“Yes, mist’ess, dear.”
“That is all I have to say to you. Now hasten. Good-bye; and may Heaven bless and speed you.”
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE NIGHT JOURNEY.
The heart once broken by the loved,
Is strong to meet the foeman.—Mrs. Browning.
Nearly a fortnight of extreme anxiety passed away, during which Catherine heard nothing from her messenger. On the evening of the thirteenth day of his departure, however, a letter was brought to her, directed in the well-known, but alas! not very familiar hand-writing of Major Clifton. Oh, joy! He was living then, and even well enough to write. With a fervent ejaculation of deep gratitude to Heaven, she broke the seal. But her face paled as she read—
“On Board the British Ship Albion, }
“August 21st, 1814. }
“Catherine:—
“Are you then destined to be forever fatal, not only to me, but to every human creature that is faithful to me? See what your reckless disregard of others’ lives has done!—doomed a poor, fond, faithful creature to a felon’s death! Attend, woman! to what I am about to write. I was not dangerously wounded, as the newspapers reported, but slightly hurt, and taken prisoner, and conveyed on board this, the Admiral’s ship—as they did not report. Thus, the poor fellow, whom you sent on this death’s errand, not finding me in the American camp, and hearing that I was a prisoner on board the British fleet, true to your command, to find and communicate with me, and reckless of his own danger, procured a boat at Benedict, and came out alongside this ship. You know the result, as well as I can inform you. The wretched boy was taken and put in irons as a spy, and has been doomed to be hanged at the yard-arm. He only waits the Admiral’s orders for execution. My own inconvenience is nothing beside his cruel fate—yet, nevertheless, I may as well inform you that I, who was upon parole, when your messenger sought to communicate with me, have also to thank your interference for being put under arrest, and nothing but the relaxation of strict discipline, incident upon the departure of the two commanders, and a mere fortuity, affords me the opportunity of writing, and sending this note. Admiral Cockburn and General Ross are now on their march to Washington City. And my object in writing to you is merely this: to assure you, by all my hopes of salvation, that unless you, in your unequaled machiavelism, find some way of saving this boy from death, I will never see, or speak to you again.