CHAPTER XIX
No longer then perplex the breast-- When thoughts torment, the first are best; 'Tis mad to go, 'tis death to stay! Away, to Orra, haste away. --Lapland Love Song.
While his comrades were sleeping, in perfect forgetfulness of theirhardships and dangers, the slumbers of Dunwoodie were broken andunquiet. After spending a night of restlessness, he arose, unrefreshed,from the rude bed where he had thrown himself in his clothes, and,without awaking any of the group around him, he wandered into the openair in search of relief. The soft rays of the moon were just passingaway in the more distinct light of the morning; the wind had fallen, andthe rising mists gave the promise of another of those autumnal days,which, in this unstable climate, succeed a tempest with the rapidtransitions of magic. The hour had not yet arrived when he intendedmoving from his present position; and, willing to allow his warriors allthe refreshment that circumstances would permit, he strolled towards thescene of the Skinners' punishment, musing upon the embarrassments of hissituation, and uncertain how he should reconcile his sense of duty withhis love. Although Dunwoodie himself placed the most implicit relianceon the captain's purity of intention, he was by no means assured that aboard of officers would be equally credulous; and, independently of allfeelings of private regard, he felt certain that with the execution ofHenry would be destroyed all hopes of a union with his sister. He haddispatched an officer, the preceding evening, to Colonel Singleton, whowas in command of the advance posts, reporting the capture of theBritish captain, and, after giving his own opinion of his innocence,requesting orders as to the manner in which he was to dispose of hisprisoner. These orders might be expected every hour, and his uneasinessincreased, in proportion as the moment approached when his friend mightbe removed from his protection. In this disturbed state of mind, themajor wandered through the orchard, and was stopped in his walk byarriving at the base of those rocks which had protected the Skinners intheir flight, before he was conscious whither his steps had carried him.He was about to turn, and retrace his path to his quarters, when he wasstartled by a voice, bidding him,--
"Stand or die!"
Dunwoodie turned in amazement, and beheld the figure of a man placed ata little distance above him on a shelving rock, with a musket leveled athimself. The light was not yet sufficiently powerful to reach therecesses of that gloomy spot, and a second look was necessary before hediscovered, to his astonishment, that the peddler stood before him.Comprehending, in an instant, the danger of his situation, anddisdaining to implore mercy or to retreat, had the latter been possible,the youth cried firmly,--
"If I am to be murdered, fire! I will never become your prisoner."
"No, Major Dunwoodie," said Birch, lowering his musket, "it is neithermy intention to capture nor to slay."
"What then would you have, mysterious being?" said Dunwoodie, hardlyable to persuade himself that the form he saw was not a creature of theimagination.
"Your good opinion," answered the peddler, with emotion. "I would wishall good men to judge me with lenity."
"To you it must be indifferent what may be the judgment of men; for youseem to be beyond the reach of their sentence."
"God spares the lives of His servants to His own time," said thepeddler, solemnly. "A few hours ago I was your prisoner, and threatenedwith the gallows; now you are mine; but, Major Dunwoodie, you are free.There are men abroad who would treat you less kindly. Of what servicewould that sword be to you against my weapon and a steady hand? Takethe advice of one who has never harmed you, and who never will. Do nottrust yourself in the skirts of any wood, unless in companyand mounted."
"And have you comrades, who have assisted you to escape, and who areless generous than yourself?"
"No--no, I am alone truly--none know me but my God and _him._"
"And who?" asked the major, with an interest he could not control.
"None," continued the peddler, recovering his composure. "But such isnot your case, Major Dunwoodie; you are young and happy; there are thosethat are dear to you, and such are not far away--danger is near them youlove most--danger within and without--double your watchfulness--strengthen your patrols--and be silent. With your opinion of me, shouldI tell you more, you would suspect an ambush. But remember and guardthem you love best."
The peddler discharged the musket in the air, and threw it at the feetof his astonished auditor. When surprise and the smoke allowed Dunwoodieto look again on the rock where he had stood, the spot was vacant.
The youth was aroused from the stupor, which had been created by thisstrange scene, by the trampling of horses, and the sound of the bugles.A patrol was drawn to the spot by the report of the musket, and thealarm had been given to the corps. Without entering into any explanationwith his men, the major returned quickly to his quarters, where he foundthe whole squadron under arms, in battle array, impatiently awaiting theappearance of their leader. The officer whose duty it was to superintendsuch matters, had directed a party to lower the sign of the HotelFlanagan, and the post was already arranged for the execution of thespy. On hearing from the major that the musket was discharged byhimself, and was probably one of those dropped by the Skinners (for bythis time Dunwoodie had learned the punishment inflicted by Lawton, butchose to conceal his own interview with Birch), his officers suggestedthe propriety of executing their prisoner before they marched. Unable tobelieve that all he had seen was not a dream, Dunwoodie, followed bymany of his officers, and preceded by Sergeant Hollister, went to theplace which was supposed to contain the peddler.
"Well, sir," said the major to the sentinel who guarded the door, "Itrust you have your prisoner in safety."
"He is yet asleep," replied the man, "and he makes such a noise, I couldhardly hear the bugles sound the alarm."
"Open the door and bring him forth."
The order was obeyed; but to the utter amazement of the honest veteranwho entered the prison, he found the room in no little disorder--thecoat of the peddler where his body ought to have been, and part of thewardrobe of Betty scattered in disorder on the floor. The washerwomanherself occupied the pallet, in profound mental oblivion, clad as whenlast seen, excepting a little black bonnet, which she so constantlywore, that it was commonly thought she made it perform the double dutyof both day and night cap. The noise of their entrance, and theexclamations of their party, awoke the woman.
"Is it the breakfast that's wanting?" said Betty, rubbing her eyes."Faith, ye look as if ye would ate myself--but patience, a little,darlings, and ye'll see sich a fry as never was."
"Fry!" echoed the sergeant, forgetful of his religious philosophy, andthe presence of his officers. "We'll have you roasted, Jezebel!--you'vehelped that damned peddler to escape."
"Jezebel back ag'in in your own teeth, and damned piddler too, Mr.Sargeant!" cried Betty, who was easily roused. "What have I to do withpiddlers, or escapes? I might have been a piddler's lady, and wore mysilks, if I'd had Sawny M'Twill, instead of tagging at the heels of aparcel of dragooning rapscallions, who don't know how to trate a lonebody with dacency."
"The fellow has left my Bible," said the veteran, taking he book fromthe floor. "Instead of spending his time in reading it to prepare forhis end like a good Christian, he has been busy in laboring to escape."
"And who would stay and be hanged like a dog?" cried Betty, beginning tocomprehend the case. "'Tisn't everyone that's born to meet with sich anind--like yourself, Mr. Hollister."
"Silence!" said Dunwoodie. "This must be inquired into closely,gentlemen; there is no outlet but the door, and there he could not pass,unless the sentinel connived at his escape, or was asleep at his post.Call up the guard."
As these men were not paraded, curiosity had already drawn them to theplace, and they one and all, with the exception of him before mentioned,denied that any person had passed out. The individual in questionacknowledged that Betty had gone by him, but pleaded his orders injustification.
"You lie, you t'ief--you li
e!" shouted Betty, who had impatientlylistened to his exculpation. "Would ye slanderize a lone woman, bysaying she walks a camp at midnight? Here have I been slaping the longnight, swaatly as the sucking babe."
"Here, sir," said the sergeant, turning respectfully to Dunwoodie, "issomething written in my Bible that was not in it before; for having nofamily to record, I would not suffer any scribbling in the sacred book."
One of the officers read aloud: "_These certify, that if suffered to getfree, it is by God's help alone, to whose divine aid I humbly riccommindmyself. I'm forced to take the woman's clothes, but in her pocket is aricompinse. Witness my hand--Harvey Birch._"
"What!" roared Betty, "has the t'ief robbed a lone woman of her all!Hang him--catch him and hang him, major; if there's law or justice inthe land."
"Examine your pocket," said one of the youngsters, who was enjoying thescene, careless of the consequences.
"Ah! faith," cried the washerwoman, producing a guinea, "but he is ajewel of a piddler! Long life and a brisk trade to him, say I; he iswilcome to the duds--and if he is ever hanged, many a bigger roguewill go free."
Dunwoodie turned to leave the apartment, and he saw Captain Lawtonstanding with folded arms, contemplating the scene with profoundsilence. His manner, so different from his usual impetuosity and zeal,struck his commander as singular. Their eyes met, and they walkedtogether for a few minutes in close conversation, when Dunwoodiereturned, and dismissed the guard to their place of rendezvous. SergeantHollister, however, continued along with Betty, who, having found noneof her vestments disturbed but such as the guinea more than paid for,was in high good humor. The washerwoman had for a long time looked onthe veteran with the eyes of affection; and she had determined withinherself to remove certain delicate objections which had long embarrassedher peculiar situation, as respected the corps, by making the sergeantthe successor of her late husband. For some time past the trooper hadseemed to flatter this preference; and Betty, conceiving that herviolence might have mortified her suitor, was determined to make him allthe amends in her power. Besides, rough and uncouth as she was, thewasherwoman had still enough of her sex to know that the moments ofreconciliation were the moments of power. She therefore poured out aglass of her morning beverage, and handed it to her companion as apeace offering.
"A few warm words between fri'nds are a trifle, ye must be knowing,sargeant," said the washerwoman. "It was Michael Flanagan that I evercalumn'ated the most when I was loving him the best."
"Michael was a good soldier and a brave man," said the trooper,finishing the glass. "Our troop was covering the flank of his regimentwhen he fell, and I rode over his body myself during the day. Poorfellow! he lay on his back, and looked as composed as if he had died anatural death after a year's consumption."
"Oh! Michael was a great consumer, and be sartin; two such as us makedreadful inroads in the stock, sargeant. But ye're a sober, discrateman, Mister Hollister, and would be a helpmate indeed."
"Why, Mrs. Flanagan, I've tarried to speak on a subject that lies heavyat my heart, and I will now open my mind, if you've leisure to listen."
"Is it listen?" cried the impatient woman; "and I'd listen to you,sargeant, if the officers never ate another mouthful. But take a seconddrop, dear; 'twill encourage you to spake freely."
"I am already bold enough in so good a cause," returned the veteran,rejecting her bounty. "Betty, do you think it was really the peddler spythat I placed in this room the last night?"
"And who should it be else, darling?"
"The evil one."
"What, the divil?"
"Aye, even Beelzebub, disguised as the peddler; and them fellows wethought to be Skinners were his imps."
"Well sure, sargeant dear, ye're but little out this time, anyway; forif the divil's imps go at large in the county Westchester, sure it isthe Skinners, themselves."
"Mrs. Flanagan, I mean in their incarnate spirits; the evil one knewthere was no one we would arrest sooner than the peddler Birch, and hetook on his appearance to gain admission to your room."
"And what should the divil be wanting of me?" cried Betty, tartly. "Andisn't there divils enough in the corps already, without one's comingfrom the bottomless pit to frighten a lone body?"
"'Twas in mercy to you, Betty, that he was permitted to come. You see hevanished through the door in your form, which is a symbol of your fate,unless you mend your life. Oh! I noticed how he trembled when I gave himthe good book. Would any Christian, think you, my dear Betty, write in aBible in this way; unless it might be the matter of births and deaths,and such lawful chronicles?"
The washerwoman was pleased with the softness of her lover's manner, butdreadfully scandalized at his insinuation. She, however, preserved hertemper, and with the quickness of her own country's people, rejoined,"And would the divil have paid for the clothes, think ye?--aye, andoverpaid."
"Doubtless the money is base," said the sergeant, a little staggered atsuch an evidence of honesty in one of whom, as to generals, he thoughtso meanly. "He tempted me with his glittering coin, but the Lord gave mestrength to resist."
"The goold looks well; but I'll change it, anyway, with Captain Jack,the day. He is niver a bit afeard of any divil of them all!"
"Betty, Betty," said her companion, "do not speak so disreverently ofthe evil spirit; he is ever at hand, and will owe you a grudge, for yourlanguage."
"Pooh! if he has any bowels at all, he won't mind a fillip or two from apoor lone woman; I'm sure no other Christian would."
"But the dark one has no bowels, except to devour the children of men,"said the sergeant, looking around him in horror; "and it's best to makefriends everywhere, for there is no telling what may happen till itcomes. But, Betty, no man could have got out of this place, and passedall the sentinels, without being known. Take awful warning from thevisit therefore--"
Here the dialogue was interrupted by a peremptory summons to the sutlerto prepare the morning's repast, and they were obliged to separate; thewoman secretly hoping that the interest the sergeant manifested was moreearthly than he imagined; and the man, bent on saving a soul from thefangs of the dark spirit that was prowling through their camp in questof victims.
During the breakfast several expresses arrived, one of which broughtintelligence of the actual force and destination of the enemy'sexpedition that was out on the Hudson; and another, orders to sendCaptain Wharton to the first post above, under the escort of a body ofdragoons. These last instructions, or rather commands, for they admittedof no departure from their letter, completed the sum of Dunwoodie'suneasiness. The despair and misery of Frances were constantly before hiseyes, and fifty times he was tempted to throw himself on his horse andgallop to the Locusts; but an uncontrollable feeling prevented. Inobedience to the commands of his superior, an officer, with a smallparty, was sent to the cottage to conduct Henry Wharton to the placedirected; and the gentleman who was intrusted with the execution of theorder was charged with a letter from Dunwoodie to his friend, containingthe most cheering assurances of his safety, as well as the strongestpledges of his own unceasing exertions in his favor. Lawton was leftwith part of his own troop, in charge of the few wounded; and as soon asthe men were refreshed, the encampment broke up, the main body marchingtowards the Hudson. Dunwoodie repeated his injunctions to Captain Lawtonagain and again--dwelt on every word that had fallen from the peddler,and canvassed, in every possible manner that his ingenuity could devise,the probable meaning of his mysterious warnings, until no excuseremained for delaying his own departure. Suddenly recollecting, however,that no directions had been given for the disposal of Colonel Wellmere,instead of following the rear of the column, the major yielded to hisdesires, and turned down the road which led to the Locusts. The horse ofDunwoodie was fleet as the wind, and scarcely a minute seemed to havepassed before he gained sight, from an eminence, of the lonely vale, andas he was plunging into the bottom lands that formed its surface, hecaught a glimpse of Henry Wharton and his escort, at a distance,defiling thr
ough a pass which led to the posts above. This sight addedto the speed of the anxious youth, who now turned the angle of the hillthat opened to the valley, and came suddenly on the object of hissearch. Frances had followed the party which guarded her brother, at adistance; and as they vanished from her sight, she felt deserted by allthat she most prized in this world. The unaccountable absence ofDunwoodie, with the shock of parting from Henry under suchcircumstances, had entirely subdued her fortitude, and she had sunk on astone by the roadside, sobbing as if her heart would break. Dunwoodiesprang from his charger, threw the reins over the neck of the animal,and in a moment he was by the side of the weeping girl.
"Frances--my own Frances!" he exclaimed, "why this distress? Let not thesituation of your brother create any alarm. As soon as the duty I am nowon is completed, I will hasten to the feet of Washington, and beg hisrelease. The Father of his Country will never deny such a boon to one ofhis favorite pupils."
"Major Dunwoodie, for your interest in behalf of my poor brother, Ithank you," said the trembling girl, drying her eyes, and rising withdignity; "but such language addressed to me, surely, is improper."
"Improper! are you not mine--by the consent of your father--youraunt--your brother--nay, by your own consent, my sweet Frances?"
"I wish not, Major Dunwoodie, to interfere with the prior claims thatany other lady may have to your affections," said Frances, struggling tospeak with firmness.
"None other, I swear by Heaven, none other has any claim on me!" criedDunwoodie, with fervor. "You alone are mistress of my inmost soul."
"You have practiced so much, and so successfully, Major Dunwoodie, thatit is no wonder you excel in deceiving the credulity of my sex,"returned Frances, attempting a smile, which the tremulousness of hermuscles smothered at birth.
"Am I a villain, Miss Wharton, that you receive me with such language?When have I ever deceived you, Frances? Who has practiced in this manneron your purity of heart?"
"Why has not Major Dunwoodie honored the dwelling of his intended fatherwith his presence lately? Did he forget it contained one friend on a bedof sickness, and another in deep distress? Has it escaped his memorythat it held his intended wife? Or is he fearful of meeting more thanone that can lay a claim to that title? Oh, Peyton--Peyton, how have Ibeen deceived in you! With the foolish credulity of my youth, I thoughtyou all that was brave, noble, generous, and loyal."
"Frances, I see how you have deceived yourself," cried Dunwoodie, hisface in a glow of fire. "You do me injustice; I swear by all that ismost dear to me, that you do me injustice."
"Swear not, Major Dunwoodie," interrupted Frances, her fine countenancelighting with the luster of womanly pride. "The time is gone by for meto credit oaths."
"Miss Wharton, would you have me a coxcomb--make me contemptible in myown eyes, by boasting with the hope of raising myself in yourestimation?"
"Flatter not yourself that the task is so easy, sir," returned Frances,moving towards the cottage. "We converse together in private for thelast time; but--possibly--my father would welcome my mother's kinsman."
"No, Miss Wharton, I cannot enter his dwelling now; I should act in amanner unworthy of myself. You drive me from you, Frances, in despair. Iam going on desperate service, and may not live to return. Shouldfortune prove severe, at least do my memory justice; remember that thelast breathings of my soul will be for your happiness." So saying, hehad already placed his foot in the stirrup, but his youthful mistress,turning on him an eye that pierced his soul, arrested the action.
"Peyton--Major Dunwoodie," she said, "can you ever forget the sacredcause in which you are enlisted? Duty both to your God and to yourcountry forbids your doing anything rashly. The latter has need of yourservices; besides"--but her voice became choked, and she was unableto proceed.
"Besides what?" echoed the youth, springing to her side, and offering totake her hand in his own. Frances having, however, recovered herself,coldly repulsed him, and continued her walk homeward.
"Is this our parting!" cried Dunwoodie, in agony. "Am I a wretch, thatyou treat me so cruelly? You have never loved me, and wish to concealyour own fickleness by accusations that you will not explain."
Frances stopped short in her walk, and turned on him a look of so muchpurity and feeling, that, heart-stricken, Dunwoodie would have knelt ather feet for pardon; but motioning him for silence, she oncemore spoke:--
"Hear me, Major Dunwoodie, for the last time: it is a bitter knowledgewhen we first discover our own inferiority; but it is a truth that Ihave lately learned. Against you I bring no charges--make noaccusations; no, not willingly in my thoughts. Were my claims to yourheart just, I am not worthy of you. It is not a feeble, timid girl, likeme, that could make you happy. No, Peyton, you are formed for great andglorious actions, deeds of daring and renown, and should be united to asoul like your own; one that can rise above the weakness of her sex. Ishould be a weight to drag you to the dust; but with a different spiritin your companion, you might soar to the very pinnacle of earthly glory.To such a one, therefore, I resign you freely, if not cheerfully; andpray, oh, how fervently do I pray! that with such a one you maybe happy."
"Lovely enthusiast!" cried Dunwoodie, "you know not yourself, nor me. Itis a woman, mild, gentle, and dependent as yourself, that my verynature loves; deceive not yourself with visionary ideas of generosity,which will only make me miserable."
"Farewell, Major Dunwoodie," said the agitated girl, pausing for amoment to gasp for breath; "forget that you ever knew me--remember theclaims of your bleeding country; and be happy."
"Happy!" repeated the youthful soldier, bitterly, as he saw her lightform gliding through the gate of the lawn, and disappearing behind itsshrubbery, "Yes, I am happy, indeed!"
Throwing himself into the saddle, he plunged his spurs into his horse,and soon overtook his squadron, which was marching slowly over the hillyroads of the county, to gain the banks of the Hudson.
But painful as were the feelings of Dunwoodie at this unexpectedtermination of the interview with his mistress, they were but lightcompared with those which were experienced by the fond girl herself.Frances had, with the keen eye of jealous love, easily detected theattachment of Isabella Singleton to Dunwoodie. Delicate and retiringherself, it never could present itself to her mind that this love hadbeen unsought. Ardent in her own affections, and artless in theirexhibition, she had early caught the eye of the young soldier; but itrequired all the manly frankness of Dunwoodie to court her favor, andthe most pointed devotion to obtain his conquest. This done, his powerwas durable, entire, and engrossing. But the unusual occurrences of thefew preceding days, the altered mien of her lover during those events,his unwonted indifference to herself, and chiefly the romantic idolatryof Isabella, had aroused new sensations in her bosom. With a dread ofher lover's integrity had been awakened the never-failing concomitant ofthe purest affection, a distrust of her own merits. In the moment ofenthusiasm, the task of resigning her lover to another, who might bemore worthy of him, seemed easy; but it is in vain that the imaginationattempts to deceive the heart. Dunwoodie had no sooner disappeared, thanour heroine felt all the misery of her situation; and if the youth foundsome relief in the cares of his command, Frances was less fortunate inthe performance of a duty imposed on her by filial piety. The removal ofhis son had nearly destroyed the little energy of Mr. Wharton, whorequired all the tenderness of his remaining children to convince himthat he was able to perform the ordinary functions of life.