“A very plausible plan,” cried the colonel, “and one that must succeed; but let a messenger be despatched to Dunwoodie, or he may continue at the ferry until it proves too late; though doubtless the runaways will lie in the mountains tonight.”
To this suggestion Mason acquiesced, and a courier was sent to the major, with the important intelligence of the escape of Henry, and an intimation of the necessity of his presence to conduct the pursuit. With this arrangement the officers separated.
When Miss Peyton and her niece first learnt the escape of Captain Wharton, it was with difficulty they could credit their senses. They both relied so implicitly on the success of Dunwoodie’s exertions, that they thought the act, on the part of their relative, extremely imprudent; but it was now too late to mend it. In listening to the conversations of the officers, both were struck with the increased danger of Henry’s situation, if re-captured, and they trembled to think upon the great exertions that would be made to accomplish this object. Miss Peyton consoled herself, and endeavoured to cheer her niece, with the probability, that the fugitives would pursue their course with unremitting diligence, so that they might reach the Neutral Ground, before the horse would carry down the tidings of their flight. The absense of Dunwoodie seemed to her all important, and the artless spinster was anxiously devising some project that might detain her kinsman, and thus give her nephew the longest possible time. But very different were the reflections of Frances. She could no longer doubt, that the figure she had seen on the hill was Birch, and she felt certain that instead of flying to the friendly forces below, her brother would be taken to the mysterious hut to pass the night.
Frances and her aunt held a long and animated discussion by themselves, when the good spinster reluctantly yielded to the representation of her niece, and folding her in her arms, she kissed her cold cheek, and fervently blessing the maid, allowed her to depart on her errand of fraternal love.
CHAPTER XIV.
“And here, forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps, and slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem length’ning as I go.”
Goldsmith
The night had set in dark and chilling, as Frances Wharton, with a beating heart but light steps, moved through the little garden that laid behind the farm-house which had been her brother’s prison, and took her way to the foot of the mountain, where she had seen the figure of him that she supposed to be the pedlar. It was still early, but the darkness and dreary nature of a November evening would at any other moment, or with less inducement to exertion, have driven her back in terror to the circle that she had left. Without pausing to reflect, however, she flew over the ground with a rapidity that seemed to bid defiance to all impediments, nor stopped even to breathe, until she had gone half the distance to the rock, that she had marked as the spot, where Birch made his appearance on that very morning.
The good treatment of their women, is the surest evidence that a people can give of their civilization, and there is no nation which has more to boast of in this respect than the Americans. Frances felt but little apprehension from the orderly and quiet troops, who were taking their evening’s repast on the side of the highway opposite to the field through which she was flying. They were her countrymen, and she knew her sex would be respected by the eastern militia, who composed this body; but in the volatile and reckless character of the southern horse, she had less confidence. Outrages of any description were seldom committed by the really American soldiery, but the maid recoiled with exquisite delicacy from even the appearance of humiliation. When, therefore, she heard the footsteps of a horse moving slowly up the road, she shrunk, timidly, into a little thicket of wood, which grew neglected around the spring that bubbled from the side of a hillock near her. The vidette, for such it proved to be, passed her without noticing her form, which was so enveloped as to be as little conspicuous as possible, humming a low air to himself, and probably thinking of some other fair that he had left, in the pride of her beauty, on the banks of the Potomac.
Frances listened anxiously to his retreating footsteps, and as they died upon her ear, she ventured from her place of secrecy, and advanced a short distance into the field; where, startled at the gloom, and appalled with the dreariness of the prospect, the maid paused to reflect on what she had undertaken. Throwing back the hood of her cardinal, she sought the support of a tree, and gazed towards the summit of the mountain that was to be the goal of her enterprize. It rose from the plain, like a huge pyramid, giving nothing to the eye but its outlines. The pinnacle could be faintly discerned in front of a lighter back ground of clouds, between which a few glimmering stars occasionally twinkled in momentary brightness, and then gradually became obscured by the passing vapour, that was moving before the wind, at a vast distance below the clouds themselves. Should she return, Henry and the pedlar would most probably pass the night in fancied security, upon that very hill, towards which she was straining her eyes in the vain hope of observing some light that might encourage her to proceed. The deliberate, and what to her seemed coldblooded, project of the officers, for the re-capture of the fugitives, still rung in her ears, and stimulated her to go on; but the solitude into which she must venture--the time--the actual danger of the ascent, and the uncertainty of her finding the hut, or what was still more disheartening, the chance that it might be occupied by unknown tenants. and those of the worst description--all urged her to retreat.
The increasing darkness was each moment rendering objects less and less distinct, and the clouds were gathering more gloomily in the rear of the hill, until its form could no longer be discerned. Frances threw back the profusion of her rich curls with both hands on her temples, in order to possess her senses in their utmost keenness; but the towering hill was entirely lost to the eye. At length she discovered a faint and twinkling blaze in the direction in which she thought the building stood, that by its reviving and receding lustre, might be taken for the glimmering of a fire. But the delusion vanished as the horizon again cleared, and the star of the evening shone forth from a cloud, after struggling hard as if for existence, in all its unrivalled brilliancy. The maid now saw the mountain to the left of where the planet was shining through an opening in the hills, and suddenly a streak of mellow light burst upon the fantastic oaks that were thinly scattered over its summit, and gradually moved down its side, until the whole pile stood proudly erect under the rays of the rising moon. Although it would have been physically impossible for our heroine to advance without the aid of the friendly light, which now gleamed in softened brightness on the long line of level land before her; yet she was not encouraged to proceed. If she could see the goal of her wishes, she could also perceive the difficulties that must attend her reaching it.
While deliberating in distressing incertitude, now shrinking with the timidity of her sex and years from the enterprise, and now resolving to rescue her brother at every hazard, the maid turned her looks towards the east, in earnest gaze at the clouds which constantly threatened to involve her again in comparative darkness. Had an adder stung her, Frances could not have sprung with greater celerity, than she recoiled from the object against which she was leaning, and which she for the first time, noticed. The two upright posts, with a cross beam on their tops, and a rude platform beneath, told but too plainly the nature of the structure--even the cord was suspended from an iron staple, and swinging to and fro in the night air. Frances hesitated no longer, but rather flew than ran across the meadow, and was soon at the base of the rock, where she hoped to find something like a path to the summit of the mountain. Here she was compelled to pause for breath, and she improved the leisure by surveying the ground around. The ascent was quite abrupt, but she soon found a sheep path that wound among the shelving rocks and through the trees, so as to render her labour much less tiresome than it otherwise would have been. Throwing a fearful glance behind, the maid commenced her journey upwards. Young, active, and impelled by the generous wish of saving he
r brother, she moved up the hill with elastic steps, and very soon emerged from the cover of the woods into an open space of more level ground, that had evidently been cleared of its timber for the purpose of cultivation. But either the war, or the sterility of the soil, had compelled the adventurer to abandon the advantages that he had obtained over the wilderness, and already the bushes and briars were springing up afresh, as if the plough had never traced its furrow through the mould which nourished them.
Frances felt her spirits invigorated by even these faint vestiges of the labour of man, and walked up the gentle acclivity with renewed hopes of success. The path now diverged into so many different directions, that she soon saw it would be useless to follow their windings, and abandoning it, at the first turn, she laboured forward towards what she thought was the nearest point to the summit: the cleared ground was soon past, and woods and rocks, clinging to the precipitous sides of the mountain, again presented themselves to her progress. Occasionally, the path was to be seen running along the verge of the clearing, and then striking off into the scattering patches of grass and herbage, but in no instance could she trace it upward. Tufts of wool, hanging to the briars, sufficiently denoted the origin of these tracks, and Frances rightly conjectured, that, whoever descended the mountain, would avail himself of their existence, to lighten the labour. Seating herself on a stone, the maid again paused to rest and to reflect;--the clouds were rising before the moon, as if repelled by her brightness, and the whole scene at her feet lay pictured in the softest colours.
The white tents of the militia were stretched in regular lines immediately beneath her. The light was shining in the window of her aunt, whom Frances easily fancied was standing watching the mountain, racked with all the anxiety she might be supposed to feel for her niece. Lanterns were playing about in the stable-yard, where she knew the horses of the dragoons were kept, and believing them to be preparing for their night march, she again sprang upon her feet, and renewed her toil.
It was more than a quarter of a mile farther that our heroine had to ascend, although she had already conquered two-thirds of the height of the mountain. But she was now without a path, or any guide to direct her in her course: fortunately the hill was conical, like most of the mountains in that range, and by advancing upwards, she was certain of at length reaching the desired hut, which hung, as it were, on the very pinnacle. Nearly an hour did the maid struggle with the numerous difficulties that she was obliged to overcome, when, having been repeatedly exhausted with her efforts, and in several instances, in great danger from falls, she succeeded in gaining the small piece of table-land on the summit.
Faint with her exertions, which had been unusually severe for her slender frame, she sunk on a rock, to recover her strength and fortitude for the approaching interview with her brother. A few moments sufficed for this purpose, when she proceeded in quest of the hut. All of the neighbouring hills were distinctly visible by the aid of the moon, and Frances was able, where she stood, to trace the route of the highway from the plains into the mountains. By following this line with her eyes, she soon discovered the point whence she had seen the mysterious dwelling, and directly opposite to that point she well knew the hut must stand.
The chilling air sighed through the leafless branches of the gnarled and crooked oaks, as with a step so light as hardly to rustle the dry leaves over which she trod, Frances moved forward to that part of the hill where she expected to find this secluded habitation; but nothing could she discern that in the least resembled a dwelling of any sort. In vain she examined into every recess of the rocks, or inquisitively explored every part of the summit that she thought could hold the tenement of the pedlar. No hut, nor any vestige of a human being, could she trace. The idea of her solitude struck on the terrified mind of the maid, and approaching to the edge of a shelving rock, she bent forward to gaze on the signs of life in the vale, when a ray of keen light dazzled her eyes, and a warm air diffused itself over her whole frame. Recovering from her surprise, Frances looked on the ledge beneath her, and at once perceived that she stood directly over the object of her search. A hole through its roof, afforded a passage to the smoke, which, as it blew aside, showed her a clear and cheerful fire crackling and snapping on a rude hearth of stone. The approach to the front of the hut, was by a winding path around the point of the rock on which she stood, and by this she advanced to its door.
Three sides of this singular edifice, if such it could be called, were composed of logs laid alternately on each other, to a little more than the height of a man; and the fourth was formed by the rock against which it leaned. The roof was made of the bark of trees, laid in long strips from the rock to its eaves;--the fissures between the logs had been stuffed with clay, which in many places had fallen out, and dried leaves were made use of as a substitute to keep out the wind: a single window of four panes of glass was in front, but a board carefully closed it in such a manner, as to emit no light from the fire within. After pausing sometime to view this singularly constructed hiding-place, for such Frances knew it must be, she applied her eye to a crevice to explore the scene within. There was no lamp nor candle, but the blazing fire of dry wood made the interior of the hut light enough to read by. In one corner lay a bed of straw, with a pair of blankets thrown carelessly over it, as if left where they had last been used by the occupant. Against the walls and rock were suspended, from pegs forced into the crevices, various garments, and such as were apparently fitted for all ages and conditions, and for either sex. British and American uniforms hung peaceably by the side of each other; and on the peg that supported a gown of striped calico, such as was the usual country wear, was also depending a well powdered wig--in short, the attire was numerous, and as various as if a whole parish were to be equipped from this one wardrobe.
In the angle against the rock, and opposite to the fire which was burning in the other corner, was an open cup-board, that held a plate or two, a mug. and the remains of some broken meat. Before the fire was a table, with one of its legs fractured, and made of rough boards; these, with a single stool, composed the furniture, if we except a few articles for cooking. A book that by its shape and size appeared to be a bible, was lying on the table, unopened. But it was the occupant of the hut in whom Frances was chiefly interested.-- This was a man, sitting on the stool, with his head leaning on his hand, in such a manner as to conceal his features, and deeply occupied in examining some open papers before him. On the table lay a pair of curiously and richly mounted horseman’s pistols, and the handle of a sheathed rapier of exquisite workmanship, protruded from between the legs of the gentleman, one of whose hands carelessly rested on its guard. The tall stature of this unexpected tenant of the hut, and his form, much more athletic than that of either Harvey or her brother, told Frances, without the aid of his dress, that it was neither of those whom she sought. A close surtout was buttoned high in the throat of the stranger, and parting at his knees, showed breeches of buff, with military boots and spurs. His hair was dressed so as to expose the whole face, and, after the fashion of that day, was profusely powdered. A round hat was laid on the stones that formed a paved floor to the hut, as if to make room for a large map, which, among other papers, occupied the table.
This was an unexpected event to the maid.-- She had been so confident that the figure she had twice seen was the pedlar, that on learning his agency in her brother’s escape, she did not in the least doubt of finding them both in the place, which, she now discovered, was occupied by another and a stranger’s form. She stood earnestly looking through the crevice, hesitating whether to retire. or to wait under the expectation of yet meeting with Henry, as the stranger moved his hand from before his eyes, and raised his face apparently in deep musing, when Frances instantly recognized the benevolent and strongly marked, but composed features of Harper.
All that Dunwoodie had said of his power and disposition--all that he had himself promised her brother, and all the confidence that had been created by his dignified and paternal m
anner, rushed across the mind of Frances, who threw open the door of the hut, and falling at his feet, clasped his knees with her arms, as she cried--
“Save him--save him--save my brother--remember your promise, and save him!”
Harper had risen as the door opened, and there was a slight movement of one hand towards his pistols, but it was cool, and instantly checked, as Frances entered. He raised the hood of the cardinal which had fallen over her features, and exclaimed, with some uneasiness--
“Miss Wharton! But you cannot be alone!”
“There is none here but my God and you; and by his sacred name, I conjure you to remember your promise, and save my brother.”
Harper gently raised her from her knees, and placed her on the stool he resigned, begging her at the same time to be composed, and to acquaint him with all that she knew. This Frances instantly did, with a hurried voice, ingenuously admitting him to a knowledge of her own views in wisiting that lone spot at that hour, and by herself.
It was at all times difficult to probe the thoughts of one who held his passions in such disciplined subjection as Harper, but still there was a lighting of his thoughtful eye, and a slight unbending of his muscles, as the maid proceeded in her narrative. His interest, as she dwelt upon the manner of Henry’s escape and the flight to the woods, was deep and manifest, and he listened to the remainder of her tale with a marked expression of benevolent indulgence. Her apprehensions that her brother might still be too late through the mountains, seemed to have much weight with him. for, as she concluded, he walked a turn or two across the hut, in silent musing.
The Spy, Volume 2 Page 19