James Fenimore Cooper's Five Novels

by James Fenimore Cooper

  Lionel suffered a minute to pass without a question, in deference to this burst of feeling; but making an impatient movement, it drew the eyes of Ralph upon him, and the old man continued—

  “Month after month, for two long and tedious years, did thy father linger in England, struggling for his own. At length he prevailed. He then hastened hither; but there was no wife—no fond and loving Priscilla, like that tender flower that reposes in thy bosom, to welcome his return.”

  “I know it,” said Lionel, nearly choked—“she was dead.”

  “She was more,” returned Ralph, in a voice so deep that it sounded like one speaking from the grave—“she was dishonoured!”

  “’Tis false!”

  “’Tis true; true as that holy gospel which comes to men through the inspired ministers of God!”

  “’Tis false,” repeated Lionel, fiercely—“blacker than the darkest thoughts of the foul spirit of evil!”

  “I say, rash boy, ’tis true! She died in giving birth to the fruits of her infamy. When Priscilla Lechmere met thy heart-stricken parent with the damning tale, he read in her exulting eye, the treason of her mind, and, like thee, he dared to call heaven to witness, that thy mother was defamed. But there was one known to him, under circumstances that forbad the thoughts of deceit, who swore—ay, took the blessed name of Him who reads all hearts, for warranty of her truth!—she confirmed it.”

  “The infamous seducer!” said Lionel, hoarsely, his body turning unconsciously away from Cecil—“does he yet live? Give him to my vengeance, old man, and I will yet bless you for this accursed history!”

  “Lionel, Lionel,” said the soothing voice of his bride, “do you credit him?”

  “Credit him!” said Ralph, with a horrid, inward laugh, as if he would deride the idea of incredulity; “all this must he believe, and more! Once again, weak girl, did thy grandmother throw out her lures for the wealthy baronet, and when he would not become her son, then did she league with the spirits of hell to compass his ruin. Revenge took place of ambition, and thy husband’s father was the victim!”

  “Say on!” cried Lionel, nearly ceasing to breathe in the intensity of his interest.

  “The blow had cut him to the heart, and for a time, his reason was crushed beneath its weight. Yet ’twas but for an hour, compared to the eternity a man is doomed to live! They profited by the temporary derangement, and when his wandering faculties were lulled to quiet, he found himself the tenant of a mad-house, where, for twenty long years, was he herded with the defaced images of his maker, by the arts of the base widow of John Lechmere.”

  “Can this be true! Can this be true!” cried Lionel, clasping his hands wildly, and springing to his feet, with a violence that cast the tender form that still clung to him, aside, like a worthless toy—“Can this be proved? How knowest thou these facts?”

  The calm, but melancholy smile that was wont to light the wan features of the old man, when he alluded to his own existence, was once more visible, as he answered—

  “There is but little hid from the knowledge acquired by length of days; besides, have I not secret means of intelligence that are unknown to thee! Remember what, in our frequent interviews, I have revealed; recall the death-bed scene of Priscilla Lechmere, and ask thyself if there be not truth in thy aged friend!”

  “Give me all! hold not back a tittle of thy accursed tale—give me all—or take back each syllable thou hast uttered.”

  “Thou shalt have all thou askest, Lionel Lincoln, and more,” returned Ralph, throwing into his manner and voice its utmost powers of solemnity and persuasion—“provided thou wilt swear eternal hatred to that country and those laws, by which an innocent and unoffending man can be levelled with the beasts of the field, and be made to rave even at his maker, in the bitterness of his sufferings.”

  “More than that—ten thousand times more than that will I swear—I will league with this rebellion”—

  “Lionel, Lionel—what is’t you do!” interrupted the heart-stricken Cecil.

  But her voice was stilled by loud and busy cries, which broke out of the village, above the hum of revelry, and was instantly succeeded by the trampling of footsteps, as men rushed over the frozen ground, apparently by hundreds, and with headlong rapidity. Ralph, who was not less quick to hear these sounds than the timid bride, glided from the grave, and approached the highway, whither he was slowly followed by his companions; Lionel utterly indifferent whither he proceeded, and Cecil trembling in every limb, with terror for the safety of him who so little regarded his own danger.

  “They are abroad, and think to find an enemy,” said the old man, raising his hand with a gesture to command attention; “but he has sworn to join their standards, and gladly will they receive any of his name and family!”

  “No, no—he has pledged himself to no dishonour,” cried Cecil—“Fly, Lincoln, while you are free, and leave me to meet the pursuers—they will respect my weakness.”

  Fortunately the allusion to herself awakened Lionel from the dull forgetfulness into which his faculties had fallen. Encircling her slight figure with his arm, he turned swiftly from the spot, saying, as he urged her forward—

  “Old man, when this precious charge is in safety, thy truth or falsehood shall be proved.”

  But Ralph, whose unincumbered person, and iron frame, which seemed to mock the ravages of time, gave a vast superiority over the impeded progress of the other, moved swiftly ahead, waving his hand, as if to indicate his intention to join in the flight, while he led the way into the adjacent fields.

  The noise of the pursuers soon became more distinct, and in the intervals of the distant cannonade, the cries and directions of those who conducted the chase were distinctly audible. Notwithstanding the vigorous arm of her supporter, Cecil was soon sensible that her delicate frame was unequal to continue the exertions necessary to their safety. They had entered another road, which lay at no great distance from the first, when she paused, and reluctantly declared her inability to proceed.

  “Then, here will we await our captors,” said Lionel, with forced composure—“let the rebels beware how they abuse their slight advantage!”

  The words were scarcely uttered, when a cart, drawn by a double team, turned an angle in the highway, near them, and its driver appeared within a few feet of the spot where they stood. He was a man advanced in years, but he still wielded his long goad with a dexterity which had been imparted by the practice of more than half a century. The sight of this man, alone, and removed from immediate aid, suggested a desperate thought for self-preservation to Lionel. Quitting the side of his exhausted companion, he advanced upon him with an air so fierce that it might have created alarm in one who had the smallest reason to apprehend danger.

  “Whither go you with that cart,” sternly demanded the young man.

  “To the point,” was the answer; “yes, yes—old and young—big and little—men and cre’turs—four-wheels and two-wheels—every thing goes to the point to-night, as you can guess, fri’nd! Why,” he continued, dropping one end of his goad on the ground, and supporting himself by grasping it with both his hands—“I was eighty-three the fourteenth of March last, and I hope, God willing, that when the next birth-day comes, there wont be a red coat left in the town of Boston. To my notion, friend, they have held the place long enough, and it’s time to quit. My boys are in the camp, soldiering a turn—the old woman has been as busy as a bee, sin’ sun-down, helping me to load-up what you see, and I am carrying it over to Dorchester, and not a farthing shall it ever cost the Congress!”

  “And you are going to Dorchester-neck with your bundles of hay!” said Lionel, eyeing both him and his passing team, in hesitation whether to attempt violence on one so infirm.

  “Anan! you must speak up, soldier-fashion, as you did at first, for I am a little deaf,” returned the carter. “Yes, yes, they spared me in the press, for they said
I had done enough; but I say a man has never done enough for his own country, when any thing is left to be done. I’m told they are carrying over fashines, as they call ’em, and pressed-hay, for their forts.—As hay is more in my fashion than any other fashion, I’ve bundled up a stout pile on’t here, and if that wont do, why, let Washington come; he is welcome to the barn, stacks and all!”

  “While you are so liberal to the Congress, can you help a female in distress, who would wish to go in the direction of your route, but is too feeble to walk?”

  “With all my heart,” said the other, turning round in quest of her whom he was desired to assist—“I hope she is handy; for the night wears on, and I shouldn’t like to have the English send a bullet at our people on Dorchester hills, before this hay gets there to help stop it.”

  “She shall not detain you an instant,” said Lionel, springing to the place where Cecil stood, partly concealed by the fence, and supporting her to the side of the rude vehicle—“you shall be amply rewarded for this service.”

  “Reward! Perhaps she is the wife or daughter of a soldier, in which case she should be drawn in her coach and four, instead of a cart and double team.”

  “Yes, yes—you are right, she is both—the wife of one, and the daughter of another soldier.”

  “Ay! God bless her! I warrant-me old Put was more than half-right, when he said the women would stop the two ridgements, that the proud parliamenter boasted could march through the colonies, from Hampshire to Georgi’—well, fri’nds, are ye situated?”

  “Perfectly,” said Lionel, who had been preparing seats for himself and Cecil among the bundles of hay, and assisting his companion into her place during the dialogue—“we will detain you no longer.”

  The carter, who was no less than the owner of a hundred acres of good land in the vicinity, signified his readiness, and sweeping the air with his goad, he brought his cattle to the proper direction, and moved on. During this hurried scene, Ralph continued hid by the shadows of the fence. When the cart proceeded, he waved his hand, and gliding across the road, was soon lost to the eye in the misty distance, with which his gray apparel blended, like a spectre vanishing in air.

  In the mean time the pursuers had not been idle. Voices were heard in different directions, and dim forms were seen rushing through the fields, by the aid of the deceptive light. To add to the embarrassment of their situation, Lionel found, when too late, that the route to Dorchester lay directly through the village of Cambridge. When he perceived they were approaching the streets, he would have left the cart, had not the experiment been too dangerous, in the midst of the disturbed soldiery, who now flew by on every side of them. In such a strait, his safest course was to continue motionless and silent, secreting his own form, and that of Cecil, as much as possible, among the bundles of hay. Contrary to all the just expectations which the impatient patriotism of the old yeoman had excited, instead of driving steadily through the place, he turned his cattle a little from the direct route, and stopped in front of the very inn, where Cecil had, so lately, been conducted by her guide from the point.

  Here the same noisy and thoughtless revelry existed as before. The arrival of such an equipage, at once drew a crowd to the spot, and the uneasy pair on the top of the load, became unwilling listeners to the conversation.

  “What, old one, hard at it for Congress!” cried a man, approaching with a mug in his hand; “come, wet your throat, my venerable father of Liberty, for you are too old to be a son!”

  “Yes, yes,” answered the exulting farmer, “I am father and son, too! I have four boys in camp, and seven grand’uns, in the bargain; and that would be eleven good triggers in one family, if five good muskets had so many locks—but the youngest men have got a ducking-gun, and a double barrel atween them, howsomever; and Aaron the boy, carries as good a horse-pistol, I calculate, as any there is going in the Bay! But what an uneasy time you have on’t to-night! There’s more powder wasted in mocking thunder, than would fight old Bunker over again, at ‘white o’ the eye’ distance!”

  “’Tis the way of war, old man; and we want to keep the reg’lars from looking at Dorchester.”

  “If they did, they couldn’t see far to-night. But, now do tell me; I am an old man, and have a grain of cur’osity in the flesh; my woman says that Howe casts out his carcasses at you; which, bad as I know he is, I hold to be an irreligious deception?”

  “As true as the gospel.”

  “Well, there is no calculating on the wastefulness of an ungodly spirit!” said the worthy yeoman, shaking his head—“I could believe any wickedness of him but that! As cre’turs must be getting scarce in the town, I conclude he makes use of his own slain?”

  “Certain,” answered the soldier, winking at his companions—“Breed’s hill has kept him in ammunition all winter.”

  “’Tis awful, awful! to see a fellow-cre’tur flying through the air, after the spirit has departed to judgment! War is a dreadful calling; but, then, what is a man without liberty!”

  “Hark ye, old gentleman, talking of flying, have you seen any thing of two men and a woman, flying up the road as you came in?”

  “Anan! I’m a little hard o’hearing—women, too! do they shoot their Jezebels into our camp! There is no wickedness the king’s ministers wont attempt to circumvent our weak naturs!”

  “Did you see two men and a woman, running away as you came down the road?” bawled the fellow in his ear.

  “Two! did you say two?” asked the yeoman, turning his head a little on one side, in an attitude of sagacious attention.

  “Yes, two men.”

  “No, I didn’t see two. Running out of town, did you say?”

  “Ay, running, as if the devil was after them.”

  “No; I didn’t see two; nor any body running away—it’s a sartain sign of guilt to run away—is there any reward offered?” said the old man, suddenly interrupting himself, and again communing with his own thoughts.

  “Not yet—they’ve just escaped.”

  “The surest way to catch a thief is to offer a smart reward—no—I didn’t see two men—you are sartain there was two?”

  “Push on with that cart! drive on, drive on,” cried a mounted officer of the quarter-master’s department, who came scouring through the street, at that moment, awakening all the slumbering ideas of haste, which the old farmer had suffered to lie dormant so long. Once more flourishing his goad, he put his team in motion, wishing the revellers goodnight as he proceeded. It was, however, long after he had left the village, and crossed the Charles, before he ceased to make frequent and sudden halts in the highway, as if doubtful whether to continue his route, or to return. At length he stopped the cart, and clambering up on the hay, he took a seat, where with one eye he could regulate his cattle, and with the other examine his companions. This investigation continued another hour, neither party uttering a syllable, when the teamster appeared satisfied that his suspicions were unjust, and abandoned them. Perhaps the difficulties of the road assisted in dissipating his doubts, for as they proceeded, return carts were met at every few rods, rendering his undivided attention to his own team indispensable.

  Lionel, whose gloomy thoughts had been chased from his mind by the constant excitement of the foregoing scenes, now felt relieved from any immediate apprehensions. He whispered his soothing hopes of a final escape to Cecil, and folding her in his coat, to shield her from the night-air, he was pleased to find, ere long, by her gentle breathing, that, overcome by fatigue, she was slumbering on his bosom.

  Midnight had long passed when they came in sight of the eminences beyond Dorchester-neck. Cecil awoke, and Lionel was already devising some plausible excuse for quitting the cart, without reviving the suspicions of the teamster. At length a favourable spot occurred, where they were alone, and the formation of the ground was adapted to such a purpose. Lionel was on the point of speaking, when the cattle stopped, a
nd Ralph suddenly appeared in the highway, at their heads.

  “Make room, friend, for the oxen,” said the farmer—“dumb beasts wont pass in the face of man.”

  “Alight,” said Ralph, seconding his words with a wide sweep of his arm towards the fields.

  Lionel quickly obeyed, and by the time the driver had descended also, the whole party stood together in the road.

  “You have conferred a greater obligation than you are aware of,” said Lionel to the driver. “Here are five guineas.”

  “For what? for riding on a load of hay a few miles!—no, no—kindness is no such boughten article in the Bay, that a man need pay for it! but, friend, money seems plenty with you, for these difficult days!”

  “Then thanks, a thousand times—I can stay to offer you no more.”

  He was yet speaking, when, obedient to an impatient gesture from Ralph, he lifted Cecil over the fence, and in a moment they disappeared from the eyes of the astonished farmer.

  “Halloo, friend,” cried the worthy advocate for his country, running after them as fast as old age would allow—“were there three of you, when I took ye up?”

  The fugitives heard the call of the simple and garrulous old man, but, as will easily be imagined, did not deem it prudent to stop and discuss the point in question between them. Before they had gone far, the furious cry of, “take care of that team!” with the rattling of wheels, announced that their pursuer was recalled to his duty, by an arrival of empty wagons; and before the distance rendered sounds unintelligible, they heard the noisy explanation, which their late companion was giving to the others, of the whole transaction. They were not, however, pursued; the teamsters having more pressing objects in view than the detection of thieves, or even of pocketing a reward.

  Ralph led his companions, after a brief explanation, by a long and circuitous path, to the shores of the bay. Here they found, hid in the weeds of a shallow inlet, a small boat, that Lionel recognised as the little vessel in which Job Pray was wont to pursue his usual avocation of a fisherman. Entering it without delay, he seized the oars, and aided by a flowing tide, he industriously urged it towards the distant spires of Boston.