Dare wives, an’ girls, an’ boys.”
Returning homeward, Mr. Henry traced the human sleuth-hound by his footsteps in the mud, the nibbling of his horses where they had been left, and the marks of his carriage wheels at Wesleyville where they turned toward Erie, and were lost in the new made tracks of the early morning marketers.
VIII.
Time passed; the years of the war came and went; peace smiled upon the country; John Brown and young Coppoc slept beneath sodded mounds, whilst the soul of the former went “marching on,” and the genial, generous Henry was keeping the lighthouse on the eastern extremity of Presque Isle, at the entrance of Erie harbor or bay. Going over to the city one day he received a letter bearing the Dominion post-mark. It was without date, and with some difficulty he deciphered the following:
Dere Ser, Mistur Henri:
I’ze glad ter bee abul to rite ye. I’ze dun wel sens dat nite. I’ze got a wife an’ chilin’. De lor sen me into de ile kentry bress him and Sam make sum muni. I sen to yer a draf for 100 dollars gib fift to de men in de bote an’ kepe 50 fo’ buks fo’ you one selfe tel de kros man Sam feah no kro ’oz no razr strap, tank de lor.
Your lubbin fren Sam,
wo wuz Edwud Howud.