CHAPTER VI
And let conquerors boast Their fields of fame--he who in virtue arms A young warm spirit against beauty's charms, Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, Is the best, bravest conqueror of them all.
--MOORE.
The ladies of the Wharton family had collected about a window, deeplyinterested in the scene we have related.
Sarah viewed the approach of her countrymen with a smile of contemptuousindifference; for she even undervalued the personal appearance of menwhom she thought arrayed in the unholy cause of rebellion. Miss Peytonlooked on the gallant show with an exulting pride, which arose in thereflection that the warriors before her were the chosen troops of hernative colony; while Frances gazed with a singleness of interest thatabsorbed all other considerations.
The two parties had not yet joined, before her quick eye distinguishedone horseman in particular from those around him. To her it appearedthat even the steed of this youthful soldier seemed to be conscious thathe sustained the weight of no common man: his hoofs but lightly touchedthe earth, and his airy tread was the curbed motion of ablooded charger.
The dragoon sat in the saddle, with a firmness and ease that showed himmaster of himself and horse,--his figure uniting the just proportions ofstrength and activity, being tall, round, and muscular. To this officerLawton made his report, and, side by side, they rode into the fieldopposite to the cottage.
The heart of Frances beat with a pulsation nearly stifling, as he pausedfor a moment, and took a survey of the building, with an eye whose darkand sparkling glance could be seen, notwithstanding the distance. Hercolor changed, and for an instant, as she saw the youth throw himselffrom the saddle, she was compelled to seek relief for her tremblinglimbs in a chair.
The officer gave a few hasty orders to his second in command, walkedrapidly into the lawn, and approached the cottage. Frances rose from herseat, and vanished from the apartment. The dragoon ascended the steps ofthe piazza, and had barely time to touch the outer door, when it openedto his admission.
The youth of Frances, when she left the city, had prevented hersacrificing, in conformity to the customs of that day, all her nativebeauties on the altar of fashion. Her hair, which was of a goldenrichness of color, was left, untortured, to fall in the natural ringletsof infancy, and it shaded a face which was glowing with the unitedcharms of health, youth, and artlessness; her eyes spoke volumes, buther tongue was silent; her hands were interlocked before her, and, aidedby her taper form, bending forward in an attitude of expectation, gave aloveliness and an interest to her appearance, that for a moment chainedher lover in silence to the spot.
Frances silently led the way into a vacant parlor, opposite to the onein which the family were assembled, and turning to the soldier frankly,placing both her hands in his own, exclaimed,--
"Ah, Dunwoodie! how happy, on many accounts, I am to see you! I havebrought you in here, to prepare you to meet an unexpected friend in theopposite room."
"To whatever cause it may be owing," cried the youth, pressing her handsto his lips, "I, too, am happy in being able to see you alone. Frances,the probation you have decreed is cruel; war and distance may separateus forever."
"We must submit to the necessity which governs us. But it is not lovespeeches I would hear now; I have other and more important matter foryour attention."
"What can be of more importance than to make you mine by a tie that willbe indissoluble! Frances, you are cold to me--me--from whose mind, daysof service and nights of alarm have never been able to banish your imagefor a single moment."
"Dear Dunwoodie," said Frances, softening nearly to tears, and againextending her hand to him, as the richness of her color graduallyreturned, "you know my sentiments--this war once ended, and you maytake that hand forever--but I can never consent to tie myself to you byany closer union than already exists, so long as you are arrayed in armsagainst my only brother. Even now, that brother is awaiting yourdecision to restore him to liberty, or to conduct him to aprobable death."
"Your brother!" cried Dunwoodie, starting and turning pale; "yourbrother! explain yourself--what dreadful meaning is concealed inyour words?"
"Has not Captain Lawton told you of the arrest of Henry by himself thisvery morning?" continued Frances, in a voice barely audible, and fixingon her lover a look of the deepest concern.
"He told me of arresting a captain of the 60th in disguise, but withoutmentioning where or whom," replied the major in a similar tone; anddropping his head between his hands, he endeavored to conceal hisfeelings from his companion.
"Dunwoodie! Dunwoodie!" exclaimed Frances, losing all her formerconfidence in the most fearful apprehensions, "what means thisagitation?" As the major slowly raised his face, in which was picturedthe most expressive concern, she continued, "Surely, surely, you willnot betray your friend--my brother--your brother--to anignominious death."
"Frances!" exclaimed the young man in agony, "what can I do?"
"Do!" she repeated, gazing at him wildly. "Would Major Dunwoodie yieldhis friend to his enemies--the brother of his betrothed wife?"
"Oh, speak not so unkindly to me, dearest Miss Wharton--my ownFrances. I would this moment die for you--for Henry--but I cannot forgetmy duty--cannot forfeit my honor; you yourself would be the first todespise me if I did."
"Peyton Dunwoodie!" said Frances, solemnly, and with a face of ashypaleness, "you have told me--you have sworn, that you love me----"
"I do," interrupted the soldier, with fervor; but motioning for silenceshe continued, in a voice that trembled with her fears,--
"Do you think I can throw myself into the arms of a man whose hands arestained with the blood of my only brother!"
"Frances, you wring my very heart!" Then pausing, to struggle with hisfeelings, he endeavored to force a smile, as he added, "But, after all,we may be torturing ourselves with unnecessary fears, and Henry, when Iknow the circumstances, may be nothing more than a prisoner of war; inwhich case, I can liberate him on parole."
There is no more delusive passion than hope; and it seems to be thehappy privilege of youth to cull all the pleasures that can be gatheredfrom its indulgence. It is when we are most worthy of confidenceourselves, that we are least apt to distrust others; and what we thinkought to be, we are prone to think will be.
The half-formed expectations of the young soldier were communicated tothe desponding sister, more by the eye than the voice, and the bloodrushed again to her cheek, as she cried,--
"Oh, there can be no just grounds to doubt it. I know--Iknew--Dunwoodie, you would never desert us in the hour of our greatestneed!" The violence of her feelings prevailed, and the agitated girlfound relief in a flood of tears.
The office of consoling those we love is one of the dearest prerogativesof affection; and Major Dunwoodie, although but little encouraged by hisown momentary suggestion of relief, could not undeceive the lovely girl,who leaned on his shoulder, as he wiped the traces of her feeling fromher face, with a trembling, but reviving confidence in the safety of herbrother, and the protection of her lover.
Frances, having sufficiently recovered her recollection to commandherself, now eagerly led the way to the opposite room, to communicate toher family the pleasing intelligence which she already conceivedso certain,
Dunwoodie followed her reluctantly, and with forebodings of the result;but a few moments brought him into the presence of his relatives, and hesummoned all his resolution to meet the trial with firmness.
The salutations of the young men were cordial and frank, and, on thepart of Henry Wharton, as collected as if nothing had occurred todisturb his self-possession.
The abhorrence of being, in any manner, auxiliary to the arrest of hisfriend; the danger to the life of Captain Wharton; and theheart-breaking declarations of Frances, had, however, created anuneasiness in the bosom of Major Dunwoodie, which all his efforts couldnot conceal. His reception by the rest of the f
amily was kind andsincere, both from old regard, and a remembrance of former obligations,heightened by the anticipations they could not fail to read in theexpressive eyes of the blushing girl by his side. After exchanginggreetings with every member of the family, Major Dunwoodie beckoned tothe sentinel, whom the wary prudence of Captain Lawton had left incharge of the prisoner, to leave the room. Turning to Captain Wharton,he inquired mildly,--
"Tell me, Henry, the circumstances of this disguise, in which CaptainLawton reports you to have been found, and remember--remember--CaptainWharton--your answers are entirely voluntary."
"The disguise was used by me, Major Dunwoodie," replied the Englishofficer, gravely, "to enable me to visit my friends, without incurringthe danger of becoming a prisoner of war."
"But you did not wear it, until you saw the troop of Lawtonapproaching?"
"Oh! no," interrupted Frances, eagerly, forgetting all the circumstancesin her anxiety for her brother. "Sarah and myself placed them on himwhen the dragoons appeared; and it was our awkwardness that has led tothe discovery."
The countenance of Dunwoodie brightened, as turning his eyes in fondnesson the speaker, he listened to her explanation.
"Probably some articles of your own," he continued, "which were at hand,and were used on the spur of the moment."
"No," said Wharton, with dignity, "the clothes were worn by me from thecity; they were procured for the purpose to which they were applied, andI intended to use them in my return this very day."
The appalled Frances shrank back from between her brother and lover,where her ardent feelings had carried her, as the whole truth glancedover her mind, and she sank into a seat, gazing wildly on the young men.
"But the pickets--the party at the Plains?" added Dunwoodie, turningpale.
"I passed them, too, in disguise. I made use of this pass, for which Ipaid; and, as it bears the name of Washington, I presume it is forged."
Dunwoodie caught the paper from his hand, eagerly, and stood gazing onthe signature for some time in silence, during which the soldiergradually prevailed over the man; when he turned to the prisoner, with asearching look, as he asked,--
"Captain Wharton, whence did you procure this paper?"
"This is a question, I conceive, Major Dunwoodie has no right to ask."
"Your pardon, sir; my feelings may have led me into an impropriety."
Mr. Wharton, who had been a deeply interested auditor, now so farconquered his feelings as to say, "Surely, Major Dunwoodie, the papercannot be material; such artifices are used daily in war."
"This name is no counterfeit," said the dragoon, studying thecharacters, and speaking in a low voice; "is treason yet among usundiscovered? The confidence of Washington has been abused, for thefictitious name is in a different hand from the pass. Captain Wharton,my duty will not suffer me to grant you a parole; you must accompany meto the Highlands."
"I did not expect otherwise, Major Dunwoodie."
Dunwoodie turned slowly towards the sisters, when the figure of Francesonce more arrested his gaze. She had risen from her seat, and stoodagain with her hands clasped before him in an attitude of petition;feeling himself unable to contend longer with his feelings, he made ahurried excuse for a temporary absence, and left the room. Francesfollowed him, and, obedient to the direction of her eye, the soldierreentered the apartment in which had been their first interview.
"Major Dunwoodie," said Frances, in a voice barely audible, as shebeckoned to him to be seated; her cheek, which had been of a chillingwhiteness, was flushed with a suffusion that crimsoned her wholecountenance. She struggled with herself for a moment, and continued, "Ihave already acknowledged to you my esteem; even now, when you mostpainfully distress me, I wish not to conceal it. Believe me, Henry isinnocent of everything but imprudence. Our country can sustain nowrong." Again she paused, and almost gasped for breath; her colorchanged rapidly from red to white, until the blood rushed into her face,covering her features with the brightest vermilion; and she addedhastily, in an undertone, "I have promised, Dunwoodie, when peace shallbe restored to our country, to become your wife. Give to my brother hisliberty on parole, and I will this day go with you to the altar, followyou to the camp, and, in becoming a soldier's bride, learn to endure asoldier's privations."
Dunwoodie seized the hand which the blushing girl, in her ardor, hadextended towards him, and pressed it for a moment to his bosom; thenrising from his seat, he paced the room in excessive agitation.
"Frances, say no more, I conjure you, unless you wish to break myheart."
"You then reject my offered hand?" she said, rising with dignity, thoughher pale cheek and quivering lip plainly showed the conflictingpassions within.
"Reject it! Have I not sought it with entreaties--with tears? Has it notbeen the goal of all my earthly wishes? But to take it under suchconditions would be to dishonor both. We will hope for better things.Henry must be acquitted; perhaps not tried. No intercession of mineshall be wanting, you must well know; and believe me, Frances, I am notwithout favor with Washington."
"That very paper, that abuse of his confidence, to which you alluded,will steel him to my brother's case. If threats or entreaties could movehis stern sense of justice, would Andre have suffered?" As Francesuttered these words she fled from the room in despair.
Dunwoodie remained for a minute nearly stupefied; and then he followedwith a view to vindicate himself, and to relieve her apprehensions. Onentering the hall that divided the two parlors, he was met by a smallragged boy, who looked one moment at his dress, and placing a piece ofpaper in his hands, immediately vanished through the outer door of thebuilding. The bewildered state of his mind, and the suddenness of theoccurrence, gave the major barely time to observe the messenger to be acountry lad, meanly attired, and that he held in his hand one of thosetoys which are to be bought in cities, and which he now apparentlycontemplated with the conscious pleasure of having fairly purchased, bythe performance of the service required. The soldier turned his eyes tothe subject of the note. It was written on a piece of torn and soiledpaper, and in a hand barely legible, but after some little labor, he wasable to make out as follows--
"The rig'lars are at hand, horse and foot." [Footnote: There died a fewyears since, in Bedford, Westchester, a yeoman named Elisha H--- Thisperson was employed by Washington as one of his most confidential spies.By the conditions of their bargain, H--- was never to be required todeal with third parties, since his risks were too imminent. He wasallowed to enter also into the service of Sir Henry Clinton, and so muchconfidence had Washington in his love of country and discretion, that hewas often intrusted with the minor military movements, in order that hemight enhance his value with the English general, by communicating them.In this manner H--- had continued to serve for a long period, whenchance brought him into the city (then held by the British) at a momentwhen an expedition was about to quit it, to go against a small postestablished at Bedford, his native village, where the Americans had adepot of provisions. H--- easily ascertained the force and destinationof the detachment ordered on this service, but he was at a loss in whatmanner to communicate his information to the officer in command atBedford, without betraying his own true character to a third person.There was not time to reach Washington, and under the circumstances, hefinally resolved to hazard a short note to the American commandant,stating the danger, and naming the time when the attack might beexpected. To this note he even ventured to affix his own initials, E H,though he had disguised the hand, under a belief that, as he knewhimself to be suspected by his countrymen, it might serve to give moreweight to his warning. His family being at Bedford, the note wastransmitted with facility and arrived in good season, H--- himselfremaining in New York. The American commandant did what every sensibleofficer, in a similar case, would have done. He sent a courier with thenote to Washington, demanding orders, while he prepared his little partyto make the best defense in his power. The headquarters of the Americanarmy were, at that time, in the Highlands. Fortunately, t
he express metWashington, on a tour of observation, near their entrance. The note wasgiven to him, and he read it in the saddle, adding, in pencil, "Believeall that E H tells you. George Washington" He returned it to thecourier, with an injunction to ride for life or death. The courierreached Bedford after the British had made their attack. The commandantread the reply, and put it in his pocket. The Americans were defeated,and their leader killed. The note of H---, with the line written on itby Washington, was found on his person. The following day H--- wassummoned to the presence of Sir Henry Clinton. After the latter had putseveral general questions, he suddenly gave the note to the spy, andasked if he knew the handwriting, and demanded who the E H was "It isElijah Hadden, the spy you hanged yesterday at Powles Hook." Thereadiness of this answer, connected with the fact that a spy having thesame initials had been executed the day before, and the coolness ofH----, saved him. Sir Henry Clinton allowed him to quit his presence,and he never saw him afterwards.]
Dunwoodie started; and, forgetting everything but the duties of asoldier, he precipitately left the house. While walking rapidly towardsthe troops, he noticed on a distant hill a vidette riding with speed.Several pistols were fired in quick succession; and the next instant thetrumpets of the corps rang in his ears with the enlivening strain of "Toarms!" By the time he had reached the ground occupied by his squadron,the major saw that every man was in active motion. Lawton was already inthe saddle, eying the opposite extremity of the valley with theeagerness of expectation, and crying to the musicians, in tones butlittle lower than their own,--
"Sound away, my lads, and let these Englishmen know that the Virginiahorse are between them and the end of their journey."
The videttes and patrols now came pouring in, each making in successionhis hasty report to the commanding officer, who gave his orders coolly,and with a promptitude that made obedience certain. Once only, as hewheeled his horse to ride over the ground in front, did Dunwoodie trusthimself with a look at the cottage, and his heart beat with unusualrapidity as he saw a female figure standing, with clasped hands, at awindow of the room in which he had met Frances. The distance was toogreat to distinguish her features, but the soldier could not doubt thatit was his mistress. The paleness of his cheek and the languor of hiseye endured but for a moment longer. As he rode towards the intendedbattle ground, a flush of ardor began to show itself on his sunburntfeatures; and his dragoons, who studied the face of their leader, as thebest index to their own fate, saw again the wonted flashing of the eyes,and the cheerful animation, which they had so often witnessed on the eveof battle. By the additions of the videttes and parties that had beenout, and which now had all joined, the whole number of the horse wasincreased to nearly two hundred. There was also a small body of men,whose ordinary duties were those of guides, but who, in cases ofemergency, were embodied and did duty as foot soldiers; these weredismounted, and proceeded, by the order of Dunwoodie, to level the fewfences which might interfere with the intended movements of the cavalry.The neglect of husbandry, which had been occasioned by the war, leftthis task comparatively easy. Those long lines of heavy and durablewalls, which now sweep through every part of the country, forty yearsago were unknown. The slight and tottering fences of stone were thenused more to clear the land for the purposes of cultivation than aspermanent barriers, and required the constant attention of thehusbandman, to preserve them against the fury of the tempests and thefrosts of winter. Some few of them had been built with more careimmediately around the dwelling of Mr. Wharton; but those which hadintersected the vale below were now generally a pile of ruins, overwhich the horses of the Virginians would bound with the fleetness of thewind. Occasionally a short line yet preserved its erect appearance; butas none of those crossed the ground on which Dunwoodie intended to act,there remained only the slighter fences of rails to be thrown down.Their duty was hastily but effectually performed; and the guideswithdrew to the post assigned to them for the approaching fight.
Major Dunwoodie had received from his scouts all the intelligenceconcerning his foe, which was necessary to enable him to make hisarrangements. The bottom of the valley was an even plain, that fell witha slight inclination from the foot of the hills on either side, to thelevel of a natural meadow that wound through the country on the banks ofa small stream, by whose waters it was often inundated and fertilized.This brook was easily forded in any part of its course; and the onlyimpediment it offered to the movements of the horse, was in a placewhere it changed its bed from the western to the eastern side of thevalley, and where its banks were more steep and difficult of access thancommon. Here the highway crossed it by a rough wooden bridge, as it didagain at the distance of half a mile above the Locusts.
The hills on the eastern side of the valley were abrupt, and frequentlyobtruded themselves in rocky prominences into its bosom, lessening thewidth to half the usual dimensions. One of these projections was but ashort distance in the rear of the squadron of dragoons, and Dunwoodiedirected Captain Lawton to withdraw, with two troops, behind its cover.The officer obeyed with a kind of surly reluctance, that was, however,somewhat lessened by the anticipations of the effect his suddenappearance would make on the enemy. Dunwoodie knew his man, and hadselected the captain for this service, both because he feared hisprecipitation in the field, and knew, when needed, his support wouldnever fail to appear. It was only in front of the enemy that CaptainLawton was hasty; at all other times his discernment and self-possessionwere consummately preserved; but he sometimes forgot them in hiseagerness to engage. On the left of the ground on which Dunwoodieintended to meet his foe, was a close wood, which skirted that side ofthe valley for the distance of a mile. Into this, then, the guidesretired, and took their station near its edge, in such a manner as wouldenable them to maintain a scattering, but effectual fire, on theadvancing column of the enemy.
It cannot be supposed that all these preparations were made unheeded bythe inmates of the cottage; on the contrary, every feeling which canagitate the human breast, in witnessing such a scene, was activelyalive. Mr. Wharton alone saw no hopes to himself in the termination ofthe conflict. If the British should prevail, his son would be liberated;but what would then be his own fate! He had hitherto preserved hisneutral character in the midst of trying circumstances. The fact of hishaving a son in the royal, or, as it was called, the regular army, hadvery nearly brought his estates to the hammer. Nothing had obviated thisresult, but the powerful interest of the relation who held a highpolitical rank in the state, and his own vigilant prudence. In hisheart, he was a devoted loyalist; and when the blushing Frances hadcommunicated to him the wishes of her lover, on their return from theAmerican camp the preceding spring, the consent he had given, to herfuture union with a rebel, was as much extracted by the increasingnecessity which existed for his obtaining republican support, as by anyconsiderations for the happiness of his child. Should his son now berescued, he would, in the public mind, be united with him as a plotteragainst the freedom of the States; and should he remain a captive andundergo the impending trial, the consequences might be still moredreadful. Much as he loved his wealth, Mr. Wharton loved his childrenbetter; and he sat gazing on the movements without, with a listlessvacancy in his countenance, that fully denoted his imbecility ofcharacter. Far different were the feelings of the son. Captain Whartonhad been left in the keeping of two dragoons, one of whom marched to andfro on the piazza with a measured tread, and the other had been directedto continue in the same apartment with his prisoner. The young man hadwitnessed all the movements of Dunwoodie with admiration mingled withfearful anticipations of the consequences to friends. He particularlydisliked the ambush of the detachment under Lawton, who could bedistinctly seen from the windows of the cottage, cooling his impatience,by pacing on foot the ground in front of his men. Henry Wharton threwseveral hasty and inquiring glances around, to see if no means ofliberation would offer, but invariably found the eyes of his sentinelfixed on him with the watchfulness of an Argus. He longed, with theardor of youth, to join in the gl
orious fray, but was compelled toremain a dissatisfied spectator of a scene in which he would socheerfully have been an actor. Miss Peyton and Sarah continued gazingon the preparations with varied emotions, in which concern for the fateof the captain formed the most prominent feeling, until the moment ofshedding of blood seemed approaching, when, with the timidity of theirsex, they sought the retirement of an inner room. Not so Frances; shereturned to the apartment where she had left Dunwoodie, and, from one ofits windows, had been a deeply interested spectator of all hismovements. The wheelings of the troops, the deadly preparations, had allbeen unnoticed; she saw her lover only, and with mingled emotions ofadmiration and dread that nearly chilled her. At one moment the bloodrushed to her heart, as she saw the young warrior riding through hisranks, giving life and courage to all whom he addressed; and the next,it curdled with the thought that the very gallantry she so much valuedmight prove the means of placing the grave between her and the object ofher regard. Frances gazed until she could look no longer.
In a field on the left of the cottage, and at a short distance in therear of the troops, was a small group, whose occupation seemed to differfrom that of all around them. They were in number only three, being twomen and a mulatto boy. The principal personage of this party was a man,whose leanness made his really tall stature appear excessive. He worespectacles--was unarmed, had dismounted, and seemed to be dividing hisattention between a cigar, a book, and the incidents of the field beforehim. To this party Frances determined to send a note, directed toDunwoodie. She wrote hastily, with a pencil, "Come to me, Peyton, if itbe but for a moment"; and Caesar emerged from the cellar kitchen, takingthe precaution to go by the rear of the building, to avoid the sentinelon the piazza, who had very cavalierly ordered all the family to remainhoused. The black delivered the note to the gentleman, with a requestthat it might be forwarded to Major Dunwoodie. It was the surgeon of thehorse to whom Caesar addressed himself; and the teeth of the Africanchattered, as he saw displayed upon the ground the several instrumentswhich were in preparation for the anticipated operations. The doctorhimself seemed to view the arrangement with great satisfaction, as hedeliberately raised his eyes from his book to order the boy to conveythe note to his commanding officer, and then dropping them quietly onthe page he continued his occupation. Caesar was slowly retiring, as thethird personage, who by his dress might be an inferior assistant of thesurgical department, coolly inquired "if he would have a leg taken off?"This question seemed to remind the black of the existence of thoselimbs, for he made such use of them as to reach the piazza at the sameinstant that Major Dunwoodie rode up, at half speed. The brawny sentinelsquared himself, and poised his sword with military precision as hestood on his post, while his officer passed; but no sooner had the doorclosed, than, turning to the negro, he said, sharply,--
"Harkee, blackee, if you quit the house again without my knowledge, Ishall turn barber, and shave off one of those ebony ears withthis razor."
Thus assailed in another member, Caesar hastily retreated into hiskitchen, muttering something, in which the words "Skinner," and "rebelrascal," formed a principal part of speech.
"Major Dunwoodie," said Frances to her lover as he entered, "I may havedone you injustice; if I have appeared harsh--"
The emotions of the agitated girl prevailed, and she burst into tears.
"Frances," cried the soldier with warmth, "you are never harsh, neverunjust, but when you doubt my love."
"Ah! Dunwoodie," added the sobbing girl, "you are about to risk yourlife in battle; remember that there is one heart whose happiness isbuilt on your safety; brave I know you are: be prudent--"
"For your sake?" inquired the delighted youth.
"For my sake," replied Frances, in a voice barely audible, and droppingon his bosom.
Dunwoodie folded her to his heart, and was about to speak, as a trumpetsounded in the southern end of the vale. Imprinting one long kiss ofaffection on her unresisting lips, the soldier tore himself from hismistress, and hastened to the scene of strife.
Frances threw herself on a sofa, buried her head under its cushion, andwith her shawl drawn over her face, to exclude as much of sound aspossible, continued there until the shouts of the combatants, therattling of the firearms, and the thundering tread of the horseshad ceased.