The Spy, Volume 2

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “See! Wharton: there is a man crossing in the very eddies of the cataract, and in a skiff no bigger than an egg-shell.”

  “He has a knapsack, and is probably a soldier,” returned the other. “Let us meet him at the ladder, Mason, and learn his tidings.”

  Some time was expended in reaching the spot where the adventurer was intercepted. Contrary to the expectations of the young soldiers, he proved to be a man far advanced in life, and evidently no follower of the camp. His years might be seventy, and were indicated more by the thin hairs of silver that lay scattered over his wrinkled brow, than by any apparent failure of his system. His frame was meagre and bent; but it was the attitude of habit, for his sinews were strung with the toil of half a century. His dress was mean, and manifested the economy of its owner, by the number and nature of its repairs. On his back was a scantily furnished pack, that had led to the mistake in his profession. A few words of salutation, and on the part of the young men of surprise, that one so aged should venture so near the whirlpools of the cataract, were exchanged; when the old man inquired, with a voice that began to manifest the tremor of age, the news from the contending armies.

  “We whipt the red-coats here, the other day, among the grass on the Chippewa plains,” said the one who was called Mason; “since when, old daddy, we have been playing hide-and-go-peep with the ships--but we are now marching back from where we started, shaking our heads, and as surly as the devil.”

  “Perhaps you have a son among the soldiers,” said his companion with a more polished demeanor, and an air of kindness; “if so, tell me his name and regiment, and I will take you to him.”

  The old man shook his head. and, passing his hand over his silver locks, with an air of meek resignation cast his eyes for a moment to heaven and answered--

  “No--I am alone in the world!”

  “You should have added, Captain Dunwoodie,” cried his careless comrade, “if you could find either; for nearly half of our army have marched down the road, and may be, by this time, under the walls of fort George, for any thing that we know to the contrary.”

  The old man stopped suddenly, and looked earnestly from one of his companions to the other; the action being noticed by the soldiers, they paused also.

  “Did I hear right,” at length the stranger uttered, raising his hand to skreen his eyes from the rays of the setting sun; “what did he call you?”

  “My name is Wharton Dunwoodie,” replied the youth, smiling.

  The stranger motioned silently for him to remove his hat, which the youth did accordingly, and his fair hair blew aside like curls of silk, and opened the whole of his ingenuous countenance to the inspection of the other.

  “’Tis like our native land,” exclaimed the old man, with a vehemence that astonished his companions, “improving with time--God has blessed both.”

  “Why do you stare thus, Lieutenant Mason,” cried Captain Dunwoodie, laughing and blushing a little; “you show more astonishment than when you saw the falls.”

  “Oh! the falls--they are a thing to be looked at on a moonshiny night, by your aunt Sarah and that gay old bachelor, Colonel Singleton; but a fellow like myself never shows surprise, unless it may be at such a touch as this.”

  The extraordinary vehemence of the stranger’s manner had passed away, as suddenly as it was exhibited, but he listened to this speech apparently with deep interest, while Dunwoodie replied a little gravely--

  “Come, come, Tom--no jokes about my good aunt, I beg--she is kind and attentive to me, and I have heard it whispered that her youth was not altogether happy.”

  “Why as to rumour,” said Mason, “there goes one in Accomac, that Colonel Singleton offers himself to her regularly every Valentine’s day; and there are some who add, that your old great-aunt helps his suit.”

  “Aunt Jeanette!” said Dunwoodie, laughing, “dear good soul, she thinks but little of marriage in any shape, I believe, since the death of Dr. Sitgreaves. There was some whispers of a courtship between them formerly, but it ended in nothing but civilities, and I suspect that the whole story arises from the intimacy of Colonel Singleton and my father. You know they were comrades in the horse, as was your own father.”

  “I know all that, of course; but you must not tell me that the particular, prim, bachelor goes so often to General Dunwoodie’s plantation, merely for the sake of talking old soldier with your father. The last time I was there, that yellow, sharp nosed, kind of a housekeeper of your mother’s, took me into the pantry, and said that the Colonel was no dispiseable match, as she called it, and how the sale of his plantation in Georgia had brought him-- Oh! Lord, I don’t know how much.”

  “Quite likely,” returned the Captain; “Katy Haynes is a famous calculator.

  They had stopped during this conversation in a kind of uncertainty, whether their new companion was to be left or not.

  The old man listened to each word as it was uttered, with the most intense interest, but towards the conclusion of the dialogue, the earnest attention of his countenance changed to a kind of inward smile. He shook his head, and passing his hand over his forehead, seemed to be thinking of other times. Mason paid but little attention to the expression of his features, and continued--

  “Yes--she is all that; for herself too, I believe, sometimes.”

  “Her selfishness does but little harm,” returned Dunwoodie, smiling, as if in recollection of past scenes. “One of her greatest difficulties is her aversion to the blacks. She says that she never saw but one that she liked.”

  “And who was he?”

  “His name was Cæsar; he was a house servant of my late grand father, Wharton. You don’t remember him, I believe; he died the same year with his master, while we were children. Katy yearly sings his requiem, and upon my word, I believe he deserved it. I have heard something of his helping my English uncle, as we call General Wharton, in some difficulty that occurred in the old war. My mother always speaks of him with great affection. Both Cæsar and Katy came to Virginia with my mother when she married.-- My mother was--”

  “An angel!” interrupted the old man, in a voice that startled the young soldiers by its abruptness and energy.

  “Did you know her?” cried the son, with a bright glow of pleasure on his cheek.

  The reply of the stranger was interrupted by sudden and heavy explosions of artillery, which were immediately followed by continued volleys of small arms, and in a few minutes the air was filled with the tumult of a warm and well contested battle.

  The two soldiers hastened with precipitation towards their camp, accompanied by their new acquaintance. The excitement and anxiety created by the approaching fight, prevented a continuance of the conversation, and the three held their way to the army, making occasional conjectures on the cause of the fire and the probability of a general engagement. During their short and hurried walk, Captain Dunwoodie, however, threw several friendly glances at the old man, who moved over the ground with astonishing energy for his years, for the heart of the youth was warmed by the eulogium on a mother that he adored.-- In a short time, they joined the regiment to which the youth belonged, when the Captain squeezing the stranger’s hand, earnestly begged that he would make inquiries after him on the following morning, and that he might see him in his own tent. Here they separated.

  Every thing in the American camp gave indications of an approaching struggle. At a distance of a few miles the sound of cannon and musketry, was heard above even the roar of the cataract. The troops were soon in motion, and a movement made to support that division of the army that was already engaged. Night had set in before the reserve and irregulars reached the foot of Lundy’s lane, a road that diverged from the river and crossed a conical eminence, at no great distance from the Niagara highway. The summit of this hill was crowned with the cannon of the British, and in the flat beneath were the remnant of Scott’s gallant brigade, which had for a long time held an unequal contest, with distinguished bravery. A new line was interposed, and one colu
mn of the Americans directed to charge up the hill, parallel to the road. This column took the English in flank, and, bayonetting their artillerists, gained possession of the cannon. They were immediately joined by their comrades and the enemy was swept from the hill. But large reinforcements were joining the English general momentarily, and their troops were too brave to rest easy under the defeat. Repeated and bloody charges were made to recover the guns, but in all they were repulsed with slaughter. During the last of these struggles, the ardor of the youthful captain whom we have mentioned, urged him to lead his men some distance in advance, to scatter a daring party of the enemy--he succeeded, but in returning to the line missed his lieutenant from the station that he ought to have occupied. Soon after this repulse, which was the last, orders were given to the shattered troops to return to the camp. The British were no where to be seen, and preparations were made to take in such of the wounded as could be moved. At this moment Wharton Dunwoodie, impelled by affection for his friend, seized a lighted fuse, and taking two of his men, went himself in quest of his body, where he was supposed to have fallen. Mason was found on the side of the hill, seated with great composure, but unable to walk from a fractured leg. Dunwoodie saw and flew to the side of his comrade, exclaiming--

  “Ah! dear Tom, I knew I should find you the nearest man to the enemy.”

  “Softly--softly--handle me tenderly,” replied the Lieutenant; “no, there is a brave fellow still nearer than myself, and who he can be I know not. He rushed out of our smoke near my platoon, to make a prisoner or some such thing, but, poor fellow, he never came back; there he lies just over the hillock. I have spoken to him several times, but I fancy he is past answering.”

  Dunwoodie went to the spot, and to his astonishment beheld the aged stranger.

  “It is the old man who knew my mother!” cried the youth; “for her sake he shall have honourable burial--life him, and let him be be carried in; his bones shall rest on native soil.”

  The men approached to obey. He was lying on his back, with his face exposed to the glaring light of the fuse; his eyes were closed, as if in slumber;--his lips, sunken with years, were slightly moved from their natural position, but it seemed more like a smile than a convulsion, which caused the change. A soldier’s musket lay near him, where it had fallen from his grasp; his hands were both pressed upon his breast, and one of them contained a substance that glittered like silver. Dunwoodie stooped, and removing the limbs, perceived the place where the bullet had found a passage to his heart. The subject of his last care was a tin box, through which the fatal lead had gone; and the dying moments of the old man must have passed in drawing it from his bosom. Dunwoodie opened it, and found a paper, in which, to his astonishment, he read the following:

  “Circumstances of political importance, which involve the lives and fortunes of many, have hitherto kept secret what this paper now reveals. Harvey Birch has for years been a faithful and unrequited servant of his country. Though man does not, may God reward him for his conduct.

  “George Washington.”

  It was the SPY OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND, who had died as he lived, devoted to his country, and a martyr to her liberties.

  THE END.