University of Virginia Library

46. CHAPTER XLVI.
THE WILL.

From the moment that the outlaw's interview with Hadley, terminated,
all irresolution and indecision was banished from his mind,
and he set himself earnestly at the task which he had undertaken,
not, indeed, with a full confidence of success, nor entirely without
personal apprehension, but with the conviction that the opportunity
for a great achievement was one which a brave man ought to
embrace.

At an appointed hour he met the boat which had been sent for
him by his friends on the island, and returned to them to mature
his plans by consultation, and to bring to the city that part of his
daring band who were to take part in the attempted rescue.

An immediate council was held, at which some portion of the
plan of operations was fully decided upon, while other points were
necessarily left to the decision of the leader on the eventful morrow.
Two of the small force were appointed to take charge of
the boats, and bring them, at the appointed time, to a designated
spot, a few miles from town, to meet their flying friends (for
Hadley's warning, not to attempt to embark within or very near
the city, had been regarded); yet for this least perilous service, it
was so difficult to find volunteers, that Johnson was compelled to
settle the question by his authority. Thomas Vrail, who, at Gertrude's
earnest request, had been forbidden by the leader to touch
Canadian soil, was placed in temporary command of the steamboat,

with instructions to meet the returning skiffs as near shore
as the captain, who was also the owner of the vessel, would allow
it to venture. That personage, whose proclivities were all with
the patriot cause, had entered fully into the spirit of the exciting
enterprise on which his companions were bound; but he was a
Yankee, whose first instincts were for the “main chance,” and
who well knew that his vessel would be forfeited, if taken by the
Canadian authorities while employed in its present business. Not
that he had any other fear of capture, excepting that which
resulted from the peril of night navigation in an unknown channel,
in which the boat might easily become stranded, and thus
rendered a certain prey to the enemy on the ensuing day.
Whatever he could safely do, however, he freely promised, and
with an evident zeal, which left no doubt of his fidelity to the
cause.

The remainder of the venturous party, only four in number,
including their leader, crossed to Kingston a little before daylight
on the ensuing morning, and each proceeded to take lodgings at
a separate inn, and all at inferior ones, with the exception of a
man by the name of Gordon, to whom was assigned a special
service. He was to stop at the best hotel, and enact the part of a
man of wealth, in order to enable him to purchase, without exciting
suspicion, the necessary carriage and horses for the flight of
the party after leaving the jail. Gordon was also to communicate
with Miss Van Kleeck, informing her of the position of affairs, and
was to arrange a meeting of all the confederates, including Garret
and the yet uninitiated Brom, immediately after dark, when each
might receive from the leader his assigned task.

The long day of anxiety and expectation wore heavily and
slowly away for all but Gordon, whose rôle required vigilance,
activity and sagacity, and who well performed his allotted part.

Gertrude made an early and brief visit to the prisoner, and,
with pale lips and trembling voice, exhorted him to that courage

which her own terrified heart almost refused to entertain. His
bearing was calm and dauntless, yet it was the courage of fortitude
rather than of hope. He was equal to the emergency of the
hour, whatever might be its issue, yet it was agony to him to see
the wretchedness of his friend. Their interview was short, their
adieux were almost unspoken. Her ungloved hand, gliding like a
sunbeam between the dark bars, rested a moment in his, was
pressed a moment to his lips, and—she was gone.

Within an hour from that time, Gertrude and Ruth, accompanied
by Van Vrank, had left the city, and were on their way to
Grand Island, it having been arranged that the steamboat should
approach that island early in the evening, and that a small boat
should be sent to take them off. Van Vrank, after seeing them
safely quartered at a small inn, returned to Kingston, still long
before the close of day. The closely-watched skies, flecked with
many passing clouds, gave promise of an evening of favorable
obscurity; but whether the heavens should be overcast or not, the
confederates had the consoling certainty of a moonless night for
their daring enterprise.

Soon after twilight they met in an unfrequented spot on the
shore of the river, where Gordon, the only man of the party who
had gone openly about town, made report of his proceedings, and
of whatever he had learned which might have a bearing upon
their momentous undertaking. He had purchased a strong carriage,
and a span of fleet horses, which he said he had already
proved, by driving them at the rate of twelve miles an hour on
the very road which they would have to travel that evening.

“With an empty coach, and you alone on the box,” said Johnson.

“By no means—a gentleman of my cloth would not look well
on the box,” replied Gordon, who was richly dressed. “No, we
had a driver, and there were four inside—the man of whom I
bought the horses, two of his friends, and myself. We were five
in all.”

There will be seven to-night, including Vrail,” said Johnson,
musingly, and seeming to entertain no doubt of bringing off the
prisoner.

“That is nothing; the coach is new and strong, and the horses
I will be surety for. If I am a judge of anything, it is of horseflesh.
As to the number, four can go easily inside, one can ride
with me on the box, and we can put Cuffy on behind for ballast.”

“Put yourself on for ballast, Massa Gordon, and speak more
'spectf'ly of colored gemmen.”

This remark proceeded from an entirely invisible source,
but it gave evidence that Brom was somewhere around in the
darkness.

“I beg your pardon, Brom,” replied Gordon, laughing; “I
didn't know you were here; I meant no offence.”

“Berry well, den I 'scuse you; and as to ridin' behind, ef we
only get Massa Harry, I'll ride anywhere, I don't care ef it is on
the hub of the wheel.”

Johnson hastened to stop this unnecessary conversation, and to
inform each man as distinctly as possible of what would be required
of him. To Van Vrank, who was unarmed, he furnished
a brace of loaded pistols, remarking that he did not anticipate
any necessity for the use of them in the first instance, but that
they might become necessary in case of a pressing pursuit.
Humanity, as well as prudence, he said, dictated that no deadly
weapon should be used upon the jailers, who, whatever the fault
of their superiors, were but discharging their official duties. Brom
he dared not intrust with fire-arms, lest he might indiscreetly use
them, but he knew that his great physical strength might prove
abundantly serviceable in the struggle they must have, and he
cautioned him to stand ready to fight for his master when the
proper time came, and not to be frightened by the sight of a few
officers of the prison, even if there should be a half-dozen or
more.

“I give you stout cords instead of pistols,” he said, “and some
of the rest of us will have the same. We may want to knock
down and bind a man or two, and it is best to be prepared.”

“Dat's a fact,” replied the negro; “dese is jes de bery thing.
Dis one to tie his hands, and dis ere stouter one to tie his legs.
Brom will fix one on 'em, I bet. What's dis ting?”

“That is a gag. Did you never see a gag before? Very
likely there will be no time to use these things, but it is prudent
to have them. Whatever you do after the fight begins, must be
done very quickly. Let all remember that.”

Brom tried the gag in his own huge mouth, which nearly closed
over it, and it scarcely proved an impediment to his speech.

“It's too small, Massa Miller,” he said, without removing the
wood, “dey can hollow like blazes for all dis.”

“No it isn't, Brom,” said Gordon; “all mouths ain't cellar-doors
like yours.”

“It ain't no use, I 'clare,” answered Brom; “I could swaller it
easy.”

Again Johnson interfered to produce silence, and he proceeded
hastily to instruct each member of the party as nearly as he could
in the duty which would be expected of him, and to exhort them
to a resolute and unflinching determination to effect their object.
He cautioned them particularly against any sudden panic, whatever
turn their adventure might take, or whatever unexpected
opposition they might encounter.

“Be brave and cool, my boys,” he said, “and we shall be certain
of success.

All the confederates manifested much enthusiasm and ardor,
not excepting the somewhat phlegmatic Van Vrank, who could
not refrain from wondering at himself, transformed by gradual
steps, and almost of necessity, from a quiet farmer on the banks
of the Hudson, with no ambition but to mind his own business,
to a member of something like a military band, about to storm a

stronghold in a foreign country, which a few weeks before he
had never even expected to see. But he was zealous now in the
cause, not only for Gertrude and Harry's sake, but for his own,
for he saw no better way out of the entanglement than to push
matters bravely through to a successful termination.

When discussion was at an end, and the programme of proceedings
was fully understood by all, the party dispersed to their
several hotels, Johnson to prepare for an immediate visit to the
prison, and Gordon to get up his coach and horses, and carry him
there in a style befitting his assumed profession and errand. The
others were to remain at their quarters until about half-past nine
in the evening, when Gordon was also to call and convey them to
the jail, in front of which, as if only waiting for the lawyer, the
coach was to stand, like the wooden horse before ancient Troy,
silent as the grave, but full of armed men.

Darkness had fully set in, though it was yet early in the long
autumnal evening, and less than half an hour sufficed for Gordon
to rein up his champing steeds in front of Johnson's inn, and receive
the latter (ostentatiously displaying his legal books and his
bulky portfolio) into the carriage. He was entirely unarmed, for
he knew there was a possibility of his being searched before being
admitted to an interview with the prisoner; but his men were
provided with weapons enough both for his use and their own, if
exigencies should require them to be produced.

At the prison door, when he alighted and made inquiry pompously
for the keeper, he was careful again to make a display of
his books, and he was much relieved, on the appearance of the
principal jailer, to find that few words were required to make
himself known as an expected visitor, whose business was understood.

“You have come at the eleventh hour,” said the keeper, when
Johnson had almost unnecessarily told his assumed errand, “and
I would much rather your visit had been made by daylight

Perhaps even now there will be time in the morning, if you call
early. It does not take long to draw a will, and he is not to be
turned off until eleven.”

“Impossible! He will be engaged with the ministers in
the morning, and he will be in no suitable frame of mind to dictate
so important a document. Besides, his will will doubtless be
a long one, as he has a very large estate, and many relations and
friends. I expect a thousand dollars myself for a fee, and I will
of course see every one well paid who is put to any trouble in
this melancholy business.”

“Thank you, sir. I suppose you must see him—in fact, I have
already promised as much to a friend of his, who thought, too,
that you would require a larger room than his cell for your purpose,
and I have made arrangements to give you this apartment.”

He led the way, as he spoke, to the room which has been
described, the entrance to which was out of the main lower hall,
and but a few feet from the principal door of the building.

Johnson noted everything carefully as he followed the keeper
into the room, which had apparently been prepared for his use.
A decaying fire burned in the grate, giving evidence of having
been lighted early in the day; a table, furnished with writing
materials, stood in front of the hearth, and a chair was placed on
either side.

Again complaining of the untimeliness of the visit, and saying
that he feared he would be censured for permitting it, the
jailer inquired what length of time would be required to complete
the work.

“Two or three hours, at the most. Indeed, I have ordered my
carriage to call for me at half-past nine, and you may depend on
my having everything finished in that time.”

“You will want witnesses. How many do your laws require?
I can bring you half a dozen of my men, if you wish, when you
get through.”

“No, I thank you,” replied Johnson, a little too eagerly for discretion;
“it will not be necessary. Indeed, it would not be sufficient
by our laws, as they do not know the signer. I shall bring
in two of his acquaintances in the morning to witness the will; it
will take but a few minutes.”

“In the morning? Very well; that will do. We certainly
should admit no more to-night.”

So saying, the man withdrew to summon assistants, and with
their aid to conduct the dangerous prisoner, weak and shackled,
from his cell in an upper story to the lower room.

Johnson sat down and awaited his arrival with much real perturbation
of mind, yet with a schooled air of sang froid which
would have been unsuspected as feigned by the closest observer.
His fears arose from an incertitude as to what extent Vrail was in
the secret of the plot, or whether, if uninitiated, he might not
penetrate his disguise, and give way to some exclamation of surprise
which would excite suspicion, or possibly entirely betray
him.

His own rôle was unmistakable. He must meet the prisoner as
an old acquaintance, and as one who had a business appointment
with him, and he doubted not, that if Vrail were unadvised of
his assumed errand, he would at least be discreet enough to
remain silent until he could give him the right cue for reply.

But Harry had fortunately already safely passed one dangerous
ordeal, which had fully placed him on his guard, and rendered
the present peril of self-betrayal comparatively slight. The garrulous
keeper had spoken to him during the afternoon about the
non-arrival of his American lawyer, and although for a moment
surprised, he was too astute not to comprehend that it had reference
in some way to Hadley's scheme of rescue. Again, when the
jailer now went to conduct him to the lower room, he naturally
explained to him the cause, and informed him that his counsel
had come, and although in neither case did the prisoner make

more than a monosyllabic reply, his taciturnity while in so
wretched a condition was a mattter of no surprise. His eyes
were, indeed, partly opened to the pretence under which his rescue
was to be attempted, and whatever might have been his
scruples against devising or counselling it, he did not feel at liberty
now to thwart his generous friends, much less to peril their safety
by a backwardness in accepting their aid.

Anxious to follow the strict line of duty, yet perplexed with
doubts as to its requirements, if he erred, let us censure him
lightly, for the love of life was yet strong in his young heart.
We are recording the story of a good and amiable man, but
by no means of a perfect one.

His guards were, of course, curious to behold this meeting
between him and his friend from the States, and they lingered a
moment, after bringing the prisoner in, to catch the first words of
greeting under such melancholy circumstances.

The salutation was a sufficiently natural one on the part of
Johnson, who knew that he was closely watched, and Vrail
availed himself of the privileged taciturnity of grief to avoid
saying anything until the keepers had withdrawn.

He extended his hand in silence to meet the welcoming grasp
of his visitor, and received his expressions of condolence with
emotion that certainly was not feigned.

Johnson, in the meantime, grew loquacious, to cover his friend's
supposed alarm, and to prevent the necessity of his speaking in
reply.

“I should have been here yesterday,” he said, “but I was about
five minutes too late for the boat, and I lost a whole day by the
delay, so that I have to come to you in the evening; but I think
if we set about our work in good earnest, we can accomplish it all
in a couple of hours, and leave you time for a good night's rest
yet, Mr. Vrail, which I have no doubt you will be able to take,
notwithstanding to-morrow.

“The turnkey who goes the twelve o'clock rounds in his hall,
says he always finds him asleep,” said the jailer, nodding approvingly
towards Vrail, and evidently intending a compliment.

“He certainly will rest none the worse for having so important
a piece of business completed,” replied the pretended lawyer,
opening his portfolio, and taking from it half a quire of paper, on
the outer sheet of which the formal commencement of a Last Will
and Testament was already written.

“I have begun my work, you see, in order to save time here,”
he said, seating himself at the table, and drawing from the same
receptacle which had contained his paper, a supply of red ribbon,
sealing-wax, and other articles, supposed to be essential to the
formal completeness of a solemn legal document. He hoped
the attendants would take the hint thus thrown out, and leave
them to their privacy. But they did not. He next opened his
golden pen, and dipped it into the ink, yet still they lingered—
nay, more, they whispered together by the doorway, glancing at
him askance as they did so.

Vrail did not observe this ominous circumstance, but Johnson,
who did, was certainly greatly alarmed. He was entirely within
the power of his enemies, who, if he were suspected, would not
even have the trouble of arresting him, for he was already in jail.
They had only to close the door upon him, and turn its massive
bolts, and he was secured beyond the possibility of escape. He
preserved, however, an exterior of perfect equanimity, and seemed
not to notice the alarming signs around him.

While he awaited the issue, the jailer stepped suddenly forward,
and approached him rapidly, but with a nervous manner, and
said:

“It's rather an unplesant duty, sir, but really, before leaving
you alone with the prisoner, I ought to search you, to see that
you have no weapons about your person. I hope you will excuse
me.”

Harry was now, in turn, frightened, for he supposed it certain
that his visitor was armed; but Johnson, greatly relieved, gave
utterance to a loud and natural laugh, quite unsuited to the solemn
presence of the condemned man, as he replied,

“Search me? Oh, certainly, you are quite welcome to do so;
you will find nothing more dangerous about me than my pen.
A lawyer's pen is his weapon, you know, and sometimes a pretty
effective one, too. Where will you begin? Come, all of you at
once, that it may be soon over, and no time lost.”

He threw off his coat and vest as he spoke, and withdrew his
boots, handing each of these garments to one of the men to
examine, and then he requested the principal to come nearer, and
make a more thorough examination of his person.

The search thus freely invited was of course but slightly made,
suspicion being at once allayed by the stranger's manner, and in
a few minutes the anxious friends were left alone in the room.
The door was locked from the outer side by the retiring guards,
one or more of whom, they knew, would patrol the main hall
during the whole of their interview, and might re-enter at any
moment to see that all was safe. Nay, for aught they knew,
there might be secret apertures for looking in and watching their
movements, and it became necessary to exercise the strictest caution
and vigilance in all that they said and did. So impressed
was Johnson with the importance of this prudence that he deemed
it necessary to sit constantly, pen in hand, and to employ the
greater part of his time in writing. What he wrote it would be
difficult to say, but it was nothing that interfered with the conversation
which, in a low tone, was kept up unremittingly between
the two friends.

He informed Vrail fully of every particular of the arrangements
made for his rescue, and (for there was abundant leisure) of many
things besides. He told him of Gertrude's resolute and unwearying
labors in his behalf, of her first interview with himself at

Ogdensburgh, of her second visit to him at Oswego, and of the
arguments by which she had prevailed on him to undertake his
present enterprise. Every new evidence of her labors and sacrifices
for him, gave new pleasure to the young man, and increased
the strength of that tender emotion with which he could not fail
to regard her. But, alas! it increased also his painful anxiety
lest he should never recover that liberty which alone would allow
him to acknowledge or requite such transcendent kindness.

Harry, in turn, had much to tell, which his companion had not
heard, of his eventful experiences, and some messages to charge
upon his memory for Gertrude and Thomas, and his old grandfather,
in case their schemes should be frustrated and Johnson
should reach home in safety. Thus, much of the painful interval
of suspense was passed, while they awaited the hour of trial.
They discussed every dangerous contingency which they could
imagine as liable to arise, and how to meet it; yet, with all their
forethought, they felt sensible that there might be some fatal obstacle
to their plans yet undiscovered.

A little before nine, a turnkey entered to replenish the fire, or,
under that pretext, to see that all was safe, and Johnson's pen at
once began to display unwonted activity.

“Mr. — wished me to inquire if you had nearly finished your
business?” said the man.

“I think we shall have done in about half an hour,” replied
Johnson; “you must have a little patience in such a case as this.”

“Oh, yes, sir—but—he is pretty particular about having everything
snugly locked up before this hour usually. But we can
wait, I suppose, till ten o'clock, if it is necessary.

“I do not think I shall keep you quite so long; but I will
knock on the door when I wish to come out.”

The man retired, and the town clock struck nine as he went
out.

The friends resumed their colloquy, but it was broken by many

anxious pauses, as the few remaining minutes, freighted with such
terrific interest, flew by.

“If it were only possible to rid me of these shackles, I should
have far more courage,” said Harry, in a whisper. “Is there no
way to do it?”

“No, it is impossible here, but there will be tools in the carriage
with which to knock them off as we go along. Never fear.”

“I shall be so helpless, so unable to assist you. I cannot step
farther than six inches at a time.”

“Never fear, I say. All that has been calculated and provided
for; only use your eyes vigilantly, and your judgment coolly, and
we will see to the rest. There may be a chance for you to give us
some important suggestion or direction, for you will be able to
survey the whole scene, while we may be all engaged in the mélée.
Why, Vrail, you are certainly trembling.”

“I am, but it is Hope that has taught me to fear. I should not
tremble if suspense were past, and I knew that I was to die
to-morrow. I should not tremble if I stood unbound at your
side, attempting for another this very achievement.”

“I understand you; you are right.”

“Am I not calmer now?”

“There is not even a quaver in your voice. It was but a passing
emotion.”

“Believe me, it will not return; I am altogether self-possessed
now. But these two long hours of dreadful endurance have been
far more trying to the nerves than if they had been passed on the
battle field.”

“It is true—most true.”

Johnson looked at his watch as he spoke. It wanted but ten
minutes of the time appointed for the arrival of his men. He
walked to the window, and looked out.

“I cannot see far, but we shall doubtless hear them when they
drive up. They are certainly not here yet.”

“Is it any darker than an hour since?”

“No—the clouds are scattered, and the stars shine brightly.”

“It is just as well—perhaps better so. We shall be able to
see our way.”

Johnson returned to the table, and some minutes passed in
silence. It was interrupted by the sound of a town-clock striking
the half-hour, and all again was still. A few minutes more elapsed,
and Vrail's quick ear caught the sound of wheels.

“They are coming!” he said.

The outlaw again walked quickly to the window, and looked
out.

“They are here,” he replied. “So far, all is well.”

He returned coolly, gathered up his papers and placed them in
the portfolio which he clasped with a steady hand. Calmly he
closed his open law books, threw his overcoat across his arm, and
walking to the door, he knocked loudly for egress. Ere it could
be opened, he stepped quickly back to Vrail, whose hand he
was grasping as the guards entered.

“Good-night,” he said. “Keep up good courage to the last,
my friend. It is the fortune of war, you know, and you are only
treading the path which many a brave man has trod before you.
Good-night. I will see you in the morning, of course—good night.”

As he spoke, he advanced gradually towards the door, and
Vrail took a few short steps in the same direction, clanking his
chain dismally at each movement. Johnson left him standing in
about the centre of the room, and turned to the jailer, who had
entered, with two of his men, while two more could be seen lounging
in the hall.

“My work is done, and my carriage is at the door,” he said,
“so that I will not detain you a moment longer. In the morning
I shall see you again, when I shall have something to communicate
which will be of interest to you personally. You understand?”

The man did understand the allusion to the promised bequest,
but he made no other reply than was contained in a very pleased
look.

“You are leaving your books and papers,” he said.

The outlaw turned around, a little embarrassed; but at the next
instant he replied,

“No, I have the will in my pocket. I will leave the other
things in your charge until morning.”

Johnson purposely made a little delay, fearing that his men
might not be quite ready, and feeling safe in doing so while as
yet no movement was made to re-conduct the prisoner to his cell.
But while he tarried, events were taking place outside, which
require a brief narration.