“Well, den, long as he’s well, what ’casion you take on so, honey——Oh! my Lor’—taint—taint poor brother Jack as anything’s happened to?”
“Oh, Henny! Your master and Jack have both been taken prisoners by Admiral Cockburn!”
“Oh, Miss Kate! Oh, my Lor’, Miss Kate! An’ dey do tell me how he eats his prisoners ’live,” exclaimed Henny, falling down into a chair, flinging her check apron over her head, and beginning to cry.
Almost heedless of her handmaid’s violent demonstrations of grief and terror, Catherine walked up and down the floor, with her hands clasped around her temples, in the very agony of thought. To save the boy from death—how was she, at that remote distance, to save him? Oh! it seemed a mockery, a snare, to put forgiveness upon such an impracticable condition! Yet she thought him no setter of snares. She thought over the whole of the letter, searching for a hint; she needed not to look at it again—every line and word was burned in upon her brain and heart—she thought over the whole of it, earnestly searching for a clue to action—she found it at length in the phrases, “He only waits the Admiral’s order for execution,” and “Admiral Cockburn and General Ross are now on their march to Washington City.” She thought if she could see the Admiral, she might yet save his life—of so little worth as a sacrifice to the enemy, but of such inestimable value to her. The date of the letter was the twenty-first—this day was the twenty-third. “Oh! he is probably executed by this time,” said Despondency. “But possibly not,” said Hope. She tried to think clearly, to separate the dreadful chaos of thought and passion, and to weigh and adjust circumstances, so as she might decide and act promptly. Admiral Cockburn and General Ross must be near Washington, if they had not already reached the city. Washington was two full day’s journey from her home, but every hour was precious, for life and death might hang upon it. She could perform the journey in a day and night. Her resolution was taken. Going up to where Henny sat crying, and rocking herself backward and forward, she said—
“Rise, Henny, and go and tell James to saddle my horse, my rough coated pony, Henny, he is the strongest and the fleetest, and bring him around to the door.”
“Oh, Miss Kate! does you think he’ll eat ’em sure ’nough?”
“What do you mean, Henny—are you crazy?”
“Admirable Cockbu’n, honey. Does you think he’ll eat Marse Archy an’ brother Jack, sure ’nough? I hopes not, ’cause you see, chile, brother Jack, he’s so poor an’ lean, an’ Marse Archer, he mus’ be tough an’ stringy ’nough, too long o’ all dis yer warfarin’, but Lor’, ’haps he’ll think der good ’nough for sojers rations, and give ’em to dem.”
“Henny that is all a notion.”
“’Bout der eaten ’em, honey?”