The Spy, Volume 2

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “Ah! ’tis the soul only,” said Isabella; “my sex and strength have forbidden me the dearest of privileges.--But to you, Captain Lawton, nature has been bountiful: yours are an arm and a heart to make the proudest of Britain’s soldiers quail; and I know that they are an arm and a heart that will prove true to the last.”--

  “So long as liberty calls, and Washington points the way,” returned the trooper, in the low tone of determination, and smiling proudly.

  “I know it--I know it--and George--and--” she paused, her lip quivered, and her eye sunk to the floor.

  “And Dunwoodie!” echoed the trooper; “would to God he was here to witness and admire.”

  “Name him not,” said Isabella, sinking back upon the bed, and concealing her face in her garments; “leave me, Lawton, and prepare poor George for this unexpected blow.”

  The trooper continued for a little while gazing in melancholy interest at the convulsive shudderings of her frame, which the scanty covering could not conceal, and withdrew to meet his comrade. The interview between Singleton and his sister was painful, and for a moment Isabella yielded to a burst of tenderness; but, as if aware that her hours were numbered, she was the first to rouse herself to exertion. At her earnest request the room was left to herself, the captain, and Frances. The repeated applications of the surgeon to be permitted to use professional aid were steadily rejected, and, at length, he was obliged unwillingly to retire. The rapid approach of death gave to the countenance of Isabella a look of more than usual wildness, her large and dark eyes being strongly contrasted to the ashy paleness of her cheeks. Still Frances, as she leaned over her in sorrow, thought that the expression was changed. Much of the loftiness that formed so marked a characteristic of her beauty, had been succeeded by an appearance of humility, and it was not difficult to fancy, that with the world itself there was vanishing her worldly pride.

  “Raise me,” she said, “and let me look on a face that I love, once more.” Frances silently complied, and Isabella turned her eyes in sisterly affection upon George--“It matters but little, my brother--a few hours must close the scene.”

  “Live Isabella, my sister, my only sister,” cried the youth with a burst of sorrow that he could not control; “my father! my poor father--”

  “Ah! there is the sting of death,” said Isabella shuddering; “but he is a soldier and a christian--Miss Wharton I would speak of what interests you, while yet I have strength for the task.”

  “Nay,” said Frances tenderly, “compose yourself--let no desire to oblige me endanger a life that is precious to--to--so many.” The words were nearly stifled by the emotions of the maid, who had touched a chord that thrilled to her inmost heart.

  “Poor sensitive girl,” said Isabella, regarding her with tender interest; “but the world is still before you, and why should I disturb the little happiness it may yet afford!--dream on lovely innocent! and may God keep the evil day of knowledge far distant.”

  “Oh, there is even now little left for me to enjoy,” said Frances, burying her face in the clothes; “I am heart-stricken in all that I most loved.”

  “No!” interrupted Isabella; “You have one inducement to wish for life that pleads strongly in a woman’s breast. It is a delusion that nothing but death can destroy--” Exhaustion compelled her to pause, and her auditors continued in breathless suspense until, recovering her strength, she laid her hand on that of Frances, and continued more mildly--“ Miss Wharton, if there breathes a spirit congenial to Dunwoodie’s, and worthy of his love, it is your own.”

  A flush of fire passed over the face of the listener, and she raised her eyes flashing with an ungovernable look of delight to the countenance of Isabella; but the ruin she beheld recalled her better feelings, and again her head dropped upon the covering of the bed. Isabella watched her emotions with a smile that partook both of pity and admiration.

  “Such have been the feelings that I have escaped,” she continued; “yes, Miss Wharton, Dunwoodie is wholly yours.”

  “Be just to yourself, my sister,” exclaimed the youth; “let no romantic generosity cause you to forget your own character.”

  She heard him, and fixed a gaze of tender interest on his face, but slowly shook her head as she replied--

  “It is not romance, but truth that bids me speak. Oh! how much have I lived within an hour! Miss Wharton, I was born under the burning sun of Georgia, and my feelings seem to have imbibed its warmth--I have existed for passion only.”

  “Say not so--say not so, I implore you,” cried the agitated brother; “think how devoted has been your love to our aged father--how disinterested, how tender your affection for me.”

  “Yes,” said Isabella, a smile of mild pleasure beaming on her countenance; “that is a reflection which may be taken to the very grave.”

  Neither Frances, nor her brother, interrupted her meditations, which continued for several minutes; when, suddenly recollecting herself, she continued--

  “I remain selfish even to the last; with me, Miss Wharton, America and her liberties was my earliest passion, and--” again she paused, and Frances thought it was the struggle of death that followed; but reviving, she proceeded with a flush on her face that exceeded the bloom of health, “Why should I hesitate on the brink of the grave! Dunwoodie was my next and my last. But,” burying her face in her hands, “it was a love that was unsought.”

  “Isabella!” exclaimed her brother, springing from the bed, and pacing the floor in disorder.

  “See how dependent we become under the dominion of worldly pride,” said the dying maiden; “it is painful to George to learn that one he loves, had not feelings superior to her nature and education.”

  “Say no more,” whispered Frances; “you distress us both--say no more, I entreat you.”

  “In justice to Dunwoodie I must speak; and for the same reason, my brother, you must listen. In no act or work has Dunwoodie ever induced me to believe, he wished me more than a friend-- nay--latterly, I have had the burning shame of thinking that he avoided my presence.”

  “Would he dare!” said Singleton fiercely.

  “Peace, my brother, and listen,” continued Isabella, rousing with an effort that was final; “here is the innocent, the justifiable cause. We are both motherless--but that aunt--that mild, plain hearted, observing aunt, has given you the victory. Oh! how much she loses, who loses a female guardian to her youth. I have exhibited those feelings which you have been taught to repress. After this, can I wish to live!”

  “Isabella! my poor Isabella! you wander in your mind.”

  “But one word more--for I feel that blood which ever flowed too swift, rushing where nature never intended it to go. Woman must be sought, to be prized--her life is one of concealed emotions; blessed are they whose early impressions make the task free from hypocrisy, for such only can be happy with men like--like--Dunwoodie;” her voice failed and she sunk back on her pillow in silence. The cry of Singleton brought the rest of the party to her bed side, but death was already upon her countenance; her remaining strength just sufficed to reach the hand of George, and pressing it to her bosom for a moment, she relinquished her grasp, and, with a slight convulsion, expired.

  Frances Wharton had thought that fate had done its worst, in endangering the life of her brother, and destroying the reason of her sister, but the relief that was conveyed by the dying declaration of Isabella, taught her that another sorrow had aided in loading her heart with grief. She saw the whole truth at a glance; nor was the manly delicacy of Dunwoodie’s forbearance lost upon her--every thing tended to raise him in her estimation; and for mourning that duty and pride had induced her to strive to think less of him, she was compelled to substitute regret that her own act had driven him from her in sorrow, if not in desperation. It is not the nature of youth, however, to despair, and Frances knew a secret joy in the midst of their distress, that gave a new spring to her existence.

  The sun broke forth, on the morning that succeeded this night of de
solation, in unclouded lustre, and seemed to mock the petty sorrows of those who received his rays. Lawton had early ordered his steed, and was ready to mount as the first burst of golden light broke over the hills. His orders were already given, and the trooper threw his leg across the saddle in silence; and, casting a glance of fierce chagrin at the narrow space that had favoured the flight of the Skinner, he gave Roanoke the rein and moved slowly towards the valley.

  The stillness of death pervaded the road, nor was there a single vestige of the scenes of the night to tarnish the loveliness of a glorious morn. Struck with the contrast between man and nature, the fearless trooper rode by each pass of danger, regardless of what might happen, nor roused himself from his musings, until the noble charger, proudly snuffing the morning air, greeted his companions, as they stood patiently by the sides of their masters, who composed the guard under sergeant Hollister.

  Here, indeed, was sad evidence to be seen of the midnight fray, but the trooper glanced his eye over it with the coolness of a veteran, and checked his horse as he gained the spot selected by the cautious orderly, and slightly returning his salute, inquired---

  “Have you seen any thing?”

  “Nothing, sir, that we dare charge upon,” returned Hollister, with a little solemnity; but we mounted once at the report of distant fire arms.”

  “ ’Tis well,” said Lawton, gloomily. “Ah! Hollister, I would give the animal I ride, to have had your single arm between the wretch who drew that triger and these useless rocks, which overhang every bit of ground, as if they grudged pasture to a single hoof.”

  The dragoons exchanged looks of surprise, and wondered what could have occurred to tempt their leader to offer such a bribe.

  “Under the light of day, and charging man to man, ’tis but little I fear,” said the sergeant, with proud resolution; “but I can’t say that I’m overfond of fighting with them that neither steel nor lead can bring down.”

  “What mean you, silly fellow?” cried Lawton, frowning in disdain; “none live who can withstand either.”

  “If there was life, it would be easy to take it,” returned the other; “but blows and powder cannot injure him that has already been in the grave. I like not the dark object that has been hovering in the skirt of the wood, since the first dawn of day; and twice during the night the same was seen moving across the fire-light--no doubt with evil intent.”

  “Ha!” said the trooper, “is it yon ball of black at the foot of the rock-maple, that you mean? By heaven! it moves.”

  “Yes, and without mortal motion,” said the sergeant, regarding it with awful reverence; “it glides along, but no feet have been seen by any who watch here.”

  “Had it wings,” cried Lawton, “it is mine; stand fast, until I join.” The words were hardly uttered, before Roanoke was flying across the plain, and apparently verifying the boast of his master.

  “Those cursed rocks!” ejaculated the trooper, as he saw the object of his pursuit approaching the hill-side; but either from want of practice, or from terror, it passed the obvious shelter they offered, and fled into the open plain.

  “I have you, man or devil!” shouted Lawton, whirling his sabre from its scabbard. “Halt, and take quarter.”

  His proposition was apparently acceded to, for at the sound of his powerful voice, the figure sunk upon the ground, exhibiting a shapeless ball of black, without life or motion.

  “What have we here?” cried Lawton, drawing up by its side; “a gala suit of the good maiden, Jeanette Peyton, wandering around its birth-place, or searching in vain for its discomfited mistress?” He leaned forward in his stirrups, and placing the point of his sword under the silken garment, by throwing aside the covering, discovered part of the form of the reverend gentleman, who had fled from the Locusts the evening before, in his robes of office.

  “Ah! in truth, Hollister had some ground for his alarm; an army chaplain is at any time a terror to a troop of horse.”

  The clergyman had collected enough of his disturbed faculties, to discover that it was a face he knew, and somewhat disconcerted at the terror he had manifested, he endeavoured to rise and offer some explanation. Lawton received his apologies good humouredly, if not with much faith in their truth; and, after a short communication upon the state of the valley, the trooper courteously alighted, and they proceeded towards the guard.

  “I am so little acquainted, sir, with the rebel uniform, that I really was unable to distinguish whether those men, whom you say are your own, did or did not belong to the gang of marauders.”

  “Apology, sir, is unnecessary,” replied the trooper, curling his lip; “it is not your task, as a minister of God, to take note of the facings of a coat. The standard under which you serve is acknowledged by us all.”

  “I serve under the standard of his gracious majesty, George III.” returned the priest, wiping the cold sweat from his brow; but really the idea of being scalped, has a strong tendency to unman a new beginner like myself.”

  “Scalped!” echoed Lawton, a little fiercely, and stopping short in his walk; then recollecting himself, he added with infinite composure--“if it is to Dunwoodie’s squadron of Virginian light dragoons that you allude, it may be well to inform you, that they generally take a bit of the skull with the skin.”

  “Oh! I can have no apprehensions of gentlemen of your appearance,” said the divine with a smirk; “it is the natives that I apprehend.”

  “Natives! I have that honour, I do assure you, sir.”

  “Nay, sir, I beg that I may be understood--I mean the Indians--they who do nothing but rob, and murder, and destroy.”

  “And scalp!”

  “Yes, sir, and scalp too,” continued the clergyman, eyeing his companion a little suspiciously; “the copper-coloured, savage Indians.”

  “And did you expect to meet those nose-jewelled gentry in the neutral ground?”

  “Certainly,” returned the chaplain, confidently; “we understand in England that the interior swarms with them.”

  “And call you this the interior of America?” cried Lawton, again halting, and staring the other in the face, with a surprise too naturally expressed to be counterfeited.

  “Surely, sir, I conceive myself to be in the interior.”

  “Attend,” said Lawton, pointing towards the east; “see you not that broad sheet of water which the eye cannot compass in its range? thither lies the England you deem worthy to hold dominion over half the world. See you the land of your nativity?”

  “ ’Tis impossible to behold objects at a distance of three thousand miles!” exclaimed the wondering priest, a little suspicious of his companion’s sanity.

  “No! what a pity it is that the powers of man are not equal to his ambition. Now turn your eyes westward; observe that vast expanse of water which rolls between the shores of America and China.”

  “I see nothing but land,” said the trembling priest; “there is no water to be seen.”

  “ ’Tis impossible to behold objects at a distance of three thousand miles!” repeated Lawton gravely, and pursuing in his walk; “if it be the savages that you apprehend, seek them in the ranks of your prince. Rum and gold have preserved their loyalty.”

  “Nothing is more probable than my being deceived,” said the man of peace, casting furtive glances at the colossal stature and whiskered front of his companion; “but the rumours we have at home, and the uncertainty of meeting with such an enemy as yourself, induced me to fly at your approach.”

  “ ’Twas not judiciously determined,” said the trooper, “as Roanoke has the heels of you greatly; and flying from Scylla, you were liable to encounter Charybidis. Those woods and rocks cover the very enemies you dread.”

  “The savages!” exclaimed the divine, instinctively placing the trooper in the rear.

  “Ay! more than savages,” cried Lawton, his dark brow contracting to a look of fierceness that was far from quieting the apprehensions of the other. “Men, who under the guise of patriotism, prowl thr
ough the community, with a thirst for plunder that is unsatiable, and a love of cruelty that mocks the Indian ferocity. Fellows, whose mouths are filled with liberty and equality, and whose hearts are overflowing with cupidity and gall--gentlemen that are y’clep’d the Skinners.”

  “I have heard them mentioned in our army,” said the frightened divine, “and had thought them to be the Aborigines.”

  “You did the savages injustice,” returned the trooper, in his naturally dry manner.

  They now approached the spot occupied by Hollister, who witnessed with surprise the character of the prisoner made by his captain. Lawton gave his orders promptly, and the men immediately commenced securing and removing such articles of furniture as were thought worthy of the trouble; and the captain, with his reverend associate, who was admirably mounted on a mettled horse, returned to the quarters of the troop.

  It was the wish of Singleton, that the remains of his sister should be conveyed to the post commanded by his father, and preparations were early made to this effect, as well as a messenger despatched with the melancholy tidings of her death. The wounded British were placed under the controul of the chaplain, and towards the middle of the day, Lawton saw that all of the arrangements were so far completed, as to render it probable, that in a few hours, he would be left with his small party in undisturbed possession of the corners.”

  While leaning in the door-way, gazing in moody silence at the ground on which had been the last night’s chase, his ear caught the sound of a horse at speed, and the next moment a dragoon of his own troop appeared dashing up the road, as if on business of the last importance. His steed was foaming, and the rider had the appearance of having done a hard day’s service. Without speaking, he placed a letter in the hand of Lawton, and led his charger to the stable. The trooper knew the hand of his major, and ran his eye over the following: