James Fenimore Cooper's Five Novels

by James Fenimore Cooper

  The more cunning refugees dispersed in small bands, taking various and devious routes back to their old station in front of Harlaem. Many was the sufferer, in cattle, furniture, and person, that was created by this rout; for the dispersion of a troop of Cow-Boys 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 parlour. 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 grand-daughter, 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 ardour of a tried blood-hound—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 coloured 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 levelled 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 Cow-Boys 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 parlour.

  “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 Cow-Boys, 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 parlour.

  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 Cow-Boys, 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 horse-flesh. 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 parlour 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 endeavoured 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 every thing else, the discomfited trooper rushed to his assistance. One horse was instantly liberated, but the other was already fastened to the saddle of a Cow-Boy, and the four retired behind the building, cutting furiously at each other with their sabres, 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 would’nt let old coloured man kiss a red cheek.”

  When the fortune of the day was decided, and the time arrived for the burial of the dead, two Cow-Boys 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 captor 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 pedlar, 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 wood 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 their king would never dare to commit another murder in cold blood; is it not enough that they took the life of André? wherefore did they threaten you with a similar fate?”

  “Under the pretence of a similar offence,” 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 offence; 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 body guards of your king.”

  “And I must be allowed to say, Colonel Wellmere, that if the body guards 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,” said Wellmere soothingly; “but if you have any thing 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 with 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 display 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 harrassing them farther, 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 blue coat among those scarlet gentry; as I hope to live to see old Virginia, it is my masquerading friend of the 60th, 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 Cow-Boys; 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 recal 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 hardih
ood, 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 mouse trap, and with his eyes wide open.”

  “Surely,” said Dunwoodie eagerly, “he will not display 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, displayed with an accuracy that would have done them honour 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 rung 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 listened to the advice of the veteran who was next to him in rank, and ordered two companies to dislodge the American foot from their hiding place. The movement created a slight confusion, and Dunwoodie seized the opportunity to charge. No ground could be more favorable for the manoeuvres of horse, and the attack of the Virginians was irresistible. It was aimed chiefly at the flank opposite to the wood, in order to clear the Americans from the fire of their friends who were concealed—and it was completely successful. Wellmere, who was on the left of his line, was overthrown by the impetuous fury of his assailants. Dunwoodie was in time to save him from the impending blow of one of his men, and raised him from the ground, had him placed on a horse and delivered to the custody of his orderly. The officer who had suggested the attack upon the guides, had been intrusted with its execution, but the menace was sufficient for these irregulars. In fact, their duty was performed, and they retired along the skirt of the wood with intent to regain their horses, which had been left under a guard at the upper end of the valley.