“John!--my dear John!” said the surgeon, with convulsive sobs, “thy hour has come, and many a more prudent man survives thee--but none better, nor braver. Oh! John, thou wert to me a kind friend, and very dear; it is unphilosophical to grieve--but for thee, John, I must weep, even in bitterness of heart!”
The Doctor buried his face in his hands, and for several minutes sat yielding to an ungovernable burst of sorrow; while the washerwoman gave vent to her grief in words--moving her body in a kind of writhing, and playing with different parts of her favorite’s dress with her fingers.
“And who’ll there be to incourage the boys now?” she said; “oh! Captain Jack!--Captain Jack! yee was the sowl of the troop, and it was but little we know’d of the danger, and yee fighting. Och! he was no maly mouth’d, that quarrelled wid a widowed woman for the matter of a burn in the mate, or the want of a breakfast. Taste a drop, darling, and it may be, ’twill revive yee. Och! and he’ll nivir taste agin--here’s the Doctor, honey, him yee used to blarney wid, wapeing as if the poor sowl would die for yee. Och! he’s gone--he’s gone, and the liberty is gone wid him.”
A heavy and thundering sound of horses’ feet came rolling along the road which led near the place where Lawton lay, and directly the whole body of Virginians appeared, with Dunwoodie at their head. The news of his Captain’s fate had reached him; for the instant that he noticed the body, he halted the squadron, and dismounting, approached the spot. The countenance of Lawton was not in the least distorted, but the angry frown which had lowered over his brow, during the battle, was fixed even in death. His frame was composed, and stretched as if in sleep. Dunwoodie took hold of his hand, and gazed a moment in silence;--his own dark eye began to flash, and the paleness which had overspread his features, was succeeded by a spot of deep red in either cheek.
“With his own sword will I avenge him!” he cried, endeavouring to take the weapon from the hand of Lawton--but the grasp resisted his utmost strength. “It shall be buried with him:--Sitgreaves, take care of our friend, while I revenge his death.”
The Major hastened back to his charger, and led the way in pursuit of the enemy.
While Dunwoodie had been thus engaged, the body of Lawton lay in open view to the whole squadron. He was an universal favourite, and the sight inflamed the men to the utmost: neither officers nor soldiers possessed that coolness which is necessary to ensure success to military operations, but they spurred ardently after their enemies, burning with a single wish for vengeance.
The English were formed in a hollow square, which contained their wounded, who were far from numerous, and were marching steadily across a very uneven country, as the dragoons approached. The horse charged in column, and were led by Dunwoodie, who, burning with revenge, thought to ride through their ranks, and scatter them at a blow; but the enemy knew their own safety too well, and standing firm, received the charge on the points of their bayonets. The horse of the Virginians recoiled, and the rear rank of the foot throwing in a close fire, the Major, with a few of his men fell. The English continued their retreat the moment they were extricated from their assailants; and Dunwoodie, who was severely, but not dangerously wounded, recalled his men from further attempts, which in that stony country must necessarily be fruitless.
A sad duty remained to be fulfilled:--the dragoons retired slowly through the hills, conveying their wounded commander, and the body of Lawton. The latter they interred under the ramparts of one of the highland forts, and the former they consigned to the tender care of his afflicted bride.
Many weeks were gone, before the Major was restored to sufficient strength to be removed; during those weeks, how often did he bless the moment that gave him a right to the services of his beautiful nurse! She hung around his couch with fond attention; administered with her own hands every prescription of the indefatigable Sitgreaves; and grew each hour in the affections and esteem of her husband. An order from Washington soon sent the troops into winter quarters, and permission was given to Dunwoodie to repair to his own plantation, with the rank of Lieut. Col. in order to complete the restoration of his health. Captain Singleton made one of the party; and the whole family retired from the active scenes of the war, to the ease and plenty of the Major’s own estate. Before leaving Fishkill, however, letters were conveyed to them through an unknown hand, acquainting them with Henry’s safety and good health; and also that Colonel Wellmere had left the continent for his native island, lowered in the estimation of every honest man in the royal army.
It was a happy winter for Dunwoodie, and smiles once more began to play around the lovely mouth of Frances.
CHAPTER XVIII.
“Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring;
And Snowdown’s knight is Scotland’s King!”
Lady of the Lake
The commencement of the following year was passed on the part of the Americans in making great preparations, in conjunction with their allies, to bring the war to a close. In the south, Greene and Rawdon made a bloody campaign, that was highly honorable to the troops of the latter, and which, by terminating entirely to the advantage of the former, proved him to be the better General of the two.
New York was the point that was threatened by the allied armies, and Washington, by exciting a constant apprehension for the safety of that city, prevented such reinforcements from being sent to Cornwallis, as would have enabled him to improve his success.
At length as autumn approached, every indication was given that the final moment had arrived.
The French forces drew near to the Royal lines, passing through the Neutral Ground, and threatened an attack in the direction of Kings-bridge, while large bodies of the Americans were acting in concert, by hovering round the British posts, and also drawing nigh in the Jerseys, seemed to threaten the royal forces from that quarter also. The preparations partook both of the nature of a siege and a storm. But Sir Henry Clinton, in the possession of intercepted letters from Washington, rested securely within his lines, and cautiously disregarded the solicitations of Cornwallis for succour.
It was at the close of a fine day in the month of September, that a large assemblage of officers were collected near the door of a building, that was situated in the heart of the American troops, who held the Jerseys. The age, the dress, and the dignity of deportment, of most of these warriors, indicated them to be of high rank; but to one in particular was paid a deference and obedience, that announced him to be of the highest. His dress was plain, but bore the usual military distinctions of command. He was mounted on a noble animal of a deep bay, and a groupe of young men, in gayer attire, evidently awaited his pleasure, and did his bidding. Many a hat was lifted, as its owner addressed this officer, and when he spoke, a profound attention, exceeding the respect of mere professional etiquette, was exhibited on every countenance. At length the General raised his own hat, and bowed gravely to all around him. The salute was returned, and the party dispersed, leaving the officer without a single attendant, except his body servants and one aid-decamp. Dismounting, he stepped back a few paces, and for a moment, viewed the condition of his horse with the eye of one who well understood the animal, and then casting a brief but expressive glance at his aid, he retired into the building, followed by that gentleman.
On entering an apartment that was apparently fitted for his reception, he took a seat, and continued for a long time in a thoughtful attitude, as one who was in the habit of communing much with himself. During this silence, the aid-decamp sat in respectful expectation of his orders. At length the General raised his eyes, and spoke in the low placid tones that seemed natural to him.
“Has the man whom I wished to see arrived, sir?”
“He waits the pleasure of your excellency.”
“I will receive him here, and alone, if you please.”
The aid bowed and withdrew. In a few minutes the door again opened, and a figure glided into the apartment, and stoo
d modestly at a distance from the General, without speaking. His entrance was unheard by the officer, who sat gazing in the fire, deeply absorbed in his own meditations.-- Several minutes passed, when he spoke to himself in an under tone--
“To-morrow we must raise the curtain, and expose our plans. May heaven prosper them.”
A slight movement made by the stranger at the sound of his voice, caught his ear, and he turned his head and saw that he was not alone. He pointed silently to the fire, towards which the figure advanced, although the multitude of his garments, which seemed more calculated for disguise than comfort, rendered its warmth unnecessary--a second mild and courteous gesture motioned to a vacant chair, but the stranger refused it with a modest acknowledgment--another pause followed, and continued for some time; at length the officer arose and opening a desk that was laid upon the table near which he sat, took from it a small and apparently heavy bag.--
“Harvey Birch,” he said, turning to the stranger, “the time has arrived when our connexion must cease; henceforth and forever we must be strangers.”
The pedlar dropped the folds of the great coat that concealed his features, and gazed for a moment wildly at the face of the speaker, and then dropping his head upon his bosom, said meekly--
“If it is your excellency’s pleasure.”
“It is necessary--since I have filled the station which I now hold, it has become my duty to know many men, who, like yourself, have been my instruments in procuring intelligence--you have I trusted more than all; I early saw in you a regard to truth and principle that, I am pleased to say, has never deceived me--you alone know my secret agents in the city, and on your fidelity depends, not only their fortunes, but their lives.”
He paused, as if to reflect, in order that full justice might be done to the pedlar, and then continued--
“I believe you are one of the very few that I have employed, who have acted faithfully to our cause; and while you have passed as a spy of the enemy’s, have never given intelligence that you were not permitted to divulge; to me, and to me only of all the world, you seem to have acted with a strong attachment to the liberties of America.”
During this address, Harvey had gradually raised his head from his bosom, until it reached the highest point of elevation; a faint tinge gathered in his cheeks, and as the officer concluded, it was diffused over his whole countenance in a deep glow, and he stood proudly swelling with his emotions, but with eyes that humbly sought the feet of the speaker.--
“It is now my duty to pay you for your services--hitherto you have postponed receiving your reward, and the debt has become a heavy one--I wish not to undervalue your dangers; here are an hundred joes--you will remember the poverty of our country, and attribute to it the smallness of your pay.”
The pedlar raised his eyes to the countenance of the speaker with amazement, and as the other held forth the money, he moved back as if from contagion.
“It is not much for your services and risks, I acknowledge,” said the general, “but it is all that I have to offer; at the end of the campaign, it may be in my power to increase it.”
“Never!” said Birch, speaking out; “was it for money that I did all this?”
“If not for money, what then?”
“What has brought your excellency into the field? For what do you daily and hourly expose your precious life to battle and the halter? What is there about me to mourn, when such men as your excellency risk their all for our country? No --no--no--not a dollar of your gold will I touch; poor America has need of if all!”
The bag dropped from the hand of the officer, and fell at the feet of the pedlar, where it lay neglected during the remainder of their interview. The officer looked steadily at the face of his companion, and continued--
“There are many motives which might govern me, that to you are unknown. Our situations are different; I am known as the leader of armies-- but you must descend into the grave with the reputation of a foe to your native land. Remember, that the veil which conceals your true character cannot be raised in years--perhaps never.”
Birch again lowered his face, but there was no yielding of the soul betrayed in the movement.
“You will soon be old; the prime of your days is already past; what have you to subsist on?”
“These!” said the pedlar, stretching forth his hands, that were already embrowned with toil.
“But those may fail you; take enough to secure a support to your age. Remember your risks and cares. I have told you, that the characters of men, who are much esteemed in life, depend upon your secrecy; what pledge can I give them of your fidelity?”
“Tell them,” said Birch, advancing, and unconsciously resting one foot on the bag, “tell them that I would not take the gold.”
The composed features of the officer relaxed into a fine smile of benevolence, and he grasped the hand of the pedlar firmly.
“Now, indeed, I know you; and although the same reasons which have hitherto compelled me to expose your valuable life, will still exist, and prevent my openly asserting your character, in private I can always be your friend--fail not to apply to me when in want or suffering, and so long as God giveth to me, so long will I freely share with a man who feels so nobly, and acts so well. If sickness or want should ever assail you, and peace once more smiles upon our efforts, seek the gate of him whom you have often met as Harper, and he will not blush to acknowledge you in his true character.”
“It is little that I need in this life,” said Harvey, the glow still mantling over his features.” “So long as God gives me health and honest industry, I can never want in this happy country-- but to know that your Excellency is my friend, is a blessing that I prize more than all the gold of England’s treasury.”
The officer stood for a few moments in the attitude of intense thought. He then drew to him the desk, and wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, and gave it to the pedlar as he addressed him--
“That Providence destines this country to some great and glorious fate I must believe, while I witness the patriotism that pervades the bosoms of her lowest citizens. It must be dreadful to a mind like yours to descend into the grave, branded as a foe to liberty; but you already know the lives that would be sacrificed should your real character be revealed. It is impossible to do you justice now, but I fearlessly entrust you with this certificate--should we never meet again, it may be serviceable to your children.”
“Children!” exclaimed the pedlar. “Can I give to a family the infamy of my name.”
The officer gazed at the strong emotion he exhibited with painful amazement, and made a slight movement towards the gold; but it was arrested by the proud expression of his companion’s face. Harvey saw the intention, and shook his head, as he continued more mildly, and with an air of deep respect--
“It is, indeed, a treasure that your Excellency gives me--it is safe too.--There are those living who could say, that my life was nothing to me, compared to your secrets. The paper that I told you was lost, I swallowed when taken last by the Virginians. It was the only time I ever deceived your Excellency, and it shall be the last--yes, this is, indeed a treasure to me--perhaps,” he continued with a melancholy smile, “It may be known after my death who was my friend, and if it should not, there are none to grieve for me.”
“Remember,” said the officer, with strong emotion, “that in me you will always have a secret friend; but openly I cannot know you.”
“I know it--I know it,” said Birch; “I knew it when I took the service. ’Tis probably the last time that I shall ever see your excellency. May God pour down his choicest blessings on your head.” He paused, and moved towards the door. The officer followed him with eyes that expressed powerful interest. Once more the pedlar turned, and seemed to gaze on the placid, but commanding features of the General, with regret and reverence, and then, bowing low, he withdrew.
The armies of America and France were led by their common leader, against the enemy under Cornwallis, and terminated a camp
aign in triumph, that had commenced in difficulties. Great Britain soon after became disgusted with the war, and the independence of the States was acknowledged.
As years rolled by, it became a subject of pride to the different actors in the war, and their descendants, to boast of their efforts in the cause which had confessedly heaped so many blessings upon their country; but the name of Harvey Birch died away among the multitude of agents who were thought to have laboured in secret against the rights of their countrymen. His image, however, was often present to the mind of the powerful chief, who alone knew his true character, and several times did he cause secret inquiries to be made into his fate-- one of which only resulted in any success. By this, he learnt that a pedlar of a different name, but similar appearance, was toiling through the new settlements that were springing up in every direction, and that he was struggling with the advance of years, and apparent poverty. Death prevented further inquiries on the part of the officer, and a long period passed before the pedlar was again heard of.
CHAPTER XIX.
“Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood--
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest;
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his Country’s blood.”
Gray
It was thirty-three years after the interview, which we have just related, that an American army was once more arrayed against the country of their ancestors; but the scene was transferred from the banks of the Hudson to those of the Niagara.
The body of Washington had long lain mouldering in the tomb; but as time was fast obliterating the slight impressions of political enmity or personal envy, his name was hourly receiving new lustre, and his worth and integrity each moment became more visible, not only to his countrymen, but to the world. He was already the acknowledged hero of an age of reason and truth; and many a young heart, amongst those who formed the pride of our army in 1814, was glowing with the recollection of the one great name of America, and inwardly beating with the sanguine expectation of emulating, in some degree, its renown. In no one were these virtuous hopes more vivid, than in the bosom of a young officer, who stood on the table-rock, contemplating the great cataract, on the evening of the 25th of July, of that bloody year. The person of this youth was tall and finely moulded, indicating a just proportion between strength and activity; his eyes of a deep black, were of a searching and dazzling brightness. At times, as they gazed upon the flood of waters that rushed tumultuously at his feet, there was a stern and daring look that flashed from them, which denoted the ardor of an enthusiast. But this proud expression was softened by the lines of a mouth, around which there played a suppressed archness, that partook of feminine beauty. His hair shone in the setting sun like ringlets of gold, as the air from the falls gently moved the rich curls from a forehead, whose whiteness showed that exposure and heat alone had given their darker hue, to a face glowing with health. There was another officer standing by the side of this favoured youth, and both seemed, by the interest that they betrayed, to be gazing for the first time at this wonder of the western world. A profound silence was observed by each of the soldiers, until the companion of the officer that we have described, suddenly started, and pointing eagerly with his sword into the abyss beneath, exclaimed--
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