University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
TIDINGS FROM THE WAR.

A day or two subsequent to the events just related, the young
farmer again sought the village market with a load of produce, having
disposed of which, he strolled, while his horses were baiting,
to the principal inn, to hear and discuss the current tidings of the
day. He met some acquaintances, with whom he conversed for
a while, and was about to depart, when a distant horn announced
the approach of the mail stage-coach from the North, a daily
event of the greatest interest in H—, and one which was sure
to assemble all the idlers of the village in front of the hotel.

Great was the admiration of the dashing and rapid style in
which the rattling vehicle was always sure to be brought up to
the tavern door, no matter how snail-like may have been its progress
before; and the reverberation of a tin horn, which was
made to resound without cessation, accompanied by the frequent
pistol-like reports of a dextrously-wielded whip, cracking around,
but never touching the leaders' ears, added not a little to the liveliness
of the scene. The motley throng, among which, and
surrounded by which, the coach always came to a stand, gave it
not a little the appearance of having been stopped by banditti,
and it is said that on one occasion a foreigner, waking suddenly
from sleep at such a moment, hastily handed out his purse, and
begged that the carriage might be allowed to proceed.

The village blacksmith, with sooty visage, and perhaps with his

hammer in his hand; the barber, with his apron unremoved; the
coatless cobbler, limping from his stall, with most of the loafers
and all the negroes of the village, were sure to be there, and
interspersed among them not a few of a better class, whose
curiosity was equally unrestricted.

A desire to see the passengers, and their apparel and their baggage,
to learn who stopped at H—, and what new passengers
were taken in, and the hope of hearing some news from some
communicative traveller—these were among the motives which
drew together a crowd of people, to whom every incident became
of value which could detract from the monotony of their lives.

There was but one passenger to stop at H— on this occasion—
a young, slight girl, coarsely, but neatly apparelled, who alighted
with trepidation among so many people, and looked timidly
around, as if seeking some one she might address.

“Point out your baggage, miss,” said a noisy, bustling porter
from the inn, addressing the child with the usual officiousness of
his class.

“I haven't any baggage, sir,” replied a very faint voice.
“Will you please to tell me, sir,” she said, catching sight of Van
Vrank's good-natured face, “whether there is a Mr. Rosyfield lives
in this village—an old man?”

“Rosevelt, you mean, don't you—Guert Rosevelt? Yes, come
with me, and I'll show you where he lives.”

Garry led the way through the crowd of people, who looked
wonderingly after the child for a moment, and then gave their
attention to other matters.

“Are you sure it is Guert Rosevelt you want to see?” asked
Garry, as they went along. “There are other people of that name
in this neighborhood.”

“I don't know, sir. I shall know him when I see him. He is
a very old man, with very white hair.”

“That is Guert—and a very good man he is, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he a relation of yours?”

“No, sir; I have never seen him.”

“Never seen him! And how can you describe him then so
well?”

“Oh, sir, he has a grandson in Canada”—

“Yes”—

“Who was a soldier, and is taken prisoner, and who is going
to be hung or shot, if somebody don't save him. Please, sir, let
us go faster.”

“Come on,” shouted Garry, starting off on a run; “but this is
dreadful news, and I am afraid to have you tell the old man, who
is very feeble now! How did you hear of it, and which of the
boys is it, for they both went to the war?”

“His name is Harry, sir, and there was a black man with him.”

“Ah! poor Harry—but how did you hear about it, and are
you certain it is true?”

“Oh, I am very certain, sir, for I came from there myself. He
sent me.”

“From Canada? You came all the way from Canada alone?”
asked Van Vrank, surveying the pale child with astonishment
and half disposed to doubt her story.

“Yes, sir; let us hurry, if you please.”

Garry did hurry, and without further questioning his companion
until they reached Mr. Rosevelt's house, which he entered
with her, hoping to prevent too abrupt a delivery of the worst
features of her intelligence, and hoping also to afford some consolation
to his afflicted neighbor. His precaution was well-timed.

Old Guert's infirmities had greatly increased within the few
preceding days, and he had taken to his bed, and called a physician,
who being in attendance when the visitors arrived, positively
forbade the communication of their painful intelligence to his
patient.

Ruth was in great tribulation at this discovery. She had entertained
an indefinite hope that the old gentleman would in some
way be able to rescue his grandson from his imminent peril, and
she knew not to whom else she could apply for help.

She was requested by the housekeeper to remain a few days,
until Mr. Rosevelt's improved health might admit of imparting to
him her news, and although with the most harrowing fears that
such delay might be fatal to her hopes, she had no alternative but
to comply.

Van Vrank himself, painfully impressed with a sense of the
imminent danger which threatened Harry Vrail, towards whom,
in common with all the neighborhood, he entertained the most
friendly feelings, set out on his return home, and being freighted
with news of such, unusual interest, he, of course, did not pass the
residence of his cousin without stopping. Entirely unsuspecting
how agonizing his tidings would prove to Gertrude, he used no
reserve in disclosing them.

“Bad news from Canada to day, cousin Getty,” he said, as he
met Miss Van Kleeck at the front doorway, and without noticing
the pallor which overspread her face at so ominous a beginning,
he continued:

“The patriots are defeated, and almost all killed or taken prisoners.”

“And Harry Vrail—what did you hear of Harry Vrail?” she
asked, grasping his arm, and looking eagerly into his face, for that
fearful moment was no time for maidenly reserve.

Still obtuse as to the nature of his cousin's emotion, he replied,

“Harry Vrail is a prisoner, and is probably hung by this time,
or will be in a few days.”

Getty sank to the door-sill, and resting her head upon her hands,
remained speechless some moments, violently trembling.

“Why, Getty!” exclaimed the young farmer; “what is the
matter, Getty? I did not know you cared so much about Harry.

I am sorry I told you; and perhaps, now, it is not so bad, after
all. Don't Getty, don't now.”

“Never mind me, Garry, but tell me, how did you hear all this?”

“That is the strangest matter of all. A little girl, not over
twelve or thirteen years old, has come all the way from Canada
alone, and she says that Lieutenant Vrail sent her, and gave her
money to travel with, and that she saw him in jail at Prescott,
only three days ago.

“Only three days ago!” exclaimed Gertrude, springing up, her
eyes flashing with an unusual light. “Then he is not hung yet?
They would not do it as soon as that. Where is the girl?”

“I left her at Rosevelt's.”

“Go bring her to me. Lose not a minute's time. Take a span
of my horses and the light wagon. Never mind your team; I
will have them taken care of. Quick, Garry! Call Jake, and let
him help you harness.”

Getty spoke with the air almost of command, and she was not
disobeyed.

Greatly wondering, but catching a portion of the young lady's
excitement, Van Vrank flew to execute her orders, and while doing
so, Miss Van Kleeck waited upon the back piazza, absorbed in
thought. Suddenly, seeming to resolve some painful doubt, she
came forward to meet her messenger, now prepared to start, and
said to him in a low voice,

“Garry, do you know Mr. Gray, who was my father's lawyer in
that suit about the south farm?”

“Squire Gray? Yes, I know him very well, and a very good
man he is, too.”

“Father thought him trustworthy. Can you see him this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“And ask him to come and see me this evening on business?”

“Yes.”

“Remember, this evening. Do not let him fail.”

“I will bring him with me.”

“Do so, if you can—and now let us lose no more time. It will
be dark before you get back, and you will find supper waiting for
you.”