Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The village 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 troops of
England; but the scene was transferred from Hudson's banks to those of
the Niagara.
The body of Washington had long lain moldering in the tomb; but as time
was fast obliterating the slight impressions of political enmity or
personal envy, his name was hourly receiving new luster, 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 molded, indicating a just proportion between
strength and activity; his deep black eyes 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 favored youth; and both seemed, by the interest they betrayed, to
be gazing, for the first time, at the wonder of the western world. A
profound silence was observed by each, until the companion of the
officer that we have described suddenly started, and pointing eagerly
with his sword into the abyss beneath, exclaimed,--
"See! Wharton, there is a man crossing in the very eddies of the
cataract, and in a skiff no bigger than an eggshell."
"He has a knapsack--it 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 they 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 meager 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 whipped the redcoats here the other day, among the grass on the
Chippewa plains," said the one who was called Mason; "since when, we
have been playing hide and go seek 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
milder 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, he 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 our army has marched down the
road, and may be, by this time, under the walls of Fort George, for
anything 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 observed by the soldiers, they
paused also.
"Did I hear right?" the stranger uttered, raising his hand to screen
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 vehemence,
"improving with time; God has blessed both." "Why do you stare thus,
Lieutenant Mason?" cried Captain Dunwoodie, laughing 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 with deep
interest, while Dunwoodie replied, a little gravely,--"Come, come, Tom,
no jokes about my good aunt, I beg; she is kindness itself, and I have
heard it whispered that her youth was not altogether happy." "Why, as to
rumor," 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 were 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 indeed 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 housekeeper of your
mother's took me into the pantry, and said that the colonel was no
despisable 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 no bad
calculator."
They had stopped during this conversation, in 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 hands over his forehead, seemed to
be thinking of other times. Mason paid but little attention to the
expression of his features, and continued,--
"To me, she is selfishness embodied!"
"Her selfishness does but little harm," returned Dunwoodie. "One of her
greatest difficulties is her aversion to the blacks. She says that she
never saw but one she liked."
"And who was he?"
"His name was Caesar; he was a house servant of my late grandfather
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 Caesar 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 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 the 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 an eulogium on a mother that he adored.
In a short time they joined the regiment to which the officers 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.
Everything in the American camp announced an approaching struggle. At a
distance of a few miles, the sound of cannon and musketry was heard
above the roar of the cataract. The troops were soon in motion, and a
movement made to support the division of the army which 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 was the remnant of Scott's gallant brigade, which for a
long time had held an unequal contest with distinguished bravery. A new
line was interposed, and one column of the Americans directed to charge
up the hill, parallel to the road. This column took the English in
flank, and, bayoneting their artillerists, gained possession of the
cannon. They were immediately joined by their comrades, and the enemy
was swept from the hill. But large reenforcements 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 nowhere 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 fusee, 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, saying,--
"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 honorable burial; lift him, and let him 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 fusee; 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 had caused the change. A soldier's musket lay near him; his hands
were 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!"
GEO. WASHINGTON.
It was the SPY OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND, who died as he had lived, devoted
to his country, and a martyr to her liberties.