← catalogue

The Spy

by James Fenimore Cooper · English · Gutenberg #9845 · 881,635 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Spy
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: The Spy

Author: James Fenimore Cooper


        
Release date: February 1, 2006 [eBook #9845]
                Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9845

Credits: Produced by PG Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPY ***




Produced by PG Distributed Proofreading Team









ECLECTIC ENGLISH CLASSICS

THE SPY

A TALE OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND

BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

EDITED BY

NATHANIEL WARING BARNES

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION
IN DE PAUW UNIVERSITY
GREENCASTLE, INDIANA




JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

"I believe I could write a better story myself!" With these words, since
become famous, James Fenimore Cooper laid aside the English novel which
he was reading aloud to his wife. A few days later he submitted several
pages of manuscript for her approval, and then settled down to the task
of making good his boast. In November, 1820, he gave the public a novel
in two volumes, entitled _Precaution_. But it was published anonymously,
and dealt with English society in so much the same way as the average
British novel of the time that its author was thought by many to be an
Englishman. It had no originality and no real merit of any kind. Yet it
was the means of inciting Cooper to another attempt. And this second
novel made him famous.

When _Precaution_ appeared, some of Cooper's friends protested against
his weak dependence on British models. Their arguments stirred his
patriotism, and he determined to write another novel, using thoroughly
American material. Accordingly he turned to Westchester County, where he
was then living, a county which had been the scene of much stirring
action during a good part of the Revolutionary War, and composed _The
Spy--A Tale of the Neutral Ground_. This novel was published in 1821,
and was immediately popular, both in this country and in England. Soon
it was translated into French, then into other foreign languages, until
it was read more widely than any other tale of the century. Cooper had
written the first American novel. He had also struck an original
literary vein, and he had gained confidence in himself as a writer.

Following this pronounced success in authorship, Cooper set to work on a
third book and continued for the remainder of his life to devote most of
his time to writing. Altogether he wrote over thirty novels and as many
more works of a miscellaneous character. But much of this writing has no
interest for us at the present time, especially that which was
occasioned by the many controversies in which the rather belligerent
Cooper involved himself. His work of permanent value after _The Spy_
falls into two groups, the tales of wilderness life and the sea tales.
Both these groups grew directly out of his experiences in early life.

Cooper was born on September 15, 1789, in Burlington, New Jersey, but
while still very young he was taken to Cooperstown, on the shores of
Otsego Lake, in central New York. His father owned many thousand acres
of primeval forest about this village, and so through the years of a
free boyhood the young Cooper came to love the wilderness and to know
the characters of border life. When the village school was no longer
adequate, he went to study privately in Albany and later entered Yale
College. But he was not interested in the study of books. When, as a
junior, he was expelled from college, he turned to a career in the navy.
Accordingly in the fall of 1806 he sailed on a merchant ship, the
_Sterling_, and for the next eleven months saw hard service before the
mast. Soon after this apprenticeship he received a commission as a
midshipman in the United States navy. Although it was a time of peace,
and he saw no actual fighting, he gained considerable knowledge from his
service on Lake Ontario and Lake Champlain that he put to good use
later. Shortly before his resignation in May, 1811, he had married, and
for several years thereafter he lived along in a pleasant, leisurely
fashion, part of the time in Cooperstown and part of the time in
Westchester County, until almost accidentally he broke into the writing
of his first novel. Aside from the publication of his books, Cooper's
later life was essentially uneventful. He died at Cooperstown, on
September 14, 1851.

The connection of Cooper's best writing with the life he knew at first
hand is thus perfectly plain. In his novels dealing with the wilderness,
popularly known as the Leatherstocking Tales, he drew directly on his
knowledge of the backwoods and backwoodsmen as he gained it about
Cooperstown. In _The Pioneers_ (1823) he dealt with the scenes of his
boyhood, scenes which lay very close to his heart; and in the other
volumes of this series, _The Last of the Mohicans_ (1826), _The Prairie_
(1827), _The Pathfinder_ (1840), and _The Deerslayer (1841), he
continued to write of the trappers and frontiersmen and outpost
garrisons and Indians who made up the forest life he knew so well.
Similarly, in the sea tales, which began with 'The Pilot'(1823) and
included 'The Red Rover'(1828), 'The Two Admirals' (1842) and 'The
Wing-and-Wing'(1842), he made full use of his experiences before the
mast and in the navy. The nautical accuracy of these tales of the sea
could scarcely have been attained by a "landlubber". It has much
practical significance, then, that Cooper chose material which he knew
intimately and which gripped his own interest. His success came like
Thackeray's and Stevenson's and Mark Twain's--without his having to
reach to the other side of the world after his material.

In considering Cooper's work as a novelist, nothing is more marked than
his originality. In these days we take novels based on American history
and novels of the sea for granted, but at the time when Cooper published
'The Spy' and 'The Pilot' neither an American novel nor a salt-water
novel had ever been written. So far as Americans before Cooper had
written fiction at all, Washington Irving had been the only one to cease
from a timid imitation of British models. But Irving's material was
local, rather than national. It was Cooper who first told the story of
the conquest of the American continent. He caught the poetry and the
romantic thrill of both the American forest and the sea; he dared to
break away from literary conventions. His reward was an immediate and
widespread success, together with a secure place in the history of his
country's literature.

There was probably a two-fold reason for the success which Cooper's
novels won at home and abroad. In the first place, Cooper could invent a
good story and tell it well. He was a master of rapid, stirring
narrative, and his tales were elemental, not deep or subtle. Secondly,
he created interesting characters who had the restless energy, the
passion for adventure, the rugged confidence, of our American pioneers.
First among these great characters came Harvey Birch in 'The Spy', but
Cooper's real triumph was Natty Bumppo, who appears in all five of the
Leatherstocking Tales. This skilled trapper, faithful guide, brave
fighter, and homely philosopher was "the first real American in
fiction," an important contribution to the world's literature. In
addition, Cooper created the Indian of literature--perhaps a little too
noble to be entirely true to life--and various simple, strong seamen.
His Chingachgook and Uncas and Long Tom Coffin justly brought him added
fame. In these narrative gifts, as well as in the robustness of his own
character, Cooper was not unlike Sir Walter Scott. He once modestly
referred to himself as "a chip from Scott's block" and has frequently
been called "the American Scott."

But, of course, Cooper had limitations and faults. When he stepped
outside the definite boundaries of the life he knew, he was unable to
handle character effectively. His women are practically failures, and
like his military officers essentially interchangeable. His humor is
almost invariably labored and tedious. He occasionally allowed long
passages of description or long speeches by some minor character to clog
the progress of his action. Now and then, in inventing his plots, he
strained his readers' credulity somewhat. Finally, as a result of his
rapid writing, his work is uneven and without style in the sense that a
careful craftsman or a sensitive artist achieves it. He is even guilty
of an occasional error in grammar or word use which the young pupil in
the schools can detect. Yet his literary powers easily outweigh all
these weaknesses. He is unquestionably one of America's great novelists
and one of the world's great romancers.

There is abundant reason, therefore, why Americans of the present day
should know James Fenimore Cooper. He has many a good story of the
wilderness and the sea to tell to those who enjoy tales of adventure. He
gives a vivid, but faithful picture of American frontier life for those
who can know its stirring events and its hardy characters only at second
hand. He holds a peculiarly important place in the history of American
literature, and has done much to extend the reputation of American
fiction among foreigners.




AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION

The author has often been asked if there were any foundation in real
life for the delineation of the principal character in this book. He can
give no clearer answer to the question than by laying before his readers
a simple statement of the facts connected with its original publication.

Many years since, the writer of this volume was at the residence of an
illustrious man, who had been employed in various situations of high
trust during the darkest days of the American Revolution. The discourse
turned upon the effects which great political excitement produces on
character, and the purifying consequences of a love of country, when
that sentiment is powerfully and generally awakened in a people. He who,
from his years, his services, and his knowledge of men, was best
qualified to take the lead in such a conversation, was the principal
speaker. After dwelling on the marked manner in which the great struggle
of the nation, during the war of 1775, had given a new and honorable
direction to the thoughts and practices of multitudes whose time had
formerly been engrossed by the most vulgar concerns of life, he
illustrated his opinions by relating an anecdote, the truth of which he
could attest as a personal witness.

The dispute between England and the United States of America, though not
strictly a family quarrel, had many of the features of a civil war. The
people of the latter were never properly and constitutionally subject to
the people of the former, but the inhabitants of both countries owed
allegiance to a common king. The Americans, as a nation, disavowed this
allegiance, and the English choosing to support their sovereign in the
attempt to regain his power, most of the feelings of an internal
struggle were involved in the conflict. A large proportion of the
emigrants from Europe, then established in the colonies, took part with
the crown; and there were many districts in which their influence,
united to that of the Americans who refused to lay aside their
allegiance, gave a decided preponderance to the royal cause. America was
then too young, and too much in need of every heart and hand, to regard
these partial divisions, small as they were in actual amount, with
indifference. The evil was greatly increased by the activity of the
English in profiting by these internal dissensions; and it became doubly
serious when it was found that attempts were made to raise various corps
of provincial troops, who were to be banded with those from Europe, to
reduce the young republic to subjection. Congress named an especial and
a secret committee, therefore, for the express purpose of defeating this
object. Of this committee Mr.----, the narrator of the anecdote,
was chairman.

In the discharge of the novel duties which now devolved on him, Mr.----
had occasion to employ an agent whose services differed but little from
those of a common spy. This man, as will easily be understood, belonged
to a condition in life which rendered him the least reluctant to appear
in so equivocal a character. He was poor, ignorant, so far as the usual
instruction was concerned; but cool, shrewd, and fearless by nature. It
was his office to learn in what part of the country the agents of the
crown were making their efforts to embody men, to repair to the place,
enlist, appear zealous in the cause he affected to serve, and otherwise
to get possession of as many of the secrets of the enemy as possible.
The last he of course communicated to his employers, who took all the
means in their power to counteract the plans of the English, and
frequently with success.

It will readily be conceived that a service like this was attended with
great personal hazard. In addition to the danger of discovery, there was
the daily risk of falling into the hands of the Americans themselves,
who invariably visited sins of this nature more severely on the natives
of the country than on the Europeans who fell into their hands. In fact,
the agent of Mr. ---- was several times arrested by the local
authorities; and, in one instance, he was actually condemned by his
exasperated countrymen to the gallows. Speedy and private orders to the
jailer alone saved him from an ignominious death. He was permitted to
escape; and this seeming and indeed actual peril was of great aid in
supporting his assumed character among the English. By the Americans, in
his little sphere, he was denounced as a bold and inveterate Tory. In
this manner he continued to serve his country in secret during the early
years of the struggle, hourly environed by danger, and the constant
subject of unmerited opprobrium.

In the year ---, Mr. ---- was named to a high and honorable employment
at a European court. Before vacating his seat in Congress, he reported
to that body an outline of the circumstances related, necessarily
suppressing the name of his agent, and demanding an appropriation in
behalf of a man who had been of so much use, at so great risk. A
suitable sum was voted; and its delivery was confided to the chairman of
the secret committee.

Mr. ---- took the necessary means to summon his agent to a personal
interview. They met in a wood at midnight. Here Mr. ---- complimented
his companion on his fidelity and adroitness; explained the necessity of
their communications being closed; and finally tendered the money. The
other drew back, and declined receiving it. "The country has need of all
its means," he said; "as for myself, I can work, or gain a livelihood in
various ways." Persuasion was useless, for patriotism was uppermost in
the heart of this remarkable individual; and Mr. ---- departed, bearing
with him the gold he had brought, and a deep respect for the man who had
so long hazarded his life, unrequited, for the cause they served
in common.

The writer is under an impression that, at a later day, the agent of
Mr. ---- consented to receive a remuneration for what he had done; but it
was not until his country was entirely in a condition to bestow it.

It is scarcely necessary to add, that an anecdote like this, simply but
forcibly told by one of its principal actors, made a deep impression on
all who heard it. Many years later, circumstances, which it is
unnecessary to relate, and of an entirely adventitious nature, induced
the writer to publish a novel, which proved to be, what he little
foresaw at the time, the first of a tolerably long series. The same
adventitious causes which gave birth to the book determined its scene
and its general character. The former was laid in a foreign country; and
the latter embraced a crude effort to describe foreign manners. When
this tale was published, it became matter of reproach among the author's
friends, that he, an American in heart as in birth, should give to the
world a work which aided perhaps, in some slight degree, to feed the
imaginations of the young and unpracticed among his own countrymen, by
pictures drawn from a state of society so different from that to which
he belonged. The writer, while he knew how much of what he had done was
purely accidental, felt the reproach to be one that, in a measure, was
just. As the only atonement in his power, he determined to inflict a
second book, whose subject should admit of no cavil, not only on the
world, but on himself. He chose patriotism for his theme; and to those
who read this introduction and the book itself, it is scarcely necessary
to add, that he took the hero of the anecdote just related as the best
illustration of his subject.

Since the original publication of _The Spy_, there have appeared several
accounts of different persons who are supposed to have been in the
author's mind while writing the book. As Mr. ---- did not mention the
name of his agent, the writer never knew any more of his identity with
this or that individual, than has been here explained. Both Washington
and Sir Henry Clinton had an unusual number of secret emissaries; in a
war that partook so much of a domestic character, and in which the
contending parties were people of the same blood and language, it could
scarcely be otherwise.

The style of the book has been revised by the author in this edition. In
this respect, he has endeavored to make it more worthy of the favor with
which it has been received; though he is compelled to admit there are
faults so interwoven with the structure of the tale that, as in the case
of a decayed edifice, it would cost perhaps less to reconstruct than to
repair. Five-and-twenty years have been as ages with most things
connected with America. Among other advantages, that of her literature
has not been the least. So little was expected from the publication of
an original work of this description, at the time it was written, that
the first volume of _The Spy_ was actually printed several months,
before the author felt a sufficient inducement to write a line of the
second. The efforts expended on a hopeless task are rarely worthy of him
who makes them, however low it may be necessary to rate the standard of
his general merit.

One other anecdote connected with the history of this book may give the
reader some idea of the hopes of an American author, in the first
quarter of the present century. As the second volume was slowly
printing, from manuscript that was barely dry when it went into the
compositor's hands, the publisher intimated that the work might grow to
a length that would consume the profits. To set his mind at rest, the
last chapter was actually written, printed, and paged, several weeks
before the chapters which precede it were even thought of. This
circumstance, while it cannot excuse, may serve to explain the manner in
which the actors are hurried off the scene.

A great change has come over the country since this book was originally
written. The nation is passing from the gristle into the bone, and the
common mind is beginning to keep even pace with the growth of the body
politic. The march from Vera Cruz to Mexico was made under the orders of
that gallant soldier who, a quarter of a century before, was mentioned
with honor, in the last chapter of this very book. Glorious as was that
march, and brilliant as were its results in a military point of view, a
stride was then made by the nation, in a moral sense, that has hastened
it by an age, in its progress toward real independence and high
political influence. The guns that filled the valley of the Aztecs with
their thunder, have been heard in echoes on the other side of the
Atlantic, producing equally hope or apprehension.

There is now no enemy to fear, but the one that resides within. By
accustoming ourselves to regard even the people as erring beings, and by
using the restraints that wisdom has adduced from experience, there is
much reason to hope that the same Providence which has so well aided us
in our infancy, may continue to smile on our manhood.

COOPERSTOWN, March 29, 1849.

[Illustration: MAP TO ILLUSTRATE THE STORY OF THE SPY]

[The footnotes throughout are Cooper's own.]




CHAPTER I


     And though amidst the calm of thought entire,
       Some high and haughty features might betray
     A soul impetuous once--'twas earthly fire
       That fled composure's intellectual ray,
       As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day.
                            --Gertrude of Wyoming.

It was near the close of the year 1780 that a solitary traveler was seen
pursuing his way through one of the numerous little valleys of
Westchester. [Footnote: As each state of the American Union has its own
counties, it often happens that there are several which bear the same
name. The scene of this tale is in New York, whose county of Westchester
is the nearest adjoining to the city.] The easterly wind, with its
chilling dampness and increasing violence, gave unerring notice of the
approach of a storm, which, as usual, might be expected to continue for
several days; and the experienced eye of the traveler was turned in
vain, through the darkness of the evening, in quest of some convenient
shelter, in which, for the term of his confinement by the rain that
already began to mix with the atmosphere in a thick mist, he might
obtain such accommodations as his purposes required. Nothing whatever
offered but the small and inconvenient tenements of the lower order of
the inhabitants, with whom, in that immediate neighborhood, he did not
think it either safe or politic to trust himself.

The county of Westchester, after the British had obtained possession of
the island of New York, [Footnote: The city of New York is situated on
an island called Manhattan: but it is at one point separated from the
county of Westchester by a creek of only a few feet in width. The bridge
at this spot is called King's Bridge. It was the scene of many
skirmishes during the war, and is alluded to in this tale. Every
Manhattanese knows the difference between "Manhattan Island" and the
"island of Manhattan." The first is applied to a small District in the
vicinity of Corlaer's Hook, while the last embraces the Whole island; or
the city and county of New York as it is termed in the laws.] became
common ground, in which both parties continued to act for the remainder
of the war of the Revolution. A large proportion of its inhabitants,
either restrained by their attachments, or influenced by their fears,
affected a neutrality they did not feel. The lower towns were, of
course, more particularly under the dominion of the crown, while the
upper, finding a security from the vicinity of the continental troops,
were bold in asserting their revolutionary opinions, and their right to
govern themselves. Great numbers, however, wore masks, which even to
this day have not been thrown aside; and many an individual has gone
down to the tomb, stigmatized as a foe to the rights of his countrymen,
while, in secret, he has been the useful agent of the leaders of the
Revolution; and, on the other hand, could the hidden repositories of
divers flaming patriots have been opened to the light of day, royal
protections would have been discovered concealed under piles of
British gold.

At the sound of the tread of the noble horse ridden by the traveler, the
mistress of the farmhouse he was passing at the time might be seen
cautiously opening the door of the building to examine the stranger; and
perhaps, with an averted face communicating the result of her
observations to her husband, who, in the rear of the building, was
prepared to seek, if necessary, his ordinary place of concealment in the
adjacent woods. The valley was situated about midway in the length of
the county, and was sufficiently near to both armies to make the
restitution of stolen goods no uncommon occurrence in that vicinity. It
is true, the same articles were not always regained; but a summary
substitute was generally resorted to, in the absence of legal justice,
which restored to the loser the amount of his loss, and frequently with
no inconsiderable addition for the temporary use of his property. In
short, the law was momentarily extinct in that particular district, and
justice was administered subject to the bias of personal interests and
the passions of the strongest.

The passage of a stranger, with an appearance of somewhat doubtful
character, and mounted on an animal which, although unfurnished with any
of the ordinary trappings of war, partook largely of the bold and
upright carriage that distinguished his rider, gave rise to many
surmises among the gazing inmates of the different habitations; and in
some instances, where conscience was more than ordinarily awake, to no
little alarm.

Tired with the exercise of a day of unusual fatigue, and anxious to
obtain a speedy shelter from the increasing violence of the storm, that
now began to change its character to large drops of driving rain, the
traveler determined, as a matter of necessity, to make an application
for admission to the next dwelling that offered. An opportunity was not
long wanting; and, riding through a pair of neglected bars, he knocked
loudly at the outer door of a building of a very humble exterior,
without quitting his saddle. A female of middle age, with an outward
bearing but little more prepossessing than that of her dwelling,
appeared to answer the summons. The startled woman half closed her door
again in affright, as she saw, by the glare of a large wood fire, a
mounted man so unexpectedly near its threshold; and an expression of
terror mingled with her natural curiosity, as she required his pleasure.

Although the door was too nearly closed to admit of a minute scrutiny of
the accommodations within, enough had been seen to cause the horseman to
endeavor, once more, to penetrate the gloom, with longing eyes, in
search of a more promising roof, before, with an ill-concealed
reluctance, he stated his necessities and wishes. His request was
listened to with evident unwillingness, and, while yet unfinished, it
was eagerly interrupted by the reply:

"I can't say I like to give lodgings to a stranger in these ticklish
times," said the female, in a pert, sharp key. "I'm nothing but a
forlorn lone body; or, what's the same thing, there's nobody but the old
gentleman at home; but a half mile farther up the road is a house where
you can get entertainment, and that for nothing. I am sure 'twill be
much convenienter to them, and more agreeable to me--because, as I said
before, Harvey is away; I wish he'd take advice, and leave off
wandering; he's well to do in the world by this time; and he ought to
leave off his uncertain courses, and settle himself, handsomely, in
life, like other men of his years and property. But Harvey Birch will
have his own way, and die vagabond after all!"

The horseman did not wait to hear more than the advice to pursue his
course up the road; but he had slowly turned his horse towards the bars,
and was gathering the folds of an ample cloak around his manly form,
preparatory to facing the storm again, when something in the speech of
the female suddenly arrested the movement.

"Is this, then, the dwelling of Harvey Birch?" he inquired, in an
involuntary manner, apparently checking himself, as he was about to
utter more.

"Why, one can hardly say it is his dwelling," replied the other, drawing
a hurried breath, like one eager to answer; "he is never in it, or so
seldom, that I hardly remember his face, when he does think it worth his
while to show it to his poor old father and me. But it matters little to
me, I'm sure, if he ever comes back again, or not;--turn in the first
gate on your left;--no, I care but little, for my part, whether Harvey
ever shows his face again or not--not I"--and she closed the door
abruptly on the horseman, who gladly extended his ride a half mile
farther, to obtain lodgings which promised both more comfort and
greater security.

Sufficient light yet remained to enable the traveler to distinguish the
improvements [Footnote: Improvements is used by the Americans to express
every degree of change in converting land from its state of wilderness
to that of cultivation. In this meaning of the word, it is an
improvement to fell the trees; and it is valued precisely by the
supposed amount of the cost.] which had been made in the cultivation,
and in the general appearance of the grounds around the building to
which he was now approaching. The house was of stone, long, low, and
with a small wing at each extremity. A piazza, extending along the
front, with neatly turned pillars of wood, together with the good order
and preservation of the fences and outbuildings, gave the place an air
altogether superior to the common farmhouses of the country. After
leading his horse behind an angle of the wall, where it was in some
degree protected from the wind and rain, the traveler threw his valise
over his arm, and knocked loudly at the entrance of the building for
admission. An aged black soon appeared; and without seeming to think it
necessary, under the circumstances, to consult his superiors,--first
taking one prying look at the applicant, by the light of the candle in
his hand,--he acceded to the request for accommodations. The traveler
was shown into an extremely neat parlor, where a fire had been lighted
to cheer the dullness of an easterly storm and an October evening. After
giving the valise into the keeping of his civil attendant, and politely
repeating his request to the old gentleman, who arose to receive him,
and paying his compliments to the three ladies who were seated at work
with their needles, the stranger commenced laying aside some of the
outer garments which he had worn in his ride.

On taking an extra handkerchief from his neck, and removing a cloak of
blue cloth, with a surtout of the same material, he exhibited to the
scrutiny of the observant family party, a tall and extremely graceful
person, of apparently fifty years of age. His countenance evinced a
settled composure and dignity; his nose was straight, and approaching to
Grecian; his eye, of a gray color, was quiet, thoughtful, and rather
melancholy; the mouth and lower part of his face being expressive of
decision and much character. His dress, being suited to the road, was
simple and plain, but such as was worn by the higher class of his
countrymen; he wore his own hair, dressed in a manner that gave a
military air to his appearance, and which was rather heightened by his
erect and conspicuously graceful carriage. His whole appearance was so
impressive and so decidedly that of a gentleman, that as he finished
laying aside the garments, the ladies arose from their seats, and,
together with the master of the house, they received anew, and returned
the complimentary greetings which were again offered.

The host was by several years the senior of the traveler, and by his
manner, dress, and everything around him, showed he had seen much of
life and the best society. The ladies were, a maiden of forty, and two
much younger, who did not seem, indeed, to have reached half those
years. The bloom of the elder of these ladies had vanished, but her eyes
and fine hair gave an extremely agreeable expression to her countenance;
and there was a softness and an affability in her deportment, that added
a charm many more juvenile faces do not possess. The sisters, for such
the resemblance between the younger females denoted them to be, were in
all the pride of youth, and the roses, so eminently the property of the
Westchester fair, glowed on their cheeks, and lighted their deep blue
eyes with that luster which gives so much pleasure to the beholder, and
which indicates so much internal innocence and peace. There was much of
that feminine delicacy in the appearance of the three, which
distinguishes the sex in this country; and, like the gentleman, their
demeanor proved them to be women of the higher order of life.

After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his guest, Mr. Wharton,
for so was the owner of this retired estate called, resumed his seat by
the fire, with another in his own hand. For a moment he paused, as if
debating with his politeness, but at length threw an inquiring glance on
the stranger, as he inquired,--

"To whose health am I to have the honor of drinking?"

The traveler had also seated himself, and he sat unconsciously gazing on
the fire, while Mr. Wharton spoke; turning his eyes slowly on his host
with a look of close observation, he replied, while a faint tinge
gathered on his features,--

"Mr. Harper."

"Mr. Harper," resumed the other, with the formal precision of that day,
"I have the honor to drink your health, and to hope you will sustain no
injury from the rain to which you have been exposed."

Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the compliment, and he soon resumed the
meditations from which he had been interrupted, and for which the long
ride he had that day made, in the wind, might seem a very
natural apology.

The young ladies had again taken their seats beside the workstand, while
their aunt, Miss Jeanette Peyton, withdrew to superintend the
preparations necessary to appease the hunger of their unexpected
visitor. A short silence prevailed, during which Mr. Harper was
apparently enjoying the change in his situation, when Mr. Wharton again
broke it, by inquiring whether smoke was disagreeable to his companion;
to which, receiving an answer in the negative, he immediately resumed
the pipe which had been laid aside at the entrance of the traveler.

There was an evident desire on the part of the host to enter into
conversation, but either from an apprehension of treading on dangerous
ground, or an unwillingness to intrude upon the rather studied
taciturnity of his guest, he several times hesitated, before he could
venture to make any further remark. At length, a movement from Mr.
Harper, as he raised his eyes to the party in the room, encouraged him
to proceed.

"I find it very difficult," said Mr. Wharton, cautiously avoiding at
first, such subjects as he wished to introduce, "to procure that quality
of tobacco for my evenings' amusement to which I have been accustomed."

"I should think the shops in New York might furnish the best in the
country," calmly rejoined the other.

"Why--yes," returned the host in rather a hesitating manner, lifting his
eyes to the face of Harper, and lowering them quickly under his steady
look, "there must be plenty in town; but the war has made communication
with the city, however innocent, too dangerous to be risked for so
trifling an article as tobacco."

The box from which Mr. Wharton had just taken a supply for his pipe was
lying open, within a few inches of the elbow of Harper, who took a small
quantity from its contents, and applied it to his tongue, in a manner
perfectly natural, but one that filled his companion with alarm.
Without, however, observing that the quality was of the most approved
kind, the traveler relieved his host by relapsing again into his
meditations. Mr. Wharton now felt unwilling to lose the advantage he had
gained, and, making an effort of more than usual vigor, he continued,--

"I wish from the bottom of my heart, this unnatural struggle was over,
that we might again meet our friends and relatives in peace and love."

"It is much to be desired," said Harper, emphatically, again raising his
eyes to the countenance of his host.

"I hear of no movement of consequence, since the arrival of our new
allies," said Mr. Wharton, shaking the ashes from his pipe, and turning
his back to the other under the pretense of receiving a coal from his
youngest daughter.

"None have yet reached the public, I believe."

"Is it thought any important steps are about to be taken?" continued Mr.
Wharton, still occupied with his daughter, yet suspending his
employment, in expectation of a reply.

"Is it intimated any are in agitation?"

"Oh! nothing in particular; but it is natural to expect some new
enterprise from so powerful a force as that under Rochambeau."

Harper made an assenting inclination with his head, but no other reply,
to this remark; while Mr. Wharton, after lighting his pipe, resumed
the subject.

"They appear more active in the south; Gates and Cornwallis seem willing
to bring the war to an issue there."

The brow of Harper contracted, and a deeper shade of melancholy crossed
his features; his eye kindled with a transient beam of fire, that spoke
a latent source of deep feeling. The admiring gaze of the younger of the
sisters had barely time to read its expression, before it passed away,
leaving in its room the acquired composure which marked the countenance
of the stranger, and that impressive dignity which so conspicuously
denotes the empire of reason.

The elder sister made one or two movements in her chair, before she
ventured to say, in a tone which partook in no small measure of
triumph,--

"General Gates has been less fortunate with the earl, than with General
Burgoyne."

"But General Gates is an Englishman, Sarah," cried the younger lady,
with quickness; then, coloring to the eyes at her own boldness, she
employed herself in tumbling over the contents of her work basket,
silently hoping the remark would be unnoticed.

The traveler had turned his face from one sister to the other, as they
had spoken in succession, and an almost imperceptible movement of the
muscles of his mouth betrayed a new emotion, as he playfully inquired of
the younger,--

"May I venture to ask what inference you would draw from that fact?"

Frances blushed yet deeper at this direct appeal to her opinions upon a
subject on which she had incautiously spoken in the presence of a
stranger; but finding an answer necessary, after some little hesitation,
and with a good deal of stammering in her manner, she replied,--

"Only--only--sir--my sister and myself sometimes differ in our opinions
of the prowess of the British." A smile of much meaning played on a
face of infantile innocency, as she concluded.

"On what particular points of their prowess do you differ?" continued
Harper, meeting her look of animation with a smile of almost
paternal softness.

"Sarah thinks the British are never beaten, while I do not put so much
faith in their invincibility."

The traveler listened to her with that pleased indulgence, with which
virtuous age loves to contemplate the ardor of youthful innocence; but
making no reply, he turned to the fire, and continued for some time
gazing on its embers, in silence.

Mr. Wharton had in vain endeavored to pierce the disguise of his guest's
political feelings; but, while there was nothing forbidding in his
countenance, there was nothing communicative; on the contrary it was
strikingly reserved; and the master of the house arose, in profound
ignorance of what, in those days, was the most material point in the
character of his guest, to lead the way into another room, and to the
supper table. Mr. Harper offered his hand to Sarah Wharton, and they
entered the room together; while Frances followed, greatly at a loss to
know whether she had not wounded the feelings of her father's inmate.

The storm began to rage with great violence without; and the dashing
rain on the sides of the building awakened that silent sense of
enjoyment, which is excited by such sounds in a room of quiet comfort
and warmth, when a loud summons at the outer door again called the
faithful black to the portal. In a minute the servant returned, and
informed his master that another traveler, overtaken by the storm,
desired to be admitted to the house for a shelter through the night.

At the first sounds of the impatient summons of this new applicant, Mr.
Wharton had risen from his seat in evident uneasiness; and with eyes
glancing with quickness from his guest to the door of the room, he
seemed to be expecting something to proceed from this second
interruption, connected with the stranger who had occasioned the first.
He scarcely had time to bid the black, with a faint voice, to show this
second comer in, before the door was thrown hastily open, and the
stranger himself entered the apartment. He paused a moment, as the
person of Harper met his view, and then, in a more formal manner,
repeated the request he had before made through the servant. Mr. Wharton
and his family disliked the appearance of this new visitor excessively;
but the inclemency of the weather, and the uncertainty of the
consequences, if he were refused the desired lodgings, compelled the old
gentleman to give a reluctant acquiescence.

Some of the dishes were replaced by the orders of Miss Peyton, and the
weather-beaten intruder was invited to partake of the remains of the
repast, from which the party had just risen. Throwing aside a rough
greatcoat, he very composedly took the offered chair, and
unceremoniously proceeded to allay the cravings of an appetite which
appeared by no means delicate. But at every mouthful he would turn an
unquiet eye on Harper, who studied his appearance with a closeness of
investigation that was very embarrassing to its subject. At length,
pouring out a glass of wine, the newcomer nodded significantly to his
examiner, previously to swallowing the liquor, and said, with something
of bitterness in his manner,--

"I drink to our better acquaintance, sir; I believe this is the first
time we have met, though your attention would seem to say otherwise."

The quality of the wine seemed greatly to his fancy, for, on replacing
the glass upon the table, he gave his lips a smack, that resounded
through the room; and, taking up the bottle, he held it between himself
and the light, for a moment, in silent contemplation of its clear and
brilliant color.

"I think we have never met before, sir," replied Harper with a slight
smile on his features, as he observed the move ments of the other; but
appearing satisfied with his scrutiny, he turned to Sarah Wharton, who
sat next him, and carelessly remarked,--

"You doubtless find your present abode solitary, after being accustomed
to the gayeties of the city."

"Oh! excessively so," said Sarah hastily. "I do wish, with my father,
that this cruel war was at an end, that we might return to our friends
once more."

"And you, Miss Frances, do you long as ardently for peace as your
sister?"

"On many accounts I certainly do," returned the other, venturing to
steal a timid glance at her interrogator; and, meeting the same
benevolent expression of feeling as before, she continued, as her own
face lighted into one of its animated and bright smiles of intelligence,
"but not at the expense of the rights of my countrymen."

"Rights!" repeated her sister, impatiently; "whose rights can be
stronger than those of a sovereign: and what duty is clearer, than to
obey those who have a natural right to command?"

"None, certainly," said Frances, laughing with great pleasantry; and,
taking the hand of her sister affectionately within both of her own, she
added, with a smile directed towards Harper,--

"I gave you to understand that my sister and myself differed in our
political opinions; but we have an impartial umpire in my father, who
loves his own countrymen, and he loves the British,--so he takes sides
with neither."

"Yes," said Mr. Wharton, in a little alarm, eying first one guest, and
then the other; "I have near friends in both armies, and I dread a
victory by either, as a source of certain private misfortune."

"I take it, you have little reason to apprehend much from the Yankees,
in that way," interrupted the guest at the table, coolly helping himself
to another glass, from the bottle he had admired.

"His majesty may have more experienced troops than the continentals,"
answered the host fearfully, "but the Americans have met with
distinguished success."

Harper disregarded the observations of both; and, rising, he desired to
be shown to his place of rest. A small boy was directed to guide him to
his room; and wishing a courteous good-night to the whole party, the
traveler withdrew. The knife and fork fell from the hands of the
unwelcome intruder, as the door closed on the retiring figure of Harper;
he arose slowly from his seat; listening attentively, he approached the
door of the room--opened it--seemed to attend to the retreating
footsteps of the other--and, amidst the panic and astonishment of his
companions, he closed it again. In an instant, the red wig which
concealed his black locks, the large patch which hid half his face from
observation, the stoop that had made him appear fifty years of age,
disappeared.

"My father!-my dear father!"--cried the handsome young man; "and you, my
dearest sisters and aunt!--have I at last met you again?"

"Heaven bless you, my Henry, my son!" exclaimed the astonished but
delighted parent; while his sisters sank on his shoulders, dissolved
in tears.

The faithful old black, who had been reared from infancy in the house of
his master, and who, as if in mockery of his degraded state, had been
complimented with the name of Caesar, was the only other witness of this
unexpected discovery of the son of Mr. Wharton. After receiving the
extended hand of his young master, and imprinting on it a fervent kiss,
Caesar withdrew. The boy did not reenter the room; and the black
himself, after some time, returned, just as the young British captain
was exclaiming,--

"But who is this Mr. Harper?--is he likely to betray me?"

"No, no, no, Massa Harry," cried the negro, shaking his gray head
confidently; "I been to see--Massa Harper on he knee--pray to God--no
gemman who pray to God tell of good son, come to see old fader--Skinner
do that--no Christian!"

This poor opinion of the Skinners was not confined to Mr. Caesar
Thompson, as he called himself--but Caesar Wharton, as he was styled by
the little world to which he was known. The convenience, and perhaps the
necessities, of the leaders of the American arms, in the neighborhood of
New York, had induced them to employ certain subordinate agents, of
extremely irregular habits, in executing their lesser plans of annoying
the enemy. It was not a moment for fastidious inquiries into abuses of
any description, and oppression and injustice were the natural
consequences of the possession of a military power that was uncurbed by
the restraints of civil authority. In time, a distinct order of the
community was formed, whose sole occupation appears to have been that of
relieving their fellow citizens from any little excess of temporal
prosperity they might be thought to enjoy, under the pretense of
patriotism and the love of liberty.

Occasionally, the aid of military authority was not wanting, in
enforcing these arbitrary distributions of worldly goods; and a petty
holder of a commission in the state militia was to be seen giving the
sanction of something like legality to acts of the most unlicensed
robbery, and, not infrequently, of bloodshed.

On the part of the British, the stimulus of loyalty was by no means
suffered to sleep, where so fruitful a field offered on which it might
be expended. But their freebooters were enrolled, and their efforts more
systematized. Long experience had taught their leaders the efficacy of
concentrated force; and, unless tradition does great injustice to their
exploits, the result did no little credit to their foresight. The
corps--we presume, from their known affection to that useful animal--had
received the quaint appellation of "Cowboys."

Caesar was, however, far too loyal to associate men who held the
commission of George III, with the irregular warriors, whose excesses
he had so often witnessed, and from whose rapacity, neither his poverty
nor his bondage had suffered even him to escape uninjured. The Cowboys,
therefore, did not receive their proper portion of the black's censure,
when he said, no Christian, nothing but a "Skinner," could betray a
pious child, while honoring his father with a visit so full of peril.




CHAPTER II


     And many a halcyon day he lived to see
     Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire,
     When fate had reft his mutual heart--but she
     Was gone-and Gertrude climbed a widowed father's knee.
                                     --Gertrude of Wyoming.

The father of Mr. Wharton was a native of England, and of a family whose
parliamentary interest had enabled them to provide for a younger son in
the colony of New York. The young man, like hundreds of others in this
situation, had settled permanently in the country. He married; and the
sole issue of his connection had been sent early in life to receive the
benefits of the English schools. After taking his degrees at one of the
universities of the mother country, the youth had been suffered to
acquire a knowledge of life with the advantages of European society. But
the death of his father recalled him, after passing two years in this
manner, to the possession of an honorable name, and a very ample estate.

It was much the fashion of that day to place the youth of certain
families in the army and navy of England, as the regular stepping-stones
to preferment. Most of the higher offices in the colonies were filled by
men who had made arms their profession; and it was even no uncommon
sight to see a veteran warrior laying aside the sword to assume the
ermine on the benches of the highest judicial authority.

In conformity with this system, the senior Mr. Wharton had intended his
son for a soldier; but a natural imbecility of character in his child
interfered with his wishes.

A twelvemonth had been spent by the young man in weighing the
comparative advantages of the different classes of troops, when the
death of his father occurred. The ease of his situation, and the
attentions lavished upon a youth in the actual enjoyment of one of the
largest estates in the colonies, interfered greatly with his ambitious
projects. Love decided the matter; and Mr. Wharton, in becoming a
husband, ceased to think of becoming a soldier. For many years he
continued happy in his family, and sufficiently respected by his
countrymen, as a man of integrity and consequence, when all his
enjoyments vanished, as it were, at a blow. His only son, the youth
introduced in the preceding chapter, had entered the army, and had
arrived in his native country, but a short time before the commencement
of hostilities, with the reinforcements the ministry had thought it
prudent to throw into the disaffected parts of North America. His
daughters were just growing into life, and their education required all
the advantages the city could afford. His wife had been for some years
in declining health, and had barely time to fold her son to her bosom,
and rejoice in the reunion of her family, before the Revolution burst
forth, in a continued blaze, from Georgia to Massachusetts. The shock
was too much for the feeble condition of the mother, who saw her child
called to the field to combat against the members of her own family in
the South, and she sank under the blow.

There was no part of the continent where the manners of England and its
aristocratical notions of blood and alliances, prevailed with more force
than in a certain circle immediately around the metropolis of New York.
The customs of the early Dutch inhabitants had, indeed, blended in some
measures, with the English manners; but still the latter prevailed. This
attachment to Great Britain was increased by the frequent
intermarriages of the officers of the mother country with the wealthier
and most powerful families of the vicinity, until, at the commencement
of hostilities, their united influence had very nearly thrown the colony
into the scale on the side of the crown. A few, however, of the leading
families espoused the cause of the people; and a sufficient stand was
made against the efforts of the ministerial party, to organize, and,
aided by the army of the confederation, to maintain an independent
republican form of government.

The city of New York and the adjacent territory were alone exempted from
the rule of the new commonwealth; while the royal authority extended no
further than its dignity could be supported by the presence of an army.
In this condition of things, the loyalists of influence adopted such
measures as best accorded with their different characters and
situations. Many bore arms in support of the crown, and, by their
bravery and exertions, endeavored to secure what they deemed to be the
rights of their prince, and their own estates from the effects of the
law of attainder. Others left the country; seeking in that place they
emphatically called home, an asylum, as they fondly hoped, for a season
only, against the confusion and dangers of war. A third, and a more wary
portion, remained in the place of their nativity, with a prudent regard
to their ample possessions, and, perhaps, influenced by their
attachments to the scenes of their youth. Mr. Wharton was of this
description. After making a provision against future contingencies, by
secretly transmitting the whole of his money to the British funds, this
gentleman determined to continue in the theater of strife, and to
maintain so strict a neutrality as to insure the safety of his large
estate, whichever party succeeded. He was apparently engrossed in the
education of his daughters, when a relation, high in office in the new
state, intimated that a residence in what was now a British camp
differed but little, in the eyes of his countrymen, from a residence in
the British capital. Mr. Wharton soon saw this was an unpardonable
offense in the existing state of things, and he instantly determined to
remove the difficulty, by retiring to the country. He possessed a
residence in the county of Westchester; and having been for many years
in the habit of withdrawing thither during the heats of the summer
months, it was kept furnished and ready for his accommodation. His
eldest daughter was already admitted into the society of women; but
Frances, the younger, required a year or two more of the usual
cultivation, to appear with proper _eclat_; at least so thought Miss
Jeanette Peyton; and as this lady, a younger sister of their deceased
mother, had left her paternal home, in the colony of Virginia, with the
devotedness and affection peculiar to her sex, to superintend the
welfare of her orphan nieces, Mr. Wharton felt that her opinions were
entitled to respect. In conformity to her advice, therefore, the
feelings of the parent were made to yield to the welfare of
his children.

Mr. Wharton withdrew to the Locusts, with a heart rent with the pain of
separating from all that was left him of a wife he had adored, but in
obedience to a constitutional prudence that pleaded loudly in behalf of
his worldly goods. His handsome town residence was inhabited, in the
meanwhile, by his daughters and their aunt. The regiment to which
Captain Wharton belonged formed part of the permanent garrison of the
city; and the knowledge of the presence of his son was no little relief
to the father, in his unceasing meditations on his absent daughters. But
Captain Wharton was a young man and a soldier; his estimate of character
was not always the wisest; and his propensities led him to imagine that
a red coat never concealed a dishonorable heart.

The house of Mr. Wharton became a fashionable lounge to the officers of
the royal army, as did that of every other family that was thought
worthy of their notice. The consequences of this association were, to
some few of the visited, fortunate; to more, injurious, by exciting
expectations which were never to be realized, and, unhappily, to no
small number ruinous. The known wealth of the father and, possibly, the
presence of a high-spirited brother, forbade any apprehension of the
latter danger to the young ladies: but it was impossible that all the
admiration bestowed on the fine figure and lovely face of Sarah Wharton
should be thrown away. Her person was formed with the early maturity of
the climate, and a strict cultivation of the graces had made her
decidedly the belle of the city. No one promised to dispute with her
this female sovereignty, unless it might be her younger sister. Frances,
however, wanted some months to the charmed age of sixteen; and the idea
of competition was far from the minds of either of the affectionate
girls. Indeed, next to the conversation of Colonel Wellmere, the
greatest pleasure of Sarah was in contemplating the budding beauties of
the little Hebe, who played around her with all the innocency of youth,
with all the enthusiasm of her ardent temper, and with no little of the
archness of her native humor. Whether or not it was owing to the fact
that Frances received none of the compliments which fell to the lot of
her elder sister, in the often repeated discussions on the merits of the
war, between the military beaux who frequented the house, it is certain
their effects on the sisters were exactly opposite. It was much the
fashion then for the British officers to speak slightingly of their
enemies; and Sarah took all the idle vaporing of her danglers to be
truths. The first political opinions which reached the ears of Frances
were coupled with sneers on the conduct of her countrymen. At first she
believed them; but there was occasionally a general, who was obliged to
do justice to his enemy in order to obtain justice for himself; and
Frances became somewhat skeptical on the subject of the inefficiency of
her countrymen. Colonel Wellmere was among those who delighted most in
expending his wit on the unfortunate Americans; and, in time, Frances
began to listen to his eloquence with great suspicion, and sometimes
with resentment.

It was on a hot, sultry day that the three were in the parlor of Mr.
Wharton's house, the colonel and Sarah seated on a sofa, engaged in a
combat of the eyes, aided by the usual flow of small talk, and Frances
was occupied at her tambouring frame in an opposite corner of the room,
when the gentleman suddenly exclaimed,--

"How gay the arrival of the army under General Burgoyne will make the
city, Miss Wharton!"

"Oh! how pleasant it must be," said the thoughtless Sarah, in reply; "I
am told there are many charming women with that army; as you say, it
will make us all life and gayety."

Frances shook back the abundance of her golden hair, and raised her
eyes, dancing with the ardor of national feeling; then laughing, with a
concealed humor, she asked,--

"Is it so certain that General Burgoyne will be permitted to reach the
city?"

"Permitted!" echoed the colonel. "Who is there to prevent it, my pretty
Miss Fanny?"

Frances was precisely at that age when young people are most jealous of
their station in society; neither quite a woman, nor yet a child. The
"pretty Miss Fanny" was too familiar to be relished, and she dropped her
eyes on her work again with cheeks that glowed like crimson.

"General Stark took the Germans into custody," she answered, compressing
her lip; "may not General Gates think the British too dangerous to go
at large?"

"Oh! they were Germans, as you say," cried the colonel, excessively
vexed at the necessity of explaining at all; "mere mercenary troops; but
when the really British regiments come in question, you will see a very
different result."

"Of that there is no doubt," cried Sarah, without in the least partaking
of the resentment of the colonel to her sister, but hailing already in
her heart the triumph of the British.

"Pray, Colonel Wellmere," said Frances, recovering her good humor, and
raising her joyous eyes once more to the face of the gentleman, "was
the Lord Percy of Lexington a kinsman of him who fought at Chevy Chase?"

"Why, Miss Fanny, you are becoming a rebel," said the colonel,
endeavoring to laugh away the anger he felt; "what you are pleased to
insinuate was a chase at Lexington, was nothing more than a judicious
retreat--a--kind of--"

"Running fight," interrupted the good-humored girl, laying a great
emphasis on the first word.

"Positively, young lady"--Colonel Wellmere was interrupted by a laugh
from a person who had hitherto been unnoticed.

There was a small family apartment adjoining the room occupied by the
trio, and the air had blown open the door communicating between the two.
A fine young man was now seen sitting near the entrance, who, by his
smiling countenance, was evidently a pleased listener to the
conversation. He rose instantly, and coming through the door, with his
hat in his hand, appeared a tall, graceful youth, of dark complexion,
and sparkling eyes of black, from which the mirth had not entirely
vanished, as he made his bow to the ladies.

"Mr. Dunwoodie!" cried Sarah, in surprise; "I was ignorant of your being
in the house; you will find a cooler seat in this room."

"I thank you," replied the young man, "but I must go and seek your
brother, who placed me there in ambuscade, as he called it, with a
promise of returning an hour ago." Without making any further
explanation, the youth bowed politely to the young women, distantly and
with hauteur to the gentleman, and withdrew. Frances followed him into
the hall, and blushing richly, inquired, in a hurried voice,--

"But why--why do you leave us, Mr. Dunwoodie? Henry must soon return."

The gentleman caught one of her hands in his own, and the stern
expression of his countenance gave place to a look of admiration as he
replied,--

"You managed him famously, my dear little kinswoman; never--no, never,
forget the land of your birth; remember, if you are the granddaughter of
an Englishman, you are, also, the granddaughter of a Peyton."

"Oh!" returned the laughing girl, "it would be difficult to forget that,
with the constant lectures on genealogy before us, with which we are
favored by Aunt Jeanette; but why do you go?"

"I am on the wing for Virginia, and have much to do." He pressed her
hand as he spoke, and looking back, while in the act of closing the
door, exclaimed, "Be true to your country--be American." The ardent girl
kissed her hand to him as he retired, and then instantly applying it
with its beautiful fellow to her burning cheeks, ran into her own
apartment to hide her confusion.

Between the open sarcasm of Frances, and the ill-concealed disdain of
the young man, Colonel Wellmere had felt himself placed in an awkward
predicament; but ashamed to resent such trifles in the presence of his
mistress, he satisfied himself with observing, superciliously, as
Dunwoodie left the room,--

"Quite a liberty for a youth in his situation; a shop boy with a bundle,
I fancy."

The idea of picturing the graceful Peyton Dunwoodie as a shop boy could
never enter the mind of Sarah, and she looked around her in surprise,
when the colonel continued,--

"This Mr. Dun--Dun--"

"Dunwoodie! Oh, no--he is a relation of my aunt," cried the young lady,
"and an intimate friend of my brother; they were at school together, and
only separated in England, when one went into the army, and the other to
a French military academy."

"His money appears to have been thrown away," observed the colonel,
betraying the spleen he was unsuccessfully striving to conceal.

"We ought to hope so," added Sarah, with a smile, "for it is said he
intends joining the rebel army. He was brought in here in a French ship,
and has just been exchanged; you may soon meet him in arms."

"Well, let him--I wish Washington plenty of such heroes;" and he turned
to a more pleasant subject, by changing the discourse to themselves.

A few weeks after this scene occurred, the army of Burgoyne laid down
their arms. Mr. Wharton, beginning to think the result of the contest
doubtful, resolved to conciliate his countrymen, and gratify himself, by
calling his daughters into his own abode. Miss Peyton consented to be
their companion; and from that time, until the period at which we
commenced our narrative, they had formed one family.

Whenever the main army made any movements, Captain Wharton had, of
course, accompanied it; and once or twice, under the protection of
strong parties, acting in the neighborhood of the Locusts, he had
enjoyed rapid and stolen interviews with his friends. A twelvemonth had,
however, passed without his seeing them, and the impatient Henry had
adopted the disguise we have mentioned, and unfortunately arrived on the
very evening that an unknown and rather suspicious guest was an inmate
of the house, which seldom contained any other than its regular
inhabitants.

"But do you think he suspects me?" asked the captain, with anxiety,
after pausing to listen to Caesar's opinion of the Skinners.

"How should he?" cried Sarah, "when your sisters and father could not
penetrate your disguise."

"There is something mysterious in his manner; his looks are too prying
for an indifferent observer," continued young Wharton thoughtfully, "and
his face seems familiar to me. The recent fate of Andre has created much
irritation on both sides. Sir Henry threatens retaliation for his death;
and Washington is as firm as if half the world were at his command. The
rebels would think me a fit subject for their plans just now, should I
be so unlucky as to fall into their hands."

"But my son," cried his father, in great alarm, "you are not a spy; you
are not within the rebel--that is, the American lines; there is nothing
here to spy."

"That might be disputed," rejoined the young man, musing. "Their pickets
were as low as the White Plains when I passed through in disguise. It is
true my purposes are innocent; but how is it to appear? My visit to you
would seem a cloak to other designs. Remember, sir, the treatment you
received not a year since, for sending me a supply of fruit for
the winter."

"That proceeded from the misrepresentations of my kind neighbors," said
Mr. Wharton, "who hoped, by getting my estate confiscated, to purchase
good farms at low prices. Peyton Dunwoodie, however, soon obtained our
discharge; we were detained but a month."

"We!" repeated the son, in amazement; "did they take my sisters, also?
Fanny, you wrote me nothing of this."

"I believe," said Frances, coloring highly, "I mentioned the kind
treatment we received from your old friend, Major Dunwoodie; and that he
procured my father's release."

"True; but were you with him in the rebel camp?"

"Yes," said the father, kindly; "Fanny would not suffer me to go alone.
Jeanette and Sarah took charge of the Locusts, and this little girl was
my companion, in captivity."

"And Fanny returned from such a scene a greater rebel than ever," cried
Sarah, indignantly; "one would think the hardships her father suffered
would have cured her of such whims."

"What say you to the charge, my pretty sister?" cried the captain gayly;
"did Peyton strive to make you hate your king, more than he
does himself?"

"Peyton Dunwoodie hates no one," said Frances, quickly; then, blushing
at her own ardor, she added immediately, "he loves you, Henry, I know;
for he has told me so again and again."

Young Wharton tapped his sister on the cheek, with a smile, as he asked
her, in an affected whisper, "Did he tell you also that he loved my
little sister Fanny?"

"Nonsense!" said Frances; and the remnants of the supper-table soon
disappeared under her superintendence.




CHAPTER III


     'Twas when the fields were swept of Autumn's store,
     And growing winds the fading foliage tore
     Behind the Lowmon hill, the short-lived light,
     Descending slowly, ushered in the night;
     When from the noisy town, with mournful look,
     His lonely way the meager peddler took.
                                               --WILSON.

A storm below the highlands of the Hudson, if it be introduced with an
easterly wind, seldom lasts less than two days. Accordingly, as the
inmates of the Locusts assembled, on the following morning, around their
early breakfast, the driving rain was seen to strike in nearly
horizontal lines against the windows of the building, and forbade the
idea of exposing either man or beast to the tempest. Harper was the last
to appear; after taking a view of the state of the weather, he
apologized to Mr. Wharton for the necessity that existed for his
trespassing on his goodness for a longer time. To appearances, the reply
was as courteous as the excuse; yet Harper wore a resignation in his
deportment that was widely different from the uneasy manner of the
father. Henry Wharton had resumed his disguise with a reluctance
amounting to disgust, but in obedience to the commands of his parent. No
communications passed between him and the stranger, after the first
salutations of the morning had been paid by Harper to him, in common
with the rest of the family. Frances had, indeed, thought there was
something like a smile passing over the features of the traveler, when,
on entering the room, he first confronted her brother; but it was
confined to the eyes, seeming to want power to affect the muscles of the
face, and was soon lost in the settled and benevolent expression which
reigned in his countenance, with a sway but seldom interrupted. The eyes
of the affectionate sister were turned in anxiety, for a moment, on her
brother, and glancing again on their unknown guest, met his look, as he
offered her, with marked attention, one of the little civilities of the
table; and the heart of the girl, which had begun to throb with
violence, regained a pulsation as tempered as youth, health, and buoyant
spirits could allow. While yet seated at the table, Caesar entered, and
laying a small parcel in silence by the side of his master, modestly
retired behind his chair, where, placing one hand on its back, he
continued in an attitude half familiar, half respectful, a listener.

"What is this, Caesar?" inquired Mr. Wharton, turning the bundle over to
examine its envelope, and eying it rather suspiciously.

"The 'baccy, sir; Harvey Birch, he got home, and he bring you a little
good 'baccy from York."

"Harvey Birch!" rejoined the master with great deliberation, stealing a
look at his guest. "I do not remember desiring him to purchase any
tobacco for me; but as he has brought it, he must be paid for
his trouble."

For an instant only, as the negro spoke, did Harper suspend his silent
meal; his eye moved slowly from the servant to the master, and again all
remained in impenetrable reserve.

To Sarah Wharton, this intelligence gave unexpected pleasure; rising
from her seat with impatience, she bade the black show Birch into the
apartment; when, suddenly recollecting herself, she turned to the
traveler with an apologizing look, and added, "If Mr. Harper will excuse
the presence of a peddler."

The indulgent benevolence expressed in the countenance of the stranger,
as he bowed a silent acquiescence, spoke more eloquently than the nicest
framed period, and the young lady repeated her order, with a confidence
in its truth that removed all embarrassment.

In the deep recesses of the windows of the cottage were seats of paneled
work; and the rich damask curtains, that had ornamented the parlor in
Queen Street, [Footnote: The Americans changed the names of many towns
and streets at the Revolution, as has since been done in France. Thus,
in the city of New York, Crown Street has become Liberty Street; King
Street, Pine Street; and Queen Street, then one of the most fashionable
quarters of the town, Pearl Street. Pearl Street is now chiefly occupied
by the auction dealers, and the wholesale drygoods merchants, for
warehouses and counting-rooms.] had been transferred to the Locusts, and
gave to the room that indescribable air of comfort, which so gratefully
announces the approach of a domestic winter. Into one of these recesses
Captain Wharton now threw himself, drawing the curtain before him in
such a manner as to conceal most of his person from observation; while
his younger sister, losing her natural frankness of manner, in an air of
artificial constraint, silently took possession of the other.

Harvey Birch had been a peddler from his youth; at least so he
frequently asserted, and his skill in the occupation went far to prove
the truth of the declaration. He was a native of one of the eastern
colonies; and, from something of superior intelligence which belonged to
his father, it was thought they had known better fortune in the land of
their nativity. Harvey possessed, however, the common manners of the
country, and was in no way distinguished from men of his class, but by
his acuteness, and the mystery which enveloped his movements. Ten years
before, they had arrived together in the vale, and, purchasing the
humble dwelling at which Harper had made his unsuccessful application,
continued ever since peaceful inhabitants, but little noticed and but
little known. Until age and infirmities had prevented, the father
devoted himself to the cultivation of the small spot of ground
belonging to his purchase, while the son pursued with avidity his humble
barter. Their orderly quietude had soon given them so much consideration
in the neighborhood, as to induce a maiden of five-and-thirty to forget
the punctilio of her sex, and to accept the office of presiding over
their domestic comforts. The roses had long before vanished from the
cheeks of Katy Haynes, and she had seen in succession, both her male and
female acquaintances forming the union so desirable to her sex, with but
little or no hope left for herself, when, with views of her own, she
entered the family of the Birches. Necessity is a hard master, and, for
the want of a better companion, the father and son were induced to
accept her services; but still Katy was not wanting in some qualities
which made her a very tolerable housekeeper. On the one hand, she was
neat, industrious, honest, and a good manager. On the other, she was
talkative, selfish, superstitious, and inquisitive. By dint of using the
latter quality with consummate industry, she had not lived in the family
five years when she triumphantly declared that she had heard, or rather
overheard, sufficient to enable her to say what had been the former fate
of her associates. Could Katy have possessed enough of divination to
pronounce upon their future lot, her task would have been accomplished.
From the private conversations of the parent and child, she learned that
a fire had reduced them from competence to poverty, and at the same time
diminished the number of their family to two. There was a tremulousness
in the voice of the father, as he touched lightly on the event, which
affected even the heart of Katy; but no barrier is sufficient to repel
vulgar curiosity. She persevered, until a very direct intimation from
Harvey, by threatening to supply her place with a female a few years
younger than herself, gave her awful warning that there were bounds
beyond which she was not to pass. From that period the curiosity of the
housekeeper had been held in such salutary restraint, that, although no
opportunity of listening was ever neglected, she had been able to add
but little to her stock of knowledge. There was, however, one piece of
intelligence, and that of no little interest to herself, which she had
succeeded in obtaining; and from the moment of its acquisition, she
directed her energies to the accomplishment of one object, aided by the
double stimulus of love and avarice.

Harvey was in the frequent habit of paying mysterious visits in the
depth of the night, to the fireplace of the apartment that served for
both kitchen and parlor. Here he was observed by Katy; and availing
herself of his absence and the occupations of the father, by removing
one of the hearthstones, she discovered an iron pot, glittering with a
metal that seldom fails to soften the hardest heart. Katy succeeded in
replacing the stone without discovery, and never dared to trust herself
with another visit. From that moment, however, the heart of the virgin
lost its obduracy, and nothing interposed between Harvey and his
happiness, but his own want of observation.

The war did not interfere with the traffic of the peddler, who seized on
the golden opportunity which the interruption of the regular trade
afforded, and appeared absorbed in the one grand object of amassing
money. For a year or two his employment was uninterrupted, and his
success proportionate; but, at length, dark and threatening hints began
to throw suspicion around his movements, and the civil authority thought
it incumbent on them to examine narrowly into his mode of life. His
imprisonments, though frequent, were not long; and his escapes from the
guardians of the law easy, compared to what he endured from the
persecution of the military. Still Birch survived, and still he
continued his trade, though compelled to be very guarded in his
movements, especially whenever he approached the northern boundaries of
the county; or in other words, the neighborhood of the American lines.
His visits to the Locusts had become less frequent, and his appearance
at his own abode so seldom, as to draw forth from the disappointed Katy,
in the fullness of her heart, the complaint we have related, in her
reply to Harper. Nothing, however, seemed to interfere with the pursuits
of this indefatigable trader, who, with a view to dispose of certain
articles for which he could only find purchasers in the very wealthiest
families of the county, had now braved the fury of the tempest, and
ventured to cross the half mile between his own residence and the house
of Mr. Wharton.

In a few minutes after receiving the commands of his young mistress,
Caesar reappeared, ushering into the apartment the subject of the
foregoing digression. In person, the peddler was a man above the middle
height, spare, but full of bone and muscle. At first sight, his strength
seemed unequal to manage the unwieldy burden of his pack; yet he threw
it on and off with great dexterity, and with as much apparent ease as if
it had been filled with feathers. His eyes were gray, sunken, restless,
and, for the flitting moments that they dwelt on the countenance of
those with whom he conversed, they seemed to read the very soul. They
possessed, however, two distinct expressions, which, in a great measure,
characterized the whole man. When engaged in traffic, the intelligence
of his face appeared lively, active, and flexible, though uncommonly
acute; if the conversation turned on the ordinary transactions of life,
his air became abstracted and restless; but if, by chance, the
Revolution and the country were the topic, his whole system seemed
altered--all his faculties were concentrated: he would listen for a
great length of time, without speaking, and then would break silence by
some light and jocular remark, that was too much at variance with his
former manner, not to be affectation. But of the war, and of his father,
he seldom spoke and always from some very obvious necessity.

To a superficial observer, avarice would seem his ruling passion--and,
all things considered, he was as unfit a subject for the plans of Katy
Haynes as can be readily imagined. On entering the room, the peddler
relieved himself from his burden, which, as it stood on the floor,
reached nearly to his shoulders, and saluted the family with modest
civility. To Harper he made a silent bow, without lifting his eyes from
the carpet; but the curtain prevented any notice of the presence of
Captain Wharton. Sarah gave but little time for the usual salutations,
before she commenced her survey of the contents of the pack; and, for
several minutes, the two were engaged in bringing to light the various
articles it contained. The tables, chairs, and floor were soon covered
with silks, crapes, gloves, muslins, and all the stock of an itinerant
trader. Caesar was employed to hold open the mouth of the pack, as its
hoards were discharged, and occasionally he aided his young lady, by
directing her admiration to some article of finery, which, from its
deeper contrast in colors, he thought more worthy of her notice. At
length, Sarah, having selected several articles, and satisfactorily
arranged the prices, observed in a cheerful voice,--

"But, Harvey, you have told us no news. Has Lord Cornwallis beaten the
rebels again?"

The question could not have been heard; for the peddler, burying his
body in the pack, brought forth a quantity of lace of exquisite
fineness, and, holding it up to view, he required the admiration of the
young lady. Miss Peyton dropped the cup she was engaged in washing, from
her hand; and Frances exhibited the whole of that lovely face, which had
hitherto only suffered one of its joyous eyes to be seen, beaming with a
color that shamed the damask which enviously concealed her figure.

The aunt quitted her employment; and Birch soon disposed of a large
portion of his valuable article. The praises of the ladies had drawn the
whole person of the younger sister into view; and Frances was slowly
rising from the window, as Sarah repeated her question, with an
exultation in her voice, that proceeded more from pleasure in her
purchase, than her political feelings. The younger sister resumed her
seat, apparently examining the state of the clouds, while the peddler,
finding a reply was expected, answered,--

"There is some talk, below, about Tarleton having defeated General
Sumter, on the Tiger River."

Captain Wharton now involuntarily thrust his head between the opening of
the curtains into the room; and Frances, turning her ear in breathless
silence, noticed the quiet eyes of Harper looking at the peddler, over
the book he was affecting to read, with an expression that denoted him
to be a listener of no ordinary interest.

"Indeed!" cried the exulting Sarah; "Sumter--Sumter--who is he? I'll
not buy even a pin, until you tell me all the news," she continued,
laughing and throwing down a muslin she had been examining.

For a moment the peddler hesitated; his eye glanced towards Harper, who
was yet gazing at him with settled meaning, and the whole manner of
Birch was altered. Approaching the fire, he took from his mouth a large
allowance of the Virginian weed, and depositing it, with the
superabundance of its juices, without mercy to Miss Peyton's shining
andirons, he returned to his goods.

"He lives somewhere among the niggers to the south," answered the
peddler, abruptly.

"No more nigger than be yourself, Mister Birch," interrupted Caesar
tartly, dropping at the same time the covering of the goods in high
displeasure.

"Hush, Caesar--hush; never mind it now," said Sarah Wharton soothingly,
impatient to hear further.

"A black man so good as white, Miss Sally," continued the offended
negro, "so long as he behave heself."

"And frequently he is much better," rejoined his mistress. "But, Harvey,
who is this Mr. Sumter?"

A slight indication of humor showed itself on the face of the peddler,
but it disappeared, and he continued as if the discourse had met with no
interruption from the sensitiveness of the domestic.

"As I was saying, he lives among the colored people in the
south"--Caesar resumed his occupation--"and he has lately had a
scrimmage with this Colonel Tarleton--"

"Who defeated him, of course?" cried Sarah, with confidence.

"So say the troops at Morrisania."

"But what do you say?" Mr. Wharton ventured to inquire, yet speaking in
a low tone.

"I repeat but what I hear," said Birch, offering a piece of cloth to the
inspection of Sarah, who rejected it in silence, evidently determined to
hear more before she made another purchase.

"They say, however, at the Plains," the peddler continued, first
throwing his eyes again around the room, and letting them rest for an
instant on Harper, "that Sumter and one or two more were all that were
hurt, and that the rig'lars were all cut to pieces, for the militia were
fixed snugly in a log barn."

"Not very probable," said Sarah, contemptuously, "though I make no doubt
the rebels got behind the logs."

"I think," said the peddler coolly, again offering the silk, "it's quite
ingenious to get a log between one and a gun, instead of getting between
a gun and a log."

The eyes of Harper dropped quietly on the pages of the volume in his
hand, while Frances, rising, came forward with a smile in her face, as
she inquired, in a tone of affability that the peddler had never
witnessed from her,--

"Have you more of the lace, Mr. Birch?"

The desired article was immediately produced, and Frances became a
purchaser also. By her order a glass of liquor was offered to the
trader, who took it with thanks, and having paid his compliments to the
master of the house and the ladies, drank the beverage.

"So, it is thought that Colonel Tarleton has worsted General Sumter?"
said Mr. Wharton, affecting to be employed in mending the cup that was
broken by the eagerness of his sister-in-law.

"I believe they think so at Morrisania," said Birch, dryly.

"Have you any other news, friend?" asked Captain Wharton, venturing to
thrust his face without the curtains.

"Have you heard that Major Andre has been hanged?"

Captain Wharton started, and for a moment glances of great significance
were exchanged between him and the trader, when he observed, with
affected indifference, "That must have been some weeks ago."

"Does his execution make much noise?" asked the father, striving to make
the broken china unite.

"People will talk, you know, 'squire."

"Is there any probability of movements below, my friend, that will make
traveling dangerous?" asked Harper, looking steadily at the other, in
expectation of his reply.

Some bunches of ribbons fell from the hands of Birch; his countenance
changed instantly, losing its keen expression in intent meaning, as he
answered slowly, "It is some time since the rig'lar cavalry were out,
and I saw some of De Lancey's men cleaning their arms, as I passed their
quarters; it would be no wonder if they took the scent soon, for the
Virginia horse are low in the county."

"Are they in much force?" asked Mr. Wharton, suspending all employment
in anxiety.

"I did not count them."

Frances was the only observer of the change in the manner of Birch, and,
on turning to Harper, he had resumed his book in silence. She took some
of the ribbons in her hand--laid them down again--and, bending over the
goods, so that her hair, falling in rich curls, shaded her face, she
observed, blushing with a color that suffused her neck,--

"I thought the Southern horse had marched towards the Delaware."

"It may be so," said Birch; "I passed the troops at a distance."

Caesar had now selected a piece of calico, in which the gaudy colors of
yellow and red were contrasted on a white ground, and, after admiring it
for several minutes, he laid it down with a sigh, as he exclaimed,
"Berry pretty calico."

"That," said Sarah; "yes, that would make a proper gown for your wife,
Caesar."

"Yes, Miss Sally," cried the delighted black, "it make old Dinah heart
leap for joy--so berry genteel."

"Yes," added the peddler, quaintly, "that is only wanting to make Dinah
look like a rainbow."

Caesar eyed his young mistress eagerly, until she inquired of Harvey the
price of the article.

"Why, much as I light of chaps," said the peddler.

"How much?" demanded Sarah in surprise.

"According to my luck in finding purchasers; for my friend Dinah, you
may have it at four shillings."

"It is too much," said Sarah, turning to some goods for herself.

"Monstrous price for coarse calico, Mister Birch," grumbled Caesar,
dropping the opening of the pack again.

"We will say three, then," added the peddler, "if you like that better."

"Be sure he like 'em better," said Caesar, smiling good-humoredly, and
reopening the pack; "Miss Sally like a t'ree shilling when she give, and
a four shilling when she take."

The bargain was immediately concluded; but in measuring, the cloth
wanted a little of the well-known ten yards required by the dimensions
of Dinah. By dint of a strong arm, however, it grew to the desired
length, under the experienced eye of the peddler, who conscientiously
added a ribbon of corresponding brilliancy with the calico; and Caesar
hastily withdrew, to communicate the joyful intelligence to his
aged partner.

During the movements created by the conclusion of the purchase, Captain
Wharton had ventured to draw aside the curtain, so as to admit a view of
his person, and he now inquired of the peddler, who had begun to
collect the scattered goods, at what time he had left the city.

"At early twilight," was the answer.

"So lately!" cried the other in surprise: then correcting his manner, by
assuming a more guarded air, he continued, "Could you pass the pickets
at so late an hour?"

"I did," was the laconic reply.

"You must be well known by this time, Harvey, to the officers of the
British army," cried Sarah, smiling knowingly on the peddler.

"I know some of them by sight," said Birch, glancing his eyes round the
apartment, taking in their course Captain Wharton, and resting for an
instant on the countenance of Harper.

Mr. Wharton had listened intently to each speaker, in succession, and
had so far lost the affectation of indifference, as to be crushing in
his hand the pieces of china on which he had expended so much labor in
endeavoring to mend it; when, observing the peddler tying the last knot
in his pack, he asked abruptly,

"Are we about to be disturbed again with the enemy?"

"Who do you call the enemy?" said the peddler, raising himself erect,
and giving the other a look, before which the eyes of Mr. Wharton sank
in instant confusion.

"All are enemies who disturb our peace," said Miss Peyton, observing
that her brother was unable to speak. "But are the royal troops out
from below?"

"'Tis quite likely they soon may be," returned Birch, raising his pack
from the floor, and preparing to leave the room.

"And the continentals," continued Miss Peyton mildly, "are the
continentals in the county?"

Harvey was about to utter something in reply, when the door opened, and
Caesar made his appearance, attended by his delighted spouse.

The race of blacks of which Caesar was a favorable specimen is becoming
very rare. The old family servant who, born and reared in the dwelling
of his master, identified himself with the welfare of those whom it was
his lot to serve, is giving place in every direction to that vagrant
class which has sprung up within the last thirty years, and whose
members roam through the country unfettered by principles, and
uninfluenced by attachments. For it is one of the curses of slavery,
that its victims become incompetent to the attributes of a freeman. The
short curly hair of Caesar had acquired from age a coloring of gray,
that added greatly to the venerable cast of his appearance. Long and
indefatigable applications of the comb had straightened the close curls
of his forehead, until they stood erect in a stiff and formal brush,
that gave at least two inches to his stature. The shining black of his
youth had lost its glistening hue, and it had been succeeded by a dingy
brown. His eyes, which stood at a most formidable distance from each
other, were small, and characterized by an expression of good feeling,
occasionally interrupted by the petulance of an indulged servant; they,
however, now danced with inward delight. His nose possessed, in an
eminent manner, all the requisites for smelling, but with the most
modest unobtrusiveness; the nostrils being abundantly capacious, without
thrusting themselves in the way of their neighbors. His mouth was
capacious to a fault, and was only tolerated on account of the double
row of pearls it contained. In person Caesar was short, and we should
say square, had not all the angles and curves of his figure bid defiance
to anything like mathematical symmetry. His arms were long and muscular,
and terminated by two bony hands, that exhibited on one side a coloring
of blackish gray, and on the other, a faded pink. But it was in his legs
that nature had indulged her most capricious humor. There was an
abundance of material injudiciously used. The calves were neither before
nor behind, but rather on the outer side of the limb, inclining forward,
and so close to the knee as to render the free use of that joint a
subject of doubt. In the foot, considering it as a base on which the
body was to rest, Caesar had no cause of complaint, unless, indeed, it
might be that the leg was placed so near the center, as to make it
sometimes a matter of dispute, whether he was not walking backwards. But
whatever might be the faults a statuary could discover in his person,
the heart of Caesar Thompson was in the right place, and, we doubt not,
of very just dimensions.

Accompanied by his ancient companion, Caesar now advanced, and paid his
tribute of gratitude in words. Sarah received them with great
complacency, and made a few compliments to the taste of the husband, and
the probable appearance of the wife. Frances, with a face beaming with a
look of pleasure that corresponded to the smiling countenances of the
blacks, offered the service of her needle in fitting the admired calico
to its future uses. The offer was humbly and gratefully accepted.

As Caesar followed his wife and the peddler from the apartment, and was
in the act of closing the door, he indulged himself in a grateful
soliloquy, by saying aloud,--

"Good little lady--Miss Fanny--take care of he fader--love to make a
gown for old Dinah, too." What else his feelings might have induced him
to utter is unknown, but the sound of his voice was heard some time
after the distance rendered his words indistinct.

Harper had dropped his book, and he sat an admiring witness of the
scene; and Frances enjoyed a double satisfaction, as she received an
approving smile from a face which concealed, under the traces of deep
thought and engrossing care, the benevolent expression which
characterizes all the best feelings of the human heart.




CHAPTER IV


    "It is the form, the eye, the word,
    The bearing of that stranger lord,
    His stature, manly, bold, and tall,
    Built like a castle's battled wall,
    Yet molded in such just degrees
    His giant strength seems lightsome ease.
    Weather and war their rougher trace
    Have left on that majestic face;
    But 'tis his dignity of eye!
    There, if a suppliant, would I fly,
    Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief,
    Of sympathy, redress, relief--
    That glance, if guilty, would I dread
    More than the doom that spoke me dead."
    "Enough, enough!" the princess cried,
    "'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride!"
                                          --WALTER SCOTT.

The party sat in silence for many minutes after the peddler had
withdrawn. Mr. Wharton had heard enough to increase his uneasiness,
without in the least removing his apprehensions on behalf of his son.
The captain was impatiently wishing Harper in any other place than the
one foe occupied with such apparent composure, while Miss Peyton
completed the disposal of her breakfast equipage, with the mild
complacency of her nature, aided a little by an inward satisfaction at
possessing so large a portion of the trader's lace; Sarah was busily
occupied in arranging her purchases, and Frances was kindly assisting in
the occupation, disregarding her own neglected bargains, when the
stranger suddenly broke the silence by saying,--

"If any apprehensions of me induce Captain Wharton to maintain his
disguise, I wish him to be undeceived; had I motives for betraying him,
they could not operate under present circumstances."

The younger sister sank into her seat colorless and astonished. Miss
Peyton dropped the tea tray she was lifting from the table, and Sarah
sat with her purchases unheeded in her lap, in speechless surprise. Mr.
Wharton was stupefied; but the captain, hesitating a moment from
astonishment, sprang into the middle of the room, and exclaimed, as he
tore off the instruments of his disguise,--

"I believe you from my soul, and this tiresome imposition shall continue
no longer. Yet I am at a loss to conceive in what manner you should
know me."

"You really look so much better in your proper person, Captain Wharton,"
said Harper, with a slight smile, "I would advise you never to conceal
it in future. There is enough to betray you, if other sources of
detection were wanting." As he spoke, he pointed to a picture suspended
over the mantel piece, which exhibited the British officer in his
regimentals.

"I had flattered myself," cried young Wharton, with a laugh, "that I
looked better on the canvas than in a masquerade. You must be a close
observer, sir."

"Necessity has made me one," said Harper, rising from his seat.

Frances met him as he was about to withdraw, and, taking his hand
between both her own, said with earnestness, her cheeks mantling with
their richest vermilion, "You cannot--you will not betray my brother."

For an instant Harper paused in silent admiration of the lovely pleader,
and then, folding her hands on his breast, he replied solemnly, "I
cannot, and I will not." He released her hands, and laying his own on
her head gently, continued, "If the blessing of a stranger can profit
you, receive it." He turned, and, bowing low, retired, with a delicacy
that was duly appreciated by those he quitted, to his own apartment.

The whole party were deeply impressed with the ingenuous and solemn
manner of the traveler, and all but the father found immediate relief in
his declaration. Some of the cast-off clothes of the captain, which had
been removed with the goods from the city, were produced; and young
Wharton, released from the uneasiness of his disguise, began at last to
enjoy a visit which had been undertaken at so much personal risk to
himself. Mr. Wharton retiring to his apartment, in pursuance of his
regular engagements, the ladies, with the young man, were left to an
uninterrupted communication on such subjects as were most agreeable.
Even Miss Peyton was affected with the spirits of her young relatives;
and they sat for an hour enjoying, in heedless confidence, the pleasures
of an unrestrained conversation, without reflecting on any danger which
might be impending over them. The city and their acquaintances were not
long neglected; for Miss Peyton, who had never forgotten the many
agreeable hours of her residence within its boundaries, soon inquired,
among others, after their old acquaintance, Colonel Wellmere.

"Oh!" cried the captain, gayly, "he yet continues there, as handsome and
as gallant as ever."

Although a woman be not actually in love, she seldom hears without a
blush the name of a man whom she might love, and who has been connected
with herself by idle gossips, in the amatory rumor of the day. Such had
been the case with Sarah, and she dropped her eyes on the carpet with a
smile, that, aided by the blush which suffused her cheek, in no degree
detracted from her native charms.

Captain Wharton, without heeding this display of interest in his sister,
immediately continued, "At times he is melancholy--we tell him it must
be love." Sarah raised her eyes to the face of her brother, and was
consciously turning them on the rest of the party, when she met those of
her sister laughing with good humor and high spirits, as she cried,
"Poor man! does he despair?"

"Why, no--one would think he could not; the eldest son of a man of
wealth, so handsome, and a colonel."

"Strong reasons, indeed, why he should prevail," said Sarah, endeavoring
to laugh; "more particularly the latter."

"Let me tell you," replied the captain, gravely, "a lieutenant
colonelcy in the Guards is a very pretty thing."

"And Colonel Wellmere a very pretty man," added Frances.

"Nay, Frances," returned her sister, "Colonel Wellmere was never a
favorite of yours; he is too loyal to his king to be agreeable to
your taste."

Frances quickly answered, "And is not Henry loyal to his king?"

"Come, come," said Miss Peyton, "no difference of opinion about the
colonel--he is a favorite of mine."

"Fanny likes majors better," cried the brother, pulling her upon his
knee.

"Nonsense!" said the blushing girl, as she endeavored to extricate
herself from the grasp of her laughing brother.

"It surprises me," continued the captain, "that Peyton, when he procured
the release of my father, did not endeavor to detain my sister in the
rebel camp."

"That might have endangered his own liberty," said the smiling girl,
resuming her seat. "You know it is liberty for which Major Dunwoodie is
fighting."

"Liberty!" exclaimed Sarah; "very pretty liberty which exchanges one
master for fifty."

"The privilege of changing masters at all is a liberty."

"And one you ladies would sometimes be glad to exercise," cried the
captain.

"We like, I believe, to have the liberty of choosing who they shall be
in the first place," said the laughing girl. "Don't we, Aunt Jeanette?"

"Me!" cried Miss Peyton, starting; "what do I know of such things,
child? You must ask someone else, if you wish to learn such matters."

"Ah! you would have us think you were never young! But what am I to
believe of all the tales I have heard about the handsome Miss
Jeanette Peyton?"

"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense," said the aunt, endeavoring to suppress a
smile; "it is very silly to believe all you hear."

"Nonsense, do you call it?" cried the captain, gayly. "To this hour
General Montrose toasts Miss Peyton; I heard him within the week, at Sir
Henry's table."

"Why, Henry, you are as saucy as your sister; and to break in upon your
folly, I must take you to see my new home-made manufactures, which I
will be bold enough to put in contrast with the finery of Birch."

The young people rose to follow their aunt, in perfect good humor with
each other and the world. On ascending the stairs to the place of
deposit for Miss Peyton's articles of domestic economy, she availed
herself, however, of an opportunity to inquire of her nephew, whether
General Montrose suffered as much from the gout as he had done when
she knew him.

It is a painful discovery we make, as we advance in life, that even
those we most love are not exempt from its frailties. When the heart is
fresh, and the view of the future unsullied by the blemishes which have
been gathered from the experience of the past, our feelings are most
holy: we love to identify with the persons of our natural friends all
those qualities to which we ourselves aspire, and all those virtues we
have been taught to revere. The confidence with which we esteem seems a
part of our nature; and there is a purity thrown around the affections
which tie us to our kindred that after life can seldom hope to see
uninjured. The family of Mr. Wharton continued to enjoy, for the
remainder of the day, a happiness to which they had long been strangers;
and one that sprang, in its younger members, from the delights of the
most confident affection, and the exchange of the most disinterested
endearments.

Harper appeared only at the dinner table, and he retired with the cloth,
under the pretense of some engagement in his own room. Notwithstanding
the confidence created by his manner, the family felt his absence a
relief; for the visit of Captain Wharton was necessarily to be confined
to a very few days, both from the limitation of his leave of absence,
and the danger of a discovery.

All dread of consequences, however, was lost in the pleasure of the
meeting. Once or twice during the day, Mr. Wharton had suggested a doubt
as to the character of his unknown guest, and the possibility of the
detection of his son proceeding in some manner from his information; but
the idea was earnestly opposed by all his children; even Sarah uniting
with her brother and sister in pleading warmly in favor of the sincerity
expressed in the outward appearance of the traveler.

"Such appearances, my children," replied the desponding parent, "are but
too often deceitful; when men like Major Andre lend themselves to the
purposes of fraud, it is idle to reason from qualities, much less
externals."

"Fraud!" cried his son quickly. "Surely, sir, you forget that Major
Andre was serving his king, and that the usages of war justified
the measure."

"And did not the usages of war justify his death, Henry?" inquired
Frances, speaking in a low voice, unwilling to abandon what she thought
the cause of her country, and yet unable to suppress her feelings
for the man.

"Never!" exclaimed the young man, springing from his seat, and pacing
the floor rapidly. "Frances, you shock me; suppose it should be my fate,
even now, to fall into the power of the rebels; you would vindicate my
execution--perhaps exult in the cruelty of Washington."

"Henry!" said Frances, solemnly, quivering with emotion, and with a face
pale as death, "you little know my heart."

"Pardon me, my sister--my little Fanny," cried the repentant youth,
pressing her to his bosom, and kissing off the tears which had burst,
spite of her resolution, from her eyes.

"It is very foolish to regard your hasty words, I know," said Frances,
extricating herself from his arms, and raising her yet humid eyes to
his face with a smile; "but reproach from those we love is most severe,
Henry; particularly--where we--we think--we know"--her paleness
gradually gave place to the color of the rose, as she concluded in a low
voice, with her eyes directed to the carpet, "we are undeserving of it."

Miss Peyton moved from her own seat to the one next her niece, and,
kindly taking her hand, observed, "You should not suffer the impetuosity
of your brother to affect you so much; boys, you know, are proverbially
ungovernable."

"And, from my conduct, you might add cruel," said the captain, seating
himself on the other side of his sister. "But on the subject of the
death of Andre we are all of us uncommonly sensitive. You did not know
him: he was all that was brave--that was accomplished--that was
estimable." Frances smiled faintly, and shook her head, but made no
reply. Her brother, observing the marks of incredulity in her
countenance, continued, "You doubt it, and justify his death?"

"I do not doubt his worth," replied the maid, mildly, "nor his being
deserving of a more happy fate; but I cannot doubt the propriety of
Washington's conduct. I know but little of the customs of war, and wish
to know less; but with what hopes of success could the Americans
contend, if they yielded all the principles which long usage had
established, to the exclusive purposes of the British?"

"Why contend at all?" cried Sarah, impatiently. "Besides, being rebels,
all their acts are illegal."

"Women are but mirrors, which reflect the images before them," cried the
captain, good-naturedly. "In Frances I see the picture of Major
Dunwoodie, and in Sarah--"

"Colonel Wellmere," interrupted the younger sister, laughing, and
blushing crimson. "I must confess I am indebted to the major for my
reasoning--am I not, Aunt Jeanette?"

"I believe it is something like his logic, indeed, child."

"I plead guilty; and you. Sarah, have not forgotten the learned
discussions of Colonel Wellmere."

"I trust I never forget the right," said Sarah, emulating her sister in
color, and rising, under the pretense of avoiding the heat of the fire.

Nothing occurred of any moment during the rest of the day; but in the
evening Caesar reported that he had overheard voices in the room of
Harper, conversing in a low tone. The apartment occupied by the traveler
was the wing at the extremity of the building, opposite to the parlor in
which the family ordinarily assembled; and it seems that Caesar had
established a regular system of espionage, with a view to the safety of
his young master. This intelligence gave some uneasiness to all the
members of the family; but the entrance of Harper himself, with the air
of benevolence and sincerity which shone through his reserve, soon
removed the doubts from the breast of all but Mr. Wharton. His children
and sister believed Caesar to have been mistaken, and the evening passed
off without any additional alarm.

On the afternoon of the succeeding day, the party were assembled in the
parlor around the tea table of Miss Peyton, when a change in the weather
occurred. The thin _scud_, that apparently floated but a short distance
above the tops of the hills, began to drive from the west towards the
east in astonishing rapidity. The rain yet continued to beat against the
eastern windows of the house with fury; in that direction the heavens
were dark and gloomy. Frances was gazing at the scene with the desire of
youth to escape from the tedium of confinement, when, as if by magic,
all was still. The rushing winds had ceased, the pelting of the storm
was over, and, springing to the window, with delight pictured in her
face, she saw a glorious ray of sunshine lighting the opposite wood. The
foliage glittered with the checkered beauties of the October leaf,
reflecting back from the moistened boughs the richest luster of an
American autumn. In an instant, the piazza, which opened to the south,
was thronged with the inmates of the cottage. The air was mild, balmy,
and refreshing; in the east, clouds, which might be likened to the
retreating masses of a discomfited army, hung around the horizon in
awful and increasing darkness. At a little elevation above the cottage,
the thin vapor was still rushing towards the east with amazing velocity;
while in the west the sun had broken forth and shed his parting radiance
on the scene below, aided by the fullest richness of a clear atmosphere
and a freshened herbage. Such moments belong only to the climate of
America, and are enjoyed in a degree proportioned to the suddenness of
the contrast, and the pleasure we experience in escaping from the
turbulence of the elements to the quiet of a peaceful evening, and an
air still as the softest mornings in June.

"What a magnificent scene!" said Harper, in a low tone. "How grand! how
awfully sublime!--may such a quiet speedily await the struggle in which
my country is engaged, and such a glorious evening follow the day of her
adversity!"

Frances, who stood next to him, alone heard the voice. Turning in
amazement from the view to the speaker, she saw him standing bareheaded,
erect, and with his eyes lifted to heaven. There was no longer the quiet
which had seemed their characteristic, but they were lighted into
something like enthusiasm, and a slight flush passed over his features.

There can be no danger apprehended from such a man, thought Frances;
such feelings belong only to the virtuous.

The musings of the party were now interrupted by the sudden appearance
of the peddler. He had taken advantage of the first gleam of sunshine to
hasten to the cottage. Heedless of wet or dry as it lay in his path,
with arms swinging to and fro, and with his head bent forward of his
body several inches, Harvey Birch approached the piazza, with a gait
peculiarly his own. It was the quick, lengthened pace of an itinerant
vender of goods.

"Fine evening," said the peddler, saluting the party, without raising
his eyes; "quite warm and agreeable for the season."

Mr. Wharton assented to the remark, and inquired kindly after the health
of his father. Harvey heard him, and continued standing for some time in
moody silence; but the question being repeated, he answered with a
slight tremor in his voice,--

"He fails fast; old age and hardships will do their work." The peddler
turned his face from the view of most of the family; but Frances noticed
his glistening eyes and quivering lip, and, for the second time, Harvey
rose in her estimation.

The valley in which the residence of Mr. Wharton stood ran in a
direction from northwest to southeast, and the house was placed on the
side of a hill which terminated its length in the former direction. A
small opening, occasioned by the receding of the opposite hill, and the
fall of the land to the level of the tide water, afforded a view of the
Sound [Footnote: An island more than forty leagues in length lies
opposite the coasts of New York and Connecticut. The arm of the sea
which separates it from the main is technically called a sound, and in
that part of the country _par excellence, the_ Sound. This sheet of
water varies in its breadth from five to thirty miles.] over the tops of
the distant woods on its margin. The surface of the water which had so
lately been lashing the shores with boisterous fury, was already losing
its ruffled darkness in the long and regular undulations that succeeded
a tempest, while the light air from the southwest was gently touching
their summits, lending its feeble aid in stilling the waters. Some dark
spots were now to be distinguished, occasionally rising into view, and
again sinking behind the lengthened waves which interposed themselves to
the sight. They were unnoticed by all but the peddler. He had seated
himself on the piazza, at a distance from Harper, and appeared to have
forgotten the object of his visit. His roving eye, however, soon caught
a glimpse of these new objects in the view, and he sprang up with
alacrity, gazing intently towards the water. He changed his place,
glanced his eye with marked uneasiness on Harper, and then said with
great emphasis--

"The rig'lars must be out from below."

"Why do you think so?" inquired Captain Wharton, eagerly. "God send it
may be true; I want their escort in again."

"Them ten whaleboats would not move so fast unless they were better
manned than common."

"Perhaps," cried Mr. Wharton in alarm, "they are--they are continentals
returning from the island."

"They look like rig'lars," said the peddler, with meaning.

"Look!" repeated the captain, "there is nothing but spots to be seen."

Harvey disregarded his observation, but seemed to be soliloquizing, as
he said in an undertone, "They came out before the gale--have laid on
the island these two days--horse are on the road--there will soon be
fighting near us." During this speech, Birch several times glanced his
eye towards Harper, with evident uneasiness, but no corresponding
emotion betrayed any interest of that gentleman in the scene. He stood
in silent contemplation of the view, and seemed enjoying the change in
the air. As Birch concluded, however, Harper turned to his host, and
mentioned that his business would not admit of unnecessary delay; he
would, therefore, avail himself of the fine evening to ride a few miles
on his journey. Mr. Wharton made many professions of regret at losing so
agreeable an inmate; but was too mindful of his duty not to speed the
parting guest, and orders were instantly given to that effect.

The uneasiness of the peddler increased in a manner for which nothing
apparent could account; his eye was constantly wandering towards the
lower end of the vale as if in expectation of some interruption from
that quarter. At length Caesar appeared, leading the noble beast which
was to bear the weight of the traveler. The peddler officiously
assisted to tighten the girths, and fasten the blue cloak and valise to
the mailstraps.

Every precaution being completed, Harper proceeded to take his leave. To
Sarah and her aunt he paid his compliments with ease and kindness; but
when he came to Frances, he paused a moment, while his face assumed an
expression of more than ordinary benignity. His eye repeated the
blessing which had before fallen from his lips, and the girl felt her
cheeks glow, and her heart beat with a quicker pulsation, as he spoke
his adieus. There was a mutual exchange of polite courtesy between the
host and his parting guest; but as Harper frankly offered his hand to
Captain Wharton, he remarked, in a manner of great solemnity,--

"The step you have undertaken is one of much danger, and disagreeable
consequences to yourself may result from it; in such a case, I may have
it in my power to prove the gratitude I owe your family for its
kindness."

"Surely, sir," cried the father, losing sight of delicacy in
apprehension for his child, "you will keep secret the discovery which
your being in my house has enabled you to make?"

Harper turned quickly to the speaker, and then, losing the sternness
which had begun to gather on his countenance, he answered mildly, "I
have learned nothing in your family, sir, of which I was ignorant
before; but your son is safer from my knowledge of his visit than he
would be without it."

He bowed to the whole party, and without taking any notice of the
peddler, other than by simply thanking him for his attentions, mounted
his horse, and, riding steadily and gracefully through the little gate,
was soon lost behind the hill which sheltered the valley to the
northward.

The eyes of the peddler followed the retiring figure of the horseman so
long as it continued within view, and as it disappeared from his sight,
he drew a long and heavy sigh, as if relieved from a load of
apprehension. The Whartons had meditated in silence on the character and
visit of their unknown guest for the same period, when the father
approached Birch and observed,

"I am yet your debtor, Harvey, for the tobacco you were so kind as to
bring me from the city."

"If it should not prove so good as the first," replied the peddler,
fixing a last and lingering look in the direction of Harper's route, "it
is owing to the scarcity of the article."

"I like it much," continued the other; "but you have forgotten to name
the price."

The countenance of the trader changed, and, losing its expression of
deep care in a natural acuteness, he answered,--

"It is hard to say what ought to be the price; I believe I must leave it
to your own generosity."

Mr. Wharton had taken a hand well filled with the images of Carolus III
from his pocket, and now extended it towards Birch with three of the
pieces between his finger and thumb. Harvey's eyes twinkled as he
contemplated the reward; and rolling over in his mouth a large quantity
of the article in question, coolly stretched forth his hand, into which
the dollars fell with a most agreeable sound: but not satisfied with the
transient music of their fall, the peddler gave each piece in succession
a ring on the stepping-stone of the piazza, before he consigned it to
the safekeeping of a huge deerskin purse, which vanished from the sight
of the spectators so dexterously, that not one of them could have told
about what part of his person it was secreted.

This very material point in his business so satisfactorily completed,
the peddler rose from his seat on the floor of the piazza, and
approached to where Captain Wharton stood, supporting his sisters on
either arm, as they listened with the lively interest of affection to
his conversation.

The agitation of the preceding incidents had caused such an expenditure
of the juices which had become necessary to the mouth of the peddler,
that a new supply of the weed was required before he could turn his
attention to business of lesser moment. This done, he asked abruptly,--

"Captain Wharton, do you go in to-night?"

"No!" said the captain, laconically, and looking at his lovely burdens
with great affection. "Mr. Birch, would you have me leave such company
so soon, when I may never enjoy it again?"

"Brother!" said Frances, "jesting on such a subject is cruel."

"I rather guess," continued the peddler, coolly, "now the storm is over,
the Skinners may be moving; you had better shorten your visit,
Captain Wharton."

"Oh!" cried the British officer, "a few guineas will buy off those
rascals at any time, should I meet them. No, no, Mr. Birch, here I stay
until morning."

"Money could not liberate Major Andre," said the peddler, dryly.

Both the sisters now turned to the captain in alarm, and the elder
observed,--

"You had better take the advice of Harvey; rest assured, his opinion in
such matters ought not to be disregarded."

"Yes," added the younger, "if, as I suspect, Mr. Birch assisted you to
come here, your safety, our happiness, dear Henry, requires you to
listen to him now."

"I brought myself out, and can take myself in," said the captain
positively. "Our bargain went no further than to procure my disguise,
and to let me know when the coast was clear; and in the latter
particular, you were mistaken, Mr. Birch."

"I was," said the peddler, with some interest, "and the greater is the
reason why you should get back to-night; the pass I gave you will serve
but once."

"Cannot you forge another?"

The pale cheek of the trader showed an unusual color, but he continued
silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground, until the young man added,
with great positiveness, "Here I stay this night, come what will."

"Captain Wharton," said the peddler, with great deliberation and marked
emphasis, "beware a tall Virginian, with huge whiskers; he is below you,
to my knowledge; the devil can't deceive him; I never could but once."

"Let him beware of me," said Wharton, haughtily. "But, Mr. Birch, I
exonerate you from further responsibility."

"Will you give me that in writing?" asked the cautious Birch.

"Oh! cheerfully," cried the captain, with a laugh. "Caesar! pen, ink,
and paper, while I write a discharge for my trusty attendant, Harvey
Birch, peddler, etc., etc."

The implements for writing were produced, and the captain, with great
gayety, wrote the desired acknowledgment in language of his own; which
the peddler took, and carefully depositing it by the side of the image
of his Catholic Majesty, made a sweeping bow to the whole family, and
departed as he had approached. He was soon seen at a distance, stealing
into the door of his own humble dwelling.

The father and sisters of the captain were too much rejoiced in
retaining the young man to express, or even entertain, the apprehensions
his situation might reasonably excite; but on retiring to their evening
repast, a cooler reflection induced the captain to think of changing his
mind. Unwilling to trust himself out of the protection of his father's
domains, the young man dispatched Caesar to desire another interview
with Harvey. The black soon returned with the unwelcome intelligence
that it was now too late. Katy had told him that Harvey must be miles on
his road to the northward, "having left home at early candlelight with
his pack." Nothing now remained to the captain but patience, until the
morning should afford further opportunity of deciding on the best course
for him to pursue.

"This Harvey Birch, with his knowing looks and portentous warnings,
gives me more uneasiness than I am willing to own," said Captain
Wharton, rousing himself from a fit of musing in which the danger of his
situation made no small part of his meditations.

"How is it that he is able to travel to and fro in these difficult
times, without molestation?" inquired Miss Peyton.

"Why the rebels suffer him to escape so easily, is more than I can
answer," returned the other; "but Sir Henry would not permit a hair of
his head to be injured."

"Indeed!" cried Frances, with interest. "Is he then known to Sir Henry
Clinton?"

"At least he ought to be."

"Do you think, my son," asked Mr. Wharton, "there is no danger of his
betraying you?"

"Why--no; I reflected on that before I trusted myself to his power,"
said the captain, thoughtfully. "He seems to be faithful in matters of
business. The danger to himself, should he return to the city, would
prevent such an act of villainy."

"I think," said Frances, adopting the manner of her brother, "Harvey
Birch is not without good feelings; at least, he has the appearance of
them at times."

"Oh!" cried his sister, exulting, "he has loyalty, and that with me is a
cardinal virtue."

"I am afraid," said her brother, laughing, "love of money is a stronger
passion than love of his king."

"Then," said the father, "you cannot be safe while in his power--for no
love will withstand the temptations of money, when offered to avarice."

"Surely, sir," cried the youth, recovering his gayety, "there must be
one love that can resist anything--is there not, Fanny?"

"Here is your candle; you keep your father up beyond his usual hour."




CHAPTER V


     Through Solway sands, through Taross moss,
     Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross:
     By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
     Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds.
     In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none,
     But he would ride them, one by one;
     Alike to him was time or tide,
     December's snow or July's pride;
     Alike to him was tide or time,
     Moonless midnight or matin prime.
                                    --WALTER SCOTT.

All the members of the Wharton family laid their heads on their pillows
that night, with a foreboding of some interruption to their ordinary
quiet. Uneasiness kept the sisters from enjoying their usual repose, and
they rose from their beds, on the following morning, unrefreshed, and
almost without having closed their eyes.

On taking an eager and hasty survey of the valley from the windows of
their room, nothing, however, but its usual serenity was to be seen. It
was glittering with the opening brilliancy of one of those lovely, mild
days, which occur about the time of the falling of the leaf; and which,
by their frequency, class the American autumn with the most delightful
seasons of other countries. We have no spring; vegetation seems to leap
into existence, instead of creeping, as in the same latitudes of the Old
World; but how gracefully it retires! September, October, even November
and December, compose the season for enjoyment in the open air; they
have their storms, but they are distinct, and not of long continuance,
leaving a clear atmosphere and a cloudless sky.

As nothing could be seen likely to interrupt the enjoyments and harmony
of such a day, the sisters descended to the parlor, with a returning
confidence in their brother's security, and their own happiness.

The family were early in assembling around the breakfast table; and
Miss Peyton, with a little of that minute precision which creeps into
the habits of single life, had pleasantly insisted that the absence of
her nephew should in no manner interfere with the regular hours she had
established; consequently, the party were already seated when the
captain made his appearance; though the untasted coffee sufficiently
proved that by none of his relatives was his absence disregarded.

"I think I did much better," he cried, taking a chair between his
sisters, and receiving their offered salutes, "to secure a good bed and
such a plentiful breakfast, instead of trusting to the hospitality of
that renowned corps, the Cowboys."

"If you could sleep," said Sarah, "you were more fortunate than Frances
and myself; every murmur of the night air sounded to me like the
approach of the rebel army."

"Why," said the captain, laughing, "I do acknowledge a little inquietude
myself--but how was it with you?" turning to his younger and evidently
favorite sister, and tapping her cheek. "Did you see banners in the
clouds, and mistake Miss Peyton's Aeolian harp for rebellious music?"

"Nay, Henry," rejoined the maid, looking at him affectionately, "much as
I love my own country, the approach of her troops just now would give me
great pain."

The brother made no reply; but returning the fondness expressed in her
eye by a look of fraternal tenderness, he gently pressed her hand in
silence; when Caesar, who had participated largely in the anxiety of the
family, and who had risen with the dawn, and kept a vigilant watch on
the surrounding objects, as he stood gazing from one of the windows,
exclaimed with a face that approached to something like the hues of a
white man,--

"Run--Massa Harry--run--if he love old Caesar, run--here come a rebel
horse."

"Run!" repeated the British officer, gathering himself up in military
pride. "No, Mr. Caesar, running is not my trade." While speaking, he
walked deliberately to the window, where the family were already
collected in the greatest consternation.

At the distance of more than a mile, about fifty dragoons were to be
seen, winding down one of the lateral entrances of the valley. In
advance, with an officer, was a man attired in the dress of a
countryman, who pointed in the direction of the cottage. A small party
now left the main body, and moved rapidly towards the object of their
destination.

On reaching the road which led through the bottom of the valley, they
turned their horses' heads to the north.

The Whartons continued chained in breathless silence to the spot,
watching their movements, when the party, having reached the dwelling of
Birch, made a rapid circle around his grounds, and in an instant his
house was surrounded by a dozen sentinels.

Two or three of the dragoons now dismounted and disappeared; in a few
minutes, however, they returned to the yard, followed by Katy, from
whose violent gesticulations, it was evident that matters of no trifling
concern were on the carpet. A short communication with the loquacious
housekeeper followed the arrival of the main body of the troop, and the
advance party remounting, the whole moved towards the Locusts with
great speed.

As yet none of the family had sufficient presence of mind to devise any
means of security for Captain Wharton; but the danger now became too
pressing to admit of longer delay, and various means of secreting him
were hastily proposed; but they were all haughtily rejected by the young
man, as unworthy of his character. It was too late to retreat to the
woods in the rear of the cottage, for he would unavoidably be seen, and,
followed by a troop of horse, as inevitably taken.

At length his sisters, with trembling hands, replaced his original
disguise, the instruments of which had been carefully kept at hand by
Caesar, in expectation of some sudden emergency.

This arrangement was hastily and imperfectly completed, as the dragoons
entered the lawn and orchard of the Locusts, riding with the rapidity of
the wind; and in their turn the Whartons were surrounded.

Nothing remained now, but to meet the impending examination with as much
indifference as the family could assume. The leader of the horse
dismounted, and, followed by a couple of his men, he approached the
outer door of the building, which was slowly and reluctantly opened for
his admission by Caesar. The heavy tread of the trooper, as he followed
the black to the door of the parlor, rang in the ears of the females as
it approached nearer and nearer, and drove the blood from their faces to
their hearts, with a chill that nearly annihilated feeling.

A man, whose colossal stature manifested the possession of vast
strength, entered the room, and removing his cap, he saluted the family
with a mildness his appearance did not indicate as belonging to his
nature. His dark hair hung around his brow in profusion, though stained
with powder which was worn at that day, and his face was nearly hid in
the whiskers by which it was disfigured. Still, the expression of his
eye, though piercing, was not bad, and his voice, though deep and
powerful, was far from unpleasant. Frances ventured to throw a timid
glance at his figure as he entered, and saw at once the man from whose
scrutiny Harvey Birch had warned them there was so much to be
apprehended.

"You have no cause for alarm, ladies," said the officer, pausing a
moment, and contemplating the pale faces around him. "My business will
be confined to a few questions, which, if freely answered, will
instantly remove us from your dwelling."

"And what may they be, sir?" stammered Mr. Wharton, rising from his
chair and waiting anxiously for the reply.

"Has there been a strange gentleman staying with you during the storm?"
continued the dragoon, speaking with interest, and in some degree
sharing in the evident anxiety of the father.

"This gentleman--here--favored us with his company during the rain, and
has not yet departed."

"This gentleman!" repeated the other, turning to Captain Wharton, and
contemplating his figure for a moment until the anxiety of his
countenance gave place to a lurking smile. He approached the youth with
an air of comic gravity, and with a low bow, continued, "I am sorry for
the severe cold you have in your head, sir."

"I!" exclaimed the captain, in surprise; "I have no cold in my head."

"I fancied it then, from seeing you had covered such handsome black
locks with that ugly old wig. It was my mistake; you will please to
pardon it."

Mr. Wharton groaned aloud; but the ladies, ignorant of the extent of
their visitor's knowledge, remained in trembling yet rigid silence. The
captain himself moved his hand involuntarily to his head, and discovered
that the trepidation of his sisters had left some of his natural hair
exposed. The dragoon watched the movement with a continued smile, when,
seeming to recollect himself, turning to the father, he proceeded,--

"Then, sir, I am to understand there has not been a Mr. Harper here,
within the week?"

"Mr. Harper," echoed the other, feeling a load removed from his heart,
"yes, I had forgotten; but he is gone; and if there be anything wrong in
his character, we are in entire ignorance of it; to me he was a total
stranger."

"You have but little to apprehend from his character," answered the
dragoon dryly. "But he is gone--how--when--and whither?"

"He departed as he arrived," said Mr. Wharton, gathering renewed
confidence from the manner of the trooper; "on horseback, last evening,
and he took the northern road."

The officer listened to him with intense interest, his countenance
gradually lighting into a smile of pleasure, and the instant Mr. Wharton
concluded his laconic reply he turned on his heel and left the
apartment. The Whartons, judging from his manner, thought he was about
to proceed in quest of the object of his inquiries. They observed the
dragoon, on gaining the lawn, in earnest and apparently pleased
conversation with his two subalterns. In a few moments orders were given
to some of the troops, and horsemen left the valley, at full speed, by
its various roads.

The suspense of the party within, who were all highly interested
witnesses of this scene, was shortly terminated: for the heavy tread of
the dragoon soon announced his second approach. He bowed again politely
as he reentered the room, and walking up to Captain Wharton, said, with
comic gravity,--

"Now, sir, my principal business being done, may I beg to examine the
quality of that wig?"

The British officer imitated the manner of the other, as he deliberately
uncovered his head, and handing him the wig, observed, "I hope, sir, it
is to your liking."

"I cannot, without violating the truth, say it is," returned the
dragoon. "I prefer your ebony hair, from which you seem to have combed
the powder with great industry. But that must have been a sad hurt you
have received under this enormous black patch."

"You appear so close an observer of things, I should like your opinion
of it, sir," said Henry, removing the silk, and exhibiting the cheek
free from blemish.

"Upon my word, you improve most rapidly in externals," added the
trooper, preserving his muscles in inflexible gravity. "If I could but
persuade you to exchange this old surtout for that handsome blue coat by
your side, I think I never could witness a more agreeable metamorphosis,
since I was changed myself from a lieutenant to a captain."

Young Wharton very composedly did as was required and stood an
extremely handsome, well-dressed young man. The dragoon looked at him
for a minute with the drollery that characterized his manner, and then
continued,--

"This is a newcomer in the scene; it is usual, you know, for strangers
to be introduced; I am Captain Lawton, of the Virginia horse."

"And I, sir, am Captain Wharton, of his Majesty's 60th regiment of
foot," returned Henry, bowing stiffly, and recovering his
natural manner.

The countenance of Lawton changed instantly, and his assumed quaintness
vanished. He viewed the figure of Captain Wharton, as he stood proudly
swelling with a pride that disdained further concealment, and exclaimed
with great earnestness,--

"Captain Wharton, from my soul I pity you!"

"Oh! then," cried the father in agony, "if you pity him, dear sir, why
molest him? He is not a spy; nothing but a desire to see his friends
prompted him to venture so far from the regular army in disguise. Leave
him with us; there is no reward, no sum, which I will not
cheerfully pay."

"Sir, your anxiety for your friend excuses your language," said Lawton,
haughtily; "but you forget I am a Virginian, and a gentleman." Turning
to the young man, he continued, "Were you ignorant, Captain Wharton,
that our pickets have been below you for several days?"

"I did not know it until I reached them, and it was then too late to
retreat," said Wharton sullenly. "I came out, as my father has
mentioned, to see my friends, understanding your parties to be at
Peekskill, and near the Highlands, or surely I would not have ventured."

"All this may be very true; but the affair of Andre has made us on the
alert. When treason reaches the grade of general officers, Captain
Wharton, it behooves the friends of liberty to be vigilant."

Henry bowed to this remark in distant silence, but Sarah ventured to
urge something in behalf of her brother. The dragoon heard her politely,
and apparently with commiseration; but willing to avoid useless and
embarrassing petitions, he answered mildly,--

"I am not the commander of the party, madam; Major Dunwoodie will decide
what must be done with your brother; at all events he will receive
nothing but kind and gentle treatment."

"Dunwoodie!" exclaimed Frances, with a face in which the roses contended
for the mastery with the paleness of apprehension. "Thank God! then
Henry is safe!"

Lawton regarded her with a mingled expression of pity and admiration;
then shaking his head doubtingly, he continued,--

"I hope so; and with your permission, we will leave the matter for his
decision."

The color of Frances changed from the paleness of fear to the glow of
hope. Her dread on behalf of her brother was certainly greatly
diminished; yet her form shook, her breathing became short and
irregular, and her whole frame gave tokens of extraordinary agitation.
Her eyes rose from the floor to the dragoon, and were again fixed
immovably on the carpet--she evidently wished to utter something but was
unequal to the effort. Miss Peyton was a close observer of these
movements of her niece, and advancing with an air of feminine dignity,
inquired,--

"Then, sir, we may expect the pleasure of Major Dunwoodie's company
shortly?"

"Immediately, madam," answered the dragoon, withdrawing his admiring
gaze from the person of Frances. "Expresses are already on the road to
announce to him our situation, and the intelligence will speedily bring
him to this valley; unless, indeed, some private reasons may exist to
make a visit particularly unpleasant."

"We shall always be happy to see Major Dunwoodie."

"Oh! doubtless; he is a general favorite, May I presume on it so far as
to ask leave to dismount and refresh my men, who compose a part of his
squadron?"

There was a manner about the trooper that would have made the omission
of such a request easily forgiven by Mr. Wharton, but he was fairly
entrapped by his own eagerness to conciliate, and it was useless to
withhold a consent which he thought would probably be extorted; he
therefore made the most of necessity, and gave such orders as would
facilitate the wishes of Captain Lawton.

The officers were invited to take their morning's repast at the family
breakfast table, and having made their arrangements without, the
invitation was frankly accepted. None of the watchfulness, which was so
necessary to their situation, was neglected by the wary partisan.
Patrols were seen on the distant hills, taking their protecting circuit
around their comrades, who were enjoying, in the midst of danger, a
security that can only spring from the watchfulness of discipline and
the indifference of habit.

The addition to the party at Mr. Wharton's table was only three, and
they were all of them men who, under the rough exterior induced by
actual and arduous service, concealed the manners of gentlemen.
Consequently, the interruption to the domestic privacy of the family was
marked by the observance of strict decorum. The ladies left the table to
their guests, who proceeded, without much superfluous diffidence, to do
proper honors to the hospitality of Mr. Wharton.

At length Captain Lawton suspended for a moment his violent attacks on
the buckwheat cakes, to inquire of the master of the house, if there was
not a peddler of the name of Birch who lived in the valley at times.

"At times only, I believe, sir," replied Mr. Wharton, cautiously. "He is
seldom here; I may say I never see him."

"That is strange, too," said the trooper, looking at the disconcerted
host intently, "considering he is your next neighbor; he must be quite
domestic, sir; and to the ladies it must be somewhat inconvenient. I
doubt not that that muslin in the window seat cost twice as much as he
would have asked them for it."

Mr. Wharton turned in consternation, and saw some of the recent
purchases scattered about the room.

The two subalterns struggled to conceal their smiles; but the captain
resumed his breakfast with an eagerness that created a doubt, whether he
ever expected to enjoy another. The necessity of a supply from the
dominion of Dinah soon, however, afforded another respite, of which
Lawton availed himself.

"I had a wish to break this Mr. Birch of his unsocial habits, and gave
him a call this morning," he said. "Had I found him within, I should
have placed him where he would enjoy life in the midst of society, for a
short time at least."

"And where might that be, sir?" asked Mr. Wharton, conceiving it
necessary to say something.

"The guardroom," said the trooper, dryly.

"What is the offense of poor Birch?" asked Miss Peyton, handing the
dragoon a fourth dish of coffee.

"Poor!" cried the captain. "If he is poor, King George is a bad
paymaster."

"Yes, indeed," said one of the subalterns, "his Majesty owes him a
dukedom."

"And congress a halter," continued the commanding officer commencing
anew on a fresh supply of the cakes.

"I am sorry," said Mr. Wharton, "that any neighbor of mine should incur
the displeasure of our rulers."

"If I catch him," cried the dragoon, while buttering another cake, "he
will dangle from the limbs of one of his namesakes."

"He would make no bad ornament, suspended from one of those locusts
before his own door," added the lieutenant.

"Never mind," continued the captain; "I will have him yet before I'm a
major."

As the language of the officers appeared to be sincere, and such as
disappointed men in their rough occupations are but too apt to use, the
Whartons thought it prudent to discontinue the subject. It was no new
intelligence to any of the family, that Harvey Birch was distrusted and
greatly harassed by the American army. His escapes from their hands, no
less than his imprisonments, had been the conversation of the country in
too many instances, and under circumstances of too great mystery, to be
easily forgotten. In fact, no small part of the bitterness expressed by
Captain Lawton against the peddler, arose from the unaccountable
disappearance of the latter, when intrusted to the custody of two of his
most faithful dragoons.

A twelvemonth had not yet elapsed, since Birch had been seen lingering
near the headquarters of the commander in chief, and at a time when
important movements were expected hourly to occur. So soon as the
information of this fact was communicated to the officer whose duty it
was to guard the avenues of the American camp, he dispatched Captain
Lawton in pursuit of the peddler.

Acquainted with all the passes of the hills, and indefatigable in the
discharge of his duty, the trooper had, with much trouble and toil,
succeeded in effecting his object. The party had halted at a farmhouse
for the purposes of refreshment, and the prisoner was placed in a room
by himself, but under the keeping of the two men before mentioned; all
that was known subsequently is, that a woman was seen busily engaged in
the employments of the household near the sentinels, and was
particularly attentive to the wants of the captain, until he was deeply
engaged in the employments of the supper table.

Afterwards, neither woman nor peddler was to be found. The pack, indeed,
was discovered open, and nearly empty, and a small door, communicating
with a room adjoining to the one in which the peddler had been
secured, was ajar.

Captain Lawton never could forgive the deception; his antipathies to his
enemies were not very moderate, but this was adding an insult to his
penetration that rankled deeply. He sat in portentous silence, brooding
over the exploit of his prisoner, yet mechanically pursuing the business
before him, until, after sufficient time had passed to make a very
comfortable meal, a trumpet suddenly broke on the ears of the party,
sending its martial tones up the valley, in startling melody. The
trooper rose instantly from the table, exclaiming,--

"Quick, gentlemen, to your horses; there comes Dunwoodie," and, followed
by his officers, he precipitately left the room.

With the exception of the sentinels left to guard Captain Wharton, the
dragoons mounted, and marched out to meet their comrades.

None of the watchfulness necessary in a war, in which similarity of
language, appearance, and customs rendered prudence doubly necessary,
was omitted by the cautious leader. On getting sufficiently near,
however, to a body of horse of more than double his own number, to
distinguish countenances, Lawton plunged his rowels into his charger,
and in a moment he was by the side of his commander.

The ground in front of the cottage was again occupied by the horse; and
observing the same precautions as before, the newly arrived troops
hastened to participate in the cheer prepared for their comrades.




CHAPTER VI


                       And let conquerors boast
     Their fields of fame--he who in virtue arms
     A young warm spirit against beauty's charms,
     Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall,
     Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all.

                                            --MOORE.

The ladies of the Wharton family had collected about a window, deeply
interested in the scene we have related.

Sarah viewed the approach of her countrymen with a smile of contemptuous
indifference; for she even undervalued the personal appearance of men
whom she thought arrayed in the unholy cause of rebellion. Miss Peyton
looked on the gallant show with an exulting pride, which arose in the
reflection that the warriors before her were the chosen troops of her
native colony; while Frances gazed with a singleness of interest that
absorbed all other considerations.

The two parties had not yet joined, before her quick eye distinguished
one horseman in particular from those around him. To her it appeared
that even the steed of this youthful soldier seemed to be conscious that
he sustained the weight of no common man: his hoofs but lightly touched
the earth, and his airy tread was the curbed motion of a
blooded charger.

The dragoon sat in the saddle, with a firmness and ease that showed him
master of himself and horse,--his figure uniting the just proportions of
strength and activity, being tall, round, and muscular. To this officer
Lawton made his report, and, side by side, they rode into the field
opposite to the cottage.

The heart of Frances beat with a pulsation nearly stifling, as he paused
for a moment, and took a survey of the building, with an eye whose dark
and sparkling glance could be seen, notwithstanding the distance. Her
color changed, and for an instant, as she saw the youth throw himself
from the saddle, she was compelled to seek relief for her trembling
limbs in a chair.

The officer gave a few hasty orders to his second in command, walked
rapidly into the lawn, and approached the cottage. Frances rose from her
seat, and vanished from the apartment. The dragoon ascended the steps of
the piazza, and had barely time to touch the outer door, when it opened
to his admission.

The youth of Frances, when she left the city, had prevented her
sacrificing, in conformity to the customs of that day, all her native
beauties on the altar of fashion. Her hair, which was of a golden
richness of color, was left, untortured, to fall in the natural ringlets
of infancy, and it shaded a face which was glowing with the united
charms of health, youth, and artlessness; her eyes spoke volumes, but
her tongue was silent; her hands were interlocked before her, and, aided
by her taper form, bending forward in an attitude of expectation, gave a
loveliness and an interest to her appearance, that for a moment chained
her lover in silence to the spot.

Frances silently led the way into a vacant parlor, opposite to the one
in which the family were assembled, and turning to the soldier frankly,
placing both her hands in his own, exclaimed,--

"Ah, Dunwoodie! how happy, on many accounts, I am to see you! I have
brought you in here, to prepare you to meet an unexpected friend in the
opposite room."

"To whatever cause it may be owing," cried the youth, pressing her hands
to his lips, "I, too, am happy in being able to see you alone. Frances,
the probation you have decreed is cruel; war and distance may separate
us forever."

"We must submit to the necessity which governs us. But it is not love
speeches I would hear now; I have other and more important matter for
your attention."

"What can be of more importance than to make you mine by a tie that will
be indissoluble! Frances, you are cold to me--me--from whose mind, days
of service and nights of alarm have never been able to banish your image
for a single moment."

"Dear Dunwoodie," said Frances, softening nearly to tears, and again
extending her hand to him, as the richness of her color gradually
returned, "you know my sentiments--this war once ended, and you may
take that hand forever--but I can never consent to tie myself to you by
any closer union than already exists, so long as you are arrayed in arms
against my only brother. Even now, that brother is awaiting your
decision to restore him to liberty, or to conduct him to a
probable death."

"Your brother!" cried Dunwoodie, starting and turning pale; "your
brother! explain yourself--what dreadful meaning is concealed in
your words?"

"Has not Captain Lawton told you of the arrest of Henry by himself this
very morning?" continued Frances, in a voice barely audible, and fixing
on her lover a look of the deepest concern.

"He told me of arresting a captain of the 60th in disguise, but without
mentioning where or whom," replied the major in a similar tone; and
dropping his head between his hands, he endeavored to conceal his
feelings from his companion.

"Dunwoodie! Dunwoodie!" exclaimed Frances, losing all her former
confidence in the most fearful apprehensions, "what means this
agitation?" As the major slowly raised his face, in which was pictured
the most expressive concern, she continued, "Surely, surely, you will
not betray your friend--my brother--your brother--to an
ignominious death."

"Frances!" exclaimed the young man in agony, "what can I do?"

"Do!" she repeated, gazing at him wildly. "Would Major Dunwoodie yield
his friend to his enemies--the brother of his betrothed wife?"

"Oh, speak not so unkindly to me, dearest Miss Wharton--my own
Frances. I would this moment die for you--for Henry--but I cannot forget
my duty--cannot forfeit my honor; you yourself would be the first to
despise me if I did."

"Peyton Dunwoodie!" said Frances, solemnly, and with a face of ashy
paleness, "you have told me--you have sworn, that you love me----"

"I do," interrupted the soldier, with fervor; but motioning for silence
she continued, in a voice that trembled with her fears,--

"Do you think I can throw myself into the arms of a man whose hands are
stained with the blood of my only brother!"

"Frances, you wring my very heart!" Then pausing, to struggle with his
feelings, he endeavored to force a smile, as he added, "But, after all,
we may be torturing ourselves with unnecessary fears, and Henry, when I
know the circumstances, may be nothing more than a prisoner of war; in
which case, I can liberate him on parole."

There is no more delusive passion than hope; and it seems to be the
happy privilege of youth to cull all the pleasures that can be gathered
from its indulgence. It is when we are most worthy of confidence
ourselves, that we are least apt to distrust others; and what we think
ought to be, we are prone to think will be.

The half-formed expectations of the young soldier were communicated to
the desponding sister, more by the eye than the voice, and the blood
rushed again to her cheek, as she cried,--

"Oh, there can be no just grounds to doubt it. I know--I
knew--Dunwoodie, you would never desert us in the hour of our greatest
need!" The violence of her feelings prevailed, and the agitated girl
found relief in a flood of tears.

The office of consoling those we love is one of the dearest prerogatives
of affection; and Major Dunwoodie, although but little encouraged by his
own momentary suggestion of relief, could not undeceive the lovely girl,
who leaned on his shoulder, as he wiped the traces of her feeling from
her face, with a trembling, but reviving confidence in the safety of her
brother, and the protection of her lover.

Frances, having sufficiently recovered her recollection to command
herself, now eagerly led the way to the opposite room, to communicate to
her family the pleasing intelligence which she already conceived
so certain,

Dunwoodie followed her reluctantly, and with forebodings of the result;
but a few moments brought him into the presence of his relatives, and he
summoned all his resolution to meet the trial with firmness.

The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, and, on the
part of Henry Wharton, as collected as if nothing had occurred to
disturb his self-possession.

The abhorrence of being, in any manner, auxiliary to the arrest of his
friend; the danger to the life of Captain Wharton; and the
heart-breaking declarations of Frances, had, however, created an
uneasiness in the bosom of Major Dunwoodie, which all his efforts could
not conceal. His reception by the rest of the family was kind and
sincere, both from old regard, and a remembrance of former obligations,
heightened by the anticipations they could not fail to read in the
expressive eyes of the blushing girl by his side. After exchanging
greetings with every member of the family, Major Dunwoodie beckoned to
the sentinel, whom the wary prudence of Captain Lawton had left in
charge of the prisoner, to leave the room. Turning to Captain Wharton,
he inquired mildly,--

"Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise, in which Captain
Lawton reports you to have been found, and remember--remember--Captain
Wharton--your answers are entirely voluntary."

"The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie," replied the English
officer, gravely, "to enable me to visit my friends, without incurring
the danger of becoming a prisoner of war."

"But you did not wear it, until you saw the troop of Lawton
approaching?"

"Oh! no," interrupted Frances, eagerly, forgetting all the circumstances
in her anxiety for her brother. "Sarah and myself placed them on him
when the dragoons appeared; and it was our awkwardness that has led to
the discovery."

The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as turning his eyes in fondness
on the speaker, he listened to her explanation.

"Probably some articles of your own," he continued, "which were at hand,
and were used on the spur of the moment."

"No," said Wharton, with dignity, "the clothes were worn by me from the
city; they were procured for the purpose to which they were applied, and
I intended to use them in my return this very day."

The appalled Frances shrank back from between her brother and lover,
where her ardent feelings had carried her, as the whole truth glanced
over her mind, and she sank into a seat, gazing wildly on the young men.

"But the pickets--the party at the Plains?" added Dunwoodie, turning
pale.

"I passed them, too, in disguise. I made use of this pass, for which I
paid; and, as it bears the name of Washington, I presume it is forged."

Dunwoodie caught the paper from his hand, eagerly, and stood gazing on
the signature for some time in silence, during which the soldier
gradually prevailed over the man; when he turned to the prisoner, with a
searching look, as he asked,--

"Captain Wharton, whence did you procure this paper?"

"This is a question, I conceive, Major Dunwoodie has no right to ask."

"Your pardon, sir; my feelings may have led me into an impropriety."

Mr. Wharton, who had been a deeply interested auditor, now so far
conquered his feelings as to say, "Surely, Major Dunwoodie, the paper
cannot be material; such artifices are used daily in war."

"This name is no counterfeit," said the dragoon, studying the
characters, and speaking in a low voice; "is treason yet among us
undiscovered? The confidence of Washington has been abused, for the
fictitious name is in a different hand from the pass. Captain Wharton,
my duty will not suffer me to grant you a parole; you must accompany me
to the Highlands."

"I did not expect otherwise, Major Dunwoodie."

Dunwoodie turned slowly towards the sisters, when the figure of Frances
once more arrested his gaze. She had risen from her seat, and stood
again with her hands clasped before him in an attitude of petition;
feeling himself unable to contend longer with his feelings, he made a
hurried excuse for a temporary absence, and left the room. Frances
followed him, and, obedient to the direction of her eye, the soldier
reentered the apartment in which had been their first interview.

"Major Dunwoodie," said Frances, in a voice barely audible, as she
beckoned to him to be seated; her cheek, which had been of a chilling
whiteness, was flushed with a suffusion that crimsoned her whole
countenance. She struggled with herself for a moment, and continued, "I
have already acknowledged to you my esteem; even now, when you most
painfully distress me, I wish not to conceal it. Believe me, Henry is
innocent of everything but imprudence. Our country can sustain no
wrong." Again she paused, and almost gasped for breath; her color
changed rapidly from red to white, until the blood rushed into her face,
covering her features with the brightest vermilion; and she added
hastily, in an undertone, "I have promised, Dunwoodie, when peace shall
be restored to our country, to become your wife. Give to my brother his
liberty on parole, and I will this day go with you to the altar, follow
you to the camp, and, in becoming a soldier's bride, learn to endure a
soldier's privations."

Dunwoodie seized the hand which the blushing girl, in her ardor, had
extended towards him, and pressed it for a moment to his bosom; then
rising from his seat, he paced the room in excessive agitation.

"Frances, say no more, I conjure you, unless you wish to break my
heart."

"You then reject my offered hand?" she said, rising with dignity, though
her pale cheek and quivering lip plainly showed the conflicting
passions within.

"Reject it! Have I not sought it with entreaties--with tears? Has it not
been the goal of all my earthly wishes? But to take it under such
conditions would be to dishonor both. We will hope for better things.
Henry must be acquitted; perhaps not tried. No intercession of mine
shall be wanting, you must well know; and believe me, Frances, I am not
without favor with Washington."

"That very paper, that abuse of his confidence, to which you alluded,
will steel him to my brother's case. If threats or entreaties could move
his stern sense of justice, would Andre have suffered?" As Frances
uttered these words she fled from the room in despair.

Dunwoodie remained for a minute nearly stupefied; and then he followed
with a view to vindicate himself, and to relieve her apprehensions. On
entering the hall that divided the two parlors, he was met by a small
ragged boy, who looked one moment at his dress, and placing a piece of
paper in his hands, immediately vanished through the outer door of the
building. The bewildered state of his mind, and the suddenness of the
occurrence, gave the major barely time to observe the messenger to be a
country lad, meanly attired, and that he held in his hand one of those
toys which are to be bought in cities, and which he now apparently
contemplated with the conscious pleasure of having fairly purchased, by
the performance of the service required. The soldier turned his eyes to
the subject of the note. It was written on a piece of torn and soiled
paper, and in a hand barely legible, but after some little labor, he was
able to make out as follows--

"The rig'lars are at hand, horse and foot." [Footnote: There died a few
years since, in Bedford, Westchester, a yeoman named Elisha H--- This
person was employed by Washington as one of his most confidential spies.
By the conditions of their bargain, H--- was never to be required to
deal with third parties, since his risks were too imminent. He was
allowed to enter also into the service of Sir Henry Clinton, and so much
confidence had Washington in his love of country and discretion, that he
was often intrusted with the minor military movements, in order that he
might enhance his value with the English general, by communicating them.
In this manner H--- had continued to serve for a long period, when
chance brought him into the city (then held by the British) at a moment
when an expedition was about to quit it, to go against a small post
established at Bedford, his native village, where the Americans had a
depot of provisions. H--- easily ascertained the force and destination
of the detachment ordered on this service, but he was at a loss in what
manner to communicate his information to the officer in command at
Bedford, without betraying his own true character to a third person.
There was not time to reach Washington, and under the circumstances, he
finally resolved to hazard a short note to the American commandant,
stating the danger, and naming the time when the attack might be
expected. To this note he even ventured to affix his own initials, E H,
though he had disguised the hand, under a belief that, as he knew
himself to be suspected by his countrymen, it might serve to give more
weight to his warning. His family being at Bedford, the note was
transmitted with facility and arrived in good season, H--- himself
remaining in New York. The American commandant did what every sensible
officer, in a similar case, would have done. He sent a courier with the
note to Washington, demanding orders, while he prepared his little party
to make the best defense in his power. The headquarters of the American
army were, at that time, in the Highlands. Fortunately, the express met
Washington, on a tour of observation, near their entrance. The note was
given to him, and he read it in the saddle, adding, in pencil, "Believe
all that E H tells you. George Washington" He returned it to the
courier, with an injunction to ride for life or death. The courier
reached Bedford after the British had made their attack. The commandant
read the reply, and put it in his pocket. The Americans were defeated,
and their leader killed. The note of H---, with the line written on it
by Washington, was found on his person. The following day H--- was
summoned to the presence of Sir Henry Clinton. After the latter had put
several general questions, he suddenly gave the note to the spy, and
asked if he knew the handwriting, and demanded who the E H was "It is
Elijah Hadden, the spy you hanged yesterday at Powles Hook." The
readiness of this answer, connected with the fact that a spy having the
same initials had been executed the day before, and the coolness of
H----, saved him. Sir Henry Clinton allowed him to quit his presence,
and he never saw him afterwards.]

Dunwoodie started; and, forgetting everything but the duties of a
soldier, he precipitately left the house. While walking rapidly towards
the troops, he noticed on a distant hill a vidette riding with speed.
Several pistols were fired in quick succession; and the next instant the
trumpets of the corps rang in his ears with the enlivening strain of "To
arms!" By the time he had reached the ground occupied by his squadron,
the major saw that every man was in active motion. Lawton was already in
the saddle, eying the opposite extremity of the valley with the
eagerness of expectation, and crying to the musicians, in tones but
little lower than their own,--

"Sound away, my lads, and let these Englishmen know that the Virginia
horse are between them and the end of their journey."

The videttes and patrols now came pouring in, each making in succession
his hasty report to the commanding officer, who gave his orders coolly,
and with a promptitude that made obedience certain. Once only, as he
wheeled his horse to ride over the ground in front, did Dunwoodie trust
himself with a look at the cottage, and his heart beat with unusual
rapidity as he saw a female figure standing, with clasped hands, at a
window of the room in which he had met Frances. The distance was too
great to distinguish her features, but the soldier could not doubt that
it was his mistress. The paleness of his cheek and the languor of his
eye endured but for a moment longer. As he rode towards the intended
battle ground, a flush of ardor began to show itself on his sunburnt
features; and his dragoons, who studied the face of their leader, as the
best index to their own fate, saw again the wonted flashing of the eyes,
and the cheerful animation, which they had so often witnessed on the eve
of battle. By the additions of the videttes and parties that had been
out, and which now had all joined, the whole number of the horse was
increased to nearly two hundred. There was also a small body of men,
whose ordinary duties were those of guides, but who, in cases of
emergency, were embodied and did duty as foot soldiers; these were
dismounted, and proceeded, by the order of Dunwoodie, to level the few
fences which might interfere with the intended movements of the cavalry.
The neglect of husbandry, which had been occasioned by the war, left
this task comparatively easy. Those long lines of heavy and durable
walls, which now sweep through every part of the country, forty years
ago were unknown. The slight and tottering fences of stone were then
used more to clear the land for the purposes of cultivation than as
permanent barriers, and required the constant attention of the
husbandman, to preserve them against the fury of the tempests and the
frosts of winter. Some few of them had been built with more care
immediately around the dwelling of Mr. Wharton; but those which had
intersected the vale below were now generally a pile of ruins, over
which the horses of the Virginians would bound with the fleetness of the
wind. Occasionally a short line yet preserved its erect appearance; but
as none of those crossed the ground on which Dunwoodie intended to act,
there remained only the slighter fences of rails to be thrown down.
Their duty was hastily but effectually performed; and the guides
withdrew to the post assigned to them for the approaching fight.

Major Dunwoodie had received from his scouts all the intelligence
concerning his foe, which was necessary to enable him to make his
arrangements. The bottom of the valley was an even plain, that fell with
a slight inclination from the foot of the hills on either side, to the
level of a natural meadow that wound through the country on the banks of
a small stream, by whose waters it was often inundated and fertilized.
This brook was easily forded in any part of its course; and the only
impediment it offered to the movements of the horse, was in a place
where it changed its bed from the western to the eastern side of the
valley, and where its banks were more steep and difficult of access than
common. Here the highway crossed it by a rough wooden bridge, as it did
again at the distance of half a mile above the Locusts.

The hills on the eastern side of the valley were abrupt, and frequently
obtruded themselves in rocky prominences into its bosom, lessening the
width to half the usual dimensions. One of these projections was but a
short distance in the rear of the squadron of dragoons, and Dunwoodie
directed Captain Lawton to withdraw, with two troops, behind its cover.
The officer obeyed with a kind of surly reluctance, that was, however,
somewhat lessened by the anticipations of the effect his sudden
appearance would make on the enemy. Dunwoodie knew his man, and had
selected the captain for this service, both because he feared his
precipitation in the field, and knew, when needed, his support would
never fail to appear. It was only in front of the enemy that Captain
Lawton was hasty; at all other times his discernment and self-possession
were consummately preserved; but he sometimes forgot them in his
eagerness to engage. On the left of the ground on which Dunwoodie
intended to meet his foe, was a close wood, which skirted that side of
the valley for the distance of a mile. Into this, then, the guides
retired, and took their station near its edge, in such a manner as would
enable them to maintain a scattering, but effectual fire, on the
advancing column of the enemy.

It cannot be supposed that all these preparations were made unheeded by
the inmates of the cottage; on the contrary, every feeling which can
agitate the human breast, in witnessing such a scene, was actively
alive. Mr. Wharton alone saw no hopes to himself in the termination of
the conflict. If the British should prevail, his son would be liberated;
but what would then be his own fate! He had hitherto preserved his
neutral character in the midst of trying circumstances. The fact of his
having a son in the royal, or, as it was called, the regular army, had
very nearly brought his estates to the hammer. Nothing had obviated this
result, but the powerful interest of the relation who held a high
political rank in the state, and his own vigilant prudence. In his
heart, he was a devoted loyalist; and when the blushing Frances had
communicated to him the wishes of her lover, on their return from the
American camp the preceding spring, the consent he had given, to her
future union with a rebel, was as much extracted by the increasing
necessity which existed for his obtaining republican support, as by any
considerations for the happiness of his child. Should his son now be
rescued, he would, in the public mind, be united with him as a plotter
against the freedom of the States; and should he remain a captive and
undergo the impending trial, the consequences might be still more
dreadful. Much as he loved his wealth, Mr. Wharton loved his children
better; and he sat gazing on the movements without, with a listless
vacancy in his countenance, that fully denoted his imbecility of
character. Far different were the feelings of the son. Captain Wharton
had been left in the keeping of two dragoons, one of whom marched to and
fro on the piazza with a measured tread, and the other had been directed
to continue in the same apartment with his prisoner. The young man had
witnessed all the movements of Dunwoodie with admiration mingled with
fearful anticipations of the consequences to friends. He particularly
disliked the ambush of the detachment under Lawton, who could be
distinctly seen from the windows of the cottage, cooling his impatience,
by pacing on foot the ground in front of his men. Henry Wharton threw
several hasty and inquiring glances around, to see if no means of
liberation would offer, but invariably found the eyes of his sentinel
fixed on him with the watchfulness of an Argus. He longed, with the
ardor of youth, to join in the glorious fray, but was compelled to
remain a dissatisfied spectator of a scene in which he would so
cheerfully have been an actor. Miss Peyton and Sarah continued gazing
on the preparations with varied emotions, in which concern for the fate
of the captain formed the most prominent feeling, until the moment of
shedding of blood seemed approaching, when, with the timidity of their
sex, they sought the retirement of an inner room. Not so Frances; she
returned to the apartment where she had left Dunwoodie, and, from one of
its windows, had been a deeply interested spectator of all his
movements. The wheelings of the troops, the deadly preparations, had all
been unnoticed; she saw her lover only, and with mingled emotions of
admiration and dread that nearly chilled her. At one moment the blood
rushed to her heart, as she saw the young warrior riding through his
ranks, giving life and courage to all whom he addressed; and the next,
it curdled with the thought that the very gallantry she so much valued
might prove the means of placing the grave between her and the object of
her regard. Frances gazed until she could look no longer.

In a field on the left of the cottage, and at a short distance in the
rear of the troops, was a small group, whose occupation seemed to differ
from that of all around them. They were in number only three, being two
men and a mulatto boy. The principal personage of this party was a man,
whose leanness made his really tall stature appear excessive. He wore
spectacles--was unarmed, had dismounted, and seemed to be dividing his
attention between a cigar, a book, and the incidents of the field before
him. To this party Frances determined to send a note, directed to
Dunwoodie. She wrote hastily, with a pencil, "Come to me, Peyton, if it
be but for a moment"; and Caesar emerged from the cellar kitchen, taking
the precaution to go by the rear of the building, to avoid the sentinel
on the piazza, who had very cavalierly ordered all the family to remain
housed. The black delivered the note to the gentleman, with a request
that it might be forwarded to Major Dunwoodie. It was the surgeon of the
horse to whom Caesar addressed himself; and the teeth of the African
chattered, as he saw displayed upon the ground the several instruments
which were in preparation for the anticipated operations. The doctor
himself seemed to view the arrangement with great satisfaction, as he
deliberately raised his eyes from his book to order the boy to convey
the note to his commanding officer, and then dropping them quietly on
the page he continued his occupation. Caesar was slowly retiring, as the
third personage, who by his dress might be an inferior assistant of the
surgical department, coolly inquired "if he would have a leg taken off?"
This question seemed to remind the black of the existence of those
limbs, for he made such use of them as to reach the piazza at the same
instant that Major Dunwoodie rode up, at half speed. The brawny sentinel
squared himself, and poised his sword with military precision as he
stood on his post, while his officer passed; but no sooner had the door
closed, than, turning to the negro, he said, sharply,--

"Harkee, blackee, if you quit the house again without my knowledge, I
shall turn barber, and shave off one of those ebony ears with
this razor."

Thus assailed in another member, Caesar hastily retreated into his
kitchen, muttering something, in which the words "Skinner," and "rebel
rascal," formed a principal part of speech.

"Major Dunwoodie," said Frances to her lover as he entered, "I may have
done you injustice; if I have appeared harsh--"

The emotions of the agitated girl prevailed, and she burst into tears.

"Frances," cried the soldier with warmth, "you are never harsh, never
unjust, but when you doubt my love."

"Ah! Dunwoodie," added the sobbing girl, "you are about to risk your
life in battle; remember that there is one heart whose happiness is
built on your safety; brave I know you are: be prudent--"

"For your sake?" inquired the delighted youth.

"For my sake," replied Frances, in a voice barely audible, and dropping
on his bosom.

Dunwoodie folded her to his heart, and was about to speak, as a trumpet
sounded in the southern end of the vale. Imprinting one long kiss of
affection on her unresisting lips, the soldier tore himself from his
mistress, and hastened to the scene of strife.

Frances threw herself on a sofa, buried her head under its cushion, and
with her shawl drawn over her face, to exclude as much of sound as
possible, continued there until the shouts of the combatants, the
rattling of the firearms, and the thundering tread of the horses
had ceased.




CHAPTER VII


    The game's afoot;
    Follow your spirit.

                    --SHAKESPEARE.

The rough and unimproved face of the country, the frequency of covers,
together with the great distance from their own country, and the
facilities afforded them for rapid movements to the different points of
the war, by the undisputed command of the ocean, had united to deter the
English from employing a heavy force in cavalry, in their early efforts
to subdue the revolted colonies.

Only one regiment of regular horse was sent from the mother country,
during the struggle. But legions and independent corps were formed in
different places, as it best accorded with the views of the royal
commanders, or suited the exigency of the times. These were not
unfrequently composed of men raised in the colonies, and at other times
drafts were had from the regiments of the line, and the soldiers were
made to lay aside the musket and bayonet, and taught to wield the saber
and carbine. One particular body of the subsidiary troops was included
in this arrange ment, and the Hessian yagers were transformed into a
corps of heavy and inactive horse.

Opposed to them were the hardiest spirits of America. Most of the
cavalry regiments of the continental army were led and officered by
gentlemen from the South. The high and haughty courage of the commanders
had communicated itself to the privates, who were men selected with care
and great attention to the service they were intended to perform.

While the British were confined to their empty conquests in the
possession of a few of the larger towns, or marched through counties
that were swept of everything like military supplies, the light troops
of their enemies had the range of the whole interior.

The sufferings of the line of the American army were great beyond
example; but possessing the power, and feeling themselves engaged in a
cause which justified severity, the cavalry officers were vigilant in
providing for their wants, and the horse were well mounted, well fed,
and consequently eminently effective. Perhaps the world could not
furnish more brave, enterprising, and resistless corps of light cavalry,
than a few that were in the continental service at the time of which
we write.

Dunwoodie's men had often tried their prowess against the enemy, and
they now sat panting to be led once more against foes whom they seldom
charged in vain. Their wishes were soon to be gratified; for their
commander had scarcely time to regain his seat in the saddle, before a
body of the enemy came sweeping round the base of the hill, which
intersected the view to the south. A few minutes enabled the major to
distinguish their character. In one troop he saw the green coats of the
Cowboys, and in the other the leathern helmets and wooden saddles of the
yagers. Their numbers were about equal to the body under his
immediate orders.

On reaching the open space near the cottage of Harvey Birch, the enemy
halted and drew up his men in line, evi dently making preparations for
a charge. At this moment a column of foot appeared in the vale, and
pressed forward to the bank of the brook we have already mentioned.

Major Dunwoodie was not less distinguished by coolness and judgment,
than, where occasion offered, by his dauntless intrepidity. He at once
saw his advantage, and determined to profit by it. The column he led
began slowly to retire from the field, when the youthful German, who
commanded the enemy's horse, fearful of missing an easy conquest, gave
the word to charge. Few troops were more hardy than the Cowboys; they
sprang eagerly forward in the pursuit, with a confidence created by the
retiring foe and the column in their rear; the Hessians followed more
slowly, but in better order. The trumpets of the Virginians now sounded
long and lively; they were answered by a strain from the party in ambush
that went to the hearts of their enemies. The column of Dunwoodie
wheeled in perfect order, opened, and, as the word to charge was given,
the troops of Lawton emerged from their cover, with their leader in
advance, waving his saber over his head, and shouting, in a voice that
was heard above the clangor of the martial music.

The charge threatened too much for the refugee troop. They scattered in
every direction, flying from the field as fast as their horses, the
chosen beasts of Westchester, could carry them. Only a few were hurt;
but such as did meet the arms of their avenging countrymen never
survived the blow, to tell who struck it. It was upon the poor vassals
of the German tyrant that the shock fell. Disciplined to the most exact
obedience, these ill-fated men met the charge bravely, but they were
swept before the mettled horses and nervous arms of their antagonists
like chaff before the wind. Many of them were literally ridden down, and
Dunwoodie soon saw the field without an opposing foe. The proximity of
the infantry prevented pursuit, and behind its column the few Hessians
who escaped unhurt sought protection.

The more cunning refugees dispersed in small bands, taking various and
devious routes back to their old station in front of Harlem. Many was
the sufferer, in cattle, furniture, and person, that was created by this
rout; for the dispersion of a troop of Cowboys was only the extension
of an evil.

Such a scene could not be expected to be acted so near them, and the
inmates of the cottage take no interest in the result. In truth, the
feelings it excited pervaded every bosom, from the kitchen to the
parlor. Terror and horror had prevented the ladies from being
spectators, but they did not feel the less. Frances continued lying in
the posture we have mentioned, offering up fervent and incoherent
petitions for the safety of her countrymen, although in her inmost heart
she had personified her nation by the graceful image of Peyton
Dunwoodie. Her aunt and sister were less exclusive in their devotions;
but Sarah began to feel, as the horrors of war were thus brought home to
her senses, less pleasure in her anticipated triumphs.

The inmates of Mr. Wharton's kitchen were four, namely, Caesar and his
spouse, their granddaughter, a jet-black damsel of twenty, and the boy
before alluded to. The blacks were the remnants of a race of negroes
which had been entailed on his estate from Mr. Wharton's maternal
ancestors, who were descended from the early Dutch colonists. Time,
depravity, and death had reduced them to this small number; and the boy,
who was white, had been added by Miss Peyton to the establishment, as an
assistant, to perform the ordinary services of a footman. Caesar, after
first using the precaution to place himself under the cover of an angle
in the wall, for a screen against any roving bullet which might be
traversing the air, became an amused spectator of the skirmish. The
sentinel on the piazza was at the distance of but a few feet from him,
and he entered into the spirit of the chase with all the ardor of a
tried bloodhound. He noticed the approach of the black, and his
judicious position, with a smile of contempt, as he squared himself
towards the enemy, offering his unprotected breast to any dangers which
might come.

After considering the arrangement of Caesar, for a moment, with
ineffable disdain, the dragoon said, with great coolness,--

"You seem very careful of that beautiful person of yours, Mr. Blueskin."

"A bullet hurt a colored man as much as a white," muttered the black,
surlily, casting a glance of much satisfaction at his rampart.

"Suppose I make the experiment," returned the sentinel. As he spoke, he
deliberately drew a pistol from his belt, and leveled it at the black.
Caesar's teeth chattered at the appearance of the dragoon, although he
believed nothing serious was intended. At this moment the column of
Dunwoodie began to retire, and the royal cavalry commenced their charge.

"There, Mister Light-Horseman," said Caesar eagerly, who believed the
Americans were retiring in earnest; "why you rebels don't
fight--see--see how King George's men make Major Dunwoodie run! Good
gentleman, too, but he don't like to fight a rig'lar."

"Damn your regulars," cried the other, fiercely. "Wait a minute,
blackey, and you'll see Captain Jack Lawton come out from behind yonder
hill, and scatter these Cowboys like wild geese who've lost
their leader."

Caesar supposed the party under Lawton to have sought the shelter of the
hill from motives similar to that which had induced him to place the
wall between himself and the battle ground; but the fact soon verified
the trooper's prophecy, and the black witnessed with consternation the
total rout of the royal horse.

The sentinel manifested his exultation at the success of his comrades
with loud shouts, which soon brought his companion, who had been left in
the more immediate charge of Henry Wharton, to the open window of
the parlor.

"See, Tom, see," cried the delighted trooper, "how Captain Lawton makes
that Hessian's leather cap fly; and now the major has killed the
officer's horse--zounds, why didn't he kill the Dutchman and save
the horse?"

A few pistols were discharged at the flying Cowboys, and a spent bullet
broke a pane of glass within a few feet of Caesar. Imitating the posture
of the great tempter of our race, the black sought the protection of the
inside of the building, and immediately ascended to the parlor.

The lawn in front of the Locusts was hidden from the view of the road by
a close line of shrubbery, and the horses of the two dragoons had been
left, linked together, under its shelter, to await the movements of
their masters.

At this moment two Cowboys, who had been cut off from a retreat to their
own party, rode furiously through the gate, with an intention of
escaping to the open wood in the rear of the cottage.

The victorious Americans pressed the retreating Germans until they had
driven them under the protection of the fire of the infantry; and
feeling themselves, in the privacy of the lawn, relieved from any
immediate danger, the predatory warriors yielded to a temptation that
few of the corps were ever known to resist--opportunity and horseflesh.
With a hardihood and presence of mind that could only exist from long
practice in similar scenes, they made towards their intended prizes, by
an almost spontaneous movement. They were busily engaged in separating
the fastenings of the horses, when the trooper on the piazza discharged
his pistols, and rushed, sword in hand, to the rescue.

The entrance of Caesar into the parlor had induced the wary dragoon
within to turn his attention more closely on his prisoner; but this new
interruption drew him again to the window. He threw his body out of the
building, and with dreadful imprecations endeavored, by his threats and
appearance, to frighten the marauders from their prey. The moment was
enticing. Three hundred of his comrades were within a mile of the
cottage; unridden horses were running at large in every direction, and
Henry Wharton seized the unconscious sentinel by his legs, and threw him
headlong into the lawn. Caesar vanished from the room, and drew a bolt
of the outer door.

The fall of the soldier was not great, and recovering his feet, he
turned his fury for a moment on his prisoner. To scale the window in the
face of such an enemy, was, however, impossible, and on trial he found
the main entrance barred.

His comrade now called loudly upon him for aid, and forgetful of
everything else, the discomfited trooper rushed to his assistance. One
horse was instantly liberated, but the other was already fastened to the
saddle of a Cowboy, and the four retired behind the building, cutting
furiously at each other with their sabers, and making the air resound
with their imprecations. Caesar threw the outer door open, and pointing
to the remaining horse, that was quietly biting the faded herbage of the
lawn, he exclaimed,--

"Run--now--run--Massa Harry, run."

"Yes," cried the youth as he vaulted into the saddle, "now, indeed, my
honest fellow, is the time to run." He beckoned hastily to his father,
who stood at the window in speechless anxiety, with his hands extended
towards his child in the attitude of benediction, and adding, "God bless
you, Caesar, salute the girls," he dashed through the gate with the
rapidity of lightning.

The African watched him with anxiety as he gained the highway, saw him
incline to the right, and riding furiously under the brow of some rocks,
which on that side rose perpendicularly, disappear behind a projection,
which soon hid him from view.

The delighted Caesar closed the door, pushing bolt after bolt, and
turning the key until it would turn no more, soliloquizing the whole
time on the happy escape of his young master.

"How well he ride--teach him good deal myself--salute a young
lady--Miss Fanny wouldn't let old colored man kiss a red cheek."

When the fortune of the day was decided, and the time arrived for the
burial of the dead, two Cowboys and a Virginian were found in the rear
of the Locusts, to be included in the number.

Happily for Henry Wharton, the searching eyes of his captors were
examining, through a pocket glass, the column of infantry that still
held its position on the bank of the stream, while the remnants of the
Hessian yagers were seeking its friendly protection. His horse was of
the best blood of Virginia, and carried him with the swiftness of the
wind along the Valley; and the heart of the youth was already beating
tumultuously with pleasure at his deliverance, when a well-known voice
reached his startled ear, crying aloud,--

"Bravely done, captain! Don't spare the whip, and turn to your left
before you cross the brook."

Wharton turned his head in surprise, and saw, sitting on the point of a
jutting rock that commanded a bird's-eye view of the valley, his former
guide, Harvey Birch. His pack, much diminished in size, lay at the feet
of the peddler, who waved his hat to the youth, exultingly, as the
latter flew by him. The English captain took the advice of this
mysterious being, and finding a good road, which led to the highway,
that intersected the valley, turned down its direction, and was soon
opposite to his friends. The next minute he crossed the bridge, and
stopped his charger before his old acquaintance, Colonel Wellmere.

"Captain Wharton!" exclaimed the astonished commander of the English
troops, "dressed in mohair, and mounted on a rebel dragoon horse! Are
you from the clouds in this attire, and in such a style?"

"Thank God!" cried the youth, recovering his breath, "I am safe, and
have escaped from the hands of my enemies; but five minutes since and I
was a prisoner, and threatened with the gallows."

"The gallows, Captain Wharton! surely those traitors to the king would
never dare to commit another murder in cold blood; is it not enough that
they took the life of Andre? Wherefore did they threaten you with a
similar fate?"

"Under the pretense of a similar offense," said the captain, briefly
explaining to the group of listeners the manner of his capture, the
grounds of his personal apprehensions, and the method of his escape. By
the time he had concluded his narration, the fugitive Germans were
collected in the rear of the column of infantry, and Colonel Wellmere
cried aloud,--

"From my soul I congratulate you, my brave friend; mercy is a quality
with which these traitors are unacquainted, and you are doubly fortunate
in escaping from their hands uninjured. Prepare yourself to grant me
your assistance and I will soon afford you a noble revenge."

"I do not think there was danger of personal outrage to any man, Colonel
Wellmere, from a party that Major Dunwoodie commands," returned young
Wharton, with a slight glow on his face. "His character is above the
imputation of such an offense; neither do I think it altogether prudent
to cross this brook into the open plain, in the face of those Virginian
horse, flushed as they must be with the success they have just
obtained."

"Do you call the rout of those irregulars and these sluggish Hessians a
deed to boast of?" said the other with a contemptuous smile. "You speak
of the affair, Captain Wharton, as if your boasted Mr. Dunwoodie, for
major he is none, had discomfited the bodyguards of your king."

"And I must be allowed to say, Colonel Wellmere, that if the bodyguards
of my king were in yon field, they would meet a foe that it would be
dangerous to despise. Sir, my boasted Mr. Dunwoodie is the pride of
Washington's army as a cavalry officer," cried Henry with warmth.

"Dunwoodie, Dunwoodie!" repeated the colonel slowly, "surely I have met
the gentleman before."

"I have been told you once saw him for a moment, at the town residence
of my sisters," replied Wharton, with a lurking smile.

"Ah! I do remember me of such a youth; and does the most potent congress
of these rebellious colonies intrust their soldiers to the leading of
such a warrior!"

"Ask the commander of yon Hessian horse, whether he thinks Major
Dunwoodie worthy of the confidence."

Colonel Wellmere was far from wanting that kind of pride which makes a
man bear himself bravely in the presence of his enemies. He had served
in America a long time, without ever meeting with any but new raised
levies, or the militia of the country. These would sometimes fight, and
that fearlessly, but they as often chose to run away without pulling a
trigger. He was too apt to judge from externals, and thought it
impossible for men whose gaiters were so clean, whose tread so regular,
and who wheeled with so much accuracy, to be beaten. In addition to all
these, they were Englishmen, and their success was certain. Colonel
Wellmere had never been kept much in the field, or these notions, which
he had brought with him from home, and which had been greatly increased
by the vaporing of a garrisoned town, would have long since vanished. He
listened to the warm reply of Captain Wharton with a supercilious smile,
and then inquired,--

"You would not have us retire, sir, before these boasted horsemen,
without doing something that may deprive them of part of the glory which
you appear to think they have gained!"

"I would have you advised, Colonel Wellmere, of the danger you are about
to encounter."

"Danger is but an unseemly word for a soldier," continued the British
commander with a sneer.

"And one as little dreaded by the 60th, as any corps who wear the royal
livery," cried Henry Wharton, fiercely. "Give but the word to charge,
and let our actions speak."

"Now again I know my young friend," cried Wellmere, soothingly; "but if
you have anything to say before we fight, that can in any manner help us
in our attack, we'll listen. You know the force of the rebels; are there
more of them in ambush?"

"Yes," replied the youth, chafing still under the other's sneers, "in
the skirt of this wood on our right are a small party of foot; their
horse are all before you."

"Where they will not continue long," cried Wellmere, turning to the few
officers around him. "Gentlemen, we will cross the stream in column, and
deploy on the plain beyond, or else we shall not be able to entice these
valiant Yankees within the reach of our muskets. Captain Wharton, I
claim your assistance as an aid-de-camp."

The youth shook his head in disapprobation of a movement which his good
sense taught him was rash, but prepared with alacrity to perform his
duty in the impending trial.

During this conversation, which was held at a small distance in advance
of the British column, and in full view of the Americans, Dunwoodie had
been collecting his scattered troops, securing his few prisoners, and
retiring to the ground where he had been posted at the first appearance
of his enemy. Satisfied with the success he had already obtained, and
believing the English too wary to give him an opportunity of harassing
them further, he was about to withdraw the guides; and, leaving a strong
party on the ground to watch the movements of the regulars, to fall back
a few miles, to a favorable place for taking up his quarters for the
night. Captain Lawton was reluctantly listening to the reasoning of his
commander, and had brought out his favorite glass, to see if no opening
could be found for an advantageous attack, when he suddenly exclaimed,--

"How's this! a bluecoat among those scarlet gentry? As I hope to live to
see old Virginia, it is my masquerading friend of the 6oth, the
handsome Captain Wharton, escaped from two of my best men!"

He had not done speaking when the survivor of these heroes joined his
troop, bringing with him his own horse and those of the Cowboys; he
reported the death of his comrade, and the escape of his prisoner. As
the deceased was the immediate sentinel over the person of young
Wharton, and the other was not to be blamed for defending the horses,
which were more particularly under his care, his captain heard him with
uneasiness but without anger.

This intelligence made an entire change in the views of Major Dunwoodie.
He saw at once that his own reputation was involved in the escape of his
prisoner. The order to recall the guides was countermanded, and he now
joined his second in command, watching as eagerly as the impetuous
Lawton himself, for some opening to assail his foe to advantage.

But two hours before, and Dunwoodie had felt the chance which made Henry
Wharton his captive, as the severest blow he had ever sustained. Now he
panted for an opportunity in which, by risking his own life, he might
recapture his friend. All other considerations were lost in the goadings
of a wounded spirit, and he might have soon emulated Lawton in
hardihood, had not Wellmere and his troops at this moment crossed the
brook into the open plain.

"There," cried the delighted captain, as he pointed out the movement
with his finger, "there comes John Bull into the mousetrap, and with
eyes wide open."

"Surely," said Dunwoodie eagerly, "he will not deploy his column on that
flat. Wharton must tell him of the ambush. But if he does--"

"We will not leave him a dozen sound skins in his battalion,"
interrupted the other, springing into his saddle.

The truth was soon apparent; for the English column, after advancing for
a short distance on the level land, deployed with an accuracy that
would have done them honor on a field day in their own Hyde Park.

"Prepare to mount-mount!" cried Dunwoodie; the last word being repeated
by Lawton in a tone that rang in the ears of Caesar, who stood at the
open window of the cottage. The black recoiled in dismay, having lost
all his confidence in Captain Lawton's timidity; for he thought he yet
saw him emerging from his cover and waving his sword on high.

As the British line advanced slowly and in exact order, the guides
opened a galling fire. It began to annoy that part of the royal troops
which was nearest to them. Wellmere listen

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/9845