Hetty Marvin

When the British and Tories attacked Now London, Connecticut, in 17__, and set a price on the head of Governor Griswold, the latter fled to the town of L____, where his cousin, Mrs. Martin, hid him for some days in the secluded farmhouse. But at length the subtle foe discovered his retreat, and one sunny afternoon in May he was routed from his hiding-place by the tidings that a band of horsemen were approaching to capture him.

His only chance of escape was to reach the mouth of a little creek which emptied itself into the Connecticut River, just above the entrance of the latter into Long Island Sound. There he had a boat stationed, with two faithful attendants hidden beneath the high banks of the creek.

The distance from the farmhouse to the boat was two miles of the usual traveled road. But a little path across the farmer's orchard would bring him to the road, only a mile from the boat, and save a quarter's length of his fearful run for life.

Just where the narrow path from the orchard opened into the road, Hetty Marvin sat bleaching her household linen. The long web of forty yards or more, which was diligently spun and woven during the long Winter months, was whitened in May, and thus made ready for use.

The business of bleaching was well economized, being usually done by the younger daughters of the family, who were not old enough to spin, or strong enough for the heavier work of the kitchen or the dairy.

The roll of linen was taken by the farmer or his stout “help” to a grassy plot beside a spring or meadow-brook. There it was thoroughly wetted and spread upon the green turf, to take the best heat of the sun by day and the dew by night. The little maiden who tended it would sit near it.

Thus sat Hetty Marvin, the young daughter of Governor Griswold's cousin, when her hunted friend sprang past her into the road to escape his pursuers. Hetty was a timid child of about twelve years, yet thoughtful and wise beyond any of her elders. She was frightened by the headlong haste with which the governor rushed across the meadow. But she quickly comprehended the scene, and instantly quieted her faithful Towser, who, though a friend of the family guest, thought it becoming to bark loudly at his hurried steps.

Her wise forethought arrested the governor's notice, and suggested a scheme to delude his pursuers.

“Hetty,” he said, “I am flying for my life: and unless I can reach my boat before I am overtaken, I am a lost man. You see the road forks here. But you must tell those who are chasing me that I have gone up the road to catch the mail-wagon, which will soon be along, you know. Then they will turn off the other way.”

“Oh, cousin!” said the little girl, in an agony of distress. “I cannot tell a lie; indeed I cannot. Why did you tell which way you were going!”

“Hetty, child, surely you would not betray me to my death? Hark! they are coming — I hear the click of their horses' feet. Oh, Hetty, tell them I have gone up the road instead of down, and heaven will bless you.”

“Heaven never blesses those who speak falsely, cousin. But I will not tell them which way you go, even if they kill me; so run as quickly as possible.”

“It's of no use. Unless I can deceive them I am a dead man.”

“Cousin, cousin, hide under my web of cloth; they'd never think of looking here for you. Come, get down as swiftly as you can, and I'll cover you, and stand sprinkling my linen.”

Angry that their expected prey had escaped from the house where they hoped to secure him, the six mounted Tories, headed by a British officer, dashed along the road in swift pursuit. At sight of the girl in the meadow, the leader of the party paused.

“Child,” he said, sternly, “have you seen a man running hereabouts?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Hetty, trembling and flushing.

“Which way aid he go?”

“I promised not to tell, sir.”

“But you must, or take the consequences.”

“I said I wouldn't tell, if you killed me,” sobbed the frightened girl.

“I'll have it out of her!” exclaimed the furious officer, with an oath.

“Let me speak to her,” said his Tory guide. "I know the child, I believe. Isn't your name Hetty Marvin?" he asked, pleasantly.

“Yes, sir.”

“And this man that ran by you a few minutes ago was your mother's cousin, wasn't he?”

“Yes, sir, he was.”

“Well, we are friends of his. What did he say to you when he came along?”

“He — told me — that he was flying for his life.”

“Just so, Hetty: that was very true. I hope he won't have to fly far. Were was he going to hide? You see, I could help him if I knew his plans.”

Now, Hetty was not a whit deceived by this smooth speech. But she was willing to tell as much of the truth as would consist with his safety, and she judged that her frankness would serve her kinsman better than her silence, so she answered her questioner candidly:

“My cousin said he was going down to the river, where he had a boat, and wanted me to tell the men that were chasing him that he had gone the other way, to catch the mail-wagon.”

“Why didn't you do as he told you, then, when I asked you where he had gone?” thundered the officer, fiercely.

“I could not tell a lie, sir,” was the tearful answer.

“Hetty,” again began the smooth-tongued Tory, “you are a nice child. Everybody knows you are a girl of truth. What did your cousin say when you told him you could not tell a falsehood?”

“He said he shouldn't think I'd betray him to his death.”

“And then you promised him that yon wouldn't tell which way he went if you were killed for it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was brave; and I suppose he thanked yon for it, and ran down the road as quickly as possible.”

“I promised not to tell where he went, sir.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. Well, tell us his last words, and we won't trouble you any more.”

“His last words were, ‘It’s my only chance, child, and I'll get down as you say.’”

And, overcome with fright and the sense of her kinsman's danger, should they rightly interpret the language which she had reported, she sobbed aloud, and hid her face from sight.

Her tormenters did not stay longer to soothe or question her. They all immediately pushed rapidly on down to the river.

Now the governor had arranged a signal with his boatmen that a white cloth by day, or a light by night, displayed from the attic-window of his hiding-place, which was just visible at the mouth of the river, should inform them if he were in trouble, and put them on the alert to help him.

As soon, therefore, as he started from his cousin’s, it floated from the window to warn them. And when they saw the pursuing party dash madly down the road to the river, and recognized the British uniform of the leaders, they pulled swiftly out to sea. The horsemen reached the shore only in season to see the boat with two men in it nearly out of sight, and, supposing their destined prey had escaped, relinquished the pursuit.

Meanwhile the victim lay safe and quiet where the shrewdness of the little cousin had hidden him. until the time came for her return for supper. Then he bade her go as usual to her home, telling her to ask her mother to place the signal-lamp as soon as it grew dark in the window for the boatmen, and send him there some supper, with his valise, which, in the hurry of his departure, he had left behind.

The signal recalled the boat, which after twilight had ventured in sight of the shore and the farmhouse, and the governor quietly made his way to the river in safety. When he rejoined his father in a secure home, he named his infant daughter, which had been born in his absence, “Hetty Marvin,” that he might be daily reminded of the little cousin whose truth and shrewdness saved his life.

SOURCES:  The Union Sentinel, Osceola, Iowa, Saturday, October 17, 1862, p. 1 in which the beginning portion of this article was hidden in the binding, and the lower portion of the first column was missing.  I used Frank Leslie's Pleasant Hours, Volume 21, No. 1, August 1876, p. 113-4 to reconstruct the article.