University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.
LIGHT IN A DUNGEON.

Vrail did not see his friend again after the trial of the latter.
They had parted like brothers on the morning of that sad day,
each exhorting the other to good courage, and each almost as
solicitous for the other's safety as for his own; but after conviction
Van Shoultz was removed to other quarters until his execution,
and Harry, plunged in the deepest dejection by the tidings
of his doom, awaited without hope the summons to his own
trial.

This event did not, however, immediately occur. Col. Abbey,
Col. Woodruff, and some other gallant men, were first tried, convicted,
and sentenced to the same doom with their leader, and all
like him suffered death on the scaffold, meeting their fate with a
dignity and fortitude which proclaimed the native heroism of
their hearts.

Many of the prisoners, including Harry, and his inseparable
companion, Brom, were, in the meanwhile, removed from the fort
to the city prison, a large stone building which stands in a central
part of the town, and which is provided with a permanent gallows
accessible from an upper story, and of a capacity to do a threefold
work of death.

Seated in his cell, within this dreadful abode, a few evenings
preceding the day for which his trial was finally appointed,
Harry was startled from a gloomy revery by the approach of a

turnkey accompanied by a stranger, who, being conducted to the
door of his cell, was informed by the officer, as he turned away,
that he would call for him in half an hour. Vrail could not distinguish
the visitor by the dim light, but supposing him to be
some messenger from his counsel, he awaited without much
curiosity the announcement of his errand.

“You don't know me, I s'pose, Harry Vrail,” said a voice of
friendly cadence, while the speaker's face was pressed almost
against the bars of the cell door.

The prisoner came quickly forward, and peered closely at the
half-visible countenance, on which a faint light from the hall
rested.

“I cannot see you,” was the quick reply; “but the voice is
like one I have heard in H—. Tell me quickly if this is so.”

“Yes, I am your neighbor, Garret Van Vrank.”

“Garry Van Vrank! Is it possible? What good angel has
sent you here, Garry; but before you answer this, or any other
question, tell me whether you know anything of poor Tom's
fate?”

“Yes, I know all about him. He is perfectly safe and well,
and is now at Ogdensburgh.”

“Thank Heaven for that! Thank Heaven for that!” exclaimed
the prisoner, drawing a long free breath, for his inhalation had
been suspended while he awaited, in great anxiety, the answer to
his question. “Safe and well! You really remove a mountain
from my heart, my dear friend, by bringing me such news as this.
Tom is safe—safe—SAFE; thank Heaven for this great mercy!
Fortified by the knowledge of this fact, I almost feel as if I could
defy my judges to do their worst.”

“You mustn't talk so, Mr. Vrail; that won't make matters any
better, you know, and your life is worth as much as Tom's—
rather more, I should say.”

“Than Tom's! Why, bless you, my dear fellow, you don't

know Tom. He is worth a dozen such as me. Thank Heaven,
again, that he is free!”

“But you are not,” replied Van Vrank, designedly rattling the
grated door of his cell, to awaken the unselfish man to a sense of
his own condition.

“No,” answered Harry, “and I am not like to be; but let me
ask you, friend Garret, how is it that you, on whom I have no
claims, have come to see me in my adversity?”

“Well, never mind about that, Mr. Vrail. I am here, prepared
to do anything for you that I can, which, I fear, isn't much, but
what I am come for to-night, mostly, is to let you know that you
have friends at hand, who are ready and anxious to help you.”

“Friends, Garry? Who are they? Who besides you? My
grandfather is certainly not here?”

“No—but do you know a young girl by the name of Ruth
Shay?”

“Yes, I know almost an angel of light by that name. Is
that dear child with you?”

“Yes, she is in the city. She brought the news of your capture
to H—, and I have come with her to see if we could do
anything for you.”

Harry's heart sunk within him as he thought of the utter
inutility of any such aid, but he was too generous to allow his
disappointment to appear.

“I am certainly very grateful for this kindness, both yours and
hers,” he said; “and if there is any way that you can serve me, I
will be sure to let you know. I can think of nothing better now,
than that you should both go and see my counsel, Mr. Strong, and
tell him all that you know about me. He can tell better than I
whether you can be of service, or not.”

“That is part of my errand here to-night, to learn whether you
have a lawyer engaged, and who he is. She wants to see
him.”

“What, Ruth does? What can she have to say to him?”

Van Vrank hesitated and stammered, and finally added,

“I should say, we want to see him; so you will please to give
me his name and number on a slip of paper, and we will go and
find him early to-morrow morning, or perhaps this evening.”

“It is not yet too late, and there is but little time to spare.
You can easily see Mr. Strong this evening, if you will.”

Garry said he would certainly make the attempt, and in order
to lose nothing by delay, he would depart at once. A few hurried
questions of Vrail, in relation to his grandfather, and some other
friends at H—, including Miss Van Kleeck, were as hastily answered
by the visitor, who was about to depart in search of the
warder who had admitted him, when he was accosted by a voice
from an adjoining cell.

“Massa Van Vrank! Massa Van Vrank! please to step dis
a-way a minute. I'se here, too; you don't ax no questions about
me; but I 'clare I'm very glad to see you.”

“Well, Brom, I should be very glad to see you too, but I can't,”
said Garret, peering into his cell, where the few rays of light
which entered, found nothing to reflect them, and the negro might
be said to be quite invisible. “I forgot that you were here,” continued
the visitor, talking in the direction whence the other's voice
proceeded, “though I now remember hearing that you went to
the war.”

“Yes, I did, Massa Van Vrank; but I wish I hadn't, nor Massa
Harry too. You see, it hasn't turned out just as we 'speeted, and
now I am very afraid it will go hard with Massa Harry, for dey'se
hanging 'em up here every few days, like strings of onions, three
at a time, right back of the jail here.”

“Is it possible, Brom?”

“Yes, Massa Garret; only dis mornin' dey turned off three, two
colonels and a captain: they walked right past here, and nodded
good-bye to Massa Harry as they went along. Dey never flinched,

only one on 'em shivered a little when he first saw the gallows—
but he only said, `It is a cold morning,' and went on.”

“It is very horrible; but where is the gallows you speak
of?”

“Right dere, at the end of that long hall you is in now.”

“What! in the house; and up here in this story?”

“No, no, Massa Van Vrank, at the end of this long hall is a
large door, opens out-doors. Jes s'pose you going to be hung,
now. You walk right out of that door on to a little platform, big
enough to 'commodate three men; that platform is a trap door;
you all three stand on it; den dere is three ropes hang down from
a beam over head; den”—

“That's enough, Brom. I understand it. I don't want to hear
any more about it.”

“Den you”—

“Never mind.”

“Dey put the rope on you”—

“That will do.”

“And knock de bottom out of de trap-door,” continued the pertinacious
negro; “and you drop down great ways—partly behind
a stone wall which is built up outside, so dat de crowd can't see
nothin' but your head and shoulders. One of de jailers told me
all about it, to 'muse me, one mornin' when I felt bad.”

“Does Mr. Vrail know all this?”

“I tink he does.”

“And yet he does not seem much frightened.”

“Massa Harry is a berry brave man, and he is berry good man
too. He tell me to trust in the Lord, and if I fear him, I needn't
fear anybody else, and dat's what I'm going to do—but I 'fraid for
Massa Harry, 'cause he was an officer, and they hang all de
officers.”

Leaving the African to his clouded faith, and promising to see
him again on the morrow, Garret stepped back to the cell of Vrail,

and thrusting a purse through the bars, which fell heavily to the
floor, he whispered—

“There is what may possibly, be useful to you, and if you want
twenty times that sum, or more, it will be ready for you to-morrow.
It is not my gift, but it comes from one who makes you as
welcome to it as you are to the air you breathe.”

Before the astonished listener could ask any questions, his visitor
was gone, and he remained lost in wonder as to who could be the
mysterious benefactor who was willing to contribute so freely to
his necessities, but the question admitted of no approach to a
solution. He raised the heavy purse, and from such examination
as he could give it, he became satisfied that its contents must be
very valuable, and again he fell to wondering who among all his
friends would be willing to sacrifice even that large amount for
his sake, to say nothing of that greater sum, of which this was but
an earnest. His grandfather and his brother, he knew, were entirely
unable to command any such sums, and besides, there could
be no reasons for secrecy in imparting anything they had to offer
for his assistance. He could not indeed imagine why any one
who was willing to befriend him so nobly, should not do so openly,
but supposing that the mystery was only a temporary one, which
would soon be disclosed, he checked his curiosity as best he could,
and began to reflect whether he could make any use of the means
so liberally provided. He could think of no mode of applying it,
except by more largely feeing his counsel, and by empowering
him to employ additional aid among the most eminent of his legal
brethren, and this he resolved to do on the morrow. For the present
hour, he determined to provide for the comfort of himself and
his sable attendant, beyond the bare necessaries which had been
furnished them, and thus prepare for a better physical endurance
of their approaching trials, for although Brom's means were not
exhausted, he prudently reserved them for emergencies, never
dreaming of bestowing anything on luxuries, and least of all, for

himself. His fund was a sacred one, pledged for Harry's benefit,
and for that alone he was resolved it should go.

When, therefore, the warder next came his rounds, he was
startled not a little by a request from a prisoner who had before
accepted ungrumblingly the coarse fare of felons, for a substantial
supper of such viands as gentlemen are accustomed to order at the
best hotels, and this, not only for himself, but for the humble
African in the adjoining cell. “Could this be done?” he inquired.

“Yes, if it was paid for,” was the curt reply; “but it won't be
cheap.”

“I suppose not. I can pay for all I order, and, also, for your
trouble. Next, we want clean, comfortable beds and bedding in
both cells. Will you be allowed to furnish us with these things?”

“There is no rule to prevent your having such accommodations,
if, as I said before”—

“I understand. Here is money enough to pay for it all, and
to pay yourself, and you shall have more if my orders are faithfully
executed.”

The turnkey stepped back a few paces, and held up towards the
light the two gold-pieces which had been put in his hands, and
having become satisfied of their genuineness, he returned with a
smile of very evident satisfaction on his lips.

“It shall all be done as you wish,” he said. “Is there anything
else? Would you and the colored gentleman like to have your
supper together?”

“We should; but there is not sufficient room in either cell—
we must remain as we are.”

“To-morrow, perhaps, you can be better accommodated. There
is a larger room, which is now occupied by two, but which will
be vacant in the morning,” said the turnkey, glancing expressively
towards that end of the Hall which might be said to open into
eternity. “If you would like to have your servant with you, I
think I could manage to procure that room for you.”

“I would like it, and I will pay your price for it,” replied
Harry.

“There is no price, of course, for this kind of lodgings,” said
the other, smiling; “and whatever you may choose to give me,
of course you won't say anything about it to him, if he should
come to see you.”

By him, Harry understood the man to mean his principal, and
he readily gave the required promise of secrecy, after which the
turnkey withdrew. The promised change of rooms was never
effected, but in other respects the warder fulfilled his engagements.
In due time the viands for which Harry had stipulated
were brought up, greatly to the delight of Brom, whose appetite
was in no way impaired by his imprisonment, and who had
grumbled much at the coarse fare to which he had before been
confined. Knowing nothing of his master's private arrangements
with the turnkey, he looked upon this change of treatment as a
favorable omen, indicating a merciful feeling on the part of
government, which would doubtless result in their release. This
hope was increased into something like certainty, when a servant
came to replace the folded blanket, which had been the only bed
on his cold cot, by a substantial mattress, and to cover this, in
turn, with real sheets and comforters, not omitting even the luxury
of a pillow.

“Tank you very much,” he said; “if ever you come my way,
I'll do as much for you. Tank you, dat will be soft and warm,
and please to take dem old bed-clothes away—I tink dere is
sometin' in dem wid teeth. Tank you, good night, and please to
bring me jis such a breakfast to-morrow mornin' as dis I jis
had.”

Gratified, but not surprised at being informed that his morning
meal should be as good as his supper, and having satisfied himself
that his master was faring in every respect as well as himself,
Brom retired peacefully to bed, more with the exultation of a

liberated man, than with the forebodings of a prisoner in jeopardy
of death.

With less hope, yet without despair, Vrail sought his couch,
after committing himself trustfully to His care to whom prison
gates and bars are like “the spider's most attenuated thread,” and
whose holy will alone, he knew, must control his fate.