"It is the form, the eye, the word,
The bearing of that stranger lord,
His stature, manly, bold, and tall,
Built like a castle's battled wall,
Yet molded in such just degrees
His giant strength seems lightsome ease.
Weather and war their rougher trace
Have left on that majestic face;
But 'tis his dignity of eye!
There, if a suppliant, would I fly,
Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief,
Of sympathy, redress, relief--
That glance, if guilty, would I dread
More than the doom that spoke me dead."
"Enough, enough!" the princess cried,
"'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride!"
--WALTER SCOTT.
The party sat in silence for many minutes after the peddler had
withdrawn. Mr. Wharton had heard enough to increase his uneasiness,
without in the least removing his apprehensions on behalf of his son.
The captain was impatiently wishing Harper in any other place than the
one foe occupied with such apparent composure, while Miss Peyton
completed the disposal of her breakfast equipage, with the mild
complacency of her nature, aided a little by an inward satisfaction at
possessing so large a portion of the trader's lace; Sarah was busily
occupied in arranging her purchases, and Frances was kindly assisting in
the occupation, disregarding her own neglected bargains, when the
stranger suddenly broke the silence by saying,--
"If any apprehensions of me induce Captain Wharton to maintain his
disguise, I wish him to be undeceived; had I motives for betraying him,
they could not operate under present circumstances."
The younger sister sank into her seat colorless and astonished. Miss
Peyton dropped the tea tray she was lifting from the table, and Sarah
sat with her purchases unheeded in her lap, in speechless surprise. Mr.
Wharton was stupefied; but the captain, hesitating a moment from
astonishment, sprang into the middle of the room, and exclaimed, as he
tore off the instruments of his disguise,--
"I believe you from my soul, and this tiresome imposition shall continue
no longer. Yet I am at a loss to conceive in what manner you should
know me."
"You really look so much better in your proper person, Captain Wharton,"
said Harper, with a slight smile, "I would advise you never to conceal
it in future. There is enough to betray you, if other sources of
detection were wanting." As he spoke, he pointed to a picture suspended
over the mantel piece, which exhibited the British officer in his
regimentals.
"I had flattered myself," cried young Wharton, with a laugh, "that I
looked better on the canvas than in a masquerade. You must be a close
observer, sir."
"Necessity has made me one," said Harper, rising from his seat.
Frances met him as he was about to withdraw, and, taking his hand
between both her own, said with earnestness, her cheeks mantling with
their richest vermilion, "You cannot--you will not betray my brother."
For an instant Harper paused in silent admiration of the lovely pleader,
and then, folding her hands on his breast, he replied solemnly, "I
cannot, and I will not." He released her hands, and laying his own on
her head gently, continued, "If the blessing of a stranger can profit
you, receive it." He turned, and, bowing low, retired, with a delicacy
that was duly appreciated by those he quitted, to his own apartment.
The whole party were deeply impressed with the ingenuous and solemn
manner of the traveler, and all but the father found immediate relief in
his declaration. Some of the cast-off clothes of the captain, which had
been removed with the goods from the city, were produced; and young
Wharton, released from the uneasiness of his disguise, began at last to
enjoy a visit which had been undertaken at so much personal risk to
himself. Mr. Wharton retiring to his apartment, in pursuance of his
regular engagements, the ladies, with the young man, were left to an
uninterrupted communication on such subjects as were most agreeable.
Even Miss Peyton was affected with the spirits of her young relatives;
and they sat for an hour enjoying, in heedless confidence, the pleasures
of an unrestrained conversation, without reflecting on any danger which
might be impending over them. The city and their acquaintances were not
long neglected; for Miss Peyton, who had never forgotten the many
agreeable hours of her residence within its boundaries, soon inquired,
among others, after their old acquaintance, Colonel Wellmere.
"Oh!" cried the captain, gayly, "he yet continues there, as handsome and
as gallant as ever."
Although a woman be not actually in love, she seldom hears without a
blush the name of a man whom she might love, and who has been connected
with herself by idle gossips, in the amatory rumor of the day. Such had
been the case with Sarah, and she dropped her eyes on the carpet with a
smile, that, aided by the blush which suffused her cheek, in no degree
detracted from her native charms.
Captain Wharton, without heeding this display of interest in his sister,
immediately continued, "At times he is melancholy--we tell him it must
be love." Sarah raised her eyes to the face of her brother, and was
consciously turning them on the rest of the party, when she met those of
her sister laughing with good humor and high spirits, as she cried,
"Poor man! does he despair?"
"Why, no--one would think he could not; the eldest son of a man of
wealth, so handsome, and a colonel."
"Strong reasons, indeed, why he should prevail," said Sarah, endeavoring
to laugh; "more particularly the latter."
"Let me tell you," replied the captain, gravely, "a lieutenant
colonelcy in the Guards is a very pretty thing."
"And Colonel Wellmere a very pretty man," added Frances.
"Nay, Frances," returned her sister, "Colonel Wellmere was never a
favorite of yours; he is too loyal to his king to be agreeable to
your taste."
Frances quickly answered, "And is not Henry loyal to his king?"
"Come, come," said Miss Peyton, "no difference of opinion about the
colonel--he is a favorite of mine."
"Fanny likes majors better," cried the brother, pulling her upon his
knee.
"Nonsense!" said the blushing girl, as she endeavored to extricate
herself from the grasp of her laughing brother.
"It surprises me," continued the captain, "that Peyton, when he procured
the release of my father, did not endeavor to detain my sister in the
rebel camp."
"That might have endangered his own liberty," said the smiling girl,
resuming her seat. "You know it is liberty for which Major Dunwoodie is
fighting."
"Liberty!" exclaimed Sarah; "very pretty liberty which exchanges one
master for fifty."
"The privilege of changing masters at all is a liberty."
"And one you ladies would sometimes be glad to exercise," cried the
captain.
"We like, I believe, to have the liberty of choosing who they shall be
in the first place," said the laughing girl. "Don't we, Aunt Jeanette?"
"Me!" cried Miss Peyton, starting; "what do I know of such things,
child? You must ask someone else, if you wish to learn such matters."
"Ah! you would have us think you were never young! But what am I to
believe of all the tales I have heard about the handsome Miss
Jeanette Peyton?"
"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense," said the aunt, endeavoring to suppress a
smile; "it is very silly to believe all you hear."
"Nonsense, do you call it?" cried the captain, gayly. "To this hour
General Montrose toasts Miss Peyton; I heard him within the week, at Sir
Henry's table."
"Why, Henry, you are as saucy as your sister; and to break in upon your
folly, I must take you to see my new home-made manufactures, which I
will be bold enough to put in contrast with the finery of Birch."
The young people rose to follow their aunt, in perfect good humor with
each other and the world. On ascending the stairs to the place of
deposit for Miss Peyton's articles of domestic economy, she availed
herself, however, of an opportunity to inquire of her nephew, whether
General Montrose suffered as much from the gout as he had done when
she knew him.
It is a painful discovery we make, as we advance in life, that even
those we most love are not exempt from its frailties. When the heart is
fresh, and the view of the future unsullied by the blemishes which have
been gathered from the experience of the past, our feelings are most
holy: we love to identify with the persons of our natural friends all
those qualities to which we ourselves aspire, and all those virtues we
have been taught to revere. The confidence with which we esteem seems a
part of our nature; and there is a purity thrown around the affections
which tie us to our kindred that after life can seldom hope to see
uninjured. The family of Mr. Wharton continued to enjoy, for the
remainder of the day, a happiness to which they had long been strangers;
and one that sprang, in its younger members, from the delights of the
most confident affection, and the exchange of the most disinterested
endearments.
Harper appeared only at the dinner table, and he retired with the cloth,
under the pretense of some engagement in his own room. Notwithstanding
the confidence created by his manner, the family felt his absence a
relief; for the visit of Captain Wharton was necessarily to be confined
to a very few days, both from the limitation of his leave of absence,
and the danger of a discovery.
All dread of consequences, however, was lost in the pleasure of the
meeting. Once or twice during the day, Mr. Wharton had suggested a doubt
as to the character of his unknown guest, and the possibility of the
detection of his son proceeding in some manner from his information; but
the idea was earnestly opposed by all his children; even Sarah uniting
with her brother and sister in pleading warmly in favor of the sincerity
expressed in the outward appearance of the traveler.
"Such appearances, my children," replied the desponding parent, "are but
too often deceitful; when men like Major Andre lend themselves to the
purposes of fraud, it is idle to reason from qualities, much less
externals."
"Fraud!" cried his son quickly. "Surely, sir, you forget that Major
Andre was serving his king, and that the usages of war justified
the measure."
"And did not the usages of war justify his death, Henry?" inquired
Frances, speaking in a low voice, unwilling to abandon what she thought
the cause of her country, and yet unable to suppress her feelings
for the man.
"Never!" exclaimed the young man, springing from his seat, and pacing
the floor rapidly. "Frances, you shock me; suppose it should be my fate,
even now, to fall into the power of the rebels; you would vindicate my
execution--perhaps exult in the cruelty of Washington."
"Henry!" said Frances, solemnly, quivering with emotion, and with a face
pale as death, "you little know my heart."
"Pardon me, my sister--my little Fanny," cried the repentant youth,
pressing her to his bosom, and kissing off the tears which had burst,
spite of her resolution, from her eyes.
"It is very foolish to regard your hasty words, I know," said Frances,
extricating herself from his arms, and raising her yet humid eyes to
his face with a smile; "but reproach from those we love is most severe,
Henry; particularly--where we--we think--we know"--her paleness
gradually gave place to the color of the rose, as she concluded in a low
voice, with her eyes directed to the carpet, "we are undeserving of it."
Miss Peyton moved from her own seat to the one next her niece, and,
kindly taking her hand, observed, "You should not suffer the impetuosity
of your brother to affect you so much; boys, you know, are proverbially
ungovernable."
"And, from my conduct, you might add cruel," said the captain, seating
himself on the other side of his sister. "But on the subject of the
death of Andre we are all of us uncommonly sensitive. You did not know
him: he was all that was brave--that was accomplished--that was
estimable." Frances smiled faintly, and shook her head, but made no
reply. Her brother, observing the marks of incredulity in her
countenance, continued, "You doubt it, and justify his death?"
"I do not doubt his worth," replied the maid, mildly, "nor his being
deserving of a more happy fate; but I cannot doubt the propriety of
Washington's conduct. I know but little of the customs of war, and wish
to know less; but with what hopes of success could the Americans
contend, if they yielded all the principles which long usage had
established, to the exclusive purposes of the British?"
"Why contend at all?" cried Sarah, impatiently. "Besides, being rebels,
all their acts are illegal."
"Women are but mirrors, which reflect the images before them," cried the
captain, good-naturedly. "In Frances I see the picture of Major
Dunwoodie, and in Sarah--"
"Colonel Wellmere," interrupted the younger sister, laughing, and
blushing crimson. "I must confess I am indebted to the major for my
reasoning--am I not, Aunt Jeanette?"
"I believe it is something like his logic, indeed, child."
"I plead guilty; and you. Sarah, have not forgotten the learned
discussions of Colonel Wellmere."
"I trust I never forget the right," said Sarah, emulating her sister in
color, and rising, under the pretense of avoiding the heat of the fire.
Nothing occurred of any moment during the rest of the day; but in the
evening Caesar reported that he had overheard voices in the room of
Harper, conversing in a low tone. The apartment occupied by the traveler
was the wing at the extremity of the building, opposite to the parlor in
which the family ordinarily assembled; and it seems that Caesar had
established a regular system of espionage, with a view to the safety of
his young master. This intelligence gave some uneasiness to all the
members of the family; but the entrance of Harper himself, with the air
of benevolence and sincerity which shone through his reserve, soon
removed the doubts from the breast of all but Mr. Wharton. His children
and sister believed Caesar to have been mistaken, and the evening passed
off without any additional alarm.
On the afternoon of the succeeding day, the party were assembled in the
parlor around the tea table of Miss Peyton, when a change in the weather
occurred. The thin _scud_, that apparently floated but a short distance
above the tops of the hills, began to drive from the west towards the
east in astonishing rapidity. The rain yet continued to beat against the
eastern windows of the house with fury; in that direction the heavens
were dark and gloomy. Frances was gazing at the scene with the desire of
youth to escape from the tedium of confinement, when, as if by magic,
all was still. The rushing winds had ceased, the pelting of the storm
was over, and, springing to the window, with delight pictured in her
face, she saw a glorious ray of sunshine lighting the opposite wood. The
foliage glittered with the checkered beauties of the October leaf,
reflecting back from the moistened boughs the richest luster of an
American autumn. In an instant, the piazza, which opened to the south,
was thronged with the inmates of the cottage. The air was mild, balmy,
and refreshing; in the east, clouds, which might be likened to the
retreating masses of a discomfited army, hung around the horizon in
awful and increasing darkness. At a little elevation above the cottage,
the thin vapor was still rushing towards the east with amazing velocity;
while in the west the sun had broken forth and shed his parting radiance
on the scene below, aided by the fullest richness of a clear atmosphere
and a freshened herbage. Such moments belong only to the climate of
America, and are enjoyed in a degree proportioned to the suddenness of
the contrast, and the pleasure we experience in escaping from the
turbulence of the elements to the quiet of a peaceful evening, and an
air still as the softest mornings in June.
"What a magnificent scene!" said Harper, in a low tone. "How grand! how
awfully sublime!--may such a quiet speedily await the struggle in which
my country is engaged, and such a glorious evening follow the day of her
adversity!"
Frances, who stood next to him, alone heard the voice. Turning in
amazement from the view to the speaker, she saw him standing bareheaded,
erect, and with his eyes lifted to heaven. There was no longer the quiet
which had seemed their characteristic, but they were lighted into
something like enthusiasm, and a slight flush passed over his features.
There can be no danger apprehended from such a man, thought Frances;
such feelings belong only to the virtuous.
The musings of the party were now interrupted by the sudden appearance
of the peddler. He had taken advantage of the first gleam of sunshine to
hasten to the cottage. Heedless of wet or dry as it lay in his path,
with arms swinging to and fro, and with his head bent forward of his
body several inches, Harvey Birch approached the piazza, with a gait
peculiarly his own. It was the quick, lengthened pace of an itinerant
vender of goods.
"Fine evening," said the peddler, saluting the party, without raising
his eyes; "quite warm and agreeable for the season."
Mr. Wharton assented to the remark, and inquired kindly after the health
of his father. Harvey heard him, and continued standing for some time in
moody silence; but the question being repeated, he answered with a
slight tremor in his voice,--
"He fails fast; old age and hardships will do their work." The peddler
turned his face from the view of most of the family; but Frances noticed
his glistening eyes and quivering lip, and, for the second time, Harvey
rose in her estimation.
The valley in which the residence of Mr. Wharton stood ran in a
direction from northwest to southeast, and the house was placed on the
side of a hill which terminated its length in the former direction. A
small opening, occasioned by the receding of the opposite hill, and the
fall of the land to the level of the tide water, afforded a view of the
Sound [Footnote: An island more than forty leagues in length lies
opposite the coasts of New York and Connecticut. The arm of the sea
which separates it from the main is technically called a sound, and in
that part of the country _par excellence, the_ Sound. This sheet of
water varies in its breadth from five to thirty miles.] over the tops of
the distant woods on its margin. The surface of the water which had so
lately been lashing the shores with boisterous fury, was already losing
its ruffled darkness in the long and regular undulations that succeeded
a tempest, while the light air from the southwest was gently touching
their summits, lending its feeble aid in stilling the waters. Some dark
spots were now to be distinguished, occasionally rising into view, and
again sinking behind the lengthened waves which interposed themselves to
the sight. They were unnoticed by all but the peddler. He had seated
himself on the piazza, at a distance from Harper, and appeared to have
forgotten the object of his visit. His roving eye, however, soon caught
a glimpse of these new objects in the view, and he sprang up with
alacrity, gazing intently towards the water. He changed his place,
glanced his eye with marked uneasiness on Harper, and then said with
great emphasis--
"The rig'lars must be out from below."
"Why do you think so?" inquired Captain Wharton, eagerly. "God send it
may be true; I want their escort in again."
"Them ten whaleboats would not move so fast unless they were better
manned than common."
"Perhaps," cried Mr. Wharton in alarm, "they are--they are continentals
returning from the island."
"They look like rig'lars," said the peddler, with meaning.
"Look!" repeated the captain, "there is nothing but spots to be seen."
Harvey disregarded his observation, but seemed to be soliloquizing, as
he said in an undertone, "They came out before the gale--have laid on
the island these two days--horse are on the road--there will soon be
fighting near us." During this speech, Birch several times glanced his
eye towards Harper, with evident uneasiness, but no corresponding
emotion betrayed any interest of that gentleman in the scene. He stood
in silent contemplation of the view, and seemed enjoying the change in
the air. As Birch concluded, however, Harper turned to his host, and
mentioned that his business would not admit of unnecessary delay; he
would, therefore, avail himself of the fine evening to ride a few miles
on his journey. Mr. Wharton made many professions of regret at losing so
agreeable an inmate; but was too mindful of his duty not to speed the
parting guest, and orders were instantly given to that effect.
The uneasiness of the peddler increased in a manner for which nothing
apparent could account; his eye was constantly wandering towards the
lower end of the vale as if in expectation of some interruption from
that quarter. At length Caesar appeared, leading the noble beast which
was to bear the weight of the traveler. The peddler officiously
assisted to tighten the girths, and fasten the blue cloak and valise to
the mailstraps.
Every precaution being completed, Harper proceeded to take his leave. To
Sarah and her aunt he paid his compliments with ease and kindness; but
when he came to Frances, he paused a moment, while his face assumed an
expression of more than ordinary benignity. His eye repeated the
blessing which had before fallen from his lips, and the girl felt her
cheeks glow, and her heart beat with a quicker pulsation, as he spoke
his adieus. There was a mutual exchange of polite courtesy between the
host and his parting guest; but as Harper frankly offered his hand to
Captain Wharton, he remarked, in a manner of great solemnity,--
"The step you have undertaken is one of much danger, and disagreeable
consequences to yourself may result from it; in such a case, I may have
it in my power to prove the gratitude I owe your family for its
kindness."
"Surely, sir," cried the father, losing sight of delicacy in
apprehension for his child, "you will keep secret the discovery which
your being in my house has enabled you to make?"
Harper turned quickly to the speaker, and then, losing the sternness
which had begun to gather on his countenance, he answered mildly, "I
have learned nothing in your family, sir, of which I was ignorant
before; but your son is safer from my knowledge of his visit than he
would be without it."
He bowed to the whole party, and without taking any notice of the
peddler, other than by simply thanking him for his attentions, mounted
his horse, and, riding steadily and gracefully through the little gate,
was soon lost behind the hill which sheltered the valley to the
northward.
The eyes of the peddler followed the retiring figure of the horseman so
long as it continued within view, and as it disappeared from his sight,
he drew a long and heavy sigh, as if relieved from a load of
apprehension. The Whartons had meditated in silence on the character and
visit of their unknown guest for the same period, when the father
approached Birch and observed,
"I am yet your debtor, Harvey, for the tobacco you were so kind as to
bring me from the city."
"If it should not prove so good as the first," replied the peddler,
fixing a last and lingering look in the direction of Harper's route, "it
is owing to the scarcity of the article."
"I like it much," continued the other; "but you have forgotten to name
the price."
The countenance of the trader changed, and, losing its expression of
deep care in a natural acuteness, he answered,--
"It is hard to say what ought to be the price; I believe I must leave it
to your own generosity."
Mr. Wharton had taken a hand well filled with the images of Carolus III
from his pocket, and now extended it towards Birch with three of the
pieces between his finger and thumb. Harvey's eyes twinkled as he
contemplated the reward; and rolling over in his mouth a large quantity
of the article in question, coolly stretched forth his hand, into which
the dollars fell with a most agreeable sound: but not satisfied with the
transient music of their fall, the peddler gave each piece in succession
a ring on the stepping-stone of the piazza, before he consigned it to
the safekeeping of a huge deerskin purse, which vanished from the sight
of the spectators so dexterously, that not one of them could have told
about what part of his person it was secreted.
This very material point in his business so satisfactorily completed,
the peddler rose from his seat on the floor of the piazza, and
approached to where Captain Wharton stood, supporting his sisters on
either arm, as they listened with the lively interest of affection to
his conversation.
The agitation of the preceding incidents had caused such an expenditure
of the juices which had become necessary to the mouth of the peddler,
that a new supply of the weed was required before he could turn his
attention to business of lesser moment. This done, he asked abruptly,--
"Captain Wharton, do you go in to-night?"
"No!" said the captain, laconically, and looking at his lovely burdens
with great affection. "Mr. Birch, would you have me leave such company
so soon, when I may never enjoy it again?"
"Brother!" said Frances, "jesting on such a subject is cruel."
"I rather guess," continued the peddler, coolly, "now the storm is over,
the Skinners may be moving; you had better shorten your visit,
Captain Wharton."
"Oh!" cried the British officer, "a few guineas will buy off those
rascals at any time, should I meet them. No, no, Mr. Birch, here I stay
until morning."
"Money could not liberate Major Andre," said the peddler, dryly.
Both the sisters now turned to the captain in alarm, and the elder
observed,--
"You had better take the advice of Harvey; rest assured, his opinion in
such matters ought not to be disregarded."
"Yes," added the younger, "if, as I suspect, Mr. Birch assisted you to
come here, your safety, our happiness, dear Henry, requires you to
listen to him now."
"I brought myself out, and can take myself in," said the captain
positively. "Our bargain went no further than to procure my disguise,
and to let me know when the coast was clear; and in the latter
particular, you were mistaken, Mr. Birch."
"I was," said the peddler, with some interest, "and the greater is the
reason why you should get back to-night; the pass I gave you will serve
but once."
"Cannot you forge another?"
The pale cheek of the trader showed an unusual color, but he continued
silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground, until the young man added,
with great positiveness, "Here I stay this night, come what will."
"Captain Wharton," said the peddler, with great deliberation and marked
emphasis, "beware a tall Virginian, with huge whiskers; he is below you,
to my knowledge; the devil can't deceive him; I never could but once."
"Let him beware of me," said Wharton, haughtily. "But, Mr. Birch, I
exonerate you from further responsibility."
"Will you give me that in writing?" asked the cautious Birch.
"Oh! cheerfully," cried the captain, with a laugh. "Caesar! pen, ink,
and paper, while I write a discharge for my trusty attendant, Harvey
Birch, peddler, etc., etc."
The implements for writing were produced, and the captain, with great
gayety, wrote the desired acknowledgment in language of his own; which
the peddler took, and carefully depositing it by the side of the image
of his Catholic Majesty, made a sweeping bow to the whole family, and
departed as he had approached. He was soon seen at a distance, stealing
into the door of his own humble dwelling.
The father and sisters of the captain were too much rejoiced in
retaining the young man to express, or even entertain, the apprehensions
his situation might reasonably excite; but on retiring to their evening
repast, a cooler reflection induced the captain to think of changing his
mind. Unwilling to trust himself out of the protection of his father's
domains, the young man dispatched Caesar to desire another interview
with Harvey. The black soon returned with the unwelcome intelligence
that it was now too late. Katy had told him that Harvey must be miles on
his road to the northward, "having left home at early candlelight with
his pack." Nothing now remained to the captain but patience, until the
morning should afford further opportunity of deciding on the best course
for him to pursue.
"This Harvey Birch, with his knowing looks and portentous warnings,
gives me more uneasiness than I am willing to own," said Captain
Wharton, rousing himself from a fit of musing in which the danger of his
situation made no small part of his meditations.
"How is it that he is able to travel to and fro in these difficult
times, without molestation?" inquired Miss Peyton.
"Why the rebels suffer him to escape so easily, is more than I can
answer," returned the other; "but Sir Henry would not permit a hair of
his head to be injured."
"Indeed!" cried Frances, with interest. "Is he then known to Sir Henry
Clinton?"
"At least he ought to be."
"Do you think, my son," asked Mr. Wharton, "there is no danger of his
betraying you?"
"Why--no; I reflected on that before I trusted myself to his power,"
said the captain, thoughtfully. "He seems to be faithful in matters of
business. The danger to himself, should he return to the city, would
prevent such an act of villainy."
"I think," said Frances, adopting the manner of her brother, "Harvey
Birch is not without good feelings; at least, he has the appearance of
them at times."
"Oh!" cried his sister, exulting, "he has loyalty, and that with me is a
cardinal virtue."
"I am afraid," said her brother, laughing, "love of money is a stronger
passion than love of his king."
"Then," said the father, "you cannot be safe while in his power--for no
love will withstand the temptations of money, when offered to avarice."
"Surely, sir," cried the youth, recovering his gayety, "there must be
one love that can resist anything--is there not, Fanny?"
"Here is your candle; you keep your father up beyond his usual hour."