University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE SPY.

—Brooks.

The outlaw Valtmeyer, after parting with his
officer in the manner already described, had proceeded
at once, agreeably to the permission he had
obtained, toward Fort Dayton, which had been for
some time garrisoned by a battalion of Continental
troops under the command of Colonel Weston, but
where several detachments of other corps had recently
taken up their temporary quarters. The object
of Valtmeyer was partly to reconnoitre the outworks
of the fort for future attack, and partly to
spy out any movement upon the part of Weston
and his people which might indicate that Bradshawe's
mission in the neighbourhood was suspected,
and give him and his friends timely warning of
the danger.

A well-trained Indian warrior would, as Bradshawe
had hinted, have better performed this duty
than the wild borderer to whom it was now intrusted;
for the character of Valtmeyer, whose vindictive daring
and brutal courage has made his name terrible
in the traditions of this region, was even less suited

than that of a wild Indian to the duties and responsibilities
of a regular soldier. The Indian warrior,
though he insists upon encountering his enemy wholly
after his own fashion, is still amenable to certain
rude laws of discipline, for whose observance he
may be relied upon; but the white frontiersman
who has led the life of a free hunter, perhaps of all
other men shrinks most from every form of military
subordination. And, indeed, Valtmeyer, though, to
answer his own selfish purposes, he had so often
been a mere tool in the hands of Bradshawe, already
regretted having taken service with the Royal
Rangers, and consenting to act under the command
of any person save that of Wolfert Valtmeyer.

Being now wholly withdrawn from the surveillance
of his officer, the worthy Wolfert, somewhat
oblivious of his military duties, bethought himself
how he could turn the occasion to the best account
by what a similar combatant in the battle of Bennington
afterward called making war on his own
hook. In other words, he determined to amuse himself
for an hour or so within the purlieus of Fort
Dayton, by carrying off or slaying some of the sentinels;
a species of entertainment which he thought
there would be no difficulty in indulging himself in.
This seizing of opposite partisans, and holding them
to ransom, was always a favourite feat with Valtmeyer
and his compeer Joe Bettys; and the annals
of the period make it of so common occurrence in
the province of New-York, that one would almost
think that man-stealing was the peculiar forte of its
inhabitants.

Had Wolfert, in approaching the fort, got his eye
upon any of the picket-guard, he might very possibly
have successfully effected his purpose. But,
ill-practised as he was in the regulations of a well-ordered
garrison, the adventurous hunter had not

the least idea how far the line of outposts extended;
and, like many a cunning person, he overreached
himself while trying to circumvent others. In a
word, he got completely within the line of defences
without being at all aware of their position.

With the stealthy art of a practised deer-stalker,
he managed to creep, alike unobserved by others and
himself unobserving, within the outer line of pickets,
which was posted in the deep shadow of a wood, to
a thicket of briers, where he paused. The gleam of
a sentinel's musket above the bushes had lured him
thus far, and he halted to see if the sentinel himself
were now visible. It seemed that he could make
out nothing satisfactory as yet; for now, throwing
himself upon his chest, he continues slowly to advance,
crawling through the long grass until he gains
a copse of dogwood and sumach bushes within half
pistol-shot of his victim. The soldier is now fully
displayed to view; Valtmeyer can see his very buttons
gleam in the light of the moon, as the planet
from time to time shines through the clouds which
traverse her face. Another moment, and the seizure
is fully accomplished. The brigand, crumpling
his worsted sash in his hands, has leaped upon the
sentinel just as he was turning in his monotonous
walk, and borne him to the ground, while adroitly
gagging his mouth before he could utter a cry.

“Pshaw! what a cocksparrow!” muttered Wolfert,
when, having dragged his captive within the
bushes, he for the first time observed that it was
but a stripling recruit of some sixteen or eighteen
years. “I must carry away with me something
better than a boy.”

With these words he hastily secured the lad to a
sapling by the aid of a thong which he cut from his
leather hunting-shirt, and then prepared to make a
similar onset upon the next sentinel in the same line.

This man had paused for a moment at the end
of his walk, waiting for a glimpse of moonlight to
reveal his comrade, whom he had missed in his last
turn. A straggling beam fell at last upon the path
before him, and the soldier, resting on his musket,
leaned forward, as if trying to pierce the gloom.
The side of his person was turned toward Valtmeyer,
and his head only partially averted; but Wolfert
preferred seizing the present moment rather than to
wait for a more favourable one, which might not
come. Clasping his hands above his head, he leaped
forward with a sudden bound, and threw them
like a noose over the neck of the other, slipping them
down below the elbows, which were thus pinioned
to the side of his prisoner, whose musket dropped
from his hands.

“Wolfert Valtmeyer, by the Etarnal!” ejaculated
the man, instantly recognising his assailant from the
well-known trick which they had often practised
upon each other in the mock-wrestling of former
days.

“Exactly the man, Balt; and you must go with
him.”

“Not unless he's a better man than ever I proved
him,” said Balt, struggling in the brawny arms of
his brother borderer, who held him at such disadvantage.

“Donder und blixem, manny, you would not have
me kill a brother hunter, would ye?” growled Valtmeyer,
whose voice thickened with anger as he felt
himself compelled to use every effort to maintain
his grip.

“There's—no—brother—hood—between—us—
in—this—quar'l,” panted forth the stout-hearted
Balt, without an instant relaxing his endeavour.

“Then die the death of a rebel fool,” muttered
the other, hastily drawing his knife, and raising it

to strike. The blow, as driven from behind by so
powerful a hand, must have cut short the biography
of the worthy Balt had it fairly descended into the
neck at which it was aimed. But the intent of the
Tory desperado was foreseen in the very instant
that the former released his grip with one hand in
order to draw his knife with the other; and Balt,
dropping suddenly upon his knees as Valtmeyer,
who was full a head taller than his opponent, threw
the whole weight of his body into the blow, the gigantic
borderer was pitched completely over the
head of his antagonist, and measured his length
upon the sod. The clanging of his arms as he fell
raised an instant alarm among those whom the deep-breathed
threatenings of these sturdy foes had not
before roused. But Valtmeyer was upon his feet
before Balt or the other sentinel, who rushed to the
spot, could seize him. Indeed, he brought the former
to the ground with a pistol-shot, stunning, but
happily not wounding him, as he himself was in the
act of rising. The other sentinel, who ought to have
fired upon the first alarm, made a motion to charge
upon him, and then threw away his shot by firing
just at the instant when Valtmeyer parried the thrust
of the bayonet with his knife, and, of course, simultaneously
averted the muzzle of the gun from his
body.

While this was passing the guard turned out; but,
though Valtmeyer received their fire unharmed as
he rushed toward the wood, he escaped one danger
only to fall into another. Ignorant of the existence
of the outer line of sentinels, he was seized by the
picket-guard in the moment that, thinking he had
escaped all dangers, he relaxed his efforts to make
good his advantage.

The prisoner being brought before Colonel Weston,
that sagacious officer lost no time in a fruitless

examination of so determined a fellow taken under
such circumstances. The redoubtable Valtmeyer
was well known to him by fame, and Balt fully established
his identity. Weston was before aware
that the noted outlaw had taken service with one
of the different corps of Butler's Rangers, and he
readily conceived that he had been but now acting
as the scout for some predatory band of Tories.
Captain De Roos, who, as an active and efficient
partisan officer, had been summoned to the fort for
the very purpose of scouring the country for such
offenders, was sent off with his command to make
the circuit of the neighbourhood, and another detachment
of troops was instantly despatched to the
suspected house of Mr. Schoonmacker. The latter
duty was one of some delicacy, and requiring a
cooler judgment than that of De Roos; and Weston
selected Major Greyslaer as the officer to whom
it might best be intrusted.

De Roos, rashly insisting that he could squeeze
something out of the sulky villain, was permitted to
take Valtmeyer with him as a guide to the whereabout
of his friends; and Valtmeyer, after fooling
with him for a season, and leading his party in every
direction but the right one, finally succeeded in
saving his own neck from the gallows by giving
them the slip entirely. The expedition of Greyslaer
had a different issue.

Ever cool and steady in his purposes when duty
called upon him to collect his energies, this officer
advanced with speed and secrecy to the goal he
had in view. The grounds around Schoonmacker's
house were crossed, and every door beset by a party
of armed men in perfect quietness. Balt—who had
soon recovered from the stunning effects of the pistol-shot
that grazed his temple—availed himself of
the lesson in soldier-craft which he had just received

from his brother woodsman, and secured the only
sentinel that was upon his post. The temptation
of the beer-barrel in the kitchen proved too strong
for the Indians and their newly-levied white comrades
to permit their keeping a better watch. The
house was, in fact, fairly surrounded by the Whig
forces before a sound was heard to interrupt the
harangue which Bradshawe was perorating within.
MacDonald alone sprang from his seat, and, darting
into an adjacent closet, made his escape through an
open window in the moment that Greyslaer entered
the room with a file of bayonets.

“In the name of the Continental Congress, I
claim you all as my prisoners,” cried Max, advancing
to the table, and, with great presence of mind,
seizing all the papers upon it, including the commission
of Bradshawe.

That officer, who had stood for the moment astonished
at the scene, now made a fiery movement
to clutch the papers from Greyslaer as the latter
quietly ran his eye over their superscription; but
he instantly found himself pinioned by two sturdy
fellows behind him.

“See that you secure that spy effectually, my
men.”

“Spy, sir!” cried Bradshawe, with a keen look
of anxious inquiry, while he vainly tried to give his
voice the tone of indignant disclaimer to the imputed
character.

“Spy was the word, sir,” answered Max, gravely;
“and, unless these documents speak falsely, as
such you will probably suffer by dawn to-morrow.
This paper purports to be the commission of Walter
Bradshawe as captain in Butler's regiment of
Royal Rangers; and the promised promotion in
this note, for certain service to be rendered this
very night, leaves no doubt of the character in which

Captain Bradshawe has introduced himself into an
enemy's country. Lansingh, remove your prisoner
to the room on the other side of the hall, and see
that he be well guarded!”

It is astonishing how invariably the success of
an individual, whether in good or evil undertakings,
affects his character with the vulgar; a term which,
both in its conventional as well as its primitive
sense, includes, perhaps, the majority of mankind.
Certain it is, that, in this instance, the very associates
and complotters of the prisoner, who but an
hour before had hailed his appearance among them
with such cordial greetings, now slunk from his
side as if he had been a convicted felon. Indeed,
some of the meaner minds present even attempted
to conciliate the successful party by exhibiting the
strongest signs of personal aversion to Bradshawe,
and of coarse gratification at the mode in which
his career seemed suddenly about to be brought to
a close.

These miscreants were scattered among others
of both parties who were collected in the hall and
grouped around the open door of the apartment in
which Bradshawe, guarded by a couple of sentinels,
was pacing to and fro. And while Mr. Schoonmacker
and others of the leading Tories in the opposite
room were listening in dignified dejection to
the measures which Greyslaer stated, in the most
courteous terms, it was his painful duty to adopt in
regard to them, their followers were exchanging tokens
of recognition with old neighbours and former
comrades of the opposite party.

“Jim, you've done the darn thing agin us tonight,
and no mistake,” said one. “But if the Injuns
hadn't got as drunk as fiddlers, you couldn't
have popped in upon us as you did.”

The Congress soldier made no reply; but the demure

gravity of him and his comrades did not prevent
others of the Tory militia from attempting a
conversation with them.

“Well, Mat,” said a second, “if I'm to be taken
by the Whigs, I'm only glad that you happened to
come up from the fort along with them; for you
are just the man to say a good word for an old
friend. All this muss is of Wat Bradshawe's cooking.”

“Yes,” cried a third, “the friends of the king
only met to drink his health and have a little social
junketing together; and if bully Bradshawe had not
come among us, things would have gone off as
quietly as possible. All the harm I wish him is,
that he may get paid off for his old scrapes with a
halter, and rid the country of such a pest; there's
the affair, now, of old De Roos's daughter, for
which he ought to have swung eight years since.”

“Eight years!” rejoined the other. “No, the
scrape you speak of is hardly a matter of six years
by gone. But give the devil his due. The few
folks that knowed of it talked hard about wild Wat
for his share in that business. But things could not
have gone so far, after all, or the Rooses would
never have refused to appear against him, much less
would the gal herself have rejected his offer when
he wanted to make an honest woman of her.”

Bradshawe betrayed no agitation during this discussion,
which took place so near to him that, though
the speakers lowered their voices somewhat, it must
have been at least partially overheard by himself as
well as by others. But when another of the rustic
gossipers pointed significantly toward the room in
which Major Greyslaer was engaged, while whispering
that Miss De Roos had now “a raal truelove
of her own, and no mistake,” the features of

the Tory captain writhed with an expression almost
fiendish.

“Yes! I must live,” he muttered internally. “I
cannot, I will not die.—I have too many stakes yet
in the game of life to have the cards dashed thus
suddenly from my hands.—My scheme of existence
is too intimately interwoven with that of others to
stop here, and stop singly. I know, I feel that Alida's
fate and that of this moonstruck boy is interwoven
with mine.—I only can redeem her name,
or blast it with utter infamy; and their peace or
my revenge—whichever is ultimately to triumph—
were both a nullity if I perish now.” Alas! Walter
Bradshawe, dost thou think that Providence hath
but one mode of accomplishing its ends, if innocence
is to be vindicated, and that only through so
foul an instrument as thou!

Thus thought, or “thought he thought,” this ironhearted
desperado. But there were other distracting
feelings in his bosom which it were impossible for
him to analyze. Though hatred had long since predominated
over love in the warring passions of his
stormy breast, yet that hatred was born only of the
indignation and horror with which his attempts to
control Alida's inclinations had been received, and
his admiration had increased from the very circumstances
which chilled his love; but now the subtle
workings of jealousy infused a new element among
his conflicting passions, which quickened both love
and hatred into a more poignant existence.

Few, even of the most ignoble natures, are wholly
base; and Bradshawe, though he could not conceive
of, much less realize, one generous emotion
that belongs to those dispositions which the
world terms chivalrous, still possessed some of the
qualities that keep a man from becoming despicable
either to himself or to others. He had both

bravery and ability, and he knew it. Incapable of
one magnanimous thought, in deed he might still
be great! And determined in purpose as he was
loose in principle, he believed that he was a man
born for the very time and country in which his
lot was cast; for, regarding all others as senseless
zealots, he deemed that every man of abilities
engaged in the present political struggle was an adventurer
like himself, having his own selfish views
as the ultimate objects of his dangers and his toils.

If the aspiring aims, then, of a reckless ambition,
backed by no ordinary talent and courage the most
unflinching, can redeem from ignominy a mind
otherwise contracted, coarse, and selfish, Bradshawe
may be enrolled upon the same list with many a
hero, not less mean of soul, whom the world has
consented to admire; for the majority of mankind
always look to the deeds of those who distinguish
themselves beyond the herd, without much regard
to the moral end which those deeds were intended
to promote; and one brilliant invading campaign of
Napoleon is more dazzling to the mind than the
whole military career of HIM who fought only to
preserve his country! whose Heaven-directed arms
triumphed ultimately over thousands as brave as
Walter Bradshawe in the field; whose godlike counsels
discomfited thousands more gifted, if not more
unprincipled, in the cabinet.

But, awarding whatever credit we may to Bradshawe
for his aspirations after fame, let us leave
him now to awaken from the vague dream which,
almost unknown to himself, had at times passed
through his brain—of sharing his future renown with
Alida; and, while wiping off, in honourable marriage,
the reproach which he had attached to her
name, of gratifying, at the last, the passion which
was rooted in his heart. Let us leave the searching

pang of jealousy to reveal to him first the existence
of this lingering touch of tenderness amid feelings
which he himself thought had become only
those of hatred. Let us leave him with that utter
desolation of the heart's best earthly hope, which
would prompt most men to welcome the grave upon
whose brink he stood, but from which he, fired with
a burning lust of vengeance, shrunk as from a dungeon
where the plotting brain and relentless hand
of malignity would lie helpless for ever.

How little they read the man who deemed that
terror of his fate had stupified him, when, obedient
to the order of his captor, he moved off, with stolid
and downcast look, amid the guard which conducted
him to durance at the quarters of the patriots.