The Spy, Volume 2 Read online

  THE SPY; A TALE OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. “Breathes there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself bath said, This is my own, my native land.--” BY THE AUTHOR OF “PRECAUTION.” IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. NEW-YORK: WILEY & HALSTED, 3, WALL-STREET. Wm. Grattan, Printer. 1821. Southern District of New-York, ss.,. BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the seventh day of September in the fortysixth sixth year of the Independence of the United States of America, WILEY & HALSTED, of the said District, have deposited in this Office, the title of a Book, the right whereof they claim as proprietors in the words following, to wit: “Breathes there a man with soul so dead,

  Who never to himself bath said,

  This is my own, my native land.--”

  by the author of “Precaution.” In two volumes.

  In conformity to the Act of Congress of the United States, entitled, “An Act “for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, “and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times “therein mentioned;” And also, to an Act, entitled, “An Act, supplementary “to an Act, entitled, an Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing “the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of “such copies, during the times therein mentioned, and extending the benefits “fits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and etching, historical and “other prints.” JAMES DILL, Clerk of the Southern District of New-York.

  THE SPY; A TALE OF THE NEUTRAL GROUND. CHAPTER I.

  “--there are, whose changing lineaments Express each gulleless passion of the breast,

  Where Love and Hope and tender-hearted Pity,

  Shine forth, reflected, as from the mirror’s surface--

  But cold experience can veil these hues

  With looks, invented, shrewdly to encompass

  The cunning purposes of base deceit.”

  Dus

  The officer to whose keeping Dunwoodie had committed the pedlar, transferred his charge to the custody of the regular sergeant of the guard. The gift of Captain Wharton had not been lost on the youthful lieutenant, and a certain dancing motion that had unaccountably taken possession of objects before his eyes, gave him warning of the necessity of recruiting nature by sleep. After admonishing the non-commissioned guardian of Harvey to omit no watchfulness in securing the prisoner, the youth wrapped himself in his cloak, and, stretched on a bench before a fire, sought, and soon found, the repose he needed. A rude shed extended the whole length of the rear of the building, and from off one of its ends had been partitioned a small apartment, that was intended as a repository for many of the lesser implements of husbandry. The lawless times had, however, occasoned its being stript of every thing of any value, and the searching eyes of Betty Flannagan selected this spot, on her arrival, as the store house for her moveables, and a withdrawing-room for her person. The spare arms and baggage of the corps had also been deposited here; and the united treasures were placed under the eye of the sentinel who paraded the shed as guardian to the rear of the head quarters. A second warrior, who was stationed near the house to protect the horses of the officers, could command a view of the outside of the apartment, and as it was without window, or outlet of any kind excepting its door, the considerate sergeant thought this the most befitting place in which to deposite his charge, until the moment of his execution. There were several inducements that urged Sergeant Hollister to this determination, among which was the absence of the washerwoman, who lay before the kitchen fire, dreaming that the corps were attacking a party of the enemy, and mistaking the noise which proceeded from her own nose for the bugles of the Virginians sounding the charge. Another was the peculiar opinions that the veteran entertained of life and death, and by which he was distinguished in the corps as a man of most exemplary piety and holiness of life. The sergeant was more than fifty years of age, and for half that period had borne arms as a profession. The constant recurrence of sudden deaths before his eyes had produced an effect on him differing greatly from that, which was the usual moral consequence of such scenes, and he had become not only the most steady, but the most trust-worthy soldier in his troop.--Captain Lawton had rewarded his fidelity by making him its orderly.

  Followed by Birch, the sergeant proceeded in silence to the door of the intended prison, and throwing it open with one hand, held a lantern with the other to light the pedlar as he entered. Seating himself on a cask that contained some of Betty’s favorite beverage, the sergeant motioned to Birch to occupy another in the same manner. The lantern was placed on the floor, and the dragoon, after looking his prisoner steadily in the face, observed--

  “You look as if you would meet death like a man, and I have brought you to a spot where you can fix things to suit yourself, and be quiet and undisturbed.”

  “’Tis a fearful place to prepare for the last change in,” said Harvey, shuddering, and gazing around his little prison with a vacant eye.

  “Why, for the matter of that,” returned the veteran, “It can reckon but little in the great account where a man parades his thoughts for the last review, so that he finds them fit to pass the muster of another world.--I have a small book here which I make it a point to read a little in, whenever we are about to engage, and I find it a great strength’ner in time of need.” While speaking he took a bible from his pocket and offered it to the acceptance of the pedlar. Birch received the volume with habitual reverence, but there was an abstracted air about him, and a wandering of the eye, that induced his companion to think that alarm was getting the mastery over the pedlar’s feelings--accordingly, he proceeded in what he conceived to be the offices of consolation.

  “If there’s any thing that lies heavy on your mind, now is the best time to get rid of it--if you have done wrong to any one, I promise you, on the word of an honest dragoon, to lend you a helping hand to see them righted.”

  “There are few who have not done so,” said the pedlar, turning his vacant gaze once more on his companion.

  “True--’tis natural to sin--but it sometimes happens that a man does, what at other times he may be sorry for.--One would not wish to die with any very heavy sin on his conscience, after all.”

  Harvey had by this time thoroughly examined the place in which he was to pass the night, and saw no means of escape. But hope is ever the last feeling to desert the human breast, and the pedlar gave the dragoon more of his attention, fixing on his sun-burnt features such searching looks, that Sergeant Hollister lowered his eyes before the wild expression which he met in the gaze of his prisoner.

  “I have been taught to lay the burden of my sins at the feet of my saviour,” replied the pedlar.

  “Why, yes--all that is well enough,” returned the other; “but justice should be done while there is opportunity.--There have been stirring times in this county since the war began, and many have been deprived of their rightful goods. I often times find it hard to reconcile my lawful plunder to a tender conscience.”

  “These hands,” said the pedlar, stretching forth his meagre bony fingers, and speaking with an unusual pride, “have spent years in toil, but not a moment in pilfering.”

  “It is well that it is so,” said the honest-hearted soldier; “and no doubt, you now feel it a great consolation--there are three great sins that if a man can keep his conscience clear of--why, by the mercy of God, he may hope to pass muster with the saints in Heaven--they are stealing, murdering, and desertion.”

  “Thank God!” said Birch with fervor, “I have never yet taken the life of a fellow creature.”

  “As to killing a man in lawful battle, why that is no more than doing one’s duty,” interrupted the sergeant, who was a close imitator of Captain Lawton in the field. “If the cause is wrong, the sin of such a deed you know falls o
n the nation, and a man receives his punishment here with the rest of the people--but murdering in cold blood stands next to desertion, as a crime, in the eye of God.”

  “I never was a soldier, therefore never could desert,” said the pedlar, resting his face on his hand in a melancholy attitude.

  “Why, desertion consists of more than quitting your colours, though that is certainly the worst kind,” continued the dragoon, speaking slowly, and with some emphasis--“A man may desert his country in the hour of her utmost need.”

  Birch buried his face in both his hands, and his whole frame shook with violent agitation; the sergeant regarded him closely, but good feelings soon got the better of his antipathies, and he continued more mildly--

  “But still that is a sin which I think may be forgiven if sincerely repented of; and it matters but little when or how a man dies, so that he dies like a christian and a man.--I recommend you to say your prayers, and then get some rest, in order that you may do both. There is no hope of your being pardoned, as Colonel Singleton has sent down the most positive orders to take your life whenever we met you. No--no--nothing can save you.”

  “You say the truth,” cried Birch. “It is now too late--I have destroyed my only safeguard. But He will do my memory justice at least.”

  “What safeguard?” asked the sergeant, with awakened curiosity.

  “’Tis nothing,” replied the pedlar, recovering his natural manner, and lowering his face to avoid the earnest looks of his companion.

  “And who is he?”

  “No one,” added Harvey, evidently anxious to say no more.

  “Nothing and no one, can avail but little now,” said the sergeant, rising to go; “lay yourself on the blanket of Mrs. Flannagan, and get a little sleep--I will call you betimes in the morning, and from the bottom of my soul, I wish I could be of some service to you, for I dislike greatly to see a man hung up like a dog.”

  “Then you might save me from this ignominious death,” said Birch, springing on his feet, and catching the dragoon by the arm--“And, oh! what will I not give you in reward.”

  “In what manner?” asked the sergeant, looking at him in surprise.

  “See,” said the pedlar, producing several guineas from his person; “these are but as nothing to what I will give you, if you will assist me to escape.”

  “Was you the man whose picture is on the gold, I would not listen to such a crime,” said the trooper, throwing the money on the floor with cool contempt. “Go--go--poor wretch, and make your peace with God; for it is he only that can be of service to you now.”

  The sergeant took up the lantern, and, with some indignation in his manner, left the pedlar to his sorrowful meditations on his approaching fate. Birch sunk in momentary despair on the pallet of Betty, while his guardian proceeded to give the necessary instructions to the sentinels for his safe keeping.

  “Suffer no one to speak to your prisoner, and your life will depend on his not escaping,” Hollister concluded his injunctions with, to the man in the shed.

  “But,” said the trooper, “my orders are, to let the washerwoman pass in and out, as she pleases.”

  “Well let her then, but be careful that this wily pedlar does not get out in the folds of her petticoats.” He then continued his walk, giving similar orders to all of the sentinels near the spot.

  For some time after the departure of the sergeant, silence prevailed within the solitary prison of the pedlar, until the dragoon at his door heard his loud breathings, which soon rose into the regular cadence of one in a deep sleep; and the man continued walking his post, musing on the indifference to life which could allow nature its customary rest, even on the threshold of the grave. Harvey Birch had, however, been too long a name held in detestation by every man in the corps, to suffer any feelings of commiseration to mingle with these reflections of the sentinel, and notwithstanding the consideration and kindness manifested by the sergeant, there was not probably another man of his rank in the whole party who would have discovered equal benevolence to the prisoner, or who would not have imitated the veteran in rejecting the bribe, although probably from a less worthy motive. There was something of disappointed vengeance in the feelings of the man who watched the door of the room, on finding his prisoner enjoying a sleep that he himself was deprived of, and at his exhibiting such obvious indifference to the utmost penalty that military rigor could inflict on all his treason to the cause of liberty and America. More than once he felt prompted to disturb this unwonted repose of the pedlar by taunts and revilings, but the discipline he was under, and a secret sense of shame at its brutality, held him in subjection.

  His meditations were, however, soon interrupted by the appearance of the washerwoman, who came staggering through the door that communicated with the kitchen, muttering execrations against the servants of the officers who, by their waggery, had disturbed her slumbers before the fire. The sentinel understood enough of her maledictions to comprehend the case, but all his efforts to enter into conversation with the enraged woman were useless, and he suffered her to enter her room without explaining that it contained another inmate. The noise of her huge frame falling on the bed, was succeeded by a silence that was soon interrupted by the renewed breathing of the pedlar, and within a few minutes Harvey continued to breathe aloud as if no interruption had occurred. The relief arriving at this moment, the fellow who felt excessively nettled at the contempt of the pedlar, after communicating his orders, exclaimed to the other as he returned to the guard-room--

  “You may keep yourself warm by dancing, John; the pedlar-spy has tuned his fiddle you hear, and it will not be long before Betty will strike up in her turn.”

  The joke was followed by a general laugh from the party, who marched on in the performance of their duty. At this instant the door of the prison was opened, and Betty re-appeared, staggering back again towards her former quarters.

  “Stop,” said the sentinel, catching her by her clothes; “are you sure the Spy is not in your pocket?”

  “Can’t you hear the rascal snoring in my room, you dirty blackguard,” sputtered Betty, her whole frame shaking with the violence of her rage, “and is it so you would sarve a dacent famale that a man must be put to sleep in the room with her, you rapscallion.”

  “Pooh! what do you mind a man who’s to be hung in the morning for; you see he sleeps already; to-morrow he’ll take a longer nap.”

  “Hands off, you villain,” cried the washerwoman, relinquishing a small bottle that the fellow had succeeded in wresting from her. “But I’ll go to Captain Jack, and know if it’s his orders to put a hang-gallows spy in my room, ay even in my widow’d bed, you thief.”

  “Silence, you old Jezebel,” said the fellow with a laugh, taking the bottle from his mouth to breathe, “or you will wake the gentleman-- would you disturb a man in his last sleep?”

  “I’ll awake Captain Jack, you riprobate villain, and bring him here to see me righted--he will punish you all for imposing on a dacent widow’d body, you marauder.”

  With these words, which only extorted a laugh from the sentinel, Betty staggered round the end of the building, and made the best of her way towards the quarters of her favourite, Captain John Lawton, for redress. Neither the officer nor the woman, however, appeared during the night, both being differently employed, and nothing further occurred to disturb the repose of the pedlar, who, to the astonishment of the sentinel, continued apparently, by his breathing, to manifest how little the gallows could affect his slumbers.

  CHAPTER II.

  “A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!--

  O wise young judge, how do I honor thee!”

  Merchant of Venice

  The Skinners followed Captain Lawton with alacrity towards the quarters occupied by the troop of that gentleman. The captain of dragoons had on all occasions manifested so much zeal for the cause in which he was engaged--was so regardless of personal danger when opposed to the enemy, and his stature and stern countenance contributed
so much to render him terrific at such moments, that they had, in some measure, procured him a reputation distinct from the corps in which he served.--His intrepidity was mistaken for ferocity, and his hasty zeal for the natural love of cruelty. On the other hand, a few acts of clemency, or more properly speaking, of discriminating justice, had with one portion of the community acquired for Dunwoodie the character of undue forbearance.--It is seldom that either popular condemnation or applause falls where it is merited.

  While in the presence of the Major, the leader of the gang had felt himself under that restraint which vice must ever experience in the company of acknowledged virtue, but having left the house, he at once conceived that he was under the protection of a congenial spirit. There was a gravity in the manner of Lawton, that deceived most of those who did not know him intimately, and it was a common saying in his troop, that “when the captain laughed he was sure to punish.” Drawing near his conductor, therefore, the leader commenced, with inward satisfaction, the following dialogue--

  “’Tis always well for a man to know his friends from his enemies.”

  To this prefatory observation, the captain made no other than an assenting sound, that could not be called a word.

  “I suppose Major Dunwoodie has the good opinion of Washington?” continued the Skinner in a low, confidential tone, that rather expressed a doubt than asked a question.

  “There are some who think so,” returned the captain ambiguously.

  “Many of the friends of Congress in this county,” the man proceeded, “wish the horse was led by some other officer--for my part if I could only be covered by a troop now and then, I could do many an important piece of service to the cause, that this capture of the pedlar would be nothing to.”

  “Indeed!” said the captain, drawing familiarly nigh him and lowering his voice, “such as what?”

  “For the matter of that--it could be made as profitable to the officer, as it would be to us who did it,” said the Skinner, with a look of the most significant meaning.