“But Captain Lawton is the officer we saw this morning, and is surely your friend,” said Frances hastily, observing her aunt to be seriously alarmed.
“I find no fault with his want of friendship; the man is well enough if he would learn to cut scientifically. All trades, madam, ought to be allowed to live—but what is to become of a surgeon, if his patients are dead before he sees them!”
The doctor continued haranguing on the probability and improbability of its being the returning troop, until a loud knock at the door gave new alarm to the ladies. Instinctively laying his hand on a small saw that had been his companion for the whole day in the vain expectation of an amputation, the surgeon coolly assuring the ladies that he would stand between them and danger, proceeded in person to answer to the summons.
“Captain Lawton!” exclaimed the surgeon, as he beheld the trooper leaning on the arm of his subaltern, and with difficulty crossing the threshold.
“Ah! my dear bone-setter, is it you? you are here very fortunately to inspect my carcass, but do lay aside that rascally saw.”
A few words from Mason explained the nature and manner of his captain’s hurts, and Miss Peyton cheerfully accorded the required accommodations. While the room intended for the trooper was in preparation for his reception, and the doctor was giving certain portentous orders, the captain was invited to rest himself in the parlour. On the table was a dish of more substantial food than ordinarily adorned the afternoon’s repast, and it soon caught the attention of the dragoons. Miss Peyton recollecting that they had probably made their only meal that day at her own table, kindly invited them to close it with another. The offer required no pressing, and in a few minutes the two were comfortably seated, and engaged in an employment that was only interrupted by an occasional wry face from the captain who moved his body in evident pain. These interruptions, however, interfered but little with the principal business in hand; and the captain had got happily through with this important duty, before the surgeon returned to announce all things ready for his accommodation in the room above stairs.
“Eating!” cried the astonished physician, “Captain Lawton, do you wish to die?”
“I have no particular ambition that way,” said the trooper rising, and bowing good night to the ladies, “and, therefore, have been providing the materials necessary to preserve life.”
The surgeon muttered his dissatisfaction, while he followed Mason and the captain from the apartment.
Every house in America had at that day what was emphatically called its best room, and this had been allotted by the unseen influence of Sarah to Colonel Wellmere. The down counterpane, which a clear frosty night would render extremely grateful over bruised limbs, decked the English officer’s bed. A massive silver tankard, richly embossed with the Wharton arms, held the beverage he was to drink during the night; while beautiful vessels of china performed the same office for the two American captains. Sarah was certainly unconscious of the silent preference she had been giving to the English officer, and it is equally certain, that but for his hurts, bed, tankard, and every thing but the beverage would have been matters of indifference to Captain Lawton—half of whose nights were spent in his clothes, and not a few of them in the saddle. After taking possession, however, of a small but very comfortable room, Dr. Sitgreaves proceeded to inquire into the state of his injuries. He had begun to pass his hand over the body of his patient, when the latter cried impatiently—
“Sitgreaves, do me the favor to lay that rascally saw aside or I shall have recourse to my sabre in self defence. The sight of it makes my blood cold.”
“Captain Lawton, for a man who has so often exposed life and limb, you are unaccountably afraid of a very useful instrument.”
“Heaven keep me from its use,” said the trooper with a shrug.
“You would not despise the lights of science, nor refuse surgical aid because this saw might be necessary?”
“I would.”
“You would!”
“Yes, you never shall joint me like a quarter of beef while I have life to defend myself,” cried the resolute dragoon; “but I grow sleepy, are any of my ribs broken?”
“No.”
“Any of my bones?”
“No.”
“Tom, I’ll thank you for that pitcher.” As he ended his draught, he very deliberately turned his back on his companions, and good naturedly cried—“Good night, Mason—Good night, Galen.”
Captain Lawton entertained a profound respect for the surgical abilities of his comrade, but he was very sceptical on the subject of administering internally for the ailings of the human frame. With a full stomach, a stout heart, and a clear conscience, he often maintained, that a man might bid defiance to the world and its vicissitudes. Nature provided him with the second, and, to say the truth, he strove manfully himself to keep up the other two requisites in his creed. It was a favourite maxim with him, that the last thing death assailed was the eyes, and next to the last, the jaws. This he interpreted to be a clear expression of the intention of nature, that every man might regulate, by his own volition, whatever was to be admitted into the sanctuary of his mouth; consequently, if the guest proved unpalatable, he had no one to blame but himself. The surgeon, who was well acquainted with these views of his patient, beheld him, as he cavalierly turned his back on Mason and himself, with a commiserating contempt, replaced in their leathern repository, the phials he had exhibited, with a species of care that was allied to veneration, gave the saw, as he concluded, a whirl of triumph, and departed, without condescending to notice the compliment of the trooper. Mason finding, by the breathing of the captain, that his own good night would be unheard, hastened to pay his respects to the ladies—after which he mounted, and followed the troop at the top of his horse’s speed.
Chapter X
“On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires,
E’en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E’en in our ashes, live their wonted fires.”
Gray.
* * *
THE POSSESSIONS of Mr. Wharton extended some distance on each side of the house in which he dwelt, and most of his land was unoccupied. A few scattering dwellings were to be seen in different parts of his domains, but they were fast falling to decay, and were untenanted. The proximity of the county to the contending armies had nearly banished the pursuits of agriculture from the land. It was useless for the husbandman to devote his time, and the labour of his hands, to obtain overflowing garners, that the first foraging party would empty. None tilled the earth with any other view than to provide the scanty means of subsistence, except those who were placed so near to one of the adverse parties as to be safe from the inroads of the light troops of the other. To these the war offered a golden harvest, more especially to such as enjoyed the benefits of an access to the Royal Army. Mr. Wharton did not require the use of his lands for the purposes of subsistence, and he willingly adopted the guarded practice of the day, limiting his attention to such articles as were soon to be consumed within his own walls, or could be easily secreted from the prying eyes of the foragers. In consequence, the ground on which the action was fought, had not a single inhabited building, besides the one belonging to the father of Harvey Birch—This house stood between the place where the cavalry had met and that where the charge had been made on the party of Wellmere.
To Katy Haynes, it had been a day fruitful of incidents. The prudent housekeeper had kept her political feelings in a state of rigid neutrality; her own friends had espoused the cause of the country, but the maiden herself, never lost sight of that important moment, when like females of more illustrious hopes, she might be required to sacrifice her love of country, on the altar of domestic harmony. And yet, notwithstanding all her sagacity, there were moments when the good woman had grievous doubts, into which scale she ought to throw the weight
of her eloquence, in order to be certain of supporting the cause favored by the pedlar. There was so much that was equivocal in his movements and manner, that often, when in the privacy of their household she was about to utter a philippic on Washington and his followers, discretion sealed her mouth, and distrust beset her mind. In short, the whole conduct of the mysterious being she studied was of a character to distract the opinions of one who took a more enlarged view of men and life, than came within the competency of his housekeeper.
The battle of the Plains had taught the cautious Washington the advantages his enemy possessed, in organization, arms, and discipline. These were difficulties to be mastered by his own vigilance and care. Drawing off his troops to the heights, in the northern part of the county, he had bidden defiance to the attacks of the Royal Army, and Sir William Howe fell back to the enjoyment of his barren conquest, a deserted city. Never afterwards did the opposing armies make the trial of strength within the limits of West-Chester; yet hardly a day passed, that the partisans did not make their inroads, or a sun rise, that the inhabitants were spared the relation of excesses, which the preceding darkness had served to conceal. Most of the movements of the pedlar were made at the hours which others allotted to repose. The evening sun would frequently leave him at one extremity of the county, and the morning find him at the other. His pack was his never-failing companion, and there were those who closely studied him, in his moments of traffic, who thought his only purpose was the accumulation of gold. He would be often seen near the Highlands with a body bending under its load—and again near the Harlaem river, travelling, with lighter steps, with his face towards the setting sun. But these glances at him were uncertain and fleeting. The intermediate time no eye could penetrate. For months he disappeared, and no traces of his course were ever known.
Strong parties held the heights of Harlaem, and the northern end of Manhattan Island was bristling with the bayonets of the English sentinels, yet the pedlar glided among them unnoticed and uninjured. His approaches to the American lines were also frequent; but generally so conducted as to baffle pursuit. Many a sentinel, placed in the gorges of the mountains, spoke of a strange figure that had been seen gliding by them in the mists of the evening. These stories reached the ears of the officers, and, as we have related, in two instances the trader had fallen into the hands of the Americans. The first time he had escaped from Lawton, shortly after his arrest; but the second he was condemned to die. On the morning of his intended execution the cage was opened, but the bird had flown. This extraordinary escape had been made from the custody of a favorite officer of Washington, and sentinels who had been thought worthy to guard the person of the commander-in-chief. Bribery and treason could not be imputed to men so well esteemed, and the opinion gained ground among the common soldiery, that the pedlar had dealings with the dark one. Katy, however, always repelled this opinion with indignation; for within the recesses of her own bosom, the housekeeper, in ruminating on the events, concluded that the evil spirit did not pay in gold—Nor, continued the wary spinster in her cogitations, does Washington—paper and promises were all that the leader of the American troops could dispense to his servants. After the alliance with France, when silver became more abundant in the country, although the scrutinizing eyes of Katy never let any opportunity of examining into the deer-skin purse, pass unimproved, she was never able to detect the image of Louis, intruding into the presence of the well known countenance of George III. In short, the secret horde of Harvey sufficiently showed in its contents, that all its contributions had been received from the British.
The house of Birch had been watched at different times by the Americans, with a view to his arrest, but never with success; the reputed spy possessing a secret means of intelligence that invariably defeated their schemes. Once, when a strong body of the Continental Army held the Four Corners for a whole summer, orders had been received from Washington himself, never to leave the door of Harvey Birch unwatched. The command was rigidly obeyed, and during this long period the pedlar was unseen—the detachment was withdrawn, and the following night Birch re-entered his dwelling. The father of Harvey had been greatly molested in consequence of the suspicious character of the son. But, notwithstanding the most minute scrutiny into the conduct of the old man, no fact could be substantiated against him to his injury, and his property was too small to keep alive the zeal of patriots by profession. Its confiscation and purchase would not have rewarded their trouble. Age and sorrow were now about to spare him further molestation, for the lamp of life had been drained of its oil. The recent separation of the father and son had been painful, but they had submitted in obedience to what both thought a duty. The old man had kept his dying situation a secret from the neighbourhood, in the hope that he might still have the company of his child in his last moments. The confusion of the day, and his increasing dread that Harvey might be too late, helped to hasten the event he would fain arrest for a little while. As night set in, his illness increased to such a degree that the dismayed housekeeper sent a truant boy, who had shut up himself with them during the combat, to the “Locusts,” in quest of a companion to cheer her solitude. Caesar alone could be spared, and, loaded with eatables and cordials by the kind-hearted Miss Peyton, the black had been despatched on this duty. The dying man was past the use of medicines, and his chief anxiety seemed to centre in a meeting with his child.
The noise of the chase had been heard by the group in the house, but its cause was not understood; and as both the black and Katy were apprised of the detachment of American horse being below them, they supposed it to proceed from the return of that party. They heard the dragoons as they moved slowly by the building, but in compliance with the prudent injunction of the black, the housekeeper forebore to indulge her curiosity. The old man had closed his eyes, and his attendants believed him to be asleep. The house contained two large rooms, and as many small ones. One of the former served for kitchen and sitting room—in the other lay the father of Birch: of the latter, one was the sanctuary of the vestal, and the other contained the stock of provisions. A huge chimney of stone rose in the centre, serving, of itself, for a partition between the larger rooms, and fire-places of corresponding dimensions were in each apartment. A bright flame was burning in that of the common room, and within the very jambs of its monstrous jaws sat Caesar and Katy at the time of which we write. The African was impressing his caution on the housekeeper, and commenting on the general danger of indulging an idle curiosity.
“Best neber tempt a Satan,” said Caesar, rolling up his eyes till the whites glistened by the glare of the fire—“I like to lose an ear—berry like heself for carrying a little bit of a letter—dere much mischief come of curiosity. If dere had nebber been a man curious to see Africa, dere would be no coulour people out of deir own country: But I wish Harvey get back.”
“It is very disregardful in him to be away at such a time,” said Katy imposingly. “Suppose now his father wanted to make his last will in the testament, who is there to do so solemn and awful an act for him. Harvey is a very wasteful and a very disregardful man!”
“Perhap he make him afore?”
“It would not be a wonderment if he had,” returned the housekeeper; “he is whole days looking into the Bible.”
“Then he read a berry good book,” said the black solemnly. “Miss Fanny read in him to Dinah now and den.”
“You are right, Caesar. The bible is the best of books, and one that reads it as often as Harvey’s father should have the best of reasons for so doing. That is no more than common sense.”
She rose from her seat, and stealing softly to a chest of drawers in the room of the sick man, she took from it a large Bible, heavily bound, and secured with strong clasps of brass, with which she returned to the negro. The volume was eagerly opened, and they proceeded instantly to examine its pages. Katy was far from an expert scholar, and to Caesar the characters were absolutely strangers. For some time the housekeeper wa
s occupied in finding out the word Matthew, in which she had no sooner succeeded, than she pointed out the word, with great complacency, to the attentive Caesar.
“Berry well, now look him t’rough:” said the black, peeping over the housekeeper’s shoulder, as he held a long, lank, candle of yellow tallow, in such a manner as to throw its feeble light on the volume.
“Yes, but I must begin with the very beginning book,” replied the other, turning the leaves carefully back, until, moving two at once, she lighted upon a page covered with writing. “Here,” said the housekeeper, shaking with the eagerness of expectation, “here are the very words themselves; now I would give the world itself to know whom he has left the big silver shoe buckles to.”
“Read ’em,” said Caesar laconically.
“And the black walnut drawers, for Harvey could never want furniture of that quality, as long as he is a bachelor!”
“Why he no want ’em as well as he fader?”
“And the six silver table spoons; Harvey always uses the iron!”
“P’r’aps he say, widout so much talk,” returned the sententious black, pointing one of his crooked and dingy fingers at the open volume.
Thus repeatedly advised, and impelled by her own curiosity, Katy began to read; anxious to come to the part which most interested herself, she dipped at once into the centre of the subject.
“Chester Birch, born September 1st, 1755;” read the spinster with a deliberation that did no great honor to her scholarship.
“Well, what he give him?”
“Abigail Birch, born July 12th, 1757;” continued the housekeeper in the same tone.
“I t’ink he ought to gib her ’e spoons.”
“June 1st, 1760. On this awful day the judgment of an offended God lighted on my house”—a heavy groan from the adjoining room made the spinster instinctively close the volume, and Caesar, for a moment, shook with fear—neither possessed sufficient resolution to go and examine the condition of the sufferer, but his heavy breathing continued as usual—Katy dared not, however, re-open the Bible, and carefully securing its clasps, it was laid on the table in silence. Caesar took his chair again, and, after looking timidly round the room, remarked—
James Fenimore Cooper's Five Novels Page 17