the air with delicious
fragrance, formed the canopy for our heads.
I cannot describe what now passed. My heart soon
overflowed with contending emotions. I found myself
able to prevail against its stronger dictates no
longer; and my feelings found vent in a flood of
tears. My head involuntarily rested on his shoulder,
while he advocated his cause with all the tender pathos
of love, which found a chord in my own bosom
so powerfully responsive to its eloquent pleadings
that,

The winged moments flew by unheeded; and
when, at the end of an hour, which, in this sweet

trance of the affections, seemed as a moment, we
rose to return, our mutual vows of unchanging love
and eternal constancy, had ascended to the registry
of Heaven.

Soon after our return to the house, the gentlemen
apprised us of the necessity of their immediate departure;
when, after an affectionate adieu, they proceeded
on their destination. This destination I am
not at liberty to unfold, and shall consequently be
debarred from some particulars connected with my
parting with W. which awakened a solicitude alike
new and painful to my feelings. I did not tarry long
after they left us. But after a shower of thanks,
praises and blessings from our hostess, for the step,
which I apprised her I had taken, I soon set out for
home, where I arrived before sunset.

On another page of this letter I styled myself
your perplexed friend. I am so, though not because
I regret the step I have taken, but on account of
the difficulties which must soon beset me. I have
also many painful apprehensions of the effect which
my engagement may have, when it becomes known,
as ere long it necessarily must, on, not only my father's
happiness, but his property, owing to the peculiarities
of our situation. As these cannot be understood
without a knowledge of some former events
connected with our family, I will, in confidence,
briefly relate to you the leading particulars of our
family history. My paternal grandfather's family
consisted of my uncle Gabriel Hendee, and my father
James Hendee, with their half sister Mary, who married
John Sherwood, father of Jacob Sherwood. To
these three was left a considerably extensive property,
which was increased, as far as regarded the shares
of Gabriel, and his brother in law, Sherwood, who,

becoming partners, engaged in the lucrative trade
and commerce of the Connecticut river, on the banks
of which, within the borders of Massachusetts, you
are already aware, we all once resided. But my
father, who was of a different disposition and less
inclined to confine himself to the details of business,
entered into uncertain speculations, which, instead
of increasing, diminished his original inheritance, involved
him in some pecuniary embarrassments, and
finally led him to abandon trade, for which he seemed
to have neither much tact nor inclination, and seek
a commission in the army, destined for the French
and Indian wars, then beginning to rage along our
borders. Obtaining the commission he sought, he
was soon called into active service, having entrusted
Sherwood to arrange his affairs and take charge of
his property; while uncle Gabriel, having no family,
and becoming an invalid, retired from business, and
came to reside with our family in father's absence.
Several years thus passed away, father at intervals
returning home to see his wife and son, the darling
little Edward, and spend such time with them as his
public duties would permit, scarcely troubling himself
to look into the state of his property, which he
believed to be in hands where it would be husbanded
to the best advantage. My uncle Gabriel in the
meanwhile still continuing to live in the family, and
appearing much attached to it, especially to his little
nephew, made his will, bequeathing his whole property
to the child, when of age, and all the income till
that time, and certain portions of it after, to my
father. But it so happened not long after this that
Mr. Sherwood, who had taken a temporary residence
further up the river, paid our family a long visit, at
the end of which he took my uncle home with him,
where he soon grew worse and died; not however,
as it soon appeared, till he had added a codicil to his
will, making, in case of Edward's death, Mr. Sherwood's
son, Jacob, legatee, and placing that family
where the will placed ours. From that time misfortunes
seemed to fall fast and heavy on our devoted
family. My mother soon sickened and died, leaving
me, her youngest child, about a year old. Our family
establishment was then broken up. Edward was
placed in the family of Mr. Sherwood; and I was
sent to a relation of my mother in Hartford. But
father, already borne down with sorrow at the loss
of two wives, (for my mother was a second wife by
whom he had no other child,) was doomed to another
blow scarcely less fatal to his happiness, and more
so to his future prospects, in the further loss of that
son, on whom all his hopes and dependance had been
placed. The boy had been allowed, as the story was
told, to accompany a reckless young man, then in
Sherwood's employ, many miles into the interior, and
there strayed away, and never could be found. There
was a rapid river running through the woods, in
which he might have been drowned, and swept down
into the Connecticut. But it was considered more
probable, that he had been seized by some small,
lurking band of Indians, (traces of whom were discovered
in the vain search for the boy,) and by them
murdered, as it was supposed, since no tidings of
him ever reached us. My father, when he returned,
and learned the fate of his son, was inconsolable.
And Mr. Sherwood seemed deeply to sympathize
with him, and moreover to manifest great regret that
uncle had so altered his will as to take all his property
from our family, assuring my father that he
would make such provision for us as would be a recompence.
After this visit my father remained
abroad to the close of the war, when, being discharged
from the service, he began to bethink him
about the means of a future livelihood, and called on
Sherwood to account for his property, which, to his
dismay, had dwindled to a mere pittance. And receiving
it, he commenced a small business in Hartford,
where he resided till I was about seventeen,
living in good style, and bestowing on me the best
education the place afforded. But again becoming
embarrassed by expenses beyond his income, and
his pride revolting at the thought of being a bankrupt
in this place, he took me, and secretly left town
for Albany, to avail himself of the many promises of
Mr. Sherwood, who had removed to the latter place
many years before. We were kindly received by
Mr. S., who furnished father with money to pay off
his creditors in Hartford, and subsequently to purchase
our present residence, though most of the improvements
have been made through the means of
the half pay which he receives from government.

You will now, Jessy, be able to appreciate the
difficulties of my situation, and perceive the reasons
which actuate my father in the strenuous course which
he has pursued, and will be likely still to pursue, in
urging a connection between me and Jacob Sherwood.
Jessy, adieu. A. H.

P. S. When I closed as above, last night, I expected
the letter would have been taken early this
morning by Major Skeen's colored man, Jack, who
said he should go up with his boat to-day; but he
has just called and says he shall not go till to-morrow
morning. The main object of this postcript is, however,
to say, that if you thought it so important that
I should keep your secret, you cannot but see how

much more so it is that you keep mine. I know not
but Mr. Warrington's life may depend on it—I did
not mean to say this, but my fears and forebodings
have compelled me. You do not know Mr. S.—would
to heaven I had never known him.—Farewell.

Alma.