The Spy & Lionel Lincoln

by James Fenimore Cooper

  Seth belonged to a class of his countrymen, amongst whom, while there was a superabundance of ingenuity, there was literally no joke. Deceived by the appearance of anger which had in reality blended with the assumed manner of the grenadier, as he dwelt upon the irritating subject of his own injuries, the belief of the prisoner in the sacred protection of the laws became much shaken, and he began to reflect very seriously on the insecurity of the times, as well as on the despotic nature of military power. The little humour he had inherited from his puritan ancestors, was, though exceedingly quaint, altogether after a different fashion from the off-hand, blundering wit of the Irishman; and that manner which he did not possess, he could not comprehend, so that as far as a very visible alarm furthered the views of the two conspirators, they were quite successful. Polwarth now took pity on his embarrassment, and observed, with a careless manner—

  “Perhaps I can make a proposal by which Mr. Sage may redeem his neck from the halter, and at the same time essentially serve an old friend.”

  “Hear ye that, thou confounder of men and bastes!” cried M’Fuse—“down on your knees, and thank Mr. Paiter Polwarth for the charity of his insinuation.”

  Seth was not displeased to hear these amicable intentions announced; but habitually cautious in all bargaining, he suppressed the exhibition of his satisfaction, and said, with an air of deliberation that would have done credit to the keenest trader in King-street—that “he should like to hear the terms of the agreement, before he gave his conclusion.”

  “They are simply these,” returned Polwarth—“you shall receive your passports and freedom to-night, on condition that you sign this bond, whereby you will become obliged to supply our mess, as usual, during the time the place is invested, with certain articles of food and nourishment, as herein set forth, and according to the prices mentioned, which the veriest Jew in Duke’s-place would pronounce to be liberal. Here; take the instrument, and ‘read, and mark,’ in order that we may ‘inwardly digest.’”

  Seth took the paper, and gave it that manner of investigation that he was wont to bestow on every thing which affected his pecuniary interests. He objected to the price of every article, all of which were altered in compliance with his obstinate resistance, and he moreover insisted that a clause should be inserted to exonerate him from the penalty, provided the intercourse should be prohibited by the authorities of the colony; after which, he continued—

  “If the captain will agree to take charge of the things, and become liable, I will conclude to make the trade.”

  “Here is a fellow who wants boot in a bargain for his life!” cried the grenadier; “but we will humour his covetous inclinations, Polly, and take charge of the chattels. Captain Polwarth and myself, pledge our words to their safe-keeping. Let me run my eyes over the articles,” continued the grenadier, looking very gravely at the several covenants of the bond—“faith, Paiter, you have bargained for a goodly larder! Baif, mutton, pigs, turnips, potatos, melons, and other fruits—there’s a blunder, now, that would keep an English mess on a grin for a month, if an Irishman had made it! as if a melon was a fruit, and a potato was not! The devil a word do I see that you have said about a mouthful, except aitables either! Here, fellow, clap your learning to it, and I’ll warrant you we yet get a meal out of it, in some manner or other.”

  “Wouldn’t it be as well to put the last agreement in the writings, too,” said Seth, “in case of accidents?”

  “Hear how a knave halters himself!” cried M’Fuse; “he has the individual honour of two captains of foot, and is willing to exchange it for their joint bond! The request is too raisonable to be denied, Polly, and we should be guilty of pecuniary suicide to reject it; so place a small article at the bottom, explanatory of the mistake the gentleman has fallen into.”

  Polwarth did not hesitate to comply, and in a very few minutes every thing was arranged to the perfect satisfaction of the parties, the two soldiers felicitating themselves on the success of a scheme which seemed to avert the principal evils of the leaguer from their own mess; and Seth, finding no difficulty in complying with an agreement which was likely to prove so profitable, however much he doubted its validity in a court of justice. The prisoner was now declared at liberty, and was advised to make his way out of the place, with as little noise as possible, and under favour of the pass he held. Seth gave the bond a last and most attentive perusal, and then departed, well contented to abide by its conditions, and not a little pleased to escape from the grenadier, the expression of whose half-comic, half-serious eye, occasioned him more perplexity than any other subject which had ever before occupied his astuteness. After the disappearance of the prisoner, the two worthies repaired to their nightly banquet, laughing heartily at the success of their notable invention.

  Lionel suffered Seth to pass from the room, without speaking, but as the man left his own abode with a lingering and doubtful step, the young soldier followed him into the street, without communicating to any one that he had witnessed what had passed, with the laudable intention of adding his own personal pledge for the security of the household goods in question. He, however, found it no easy achievement to equal the speed of a man who had just escaped from a long confinement, and who now appeared inclined to indulge his limbs freely in the pleasure of an unlimited exercise. The velocity of Seth continued unabated, until he had conducted Lionel far into the lower parts of the town, where the latter perceived him to encounter a man with whom he turned suddenly under an arch which led into a dark and narrow court. Lionel increased his speed, and as he entered beneath the passage, he caught a glimpse of the lank figure of the object of his pursuit, gliding through the opposite entrance to the court, and, at the same moment, he encountered the man who had apparently induced the deviation in his route. As Lionel stepped a little on one side, the light of a lamp fell full on the form of the other, and he recognised the person of the active leader of the caucus, (as the political meeting he had attended was called,) though so disguised and muffled, that, but for the accidental opening of the folds of his cloak, the unknown might have passed his dearest friend without discovery.

  “We meet again!” exclaimed Lionel, in the quickness of surprise; “though it would seem that the sun is never to shine on our interviews.”

  The stranger started, and betrayed an evident wish to continue his walk, as if the other had mistaken his person; then, as suddenly recollecting himself, he turned and approached Lionel, with easy dignity—

  “The third time is said to contain the charm!” he answered. “I am happy to find that I meet Major Lincoln, unharmed, after the dangers he so lately encountered.”

  “The dangers have probably been exaggerated by those who wish ill to the cause of our master,” returned Lionel, coldly.

  There was a calm, but proud smile on the face of the stranger, as he replied—

  “I shall not dispute the information of one who bore so conspicuous a part in the deeds of that day—still you will remember, though the march to Lexington was, like our own accidental rencontres, in the dark, that a bright sun shone upon the retreat.”

  “Nothing need be concealed,” replied Lionel, nettled by the proud composure of the other—“unless, indeed, the man I address is afraid to walk the streets of Boston in open day.”

  “The man you address, Major Lincoln,” said the stranger, advancing a step nearer to Lionel, “has dared to walk the streets of Boston both by day and by night, when the bullies of him you call your master, have strutted their hour in the security of peace; and now a nation is up to humble their pretensions, shall he shrink from treading his native soil!”

  “This is bold language for an enemy within a British camp! Ask yourself what course my duty requires?”

  “That is a question which lies between Major Lincoln and his own conscience,” returned the stranger—“though,” he added, after a momentary pause, and in a milder tone, as if he recollected the danger
of his situation—“the gentlemen of his name and lineage were not apt to be informers, when they dwelt in the land of their birth.”

  “Neither is their descendant. But let this be the last of our interviews, until we can meet as friends, or as enemies should, where we may discuss these topics at the points of our weapons.”

  “Amen,” said the stranger, seizing the hand of the young man, and pressing it with the warmth of a generous emulation—“that hour may not be far distant, and may God smile on the just cause.”

  Without uttering more, he drew the folds of his dress more closely around his form, and walked so swiftly away that Lionel, had he possessed the inclination, could not have found an opportunity to arrest his progress. As all expectation of overtaking Seth was now lost, the young soldier returned slowly and thoughtfully towards his quarters.

  The two or three succeeding days were distinguished by an appearance of more than usual preparation among the troops, and it became known that officers of rank had closely reconnoitred the grounds of the opposite peninsula. Lionel patiently awaited the progress of events; but as the probability of active service increased, his wishes to make another effort to probe the secret of the tenant of the warehouse revived, and he took his way towards the dock-square, with that object, on the night of the fourth day from the preceding interview with the stranger. It was long after the tattoo had laid the town in that deep quiet which follows the bustle of a garrison; and as he passed along he saw none but the sentinels pacing their short limits, or an occasional officer, returning at that late hour from his revels or his duty. The windows of the warehouse were dark, and its inhabitants, if any it had, were wrapped in sleep. Restless, and excited, Lionel pursued his walk through the narrow and gloomy streets of the North-end, until he unexpectedly found himself issuing upon the open space that is tenanted by the dead, on Copp’s-hill. On this eminence the English general had caused a battery of heavy cannon to be raised, and Lionel, unwilling to encounter the challenge of the sentinels, inclining a little to one side, proceeded to the brow of the hill, and seating himself on a stone, began to muse on his own fortunes, and the situation of the country.

  The night was obscure, but the thin vapours which appeared to overhang the place opened at times, when a faint star-light fell from the heavens, and rendered the black hulls of the vessels of war that lay moored before the town, and the faint outlines of the opposite shores, dimly visible. The stillness of midnight rested on the scene, and when the loud calls of “all’s-well” ascended from the ships and batteries, the cry was succeeded by a quiet as deep as if the universe slumbered under this assurance of safety. At such an instant, when even the light breathings of the night air were audible, the sound of rippling waters, like that occasioned by raising a paddle with extreme caution, was borne to the ear of the young soldier. He listened intently, and bending his eyes in the direction of the faint sounds, he saw a small canoe gliding along on the surface of the water, and shoot upon the gravelly shore, at the foot of the hill, with a motion so easy and uniform as scarcely to curl a wave on the land. Curious to know who could be moving about the harbour at this hour, in this secret manner, Lionel was in the act of rising to descend, when he saw the dim figure of a man land from the boat, and climb the hill, directly in a line with his own position. Suppressing even the sounds of his breath, and drawing his body back within the deep shadow cast from a point of the hill, a little above him, Lionel waited until the figure had approached within ten feet of him, when it stopped, and appeared, like himself, to be endeavouring to suppress all other sounds and feelings in the act of deep attention. The young soldier loosened his sword in its sheath, before he said—

  “We have chosen a private spot, and a secret hour, sir, for our meditations!”

  Had the figure possessed the impalpable nature of an immaterial being, it could not have received this remark, so startling from its suddenness, with greater apathy than did the man to whom it was addressed. He turned slowly towards the speaker, and seemed to look at him earnestly, before he answered, in a low, menacing voice—

  “There’s a granny on the hill, with a gun and baggonet, walking among the cannon, and if he hears people talking here, he’ll make them prisoners, though one of them should be Major Lincoln.”

  “Ha! Job,” said Lionel—“and is it you I meet prowling about like a thief at night!—on what errand of mischief have you been sent this time?”

  “If Job’s a thief for coming to see the graves on Copp’s, there’s two of them.”

  “Well answered boy!” said Lionel, with a smile; “but I repeat, on what errand have you returned to the town at this unseasonable and suspicious hour?”

  “Job loves to come up among the graves, before the cocks crow; they say the dead walk when living men sleep.”

  “And would you hold communion with the dead, then?”

  “’Tis sinful to ask them many questions, and such as you do put should be made in the Holy name,” returned the lad, in a tone so solemn, that, connected with the place and the scene, it caused the blood of Lionel to thrill—“but Job loves to be near them, to use him to the damps, ag’in the time he shall be called to walk himself in a sheet at midnight.”

  “Hush!” said Lionel—“what noise is that?”

  Job stood a moment, listening as intently as his companion, before he answered—

  “There’s no noise but the moaning of the wind in the bay, or the sea tumbling on the beaches of the islands?”

  “’Tis neither,” said Lionel; “I heard the low hum of a hundred voices, or my ears have played falsely.”

  “May be the spirits speak to each other,” said the lad—“they say their voices are like the rushing winds.”

  Lionel passed his hand across his brow, and endeavoured to recover the tone of his mind, which had been strangely disordered by the solemn manner of his companion, and walked slowly from the spot, closely attended by the silent idiot. He did not stop until he reached the inner angle of the wall that enclosed the field of the dead, when he paused, and leaning on the fence, again listened intently.

  “Boy, I know not how your silly conversation may have warped my brain,” he said, “but there are surely strange and unearthly sounds lingering about this place, to-night! By heavens! there is another rush of voices, as if the air above the water were filled with living beings; and there again, I think I hear a noise as if heavy weights were falling to the earth!”

  “Ay,” said Job, “’tis the clods on the coffins; the dead are going into their graves ag’in, and ’tis time that we should leave them their own grounds.”

  Lionel hesitated no longer, but he rather run than walked from the spot, with a secret horror that, at another moment, he would have blushed to acknowledge, nor did he perceive that he was still attended by Job, until he had descended some distance down Lynn-street. Here he was addressed by his companion, in his usually quiet and unmeaning tones—

  “There’s the house that the governor built who went down into the sea for money!” he said—“he was a poor boy once, like Job, and now they say his grandson is a great lord, and the king knighted the grand’ther too. It’s pretty much the same thing whether a man gets his money out of the sea or out of the earth; the king will make him a lord for it.”

  “You hold the favours of royalty cheap, fellow,” returned Lionel, glancing his eye carelessly at the ‘Phipps’ house,’ as he passed—“you forget that I am to be some day one of your despised knights!”

  “I know it,” said Job; “and you come from America too—it seems to me that all the poor boys go from America to the king to be great lords, and all the sons of the great lords come to America to be made poor boys—Nab says Job is the son of a great lord too!”

  “Then Nab is as great a fool as her child,” said Lionel; “but boy, I would see your mother in the morning, and I expect you to let me know at what hour I may visit her.”

&nbs
p; Job did not answer, and Lionel, on turning his head, perceived that he was suddenly deserted, the lad already gliding back towards his favourite haunt among the graves. Vexed at the wild humours of the fool, Lionel hastened to his quarters, and threw himself in his bed, though he heard the loud cries of “all’s well,” again and again, before the strange phantasies which continued to cross his mind would permit him to obtain the rest he sought.

  Chapter XV

  “We are finer gentlemen, no doubt, than the plain farmers we are about to encounter. Our hats carry a smarter cock, our swords hang more gracefully by our sides, and we make an easier figure in a ball-room; but let it be remembered, that the most finished maccaroni amongst us, would pass for an arrant clown at Pekin.”

  Letter from a veteran Officer, &c.

  * * *

  WHEN THE HEAVY sleep of morning fell upon his senses, visions of the past and future mingled with the dreams of the youthful soldier. The form of his father stood before him, as he had known it in his childhood, fair in the proportions and vigour of manhood, regarding him with those eyes of benignant, but melancholy affection, which characterized their expression after he had become the sole joy of his widowed parent. While his heart was warming at the sight, the figure melted away, and was succeeded by fantastic phantoms, which appeared to dance among the graves on Copp’s, led along in those gambols, which partook of the ghastly horrors of the dead, by Job Pray, who glided among the tombs like a being of another world. Sudden and loud thunder then burst upon them, and the shadows fled into their secret places, from whence he could see, ever and anon, some glassy eyes and spectral faces, peering out upon him, as if conscious of the power they possessed to chill the blood of the living. His visions now became painfully distinct, and his sleep was oppressed with their vividness, when his senses burst the unnatural bonds, and he awoke. The air of morning was breathing through his open curtains, and the light of day had already shed itself upon the dusky roofs of the town. Lionel arose from his bed, and paced his chamber several times, in a vain effort to shake off the images that had haunted his slumbers, when the sounds which broke upon the air, became too plain to be longer mistaken by a practised ear.