University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

The commencement of the following year was
passed on the part of the Americans in making
great preparations, in conjunction with their allies,
to bring the war to a close. In the south,
Greene and Rawdon made a bloody campaign,
that was highly honorable to the troops of the latter,
and which, by terminating entirely to the advantage
of the former, proved him to be the better
General of the two.

New York was the point that was threatened
by the allied armies, and Washington, by exciting
a constant apprehension for the safety of that city,
prevented such reinforcements from being sent
to Cornwallis, as would have enabled him to improve
his success.

At length as autumn approached, every indication
was given that the final moment had arrived.

The French forces drew near to the Royal lines,
passing through the Neutral Ground, and threatened
an attack in the direction of Kings-bridge,
while large bodies of the Americans were acting
in concert, by hovering round the British posts,
and also drawing nigh in the Jerseys, seemed to

threaten the royal forces from that quarter also.
The preparations partook both of the nature of a
siege and a storm. But Sir Henry Clinton, in the
possession of intercepted letters from Washington,
rested securely within his lines, and cautiously
disregarded the solicitations of Cornwallis for succour.

It was at the close of a fine day in the month of
September, that a large assemblage of officers
were collected near the door of a building, that
was situated in the heart of the American troops,
who held the Jerseys. The age, the dress, and
the dignity of deportment, of most of these warriors,
indicated them to be of high rank; but to
one in particular was paid a deference and obedience,
that announced him to be of the highest.
His dress was plain, but bore the usual military
distinctions of command. He was mounted on a
noble animal of a deep bay, and a groupe of young
men, in gayer attire, evidently awaited his pleasure,
and did his bidding. Many a hat was lifted,
as its owner addressed this officer, and when he
spoke, a profound attention, exceeding the respect
of mere professional etiquette, was exhibited
on every countenance. At length the General
raised his own hat, and bowed gravely to all around
him. The salute was returned, and the party dispersed,
leaving the officer without a single attendant,
except his body servants and one aid-de-camp.
Dismounting, he stepped back a few paces,
and for a moment, viewed the condition of his
horse with the eye of one who well understood the
animal, and then casting a brief but expressive
glance at his aid, he retired into the building, followed
by that gentleman.

On entering an apartment that was apparently
fitted for his reception, he took a seat, and continued
for a long time in a thoughtful attitude, as

one who was in the habit of communing much
with himself. During this silence, the aid-de-camp
sat in respectful expectation of his orders.
At length the General raised his eyes, and spoke in
the low placid tones that seemed natural to him.

“Has the man whom I wished to see arrived,
sir?”

“He waits the pleasure of your excellency.”

“I will receive him here, and alone, if you
please.”

The aid bowed and withdrew. In a few minutes
the door again opened, and a figure glided into the
apartment, and stood modestly at a distance from
the General, without speaking. His entrance
was unheard by the officer, who sat gazing in the
fire, deeply absorbed in his own meditations.—
Several minutes passed, when he spoke to himself
in an under tone—

“To-morrow we must raise the curtain, and
expose our plans. May heaven prosper them.”

A slight movement made by the stranger at the
sound of his voice, caught his ear, and he turned
his head and saw that he was not alone. He
pointed silently to the fire, towards which the
figure advanced, although the multitude of his
garments, which seemed more calculated for disguise
than comfort, rendered its warmth unnecessary—a
second mild and courteous gesture motioned
to a vacant chair, but the stranger refused
it with a modest acknowledgment—another pause
followed, and continued for some time; at length
the officer arose and opening a desk that was laid
upon the table near which he sat, took from it a
small and apparently heavy bag.—

“Harvey Birch,” he said, turning to the stranger,
“the time has arrived when our connexion
must cease; henceforth and forever we must be
strangers.”

The pedlar dropped the folds of the great coat
that concealed his features, and gazed for a moment
wildly at the face of the speaker, and then
dropping his head upon his bosom, said meekly—

“If it is your excellency's pleasure.”

“It is necessary—since I have filled the station
which I now hold, it has become my duty to know
many men, who, like yourself, have been my instruments
in procuring intelligence—you have I
trusted more than all; I early saw in you a regard
to truth and principle that, I am pleased to
say, has never deceived me—you alone know my
secret agents in the city, and on your fidelity depends,
not only their fortunes, but their lives.”

He paused, as if to reflect, in order that full
justice might be done to the pedlar, and then continued—

“I believe you are one of the very few that I
have employed, who have acted faithfully to our
cause; and while you have passed as a spy of the
enemy's, have never given intelligence that you
were not permitted to divulge; to me, and to me
only of all the world, you seem to have acted
with a strong attachment to the liberties of America.”

During this address, Harvey had gradually raised
his head from his bosom, until it reached the
highest point of elevation; a faint tinge gathered
in his cheeks, and as the officer concluded, it was
diffused over his whole countenance in a deep
glow, and he stood proudly swelling with his emotions,
but with eyes that humbly sought the feet
of the speaker.—

“It is now my duty to pay you for your services—hitherto
you have postponed receiving
your reward, and the debt has become a heavy
one—I wish not to undervalue your dangers;
here are an hundred joes—you will remember the

poverty of our country, and attribute to it the
smallness of your pay.”

The pedlar raised his eyes to the countenance
of the speaker with amazement, and as the other
held forth the money, he moved back as if from
contagion.

“It is not much for your services and risks, I
acknowledge,” said the general, “but it is all that
I have to offer; at the end of the campaign, it may
be in my power to increase it.”

“Never!” said Birch, speaking out; “was it
for money that I did all this?”

“If not for money, what then?”

“What has brought your excellency into the
field? For what do you daily and hourly expose
your precious life to battle and the halter? What
is there about me to mourn, when such men as
your excellency risk their all for our country? No
—no—no—not a dollar of your gold will I touch;
poor America has need of if all!”

The bag dropped from the hand of the officer,
and fell at the feet of the pedlar, where it lay neglected
during the remainder of their interview.
The officer looked steadily at the face of his companion,
and continued—

“There are many motives which might govern
me, that to you are unknown. Our situations are
different; I am known as the leader of armies—
but you must descend into the grave with the reputation
of a foe to your native land. Remember,
that the veil which conceals your true character
cannot be raised in years—perhaps never.”

Birch again lowered his face, but there was no
yielding of the soul betrayed in the movement.

“You will soon be old; the prime of your days
is already past; what have you to subsist on?”

“These!” said the pedlar, stretching forth his
hands, that were already embrowned with toil.

“But those may fail you; take enough to secure
a support to your age. Remember your
risks and cares. I have told you, that the characters
of men, who are much esteemed in life, depend
upon your secrecy; what pledge can I give
them of your fidelity?”

“Tell them,” said Birch, advancing, and unconsciously
resting one foot on the bag, “tell them
that I would not take the gold.”

The composed features of the officer relaxed
into a fine smile of benevolence, and he grasped
the hand of the pedlar firmly.

“Now, indeed, I know you; and although the
same reasons which have hitherto compelled me
to expose your valuable life, will still exist, and
prevent my openly asserting your character, in
private I can always be your friend—fail not to
apply to me when in want or suffering, and so
long as God giveth to me, so long will I freely
share with a man who feels so nobly, and acts so
well. If sickness or want should ever assail you,
and peace once more smiles upon our efforts, seek
the gate of him whom you have often met as Harper,
and he will not blush to acknowledge you in
his true character.”

“It is little that I need in this life,” said Harvey,
the glow still mantling over his features.”
“So long as God gives me health and honest industry,
I can never want in this happy country—
but to know that your Excellency is my friend, is
a blessing that I prize more than all the gold of
England's treasury.”

The officer stood for a few moments in the attitude
of intense thought. He then drew to him
the desk, and wrote a few lines on a piece of
paper, and gave it to the pedlar as he addressed
him—

“That Providence destines this country to some

great and glorious fate I must believe, while I
witness the patriotism that pervades the bosoms
of her lowest citizens. It must be dreadful to a
mind like yours to descend into the grave, branded
as a foe to liberty; but you already know the
lives that would be sacrificed should your real
character be revealed. It is impossible to do you
justice now, but I fearlessly entrust you with this
certificate—should we never meet again, it may
be serviceable to your children.”

“Children!” exclaimed the pedlar. “Can I
give to a family the infamy of my name.”

The officer gazed at the strong emotion he exhibited
with painful amazement, and made a
slight movement towards the gold; but it was
arrested by the proud expression of his companion's
face. Harvey saw the intention, and shook
his head, as he continued more mildly, and with
an air of deep respect—

“It is, indeed, a treasure that your Excellency
gives me—it is safe too.—There are those living
who could say, that my life was nothing to me,
compared to your secrets. The paper that I told
you was lost, I swallowed when taken last by the
Virginians. It was the only time I ever deceived
your Excellency, and it shall be the last—yes,
this is, indeed a treasure to me—perhaps,” he
continued with a melancholy smile, “It may be
known after my death who was my friend, and if
it should not, there are none to grieve for me.”

“Remember,” said the officer, with strong emotion,
“that in me you will always have a secret
friend; but openly I cannot know you.”

“I know it—I know it,” said Birch; “I knew
it when I took the service. 'Tis probably the last
time that I shall ever see your excellency. May
God pour down his choicest blessings on your
head.” He paused, and moved towards the door.

The officer followed him with eyes that expressed
powerful interest. Once more the pedlar turned,
and seemed to gaze on the placid, but commanding
features of the General, with regret and reverence,
and then, bowing low, he withdrew.

The armies of America and France were led by
their common leader, against the enemy under
Cornwallis, and terminated a campaign in triumph,
that had commenced in difficulties. Great
Britain soon after became disgusted with the war,
and the independence of the States was acknowledged.

As years rolled by, it became a subject of pride
to the different actors in the war, and their descendants,
to boast of their efforts in the cause
which had confessedly heaped so many blessings
upon their country; but the name of Harvey Birch
died away among the multitude of agents who were
thought to have laboured in secret against the rights
of their countrymen. His image, however, was often
present to the mind of the powerful chief, who alone
knew his true character, and several times did he
cause secret inquiries to be made into his fate—
one of which only resulted in any success. By
this, he learnt that a pedlar of a different name,
but similar appearance, was toiling through the
new settlements that were springing up in every
direction, and that he was struggling with the advance
of years, and apparent poverty. Death
prevented further inquiries on the part of the officer,
and a long period passed before the pedlar
was again heard of.