The Spy & Lionel Lincoln

by James Fenimore Cooper

  Last and least, but not the most unlovely in this display of female charms, was the youngest daughter of Mr. Wharton. Frances, we have already mentioned, left the city before she had attained to the age of fashionable womanhood. A few adventurous spirits were already beginning to make inroads in those customs which had so long invaded the comforts of the fair sex; and the youthful girl had ventured to trust her beauty to the height which nature had bestowed. This was but little, but that little was a master-piece. Frances several times had determined, in the course of the morning, to bestow more than usual pains in the decoration of her person. Each time, in succession, as she formed this resolution, she spent a few minutes in looking earnestly towards the north, and then she as invariably changed it.

  At the appointed hour, our heroine appeared in the drawing room, clothed in a robe of pale blue silk, of a cut and fashion much like that worn by her sister. Her hair was left to the wild curls of nature, its exuberance being confined to the crown of her head by a long, low comb made of light tortoise shell; a colour barely distinguishable in the golden hue of her tresses. Her dress was without a plait or a wrinkle, and fitted the form with an exactitude that might lead one to imagine the arch girl more than suspected the beauties it displayed. A tucker of rich Dresden lace softened the contour of the figure. Her head was without ornament; but around her throat was a necklace of gold clasped in front with a rich cornelian.

  Once, and once only, as they moved towards the repast, did Lawton see a foot thrust itself from beneath the folds of her robe, and exhibit its little beauties encased in a slipper of blue silk, clasped close to the shape by a buckle of brilliants. The trooper caught himself sighing as he thought, though it was good for nothing in the stirrup, how enchantingly it would grace a minuet.

  As the black appeared on the threshold of the room making a low reverence, which has been interpreted for some centuries into “dinner waits,” Mr. Wharton, clad in a dress of drab, and bedecked with enormous buttons, advanced formally to Miss Singleton, and bending his powdered head nearly to the level of the hand he extended, received her’s in return.

  Dr. Sitgreaves offered the same homage to Miss Peyton, and met with equal favor; the lady first pausing to draw on her gloves.

  Colonel Wellmere was honoured with a smile from Sarah while performing a similar duty; and Frances gave the ends of her taper fingers to Captain Lawton with maiden bashfulness.

  Much time, and some trouble were expended before the whole party were, to the great joy of Caesar, comfortably arranged around the table with proper attention to all points of etiquette and precedence. The black well knew the viands were not improving, and though abundantly able to comprehend the disadvantage of eating a cold dinner, it greatly exceeded his powers of philosophy, to weigh all the latent consequences to society, which depend on social order.

  For the first ten minutes all but the captain of dragoons found themselves in a situation much to their liking. Even Lawton would have been perfectly happy, had not excess of civility on the part of his host and Miss Jeanette Peyton kept him from the more agreeable occupation of tasting dishes he did want, in order to decline those he did not. At length, however, the repast was fairly commenced, and a devoted silence was more eloquent than a thousand words in favor of Dinah’s skill.

  Next came drinking with the ladies; but as the wine was excellent, and the glasses ample, the trooper bore this interruption with consummate good nature. Nay, so fearful was he of giving offence, and of omitting any of the nicer points of punctilio, that having commenced this courtesy with the lady who sat next him, he persevered until not one of his fair companions could, with justice, reproach him with partiality in this particular.

  Long abstemiousness from any thing like generous wine might plead the excuse of Captain Lawton, especially when exposed to so strong a temptation as that now before him. Mr. Wharton had been one of a set in New-York, whose principal exploits, before the war, had been to assemble, and pass sage opinions on the signs of the times, under the inspiration of certain liquor made from a grape that grew on the south side of the island of Madeira, and which found its way into the colonies of North America through the medium of the West Indies, sojourning awhile in the Western Archipelago, by way of proving the virtues of the climate. A large supply of this cordial had been drawn from his storehouse in the city, and some of it now sparkled in a bottle before the captain, blushing in the rays of the sun, which were passing obliquely through it like amber.

  Though the meat and vegetables had made their entrance with perfect order and propriety, their exeunt was effected much in the manner of a retreat of militia. The point was to clear the board something after the fabled practice of the harpies, and by dint of scrambling, tossing, breaking, and spilling, the remnants of the overflowing repast disappeared. And now another series of processions commenced, by virtue of which a goodly display of pasty with its usual accompaniments, garnished the table.

  Mr. Wharton poured out a glass of wine for the lady who sat on his right hand, and pushing the bottle to a guest, said, with a low bow—

  “We are to be honoured with a toast from Miss Singleton.”

  Although there was nothing more in this movement than occurred every day on such occasions, yet the lady trembled, coloured, and grew pale again, seemingly endeavouring to rally her thoughts, until by her agitation she had excited the interest of the whole party; when, by an effort, and in a manner as if she had striven in vain to think of another, Isabella said faintly—

  “Major Dunwoodie.”

  The health was drunk cheerfully by all but Colonel Wellmere, who wet his lips, and drew figures on the table with some of the liquor he had spilt.

  At length Colonel Wellmere broke silence by saying aloud to Captain Lawton—

  “I suppose, sir, this Mr. Dunwoodie will receive promotion in the rebel army, for the advantage my misfortune gave him over my command.”

  The trooper had supplied the wants of nature to his perfect satisfaction; and perhaps, with the exception of Washington and his immediate commander, there was no mortal whose displeasure he regarded a tittle. First helping himself, therefore, to a little of his favorite bottle, he replied with admirable coolness—

  “Colonel Wellmere, your pardon—Major Dunwoodie owes his allegiance to the confederated states of North America, and where he owes it he pays it. Such a man is no rebel. Promoted I hope he may be, both because he deserves it, and because I am next in rank, in the corps; and I know not what you call a misfortune, unless you deem meeting the Virginia horse as such.”

  “We will not differ about terms, sir,” said the colonel haughtily; “I spoke as duty to my sovereign prompted; but do you not call the loss of a commander a misfortune to a party?”

  “It certainly may be so,” said the trooper with emphasis.

  “Miss Peyton, will you favor us with a toast?” cried the master of the house, anxious to stop this dialogue.

  The lady bowed her head with dignity as she named “General Montrose;” and the long absent bloom stole lightly over her features.

  “There is no term more doubtful than that word misfortune,” said the surgeon, regardless of the nice manoeuvres of the host: “some deem one thing a misfortune, others its opposite: misfortune begets misfortune: life is a misfortune; for it may be the means of enduring misfortune; and death is a misfortune, as it abridges the enjoyments of life.”

  “It is a misfortune that our mess has no such wine as this,” interrupted the trooper.

  “We will pledge you a sentiment in it, sir, as it seems to suit your taste,” said Mr. Wharton.

  Lawton filled to the brim, and drank; “a speedy peace, or a stirring war.”

  “I drink your toast, Captain Lawton, though I greatly distrust your construction of activity,” said the surgeon.—“In my poor judgment, cavalry should be kept in the rear, to improve a victory and not sent in front to gain it. Such ma
y be said to be their natural occupation, if the term can be used in reference to so artificial a body, for all history shows that the horse have done most, when properly held in reserve.”

  This dissertation, uttered in a sufficiently didactic manner, was a hint that Miss Peyton did not neglect. She arose, and retired followed by her juniors.

  Nearly at the same moment, Mr. Wharton and his son made an apology for their absence, which was required on account of the death of a near neighbour, and withdrew.

  The retreat of the ladies was the signal for the appearance of the surgeon’s segar, which, being established in a corner of his mouth, in a certain knowing way, caused not the slightest interruption to his discourse—

  “If any thing can sweeten captivity and wounds, it must be the happiness of suffering in the society of the ladies who have left us,” gallantly observed the colonel, as he resumed his seat after closing the door.

  “Sympathy and kindness have their influence on the human system,” returned the surgeon, knocking the ashes from his segar, with the tip of a little finger, in the manner of an adept. “The connexion is intimate between the moral and physical feelings; but still, to accomplish a cure, and restore nature to the healthy tone it has lost from disease or accident, requires more than can flow from unguided sympathies. In such cases, the lights”—the surgeon accidentally caught the eye of the trooper, and he paused—taking two or three hasty puffs, he essayed to finish the sentence—“in such cases, the knowledge that flows from the lights—”

  “You were saying, sir,” said Colonel Wellmere, sipping his wine.

  “The purport of my remark went to say,” continued Sit­greaves, turning his back on Lawton, “that a bread poultice would not set a broken arm.”

  “More is the pity,” cried the trooper, “for next to eating, the nourishment could not be more innocently applied.”

  “To you, Colonel Wellmere, as a man of education,” said the surgeon, “I can with safety appeal.” The colonel bowed. “You must have observed the dreadful havoc made in your ranks by the men who were led by this gentleman;” the colonel looked grave, again; “how when blows lighted on their frames, life was invariably extinguished beyond all hope of scientific reparation—how certain yawning wounds were inflicted, that must prove at defiance the art of the most experienced practitioner; now, sir, to you I triumphantly appeal, therefore, to know whether your detachment would not have been as effectually defeated, if the men had all lost a right arm for instance, as if they had all lost their heads.”

  “The triumph of your appeal is somewhat hasty, sir,” said Wellmere.

  “Is the cause of liberty advanced a step by such injudicious harshness in the field?” continued the surgeon, bent on the favorite principle of his life.

  “I am yet to learn that the cause of liberty is in any manner advanced by the services of any gentleman in the rebel army,” rejoined the colonel.

  “Not liberty! Good God, for what then are we contending?”

  “Slavery, sir; yes, even slavery; you are putting the tyranny of a mob on the throne of a kind and lenient prince—where is the consistency of your boasted liberty?”

  “Consistency,” repeated the surgeon, looking about him a little wildly at hearing such sweeping charges against a cause he had so long thought holy.

  “Ay, sir, your consistency. Your congress of sages have published a manifesto, wherein they set forth the equality of political rights.”

  “’Tis true, and it is done most ably.”

  “I say nothing of its ability; but if true, why not set your slaves at liberty?” This argument, which is thought by most of the colonel’s countrymen a triumphant answer to a thousand eloquent facts, lost none of its weight, by the manner in which it was uttered.

  Every American feels humbled at the necessity of vindicating his country from the apparent inconsistency and injustice of the laws alluded to. His feelings are much like those of an honourable man who is compelled to exonerate himself from a disgraceful charge, although he may know the accusation to be false. At the bottom, Sitgreaves had much good sense, and thus called on, he took up the cudgels of argument in downright earnest.

  “We deem it a liberty to have the deciding voice in the councils by which we are governed. We think it a hardship to be ruled by the King of a people who live at a distance of three thousand miles, and who cannot, and who does not, feel a single political interest in common with ourselves. I say nothing of oppression; the child was of age, and was entitled to the privileges of majority. In such cases, there is but one tribunal to which to appeal for a nation’s rights—it is power, and we now make the appeal.”

  “Such doctrines may suit your present purposes,” said Wellmere with a sneer; “but I apprehend it is opposed to all the opinions and practices of civilized nations.”

  “It is in conformity with the practices of all nations,” said the surgeon, returning the nod, and smile of Lawton, who enjoyed the good sense of his comrade as much as he disliked what he called “his medical talk.” “Who would be ruled when he can rule—the only rational ground to take is, that every community has a right to govern itself, so that in no manner it violates the laws of God.”

  “And is holding your fellow creatures in bondage, in conformity to those laws?” asked the colonel impressively.

  The surgeon took another glass, and hemming once, returned to the combat.

  “Sir,” said he, “slavery is of very ancient origin, and it seems to have been confined to no particular religion or form of government; every nation of civilized Europe does, or has held their fellow creatures in this kind of duresse.”

  “You will except Great Britain, sir,” cried the colonel proudly.

  “No, sir,” continued the surgeon confidently, feeling that he was now carrying the war out of his own country; “I cannot except Great Britain. It was her children, her ships, and her laws, that first introduced the practice into these states; and on her institutions the judgment must fall. There is not a foot of ground belonging to England, in which a negro would be useful, that has not its slave. England herself has none, but England is overflowing with physical force, a part of which she is obliged to maintain in the shape of paupers. The same is true of France and most other European countries. So long as we were content to remain colonies, nothing was said of our system of domestic slavery but now when we are resolute to obtain as much freedom as the vicious system of Metropolitan rule has left us, that which is England’s gift has become our reproach. Will your master liberate the slaves of his subjects, should he succeed in subduing the new States, or will he condemn the whites to the same servitude as that in which he has been so long content to see the blacks? It is true, we continue the practice; but we must come gradually to the remedy, or create an evil greater than that which we endure at present: doubtless, as we advance, the manumission of our slaves will accompany us, until happily these fair regions shall exist, without a single image of the creator that is held in a state, which disqualifies him to judge of that creator’s goodness.”

  It will be remembered that Doctor Sitgreaves spoke forty years ago, and Wellmere was unable to contradict his prophetic assertion.

  Finding the subject getting to be knotty, the Englishman retired to the apartment in which the ladies had assembled, and seated by the side of Sarah, he found a more pleasing employment in relating the events of fashionable life in the metropolis, and in recalling the thousand little anecdotes of their former association. Miss Peyton was a pleased listener, as she dispensed the bounties of the tea-table, and Sarah frequently bowed her blushing countenance to her needle work, as her face glowed at the flattering remarks of her companion.

  The dialogue we have related established a perfect truce between the surgeon and his comrade, and the former having paid a visit to Singleton, they took their leave of the ladies, and mounted; the former to visit the wounded at the encampment, and the
latter to rejoin his troop. But their movements were arrested at the gate by an occurrence that we shall relate in the next chapter.

  Chapter XIV

  “I see no more those white locks thinly spread,

  Round the bald polish of that honoured head:—

  No more that meek, that suppliant look in prayer,

  Nor that pure faith that gave it force—are there:—

  But he is blest, and I lament no more,

  A wise good man contented to be poor.”

  Crabbe.

  * * *

  WE HAVE already said, that the customs of America leave the dead but a short time in the sight of the mourners; and the necessity of providing for his own safety had compelled the pedlar to abridge even this brief space. In the confusion and agitation produced by the events we have recorded, the death of the elder Birch had occurred unnoticed; but a sufficient number of the immediate neighbours were hastily collected, and the ordinary rites of sepulture were now about to be paid to the deceased. It was the approach of this humble procession that arrested the movements of the trooper and his comrade. Four men supported the body on a rude bier; and four others walked in advance, ready to relieve their friends from their burden. The pedlar walked next the coffin, and by his side moved Katy Haynes with a most determined aspect of woe, and next to the mourners came Mr. Wharton and the English captain. Two or three old men and women, with a few straggling boys, brought up the rear. Captain Lawton sat in his saddle in rigid silence until the bearers came opposite to his position, and then, for the first time, Harvey raised his eyes from the ground, and saw the enemy that he dreaded so near him.The first impulse of the pedlar was certainly flight; but recovering his recollection, he fixed his eye on the coffin of his parent, and passed the dragoon with a firm step, but swelling heart. The trooper slowly lifted his cap, and continued uncovered until Mr. Wharton and his son had moved by, when, accompanied by the surgeon, he rode leisurely in the rear, maintaining an inflexible silence. Caesar emerged from the cellar kitchen of the cottage, and with a face of settled solemnity, added himself to the number of the followers of the funeral, though with a humble mien, and at a most respectful distance from the horsemen. The old negro had placed around his arm, a little above the elbow, a napkin of unsullied whiteness, it being the only time since his departure from the city, that he had enjoyed an opportunity of exhibiting himself in the garniture of servile mourning. He was a great lover of propriety, and had been a little stimulated to this display by a desire to show his sable friend from Georgia all the decencies of a New-York funeral; and the ebullition of his zeal went off very well, producing no other result, than a mild lecture from Miss Peyton at his return, on the fitness of things. The attendance of the black was thought well enough in itself; but the napkin was deemed a superfluous exhibition of ceremony, at the funeral of a man, who had performed all the menial offices in his own person.