The Spy, Volume 2

by James Fenimore Cooper

  A steep and laborious ascent brought them from the level of the tide-waters to the high lands, that form, in this part of the river, the eastern banks of the Hudson. Retiring a little from the highway, under the shelter of a thicket of cedars, the pedlar threw his form on a flat rock, and announced to his companion, that the hour for rest and refreshment was at length arrived. The day was now opened, and objects could be seen in the distance with distinctness. Beneath them lay the Hudson, stretching to the south in a straight line as far as the eye could reach. To the north, the broken fragments of the highlands threw upwards their lofty heads, above the masses of fog that hung over the water, and by which the course of the river could be traced into the bosom of the hills, whose conical summits were grouping together, one behind another, in that disorder which might be supposed to succeed their mighty but fruitless efforts to stop the progress of the flood. Emerging from these confused piles, the river, as if rejoicing at its release from the struggle, expanded into a wide bay, which was ornamented by a few fertile and low points that jutted humbly into its broad basin. On the opposite, or western shore, the rocks of Jersey were gathered in an array that has obtained for them the name of the palisadoes, elevating themselves for many hundred feet, as if to protect the rich country in their rear from the inroads of the conqueror; but, disdaining such an enemy, the river swept proudly by their feet, and held its undeviating way to the ocean. A ray of the rising sun darted upon the slight cloud that hung over the placid river, and at once the whole scene was in motion, changing and assuming new forms, and exhibiting fresh objects to the view in each successive moment. At the daily rising of this great curtain of nature, at the present time, scores of white sails and sluggish vessels are seen thickening on the water, with that air of life which denotes the neighbourhood to the metropolis of a great and flourishing empire; but to Henry and the pedlar it displayed only the square yards and lofty masts of a vessel of war, riding a few miles below them. Before the fog had begun to move, the tall spars were seen above it and from one of them a long pendant was feebly borne abroad in the current of night air, that still quivered along the river; but as the smoke arose, the black hull, the crowded and complicated mass of rigging, and the heavy yards and booms, spreading their arms afar, were successively brought into view.

  “There, Captain Wharton,” said the pedlar, there is a safe resting-place for you--America has no arm that can reach you if once you gain the deck of that ship. She is sent up to cover the foragers, and support the troops; the rig’lar officers are over fond of the sound of cannon from their shipping.”

  Without condescending to reply to the sarcasm conveyed in this speech, or perhaps not noticing it, Henry joyfully acquiesced in the proposal, and it was accordingly arranged between them, that so soon as they were refreshed he should endeavour to get on board of the vessel.

  While busily occupied in the very indispensable operation of breaking their fast, our adventurers were startled with the sound of distant fire arms. At first a few scattering shots were fired, which were succeeded by a long and animated roll of musketry, and then quick and heavy volleys followed each other.

  “Your prophecy is made good,” cried the English officer, springing upon his feet. “Our troops and the rebels are at it--I would give six months’ pay to see the charge.”

  “Umph!” returned his companion, without ceasing his meal; “they do very well to look at from a distance; but I can’t say but the company of this bacon, cold as it is, is more to my taste just now than a hot fire from the continentals.”

  “The discharges are heavy for so small a force; but the fire seems irregular.”

  “The scattering guns are from the Connecticut militia,” said Harvey, raising his head to listen; “they rattle it off finely, and are no fools at a mark. The volleys are the rig’lars, who, you know, fire by word--as long as they can.”

  “I like not the warmth of what you call a scattering fire,” exclaimed the captain, moving about from uneasiness; “it is more like the roll of a drum than the pop-gun shooting of skirmishers.”

  “No--no--I said not skrimmagers,” returned the other, raising himself upon his knees, and ceasing to eat; “so long as they’ll stand, they are too good for the best troops in the royal army.-- Each man does his work as if fighting by the job; and then they think, while they fight; and don’t send bullets among the clouds, that were meant to kill men upon earth.”

  “You talk and look, sir, as if you wished them success,” cried Henry sternly.

  “I wish success to the good cause only, Captain Wharton,” returned the pedlar, suddenly changing his air of exultation to an abstracted manner. “I thought you knew me too well, to be uncertain which party I favoured.”

  “Oh! you are reputed loyal, Mr. Birch,” said the youth, with a little contempt;--“but, by Heavens! the volleys have ceased!”

  They now both listened intently, for a little while, during which the irregular reports became less brisk, and suddenly heavy and repeated volleys followed. --

  “They’ve been at the baggonet,” said the pedlar; “the rig’lars have tried the baggonet, and have drove the rebels.”

  “Ay! Mr. Birch, the bayonet is the thing for the British soldier, after all!” shouted Henry with exultation. “They delight in the bayonet!”

  “Well, to my notion,” said the pedlar, “there’s but little delight to be taken in any such pokerish thing. But I dare say the militia are of my mind, for half of them don’t carry the ugly things.-- Lord!--lord!--Captain, I wish you’d go with me once into the rebel camp, and hear what lies the men tell about Bunker Hill and Burg’yne; you’d think they loved the baggonet as much as they do their dinner.”

  There was an inward chuckle, and singular air of affected innocency about his companion while speaking, that rather annoyed Henry, and he deigned no reply to his remarks.

  The firing now became desultory, occasionally intermingled with heavy volleys. Both of the fugitives were standing, listening with much anxiety, when a man, armed with a musket, was seen stealing towards them under the shelter of the cedar bushes that partially covered the hill. Henry first noticed this suspiciously looking stranger, and instantly pointed him out to his companion. Birch started, and certainly made an indication of sudden flight; but recollecting himself, he stood in sullen silence until the stranger was within a few yards of them--

  “’Tis friends,” said the fellow, clubbing his gun, but yet apparently afraid to venture nearer.

  “You had better be off,” cried Birch, in a loud voice, “here’s rig’lars enough at hand to take care of you; we are not near Dunwoodie’s horse now, and you will not easily get me again.”

  “Damn Major Dunwoodie and his horse,” cried the leader of the skinners, (for it was him) “God bless king George! and a speedy end to the rebellion, say I. If you would just show me the safe way in to the refugees, Mr. Birch, I’ll pay you well, and ever after stand your friend in the bargain.”

  “The road is as open to you as to me,”said Birch, turning from him in ill-concealed disgust; “if you want to find the refugees, you know well where they lay.”

  “Ay, but I’m a little afeard of going in upon them by myself; now you are well known to them all, and it will be no detriment to you just to let me go in with you.”

  Henry interfered, and after holding a short dialogue with the fellow, entered into a compact with him, that on condition of surrendering his arms, he might join their party. The man complied instantly, and Birch received his gun with eagerness, nor did he lay it upon his shoulder to renew their march, before he had carefully examined the priming, and ascertained to his satisfaction, that it contained a good dry ball-cartridge.

  As soon as this engagement was completed, they commenced their journey anew. By following the bank of the river, Birch led the way free from observation, until they reached the point opposite to the frigate, when, by making a signal, a boat was induced to approach. Some time was spent, and much precaution used, before the s
eamen would trust themselves ashore; but Henry having finally succeeded in making the officer, who commanded the party, credit his assertions, he was able to rejoin his companions in arms in safety. Before taking leave of Birch, the Captain handed him his purse, which was tolerably well supplied for the times; the pedlar received it, and watching an opportunity, he conveyed it unnoticed by the skinner, to a part of his dress that was ingeniously contrived to hold such treasures.

  The boat pulled from the shore, and Birch turned on his heel, drawing a sigh of vast relief, and shot up the hill with the enormous strides for which he was famous. The skinner followed, and each party pursued their common course, casting frequent and suspicious glances at the other, but both maintaining a most impenetrable silence.

  Wagons were moving along the river road, and occasional parties of horse were seen escorting the fruits of their excursion towards the city.-- As the pedlar had views of his own, he rather avoided falling in with any of these patroles, than sought their protection. But, after travelling for a few miles on the immediate banks of the river, during which, notwithstanding the repeated efforts of the skinner to establish something like sociability, he maintained a most determined silence, keeping a firm hold of the gun, and a side glance upon his associate, the pedlar suddenly struck into the highway, with an intention of crossing the hills towards Harlaem. At the moment that he gained the path, a body of horse came over a little eminence, and was upon him before he perceived them. It was too late to retreat, and after taking a view of the materials that composed this scouting party, Birch rejoiced in the rencontre as a probable means of relieving him from his unwelcome companion. They were some eighteen or twenty men, who were mounted and equipped as dragoons, though neither their appearance nor manner denoted much of discipline. At their head rode a heavy middle aged man, whose features expressed as much of animal passion and as little of reason as could well be imagined. He wore the dress of an officer, but there was none of that neatness in his attire, nor grace in his movements, that was usually found about the gentlemen who bore the royal commission. His limbs were firm, but not pliable, and he sat his horse with strength and confidence, but his bridle hand would have been ridiculed by the meanest rider in the Virginia regiment. As he expected, this leader instantly hailed the pedlar, in a voice by no means more conciliating than his appearance.

  “Hoy! my gentlemén--which way so fast?” he cried. “Has Washington sent you down as spies?”

  “I am an innocent pedlar,” returned Harvey, meekly, “and am going below to lay in a fresh stock.”

  “And how do you expect to get below, my innocent pedlar? Do you think we hold the forts at Kingsbridge to cover such peddling rascals as you, in your goings in and comings out?”

  “I believe I hold a pass that will carry me through,” said the pedlar, handing him a paper, with an air of consummate indifference.

  The officer, for such he was, read it, and gave a look of extraordinary intelligence for the man, at Harvey, when he had done.

  Then turning fiercely to one or two of his men who had officiously passed on and stopped the way, he cried--

  “Why do you stop the man--give way and let him pass in peace; but who have we here? your name is not on the paper.”

  “No, sir,” said the skinner, lifting his hat with humility; “I have been a poor deluded man who has been serving in the rebel army, but thank God, I’ve lived to see the error of my ways, and am now come to make reparation by enlisting under the Lord’s anointed.”

  “Umph! a deserter--a skinner, I’ll swear, wanting to turn cow-boy. In the last brush I had with the scoundrels, I could hardly tell my own men from the enemy. We are not over well supplied with coats, and as for the faces, the rascals change sides so often, that you may as well count their faces for nothing; but trudge on, we will contrive to expend you before long.”

  Ungracious as was this reception, if one could judge of the skinner’s feelings from his manner, it nevertheless delighted him hugely. He moved with alacrity towards the city, and really was so happy to escape the brutal looks and frightful manner of his interrogator, as to lose sight of all other considerations. But the man who performed the functions of orderly in the irregular troop, rode up to the side of his commander, and entered into a close and apparently confidential discourse with his principal. They spoke in whispers, and cast frequent and searching glances at the skinner, until the fellow began to think himself an object of more than common attention. His satisfaction at this distinction was somewhat heightened, at observing a smile on the face of the Captain, which, although it might be thought grim, certainly denoted much inward delight. This pantomime occupied the time they were passing a hollow, and concluded as they rose another hill. Here the captain and his sergeant both dismounted, and ordered the party to halt. The warriors each took a pistol from their holsters, a movement that excited no suspicion or alarm, as it was a precaution always observed, and beckoned to the pedlar and the skinner to follow. A short walk brought them to where the hill overhung the river, the ground falling nearly perpendicularly to the shore. On the brow of the eminence stood a deserted and dilapidated building, that had been a barn. Many of the boards that had formed its covering were torn from their places, and its wide doors were lying the one in front of the building and the other half way down the precipice, whither the wind had cast it. Entering this desolate spot, the refugee officer very coolly took from his pocket a short pipe, whose colour might once have been white, but which now, from long use, had acquired not only the hue but the gloss of ebony, a tobacco box, and a small roll of leather that contained steel, flint and tinder. With this apparatus, he soon furnished his mouth with a companion that habit had long rendered necessary to extraordinary reflection in its owner. So soon as a large column of smoke arose from this arrangement, the Captain significantly held forth his hand towards his assistant. A small cord was produced from the pocket of the sergeant, and handed to the other. Now, indeed, appeared a moment of deep care in the refugee, who threw out vast puffs of smoke until nearly all of his head was obscured, and looked around the building with an anxious and inquisitive eye. At length he removed the pipe, and inhaled a draught of pure air, returned it to its domicile, and proceeded to business at once. There was a heavy piece of timber laid across the girths of the barn, but a little way from the southern door, which opened directly upon a full view of the river as it stretched far away towards the bay of New-York. Over this timber, the refugee threw one end of the rope, and regaining it, joined the two parts in his hand. A small and weak barrel that wanted a head, the staves of which were loose and at one end standing apart, was left on the floor probably as useless to the owner.-- This was brought by the sergeant in obedience to a look from his officer, and placed beneath the beam. All of these arrangements were made with immoveable composure, and now seemed completed to the officer’s perfect satisfaction.

  “Come,” he said coolly to the skinner, who, amazed with the preparations, had stood both a close and silent spectator of their progress. He obeyed--and it was not until he found his neckcloth removed, and hat thrown aside, that he took the alarm. But he had so often resorted to a similar expedient to extract information or plunder, that he by no means felt the terror an unpractised man would have suffered, at these ominous movements. The rope was adjusted to his neck with the same coolness that formed the characteristic of the whole movement, and a fragment of board being laid upon the barrel, he was ordered to mount it.

  “But it may fall,” said the skinner, for the first time beginning to tremble. “I will tell you any thing,--even how to surprise our party at the Pond, without this trouble; and that is commanded by my own brother.”

  “I want no information,” returned his executioner, (for such he now seemed really to be,) as he threw the rope repeatedly over the beam, first drawing it tight, so as to annoy the skinner a little, and then casting the end from him, far beyond the reach of any one.

  “This is joking too far,” cried the skinner,
in a tone of remonstrance, and raising himself on his toes, with the vain hope of releasing himself from the cord by slipping his head through the noose-- But the caution and experience of the refugee had guarded against this escape.

  “What did you with the horse you stole from me, rascal?” he cried, throwing out extraordinary columns of smoke, as he waited for a reply.

  “He broke down in the chase,” replied the skinner quickly; “but I can tell you where one is to be found, that is worth him and his sire.”

  “Liar! I will help myself when I want one-- but you had better call upon God for aid, as your hour is short.” On concluding this consoling advice, he struck the barrel a violent blow with his heavy foot, and the slender staves flew in every direction, leaving the skinner whirling in the air. As his hands were unconfined, he threw them upwards, and held himself suspended by main strength.

  “Come, captain,” he said coaxingly, a little huskiness creeping into his voice, and his knees beginning to shake with a slight tremor, “just end the joke--’tis enough to make a laugh, and my arms begin to tire--indeed I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “Harkee, Mr. Pedlar,” said the refugee, in a voice that would not be denied, “I want not your company. Through that door lies your road-- march!--offer to touch that dog, and you’ll swing in his place, if twenty Sir Henrys wanted your services.” So saying, he retired to the road with the sergeant, as the pedlar precipitately retreated down the bank.

  Birch went no farther than a bush that opportunely offered itself as a skreen to conceal his person, while he yielded to an unconquerable desire, to witness what would be the termination of this extraordinary scene.