The spy a tale of the neutral ground |
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| 6. | CHAPTER VI. |
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 | CHAPTER VI. The spy |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger.”
Comedy of Errors.
The situation of the party in Mr. Wharton's
dwelling, was sufficiently awkward during the
short hour of Cæsar's absence; for such was the
astonishing rapidity displayed by his courser, that
the four miles of road was gone over, and the
events we have recorded, had occurred, somewhat
within that period of time. Of course the gentlemen
strove to make the irksome moments fly
as swiftly as possible; but premeditated happiness
is certainly of the least joyous kind. The
bride and bridegroom, from a variety of reasons,
are privileged to be dull, and but few of their
friends seemed disposed, on the present occasion,
to dishonour their example. The English Colonel
exhibited a proper portion of uneasiness at
this unexpected interruption to his felicity, and
sat with a varying countenance by the side of Sarah,
who seemed to be profiting by the delay, to
gather fortitude for the solemn ceremony. In
the midst of this embarrassing silence, Dr. Sitgreaves
addressed himself to Miss Peyton, by
whose side he had contrived to procure a chair.
“Marriage, Madam, is pronounced to be honourable
in the sight of God and man; and it may
be said to be reduced in the present age to the
laws of nature and reason. The ancients, in sanctioning
nature, and condemned thousands to misery; but
with the increase of science, have grown the wise
ordinances of society, which ordain that man
should be the husband of but one woman.”
Wellmere glanced a fierce expression of disgust
at the surgeon, that indicated his sense of the
tediousness of the other's remarks; while the
spinster, with a slight trembling at touching on
forbidden subjects, replied with an extremely
dignified inclination of her body—
“I had thought, sir, that we were indebted to
the christian religion for our morals on this subject.”
“True, Madam,” replied the operator, “it is
somewhere provided in the prescriptions of the
apostles, that the sexes should henceforth be on
an equality in this respect. But in what degree
could polygamy affect holiness of life? Certainly
it was a scientific arrangement of Paul, who was
much of a scholar, and probably had frequent conferences
with Luke, whom we all know to have
been bred to the practice of medicine, on this
important subject.”
To this profound discussion, the spinster made
no other reply, than another bend of her body,
that would have struck an observant man dumb;
but Captain Lawton, placing the point of his
sheathed sabre on the floor, folded his hands
across the hilt, and leaning his chin thereon, threw
singular glances with his searching eyes, alternately
from the surgeon to the bridegroom.
“Yet this practice still prevails,” said the
trooper; “and in those very countries where it
was first abolished by the christian code. Pray,
Colonel Wellmere, in what manner is bigamy
punished in England?”
Thus addressed, the bridegroom raised his eyes
to the countenance of the other, but they quickly
sunk again under the prying look they encountered;
and an effort banished the tremor from his
lip, and restored some of the colour to his cheek,
as he replied—
“Death!—as such an offence merits.”
“Death and dissection,” continued the operator;
“it is seldom that the law loses sight of eventual
utility in a malefactor. Bigamy in a man is
certainly a most heinous offence.”
“More so, think you, than celibacy?” asked
Lawton, a little archly.
“Even so,” returned the surgeon with undisturbed
simplicity; “he who remains in a single
state, may devote his life to science and the extension
of knowledge, if not of his species; but
the wretch who profits by the constitutional tendency
of the female sex to credulity and tenderness,
incurs all the wickedness of a positive sin,
heightened by the baseness of deception in its execution.”
“Really, sir, the ladies are infinitely obliged
to you, for attributing folly to them as part of their
nature.”
“Captain Lawton, in man the animal is more
nobly formed than in woman. The nerves are
endowed with less sensibility—the whole frame is
less pliable and yielding; is it, therefore, surprising,
that a tendency to rely on the faith of her
partner, is more natural to woman than to the
other sex?”
Wellmere, unable at this moment to listen
with any degree of patience to the dialogue, sprung
from his seat, and paced the floor in disorder.
Pitying his situation, the reverend gentleman, who,
in his robes, was patiently awaiting the return of
Cæsar, changed the discourse, and a few minutes
to Dr. Sitgreaves; for Miss Peyton had expressly
enjoined Cæsar, not to implicate her in any manner
in the errand on which he was despatched.
The note contained a summary statement of the
several subjects of the surgeon's directions, and
referred him to the black for the ring; it was instantly
demanded, and promptly delivered. A
transient look of melancholy clouded the brow
of the operator as he stood a moment, and gazed
silently on the bauble; nor did he remember the
place or the occasion, while he soliloquized as follows:
“Poor Anna! gay as innocence and youth could
make you, was thy heart when this cincture was
formed to grace thy nuptials; but ere the hour
had come, God had taken you to himself. Years
have passed, my sister, but never have I forgotten
the companion of my infancy;” he advanced to
Sarah, and, unconscious of observation, placing
the ring on her finger, continued, “she for whom
it was intended, has long been in her grave, and
the youth who bestowed the gift, soon followed
her sainted spirit; take it, Madam, and God grant
that it may be an instrument in making you as
happy as you deserve to be.”
Sarah felt an unaccountable chill at her heart,
as this burst of feeling escaped from the surgeon;
but Wellmere offering his hand, she was led before
the divine, and the ceremony began. The
first words of this imposing office, produced a
dead stillness in the apartment; and the minister
of God proceeded to the solemn exhortation, and
witnessed the plighted troth of the parties, when
the investiture of the ring was to follow. It had
been left, from inadvertency, and the agitation of
the moment, where Sitgreaves had placed it;—a
slight interruption was occasioned by the circumstance,
when a figure glided into the midst of the party,
that at once put a stop to the ceremony.—It was
the pedlar:—his sunken and cowering eye no longer
avoided the look of others, but glared wildly
around him, and his whole frame was agitated
by an exertion that had shaken his iron nerves.
But all these emotions passed away like shadows
from a fleeting cloud, and assuming a look of deep
humility and habitual respect, he turned to the
bridegroom, and bowing low, said—
“Can Colonel Wellmere waste the precious
moments here, when his wife has crossed the
ocean to meet him? The nights are long, and
the moon bright;—a few hours riding would take
him to the city.”
Aghast at the suddenness of this extraordinary
address, Wellmere for a moment lost the command
of his faculties. To Sarah, the countenance of
Birch, wild and agitated as it was, produced no
terror; but the instant she recovered from the
surprise of his interruption, she turned her anxious
gaze on the features of the man to whom she
had just pledged herself for life. They afforded the
most terrible confirmation of all that the pedlar affirmed;
the room whirled around with her, and she
fell lifeless into the arms of her aunt. There is
an instinctive delicacy in woman, that for a time
seems to conquer all other emotions however
powerful, and through its impulse, the insensible
bride was immediately conveyed from sight by her
friends, and the parlour was deserted to the wondering
group of men.
The confusion of the fall of Sarah, enabled
the pedlar to retreat with a rapidity that would
have baffled pursuit, had any been attempted, and
Wellmere stood with all eyes fixed on him in
ominous silence.
“ 'Tis false—'tis false as hell!” he cried, striking
his hand to his forehead. “I have ever denied
her claim; nor will the laws of my country compel
me to acknowledge it.”
“But will not conscience, and the laws of
God?” asked Lawton.
Before Wellmere could reply, Singleton, who
had hitherto been supported by his servant, moved
into the center of the circle, and with cheeks
glowing with animation, and eyes that flashed fire,
exclaimed—
“Thus is it ever with your nation, proud Englishman;
your boasted honour, where is it? obligatory
only among yourselves,—but have a care,”
striking the hilt of his sabre, “each daughter of
America has a claim upon the protection of her
sons, and there are none so helpless, but a countryman
can be found to avenge her injuries, or redress
her wrongs.”
“ 'Tis well, sir,” said Wellmere, haughtily, and
retreating towards the door—“your situation protects
you now: but a time may come—”
He had reached the entry, when a slight tap on
his shoulder caused him to turn his head;—it was
Captain Lawton—who, with a smile of peculiar
meaning, beckoned to him to follow. The state
of Wellmere's mind was such, that he would gladly
have gone any where to avoid the gaze of horror
and detestation that glared from every eye he
met. They reached the stables before the trooper
spoke, when he cried aloud—
“Bring out Roanoke.”
His man appeared with the steed caparisoned
as when ready for its master; and Lawton. coolly
throwing the bridle on the neck of the animal,
took his pistols from the holsters, and continued,
“You said truly, Colonel Wellmere, when you
pronounced George Singleton unfit for combat—
service before to-day—ay! and in honourable
hands sir. These were the pistols of my father,
Colonel Wellmere; he used them with credit in
the wars with France, and gave them to me to
fight the battles of my country with. In what better
way can I serve her than in exterminating a
wretch who would have blasted one of her fairest
flowers?”
“This injurious treatment shall meet with its
reward,” cried the Englishman, seizing the offered
weapon eagerly, “and the blood lie on the
head of him who sought it.”
“Amen!” said Lawton; but hold, a moment,
sir. You are now free, and the passports of
Washington are in your pocket;—I give you the
re;—if I fall, there is a steed that will outstrip
pursuit; and I would advise you to retreat without
much delay, for even Archibald Sitgreaves would
fight in such a cause—nor will the guard above be
very apt to give quarters.”
“Are you ready?” asked Wellmere, guashing
his teeth with rage.
“Stand forward, Tom, with the lights;—fire!”
Wellmere fired, and the bullion flew from the
epaulette of the trooper in fifty pieces.
“Now then the turn is mine,” said Lawton deliberately,
and levelling his pistol.
“And mine!” shouted a voice, as the weapon
was struck from his hand; “can you find nothing
to do but to shoot at a man, as if he was a turkey
at a Christmas match? By all the devils in hell,
'tis the mad Virginian—fall on my boys, and take
him; this is a prize not hoped for.”
Unarmed and surprized as he was, Lawton's
presence of mind did not desert him: he felt he
was in the hands of those from whom he was to
expect no mercy; and as four of the skinners fell
the utmost. Three of the band grasped him by
the neck and arms, with an intent to clog his efforts,
and pinion him with ropes. The first of these
he threw from him with a violence that sent him
against the building, where he lay for a moment
stunned with the blow. But the fourth seized
his legs, and unable to contend with such odds, the
trooper came to the earth, bringing with him both
of his assailants. The struggle on the ground was
short but terrific;—curses, and the most dreadful
imprecations were uttered by the skinners, who
in vain called on three more of their band that
were gazing on the combat in nerveless horror, to
assist in securing their prize. A difficulty of
breathing, from one of the combatants, was heard,
accompanied by the stifled moanings of a strangled
man; and directly one of the group arose on his
feet, shaking himself from the wild grasp of the
others. Both Wellmere and the servant of Lawton
had fled; the former to the stables, and the
latter to give the alarm—and all was darkness.
The figure that stood erect, sprung into the saddle
of the unheeded charger—sparks of fire
from the armed feet of the horse, gave light
enough to discover the trooper dashing like the
wind towards the highway.
“By hell he's off!” cried the leader, hoarse
from rage and exhaustion; “fire!—bring him
down—fire, I say, or you'll be too late.”
The order was obeyed, and one moment of awful
suspense followed, in the vain hope of hearing
the huge frame of Lawton tumbling from his steed.
“He'd never fall, if you had killed him,” muttered
one; “I've known them Virg nians sit their
horses with two and three balls through them; ay,
even after they were dead.”
A freshening of the blast, wafted the tread of a
horse down the valley, which, by its speed, gave
assurance of a rider governing its motion.
“Them trained horses always stop when the
rider falls,” observed one of the gang.
“Then,” cried the leader, striking his musket
on the ground in a rage, “the fellow is safe!—
to your business at once. A short half hour will
bring down that canting sergeant and the guard
upon us. 'Tis lucky if the guns don't turn them
out. Quick, to your posts, and fire the house in
the chambers—smoking ruins are good to cover
evil deeds.”
“What is to be done with this lump of earth?”
cried another, pushing the body that yet lay insensible,
where the grasp of Lawton had deprived it
of animation, “a little rubbing would bring him
too.”
“Let him lie,” said the leader fiercely; “had
he been half a man, that dragooning rascal would
have been in my power;—enter the house, I say,
and fire the chambers—we can't go amiss here;—
there is plate and money enough to make you all
gentlemen—yes, and revenge too.”
The idea of silver in any way was not to be
resisted; and, leaving their companion, who began
to show faint signs of life, they rushed tumultuously
towards the dwelling. Wellmere availed
himself of the opportunity, and stealing from the
stable with his own charger, was able to gain the
highway unnoticed. For an instant he hesitated,
whether to ride towards the point where he knew
a guard was stationed, and endeavour to rescue
the family, or, profiting by his liberty, and the exchange
that had been effected by the divine, to
seek the royal army. Shame, and the consciousness
of guilt, determined him to take the latter
course, and he rode towards New-York, stung
with the reflection of his own baseness, and harrassed
enraged woman, that he had married during his
late visit to England, but whose claims, so soon as
his passion was sated, he had resolved never
willingly to admit. In the tumult and agitation of
the moment, the retreat of Lawton and Wellmere
was but little noticed, the condition of Mr.
Wharton, and the exhaustion that succeeded
the excitement of George Singleton, demanding
the care and consolation of both the surgeon
and the divine. The report of the fire-arms first
roused the family to the sense of a new danger,
and but a minute elapsed before the leader and
one more of the gang entered the room.
“Surrender, you servants of King George,”
shouted the leader, presenting his musket to
the breast of Sitgreaves, “or I will let a little of
your tory blood from your veins.”
“Gently—gently, my friend,” said the surgeon;
“you are doubtless more expert in inflicting
wounds than in healing them; the weapon that
you hold so indiscreetly, is extremely dangerous
to animal life.”
“Yield, then, or take its contents,” exclaimed
the other.
“Why and wherefore should I yield?—I am a
practitioner of medicine, and a non-combatant.
The articles of capitulation must be arranged with
Captain John Lawton, though yielding I believe
is not a subject on which you will find him particularly
complying.”
The fellow had by this time taken such a survey
of the group, as convinced him that little
danger was to be apprehended from resistance,
and eager to seize his share of the plunder, he
dropped his musket, and was soon busy in arranging
divers articles of plate in bags, with the assistance
of one of his men, so that it would
them in their retreat. The cottage now presented
a most singular spectacle;—the ladies were
gathered around Sarah, who yet continued insensible
in one of the rooms that had escaped the
notice of the marauders. Mr. Wharton sat in a
state of perfect imbecility, listening to, but not
profiting by, the words of comfort that fell from
the lips of the clergyman, who soon became too
much terrified with the scene to offer them. Singleton
was lying on a sofa, shaking with debility,
and inattentive to surrounding objects; while the
surgeon was administering restoratives, and looking
at the dressings, with a coolness that mocked the
tumult. Cæsar, and the attendants of Captain
Singleton, had retreated to the wood in the rear
of the cottage, and Katy Haynes was flying about
the building, busily employed in forming a bundle
of valuables, from which, with the most scrupulous
honesty, she rejected every article that was
not really and truly her own.
But to return to the party at the Four Corners.
When the veteran had got his men mounted and
under arms, a restless desire to participate in the
glory and dangers of the expedition came over
the washerwoman. Whether she was impelled to
the undertaking by a dread of remaining alone,
or a wish to hasten in person to the relief of
her favourite, we will not venture to assert;
but, as Hollister was unwillingly, giving the
orders to wheel and march, the voice of Betty
was heard exclaiming—
“Stop a bit, sargeant dear, till two of the boys
git out the cart, and I'll jist ride wid yee—'tis like
there'll be wounded, and it will be mighty convanient
to bring them home in.”
Although inwardly much pleased with any cause
of delay to a service that he so little relished,
and replied---
“Nothing but a cannon ball can take one of my
lads from his charger, and it's not very likely that
we shall have as fair fighting as cannon and musketry,
in a business of the evil one's inventing;—
so Elizabeth, you may go if you will—but the cart
will not be wanting.”
“Now sargeant, dear, you lie any way,” said
Betty, who was somewhat unduly governed by her
potations; “and wasn't Captain Singleton shot off
his horse but tin days gone by?—ay, and Captain
Jack himself too; and didn't he lie on the ground
face uppermost and back downwards, looking grim?
and didn't the boys tink him dead, and turn and
lave the rig'lars the day?”
“You lie back again,” cried the sergeant
fiercely, “and so does any one, who says that we
didn't gain the day.”
“For a bit or so—only I mane for a bit or so,”
said the washerwoman; “but Major Dunwoodie
turn'd you, and so you lick'd the rig'lars. But the
Captain it was that fell, and I'm thinking that
there's no better rider going; so, sargeant, it's the
cart that will be convanient. Here, two of you,
jist hitch the mare to the tills, and it's no whiskey
that you'll be wanting the morrow; and put the
piece of Jinny's hide under the pad—the baste is
never the better for the rough ways of the county
Westchester.” The consent of the sergeant being
obtained, the equipage of Mrs. Flanagan was
soon in readiness to receive its burthen.
“As it is quite uncertain whether we shall be
attacked in front or rear,” said Hollister, “five of
you shall march in advance, and the remainder
shall cover our retreat towards the barrack, should
we be pressed. 'Tis an awful moment to a man
of little learning, Elizabeth, to command in such
of the officers was here; but my trust is in the
Lord.”
“Pooh! man, away wid yee,” said the washerwoman,
who had got herself comfortably seated,
“the divil a bit of an inimy is there near—march
on hurry-skurry, and lit the mare trot, or it's but
little that Captain Jack will thank yee for the
help.”
“Although unlearned in matters of communicating
with spirits, or laying the dead, Mrs. Flanagan,”
said the veteran, “I have not served
through the old war, and five years in this, not to
know how to guard the baggage.—Doesn't Washington
always cover the baggage? I am not to be
told my duty by a camp follower. Fall in as you
are ordered, and dress.”
“Well, march, any way,” cried the impatient
washerwoman; “the black is there already, and it's
tardy the Captain will think yee.”
“Are you sure that it was a real black man that
brought the order?” said the sergeant, dropping
in between the platoons, where he could converse
with Betty, and was equally at hand to lead either
way.
“Nay,” said the washerwoman, “and I'm sure
of nothing, dear. But why don't the boys prick
their horses, and jog a trot; the mare is mighty
uneasy, and it's no warm in this cursed valley,
riding as much like a funeral party as old rags is
to continental.”
“Fairly and softly, aye, and prudently, Mrs.
Flanagan,” said the veteran; “it's not rashness
that makes the good officer. If it is a spirit that
we have to encounter, it's more than likely that
he'll make his attack by surprise;—horse are not
very powerful in the dark, and I have a character
to lose, good woman.”
“Caractur!” echoed Betty, “and is'nt it caractur
and life too, that Capt. Jack has to lose?”
“Halt!” cried the sergeant; “what is that
lurking near the foot of the rock, on the left?”
“Sure it's nothing,” said the uneasy washerwoman,
“unless it be the matter of Captain
Jack's sowl that's come to haunt yee, for not being
brisker on the march.”
“Betty, 'tis foolishness to talk in such a way.
Advance one of you and reconnoitre the spot—
draw swords!—rear rank close to the front!”
“Pshaw!” shouted Betty, “is it a big fool or a
big coward that yee are?—jist wheel from the
road, boys, and I'll shove the mare down upon it in
the twinkling of an eye—and it's no ghost that I
fear.”
By this time, one of the men had returned, and
declared there was nothing to prevent their advancing,
and the party continued their march, but
with great deliberation and caution.
“Courage and prudence are the jewels of a
soldier, Mrs. Flanagan,” said the sergeant; “and
without one the other may be said to be good for
nothing.”
“Prudence without courage,” cried the other,
“is it that, you mane?—and it's so that I'm thinking
myself, sargeant. This baste pulls tight on
the reins, any way.”
“Be patient, good woman—hark! what is that?”
said Hollister, pricking up his ears at the report
of Wellmere's pistol; “I'll swear 'tis a pistol, and
one from our regiment.—Hark! rear rank close
to the front!—Mrs. Flanagan I must leave you.”
So saying, having recovered all his faculties, by
hearing a martial sound that he understood, he
placed himself at the head of his men with an air
of military pride, that the darkness prevented the
now rattled in the night wind, and the sergeant
exclaimed—
“March!—quick time!”
The next instant the trampling of a horse was
heard coming up the road, at a rate that announced
a matter of life or death, and Hollister again
halted his party, and rode a short distance in
front himself to meet the rider.
“Stand!—who goes there?” shouted Hollister,
in the full tones of manly resolution.
“Ha! Hollister, is it you?” cried Lawton,
“ever ready and at your post; but where is the
guard?”
“At hand, sir, and ready to follow you through
thick and thin,” said the veteran, relieved at once
from his responsibility, and now eager to be led
against his enemy.
“ 'Tis well,” said the trooper, riding up to his
men; and speaking a few words of encouragement,
he led them down the valley at a rate but little
less rapid than his approach. The miserable horse
of the sulter was soon distanced, and Betty thus
thrown out in the chance, turned to the side of the
road, and observed—
“There—it's no difficult to tell that Captain
Jack is wid'em, any way; and it's the funeral
that's soon over now; and away they go like so
many nagur boys to a husking-frolick;—well, I'll
jist hitch the mare to this bit of a fence, and walk
down and see the sport, afoot—it's no rasonable to
expose the baste to be hurted.”
Led on by Lawton, the men followed, destitute
alike of fear and reflection. Whether it was a
party of the refugees, or a detachment from the
royal army, that they were to assail, they were
profoundly ignorant, but they knew that the officer
in advance was distinguished for courage and
sure to captivate the thoughtless soldiery. On arriving
near the gate of the Locusts, the trooper
halted his party, and made his arrangements for
the assault. Dismounting, he ordered eight of his
men to follow his example, and turning to Hollister,
said—
“Stand you here, and guard the horses; but if
any thing attempts to pass, stop it or cut it down
and—” The flames at this moment burst through
the dormant windows and cedar roof of the cottage,
and a bright light glared on the darkness of
the night. “On,” shouted the trooper, “on---give
quarters when you have done justice.”
There was a startling fierceness in the voice of
the trooper that reached to the heart, even amid
the horrors of the cottage. The leader of the
skinners dropped his plunder, and for a moment
stood in nerveless dread; then rushing to a window,
he threw up the sash—at this instant
Lawton entered, sabre in hand, into the apartment.
“Die, miscreant!” cried the trooper, cleaving
the other marauder to the jaw, but the leader
sprang into the lawn, and escaped his vengeance.
The shrieks of the appalled females restored
Lawton to his presence of mind, and the earnest
entreaty of the divine, induced him to attend to
the safety of the family. One more of the gang
fell in with the dragoons, and met with a similar
fate, but the remainder had taken the alarm in
season to escape. Occupied with Sarah, neither
Miss Singleton nor the ladies of the house, discovered
the entrance of the skinners, until the flames
were raging around them with a fury that threatened
the building with instant destruction. The
shrieks of Katy and of the terrified consort of Cæsar,
apartment, first roused Miss Peyton and Isabella
to a sense of their danger.
“Merciful providence!” exclaimed the alarmed
spinster; “there is a dreadful confusion in the
house, and there will be bloodshed in consequence
of this affair.”
“There are none to fight,” returned Isabella,
with a face paler than the other; “Dr. Sitgreaves
is very peaceable in his disposition, and surely
Capt. Lawton would not forget himself so far.”
“The southern temper is quick and fiery,” continued
Miss Peyton; “and your brother, feeble
and weak as he is, has looked the whole afternoon,
flushed and angry.”
“Good Heaven!” cried Isabella, with difficulty
supporting herself on the couch of Sarah; “he is
gentle as the lamb by nature, but the lion is not
his equal when roused.”
“We must interfere,” said the spinster; “our
presence will quell the tumult, and possibly save
the life of a fellow creature.”
Miss Peyton was excited to do that which
she conceived was a duty worthy of her sex and
nature, and advanced with all the dignity of injured
female feeling to the door, followed by Isabella,
whose energy had returned, and whose eye,
by its sparkling brilliancy, announced a soul equal
to its task. The apartment, to which Sarah had
been conveyed, was in one of the wings of the
building, and communicated with the principal
hall of the cottage by a long and usually dark passage.
This was now light, and across its termination
several figures were noticed, rushing with an
impetuosity that prevented an examination of their
employment.
“Let us advance,” said the spinster, with a firmness
our sex.”
“They shall,” cried Isabella, taking the lead in
the enterprise, and Frances was left alone with her
sister. A few minutes were passed in silence by
the maid, as she stood earnestly gazing on the pale
countenance of Sarah, watching her reviving looks
with an anxiety that prevented her observing the
absence of her friends, when a loud crash in the
upper apartments was succeeded by a bright light
that glared through the open door, and made objects
as distinct to the eye as if they were placed
under a noon day sun. Sarah raised herself on
her bed, and staring wildly around, pressed both
her hands on her forehead, as if endeavouring to
recollect events, and then smiling vacantly on her
sister, said—
“This, then, is heaven—and you are one of its
bright spirits. Oh! how glorious is its radiance!
I had thought the happiness I have lately experienced
was too much for earth. But we shall
meet again—yes—yes—we will meet again.”
“Sarah! Sarah!” cried Frances, in terror; “my
sister—my only sister—Oh! do not smile so horridly:
know me or you will break my heart.”
“Hush,” said Sarah, raising her hand for silence;
“you may disturb his rest—surely he will follow me
to the grave. Think you there can be two wives
in the grave? No—no—no—one—one—one—only
one.”
Frances dropped her head into the lap of her sister,
and wept in agony.
“Do you shed tears, sweet angel,” continued
Sarah, soothingly: “then heaven is not exempt
from grief. But where is Henry? He was executed,
and he must be here too; but perhaps they
will come together. Oh, how joyful will be the
meeting!”
Frances sprang on her feet, and paced the apartment
in a bitterness of sorrow that she could not
controul. The eye of Sarah followed her in childish
admiration of her beauty and her attire, which had
been adapted to the occasion, and then pressing
her hand across her forehead, once more said—
“You look like my sister; but all good and
lovely spirits are alike. Tell me, were you ever
married? Did you ever let another, and a stranger,
steal your affections from your father, and
brother, and sister, as I have done? If not, poor
wretch I pity you, although you may be in heaven.”
“Sarah—peace, peace—I implore you to be silent,”
shrieked Frances, again rushing to her bed,
“or you will kill me at your feet.”
Another dreadful crash was heard, that shook
the building to its centre. It was the falling of
the roof, and the flames threw their light abroad
so as to make objects visible around the cottage
through the windows of the room. Frances flew
to one of them, and saw the confused group that
was collected on the lawn. Among them were
her aunt and Isabella, pointing to the fiery edifice
with distraction, and apparently urging the dragoons
who were near them to enter it. It was the
first time the maid comprehended their danger,
and uttering a wild shriek, she flew through the
passage instinctively, without consideration or object.
A dense and suffocating column of smoke opposed
her progress. She paused to breathe, when
a man caught her in his arms, and bore her in a
state of insensibility through the falling embers and
darkness, to the open air. The instant that Frances
recovered her recollection, she perceived
that it was to Lawton she owed her life, and
throwing herself on her knees before him, she
cried—
“Sarah, Sarah, Sarah! Save my sister, and may
the blessing of God await you.”
Her strength failed her, and she sunk on the
grass in insensibility. The trooper pointed to her
figure, and motioned to Katy for assistance, and
then advanced once more near to the cottage.
The fire had already communicated to the woodwork
of the piazzas and windows, and the whole
exterior of the cottage, was covered with smoke.
The only entrance was through these dangers, and
even the hardy and impetuous Lawton paused to
consider. It was for a moment only, and he dashed
into the heat and darkness, where missing the entrance,
he wandered for a minute, and precipitated
himself back again into the lawn. Drawing a single
breath of pure air, he renewed the effort, and
was again unsuccessful; but on a third trial, he
met a man staggering under the load of a human
body. It was neither the place, nor was there time,
to question or to make distinctions, and the trooper
caught both together in his arms, and with gigantic
strength, bore them through the smoke. To
his astonishment, he perceived that it was the surgeon
and the body of one of the Skinners that he
had saved.
“Archibald!” he exclaimed, “why, in the name
of justice did you bring this dead miscreant to light
again? His deeds are rank to heaven!”
The operator was too much bewildered to reply
instantly, but wiping the moisture from his
forehead, and clearing his lungs from the vapour
that he had inhaled, he said, piteously—
“Ah! it is all over. Had I been in time to have
stopped the effusion from the jugular, he might
have been saved; but the heat was conducive to
hermorrhage; yes, life is extinct indeed. Well, are
there any more wounded?”
His question was put to the air, for Frances
where her friends were collected, and Lawton
once more had disappeared in the smoke.
By this time the flames had dispersed much of
the suffocating vapor, so that the trooper was able
to find the door, and in its very entrance he was
met by a man supporting the insensible Sarah in
his arms. There was but barely time to reach
the lawn again before the fire broke through all
the windows, and wrapped the whole building in a
single sheet of flame.
“God be praised,” ejaculated the preserver of
Sarah: “It would have been an awful death to
have died.”
The trooper turned from gazing at the edifice,
to the speaker, and, to his astonishment, instead of
one of his own men, beheld the pedlar.
“Ha! the spy,” he exclaimed. “By heavens!
you cross me like a spectre.”
“Capt. Lawton,” said Birch, leaning in momentary
exhaustion against the fence to which they
had retired from the heat, “I am again in your
power, for I can neither flee nor resist.”
“The cause of America is dear to me as life,”
said the trooper; “but she cannot require me
to forget both gratitude and honour. Fly, unhappy
man, while yet you are unseen by my men, or
I cannot save you.”
“May God prosper you, and make you victorious
over your enemies,” cried Birch, grasping the
hand of the dragoon with an iron strength that his
meagre figure did not indicate.
“Hold!” said Lawton, “but a word—are you
what you seem?—can you—are you—”
“A royal spy,” interrupted Birch, averting his
face, and endeavouring to release his hand.
“Then go, miserable wretch,” said the trooper,
has lead a noble heart astray.”
The bright light from the flames reached to a
great distance around what was left of the building,
but the words were hardly passed the lips of
Lawton, before the gaunt form of the pedlar had
glided over the visible space and plunged into
the darkness beyond, which was rendered more
gloomy by the contrast.
The eye of Lawton rested for a moment on the
spot where he had last seen this inexplicable man,
and then turning to the yet insensible Sarah, he
lifted her in his arms, and bore her like a sleeping
infant to the care of her friends.
| CHAPTER VI. The spy | |