The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1898-04-06

Inc past Il KNOW ID beyond my re-
call, but God helping me, l will redeem
the present.
l have been circulating a petition for
his pardon, and have already received
the signatures of hosts of his friends,
including the commanding officers Of
the brigade, the regiment and the
company. This petition l shall lay be.
fore Abraham Lincoln as 1901 as l can
reach Washington, trusting TO his great
and merciful heart to grant it.
/ may, l will hope for success, but
the time is short and a little delay may
prove fatal. Pray earnestly with me
that Donald's life may yet be saved,
and send some message of friendship
at least. Donald has told me all since
his trial and sentence, to the man he
saved, it may be, your brothers. life,
at the deadly peril of his own.
Please let Mr.. and Mrs. Eastman
have this letter to read, or tell them
what you think best of it's contents. 1
will send them, if possible, q telegram
by way Of st. Adams, on the eighth of
January. Excuse these hasty lines.
Your loving, devoted brother, Per-
cival Trent.
Isabel Trent quickly scanned her
brothers letter, and then took up her
fathers paper, that she might better
understand all hat he had implied.
Astonished and agitsted, a feeling of
thankfulness for her brothers. safety
was quickly followed by anxiety for
Donald and sympathy for his parents.
Looking up, and noting the eager,
questioning look in his mothers eyes,
she gave her Percival's letter to read
and moved by a sudden, unaccountable
impulse Mrs. Eastman gave Isabel
Donald's letter. Few of his friends
could have read his letter unmoved,
certainly not Isabel Trent. Through
it she gained a glimpse into his Utmost
heart, and for the first time in all her
life she saw clearly the depth and un-
s~elfishness, and the true worth of Don
aid Eastman's character. Her ayes
dimmed, and the love which had not
been hers to give in the days of his
sunny boyhood, now, that a dishonor-
ed, unmerited death hung over him
Ikea black cloud, filled her heart to
overlooking.
Then and there she and Dopald's
mother had a long talk together, a talk
that resulted in a perfect understanding
between them, and the sending of the
following telegram by Donald's father
later in the day: "Love to Donald,
from father and mother and Isabel
Trent"
1t was the best that they could do,
there was no time to write, and then
Isabel Trent returned after a short Wis
it, home to explain matters to her pa
rents, to stay with these two and help
them as best she might to wear out the
long hours that might elapse ere news
of DOnald's welfare could reach them.
The morning of the eighth dawned
clear and bright, the cold snap was
over. The sun sent its cheerful rays
through the small paned, white cur
tanned windows of the farmhouse
kitchen and fell upon an untasted
breakfast, and three silent, sad-faced
persons.
Mr.. Eastman had gone about his
work at the barn as usual that morning.
Why should the cattle starve, and the
cows go unmilked because? - he
could not finish the sentence.
Mrs. Eastman had from sheer force
of habit, skinned the milk and pre-
pared the breakfast; and Isabel had
arisen early, because the night had
been long and endless, and any change
was preferable. But when it came to
eat breakfast, that was another thing,
and all were glad when the miserable
farce was over.
Meanwhile, at Camp Griffin, Donald
Eastman was brought out for execu-
ton. AS he came out, he drew a long
breath of the fresh morning air, which
had in it almost q hint of spring; and
cast n long, lingering glance around
him, upon the open fields and magnifi,
cent forests, that, covered with snow,
sparkled and glinted in the morning
sunlight. He was young, and life was
sweet, after all; especially 30, since the
telegram he had received from home,
with its surprising overwhelming close.
The next instant he had reached the
place assigned him, and his eyes fell
upon his brigade and the firing party,
which had been appointed for his exc
cution. He bowed his head, grew pale
as death, and a tremor passed over his
exhausted frame but no plea for mercy
escaped his lips.
The stiffness of death now reigned
throughout the camp, a stiffness sud
denly broken at this critical moment
by the sharp and ringing sound of
horses hoofs upon the hard and frozen
road. Nearer and nea camethe sound,
and soon Percival Trent, riding at
reckless speed, had reached the camp.
One minute, with a look of alarm and
terror, he gazed upon the scene before
him; the next he saw that Donald still
lived, and his joy knew no bounds.
He quickly brought forth, and waved
above his head, a paper which proved
to be an order for the stay of Donald's
execution, and thus his life was saved.
After the order was read and the
parade dismissed, cheer after cheer
rang through the camp, for Abraham
Lincoln first, and then for Donald East
man.
At one O'Clock of this same day
the following telegram: "Donald
Eastman has been pardoned, by or
der of Abraham Lincoln and command
of Major-General Mcclellan. The
whole camp is one sea of rejoicing.
Percival Trent" reached Donald's
father at st. Adams.
II seamed Int fitting that Mr.. East