“Stop a minute, Cæsar,” said the pedlar, with the lurking drollery that at times formed part of his manner, “ ’till we get on the wool.”
“He worse than ebber now,” cried the discontented African. “A tink coloured man like a sheep. I nebber see sich a lip, Harvey; he most as big as a sausage.”
Great pains had been taken in forming the different articles used in the disguise of Captain Wharton, and when arranged under the skilful superintendance of the pedlar, they formed together a transformation that would easily escape detection from any but an extraordinary observer.
The mask was stuffed, and shaped in such a manner as to preserve the peculiarities, as well as the colour, of the African visage, and the wig was so artfully formed of black and white wool, as to imitate the pepper-and-salt colour of Cæsar’s own head, and to extract plaudits from the black himself, who thought it an excellent counterfeit in every thing but quality.
“There is but one man in the American army who could detect you, Captain Wharton,” said the pedlar, surveying his work with satisfaction, “and he is just now out of our way.”
“And who is he?”
“The man who made you prisoner. He would see your white skin through a horse-hide; but strip both of you; your clothes must be changed from head to foot.”
Cæsar, who had received minute instructions from the pedlar in their morning interview, immediately commenced throwing aside his coarse garments, which the youth took up and prepared to invest himself with, unable however to repress a few signs of loathing.
In the manner of the pedlar, there was an odd mixture of care and humour; the former was the result of a perfect knowledge of their danger, and the means necessary to be used in avoiding it; and the latter proceeded from the unavoidably ludicrous circumstances before him, acting on an indifference which sprung from habit, and long familiarity with such scenes as the present.
“Here Captain,” he said, taking up some loose wool, and beginning to stuff the stockings of Cæsar, which were already on the leg of the prisoner; “some judgment is necessary in shaping this limb. You will have to display it on horseback and them southern dragoons are so used to the brittle-shins, that should they notice your well turned calf, they’d know at once that it never belonged to the carcase of a black.”
“Golly!” said Cæsar, with a chuckle that exhibited a mouth open from ear to ear, “massy Harry breeches fit like ebbery ting.”
“Every thing but your leg,” said the pedlar, coolly pursuing the toilet of Henry. “Slip on the coat, Captain, over all. Upon my word you’d pass well at a pinkster frolic; and here, Cæsar, place this powdered wig over your curls, and be careful and look out of the window whenever the door is open, and on no account speak, or you will betray all.
“I s’pose Harvey tink a color’d man an’t got a tongue like oder folk,” grumbled the black, as he took the station assigned to him.
Every thing now was arranged for action, and the pedlar very deliberately went over the whole of his injunctions to the two actors in the scene.-- The Captain he conjured to dispense with his erect military carriage, and for a season to adopt the humbler paces of his father’s negro, and Cæsar he enjoined to silence and disguise, so long as he could possibly maintain them. Thus prepared he opened the door, and called aloud to the sentinel, who had retired to the farthest end of the passage, in order to avoid receiving any of that spiritual comfort, which he felt was the sole property of another.
“Let the woman of the house be called,” said Harvey, in the solemn key of his assumed character; “and let her come alone. The prisoner is in a happy train of meditation, and must not be led from his devotions.”
Cæsar sunk his face between his hands, and when the soldier looked into the apartment, he thought he saw his charge in deep abstraction. Casting a glance of huge contempt at the divine, he cried aloud for the good woman of the house. She hastened at the call with earnest zeal, entertaining a secret hope that she was to be admitted to the gossip of a death-bed repentance.
“Sister,” said the minister in the authoritative tones of a master, “have you in the house ‘The Christian criminal’s last moments, or thoughts on eternity for those who die a violent death?”’
“I never heard of the book!” said the matron in astonishment.
“ ’Tis not unlikely; there are many books you have never heard of--it is impossible for this poor penitent to pass in peace, without the consolations of that volume. One hours reading in it, is worth an age of man’s preaching.”
“Bless me, what a treasure to possess!--when was it put out?”
“It was first put out at Geneva in the Greek language, and then translated at Boston. It is a book, woman, that should be in the hands of every Christian, especially such as die upon the gallows.--Have a horse prepared instantly for this black, who shall accompany me to my Brother --, and I will send down the volume yet in season.--Brother compose thy mind; you are now in the narrow path to glory.”
Cæsar wriggled a little in his chair, but had sufficient recollection to conceal his face with hands, that were in their turn concealed by gloves. The landlady departed to comply with this very reasonable request, and the group of conspirators were again left to themselves.
“This is well,” said the pedlar, “but the difficult task is to deceive the officer who commands the guard--he is lieutenant to Lawton, and has learned some of the captain’s own cunning in these things--remember, Captain Wharton,” continued he, with an air of pride, “that now is the moment when every thing depends on our coolness.”
“My fate can be made but little worse than it is at present, my worthy fellow,” said Henry, “but for your sake I will do all that in me lies.”
“And wherein can I be more forlorn and persecuted than I now am?” asked the pedlar, with that wild incoherency which often crossed his manner. “But I have promised one to save you, and to him I never yet have broken my word.”
“And who is he?” said Henry with awakened interest.
“No one,” returned the pedlar.
The man now returned and announced that both their horses were at the door. Harvey gave the captain a glance of his eye, and led the way down the stairs, first desiring the woman to leave the prisoner to himself, in order to his digesting the wholesome food that he had so lately received at his hands.
The rumour of the odd character of the priest, had spread from the sentinel at the door, to his comrades; so, that when Harvey and Wharton reached the open space before the building, they found a dozen idle dragoons loitering about, with the waggish intention of quizzing the fanatic, and employed in affected admiration of the steeds.
“A fine horse, you have,” said the leader in this plan of mischief; “but a little low in flesh; I suppose from hard labour in your calling.”
“My calling may be laborious to both myself and this faithful beast, but then a day of settling is at hand, that will reward me for all my out-goings and in-comings,” said Birch, putting his foot in the stirrup, and preparing to mount.
“So, then you work for pay, as we fight for’t? cried another of the party.
“Even so--‘is not the labourer worthy of his hire?”’
“Come, suppose you give us a little preaching; we have a leisure moment just now, and there’s no telling how much good you might do a set of reprobates like us, in a few words; here, mount this horse-block, and take your text from where you please.”
The men now gathered around the pedlar in eager delight, and glancing his eye expressively towards the Captain, who had been suffered to mount in peace, he replied--
“Doubtless, for such is my duty. But Cæsar, you can ride up the road, and give the note--the unhappy prisoner will be wanting the book, for his hours are numbered.”
“Aye--aye, go along Cæsar, and get the book,” shouted have a dozen voices, all crowding eagerly around the ideal priest, in anticipation of a frolic.
The pedlar inwardly dreaded, that, in their unceremonious h
andling of himself and garments, his hat and wig might be displaced, when detection would be certain; he was, therefore, fain to comply with their request. Ascending the horse-block, after hemming once or twice, and casting several glances at the Captain, who continued immoveable, he commenced as follows:
“I shall call your attention, my brethren, to that portion of scripture which you will find in the 2d book of Samuel, and which is written in the following words: ‘And the king lamented over Abner, and said, died Abner as a fool dieth--thy hands were not bound, nor thy feet put into fetters; as a man falleth before wicked men, so falleth thou, and all the people wept again over him.’ Cæsar, ride forward, I say, and obtain the book as directed; thy master is groaning in spirit even now for the want of it.”
“An excellent text,” cried the dragoons. “Go on--go on--let the snow-ball stay; he wants to be edified as well as another.”
“What are you at there, you scoundrels,” cried Lieutenant Mason, as he came in sight from a walk he had taken to sneer at the evening parade of the regiment of militia; “away with every man of you to your quarters, and let me find that each horse is cleaned and littered when I come round.” The sound of the officer’s voice operated like a charm, and no priest could desire a more silent congregation, although he might possibly have wished for one that was more numerous. Mason had not done speaking, when it was reduced to the image of Cæsar only. The pedlar took that opportunity to mount, but he had to preserve the gravity of his movements, for the remark of the troopers upon the condition of their beasts, was but too just, and a dozen of dragoon horses stood saddled and bridled at hand, ready to receive their riders at a moment’s warning.
“Well, have you bitted the poor devil within,” said Mason, “that he can take his last ride under the curb of divinity, old gentleman.”
“There is evil in thy conversation, profane man,” cried the priest, raising his hands, and casting his eyes upwards in holy horror; “so I will depart from thee unhurt, even as Daniel was liberated from the lion’s den.”
“Off with you, for a hypocritical, psalm singing, canting rogue in disguise,” said Mason scornfully; “by the life of Washington! it worries an honest follow, to see such voracious beasts of prey ravaging a country for which he shed his blood. If I had you on a Virginia plantation for a quarter of an hour, I’d teach you to worm the tobacco with the turkeys.”
“I leave you, and shake the dust off my shoes, that no remnant of this wicked hole may tarnish the vestments of the godly.”
“Start, or I will shake the dust from your jacket, you designing knave. A fellow to be preaching to my men! There’s Hollister put the devil in them by his exhorting--the rascals were getting too conscientious to strike a blow that would rase the skin. But hold, whither do you travel, master blackey, in such godly company?”
“He goes,” said the minister, hastily speaking for his companion, “to return with a book of much condolence and virtue to the sinful youth above, whose soul will speedily become white, even as his outwards are black and unseemly. Would you deprive a dying man of the consolation of religion?”
“No--no--poor fellow, his fate is bad enough, --a famous good breakfast that prim body of an aunt of his gave us. But harkee, Mr. Revelations, if the youth must die secundum artem, let it be by a gentleman’s directions; and my advice is, that you never trust that skeleton of yours among us again, or I will take the skin off and leave you naked.”
“Out upon thee for a reviler and scoffer of goodness!” said Birch, moving slowly, and with a due observance of clerical dignity, down the road, followed by the imaginary Cæsar; “but I leave thee, and that behind me that will prove thy condemnation, and take from thee a hearty and joyful deliverance.”
“Damn him,” muttered the trooper, pursing his lip with a scornful smile, “the fellow rides like a stake, and his legs stick out like the cocks of his hat. I wish I had him below these hills where the law is not over particular, I’d”--
“Corporal of the guard!--corporal of the guard!”--shouted the sentinel in the passage to the chambers--“corporal of the guard!--corporal of the guard!”
The subaltern flew up the narrow stair-way that led to the room of the prisoner, and demanded of the man the meaning of his outcry.
The soldier was standing at the open door of the apartment, looking in with a suspicious eye, upon the supposed British officer. On observing his lieutenant he fell back with habitual respect, and replied with an air of puzzled thought--
“I dont know, sir; but just now the prisoner looked queer. Ever since the preacher has left him he don’t look as he used to do--but”--gazing intently over the shoulder of his officer, “it must be him, too. There is the same powdered head, and the darn in the coat, where he was hit the day we had the last brush with the enemy.”
“And then all this noise is occasioned, by your doubting whether that poor gentleman is your prisoner or not, is it sirrah? Who the devil do you think it can be else?”
“I don’t know who else it can be,” returned the fellow sullenly; “but he’s grown thicker and shorter, if it is him; and see for yourself, sir, he shakes all over like a man in an ague.”
This was but too true. Cæsar was an alarmed auditor of this short conversation, and from congratulating himself upon the dexterous escape of his young master, his thoughts were very naturally beginning to dwell upon the probable consequences to his own person. The pause that succeeded to the last remark of the sentinel, in no degree contributed to the restoration of his faculties. Lieutenant Mason was busied in examining with his own eyes the suspected person of the black, and Cæsar was aware of the fact, by stealing a look through a passage under one of his arms, that he had left for the purpose of reconnoitring. Captain Lawton would have discovered the fraud immediately, but Mason was by no means so quick-sighted as his commander. He therefore turned rather contemptuously to the soldier, and speaking in an under tone, observed--
“That anabaptist, methodistical, quaker, psalm-singing rascal, has frightened the boy, with his farrago about flames and brimstone. I’ll step in and cheer him with a little rational conversation.”
“I have heard of fear making a man white,” said the soldier drawing back, and staring as if his eyes would start from their sockets; “but it has changed the royal captain to a black.”
The truth was, that Cæsar, unable to hear what Mason uttered in a low voice, and having every fear aroused in him by what had already passed, incautiously removed the wig a little from one of his ears in order to hear the better, without in the least remembering that its colour might prove fatal to his disguise. The sentinel had kept his eyes fastened on his prisoner and noticed the action. The attention of Mason was instantly drawn to the same object, and forgetting all delicacy for a brother officer in distress, or, in short, forgetting every thing but the censure that might alight on his corps, the Lieutenant sprang forward and seized the terrified African by the throat. For no sooner had Cæsar heard his colour named, than he knew his discovery was certain; and at the first sound of Mason’s heavy boot on the floor, he arose from his seat and retreated precipitately to a corner of the room.
“Who are you?” cried Mason, dashing the head of the old man against the angle of the wall at each interrogatory, “who the devil are you, and where is the Englishman? Speak! you thunder-cloud. Answer me, you jack-daw, or I’ll hang you on the gallows of the spy.
But Cæsar continued firm. Neither the threats nor the blows could extract any reply, until the Lieutenant, by a very natural transition in the attack, sent his heavy boot forward in a direction that brought it in exact contact with the most sensitive part of the negro--his shin. The most obdurate heart could not have exacted further patience, and Cæsar instantly gave in. The first words he spoke were --
“Golly! Massa! You tink I got no feelin?”
“By Heavens!” shouted the Lieutenant; “it is the negro himself. Scoundrel! where is your master, and who was the priest?” While speaking he made a movem
ent as if about to renew the attack; but Cæsar cried aloud for mercy, promising to tell all that he knew.
“Who was the priest?” repeated the dragoon, drawing back his formidable leg, and holding it in threatening suspense.
“Harvey, Harvey!” cried Cæsar, dancing from one leg to the other, as he thought each member in its turn assailed.
“Harvey who? you black villain,” cried the impatient Lieutenant, as he executed a full measure of vengeance by letting his leg fly.
“Birch!” shrieked Cæsar, falling on his knees, the tears rolling in large drops over his shining face.
“Harvey Birch!” echoed the trooper, hurling the black from him and rushing from the room; “To arms! to arms! Fifty guineas for the life of the Pedlar spy--give no quarters to either. Mount, mount! to arms! to horse!”
During the uproar occasioned by the assembling of the dragoons, who all rushed tumultuously to their horses, Cæsar rose from the floor, where he had been thrown by Mason, and began to examine into his injuries.--Happily for himself, he had alighted on his head, and sustained no material damage.
CHAPTER XIII.
“Away went Gilpin, neck or nought,
Away went hat and wig!
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig!”
Cowper
The road which it was necessary for the pedlar and the English captain to travel, in order to reach the shelter of the hills, lay for a half-mile in full view from the door of the building that had so recently been the prison of the latter; running for the whole distance over the rich plain that spreads to the very foot of the mountains, which here rise in a nearly perpendicular ascent from their bases; it then turned short to the right, and was obliged to follow the windings of nature as it won its way into the bosom of the highlands.
To preserve the supposed difference in their stations, Harvey rode a short distance ahead of his companion, and maintained the sober, dignified pace that was suited to his assumed character. On their right, the regiment of foot that we have already mentioned lay in tents; and the sentinels who guarded their encampment, were to be seen moving with measured tread, under the skirts of the hills themselves.
The Spy, Volume 2 Page 17