 | CHAPTER IX. The old Continental, or, The price of liberty |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
A VILLAGE SCENE—MAJOR FORCK AND THE GOVERNOR—A
NIGHT ADVENTURE—AND A CATASTROPHE WHICH THREATENS
A SPEEDY END TO THIS HISTORY.
The campaign was now about to open—that campaign
which was to try the stuff, of which men, struggling
for freedom, are made. The design we have in
view, is not to detail or distort events which belong to
history, but to give a domestic picture of a war, the
most extraordinary in its character and results, when
we consider the means of the respective parties for
its prosecution, and its momentous consequences, of
any perhaps on record. To judge of it with correctness,
it is necessary that the feelings which animated,
and the principles that governed and sustained THE
People, in their long and arduous struggle, should be
known, and these it is our purpose to exemplify in the
character and conduct of our hero. Many, very many
such ardent, fearless spirits, animated the revolution,
who now rest in their graves, unknown and nameless
martyrs, who have slipped through the meshes of the
net of time, which open the way for all the lesser fry,
to the mansions of oblivion.
Our hero, having acquired the confidence of his
general, was about this period principally employed in
promptitude, and intrepidity; such as gaining
information of the movements of the enemy, beating
up his quarters, and other partisan feats, all which he
performed in a manner highly satisfactory. His accurate
knowledge of the country between the lines,
his cool daring, and his celerity in deciding and executing
in a crisis of danger, enabled him to succeed
in almost everything he undertook, and to acquire the
confidence of one who was slow to trust, and slow to
suspect, when he had once given his confidence. On
more than one of these occasions he passed within a
few miles of Colonel Hammond's residence, and was
sorely tempted to deviate from his course, but he resisted
the tempter, and bent all the energies of his
mind to the service of his country.
About this time he was intrusted with a critical and
important mission, on which hung the most momentous
consequences. It was to meet at or near Spiking
Devil, a person from New York, who had been long
in the habit of giving information concerning the
movements and plans of the enemy, and had signified
that he had now something of great importance to
communicate to the general. Although the mission
not carrying him within the enemy's lines did not involve
the character of a spy, yet a disguise was prudent,
if not absolutely necessary; and, acordingly,
John equipped himself in a suit of beggar's rags, and
covering his head with a red wig, defying detection
from his most intimate friends, he set forth one evening,
a little after dark, on his perilous journey.
His course led him to a little village, where was a
his old acquaintance. His object was to gain what
information he could, and most especially if any small
parties of the enemy had been lately seen in that
quarter. This house was a favourite resort of a portly,
and rather opulent farmer, commonly called Major
Forck, although we believe his commission was of his
own signing. The major was lofty, pompous, purseproud,
and withal a great braggart, especially in his
cups. He wore an old fashioned cocked beaver, carried
an ivory headed cane, instead of a whip, and
rode a stout charger, who possessed certain instincts
peculiarly accommodating to a man of the major's
convivial propensities. He would mount the steps of
a piazza, or enter the door of a house upon occasion,
and never failed to carry the major home safe and
sound, when the stout old warrior had lost the reins
of his understanding, as well as the command of his
legs. He was a hale, broad shouldered man, nearly
six feet high, with a round, platter face, wide mouth,
little pug nose, and diminutive black eyes, that twinkled
furiously upon occasion.
His constant associate, and determined foe, who assisted
him in his cups, irritated and soothed the major
alternately, and in fact played him off on all occasions
for the amusement of company, was an old inhabitant
of the village, a rank tory, suspected of furnishing
intelligence to the enemy, and whose situation, surrounded
as he was, by whigs, would have been critical,
had it not been well understood that he was in
fact their protector. His house was in the centre of
the town, directly opposite to that of a gentleman, who,
the country, was peculiarly obnoxious to the loyalists,
so much so that he had removed his family to a more
secure situation, while he himself was serving in the
patriot army. They had more than once threatened
to fire the old whig mansion, but had as often been
dissuaded from it by the opposite tory neighbour,
whose house would inevitably have shared the same
fate. Thus the village had hitherto escaped, and
whenever the old tory, who was a sly humourist, and
most pestilent dry wag, was taunted by his neighbours
with being an enemy to his country, he would retort
upon them by affirming they were a pack of ungrateful
rogues thus to abuse their protector and
preserver. In short, he took such airs on himself, that
he was called, in derision, “the governor,” and by this
title he was commonly known in the village, as well
as surrounding country. The governor was a perfect
contrast to the major, tall, straight, rawboned, and of
imperturbable gravity. His jokes were converged in
a wink, a shrug, or a sly twist of the mouth, and his
skill in first exciting, and then allaying the wrath of
Major Forck, was truly admirable. He never lost his
temper, and the major never found his. Both were
arrant cowards, but the difference was, the major kept
his secret, while the governor acknowledged it openly.
These two worthies happened to be smoking their
pipes at the widow's, when John, as before stated,
entered, for the purpose of refreshment, and in the
cant of his tribe begged something to eat. The landlady,
aware of his identity, received him rather discourteously,
but allowed him to take a seat in a
were well acquainted with his person before he joined
the army. Neither, however, recognized him in his
disguise. The major turned up his little snub nose
contemptuously, and the governor occasionally looked
over his shoulder at him in rather a significant manner.
Besides these two dignitaries, there were present
two or three of those disinterested persons to be
found in every village on the face of the earth, whose
sole occupation is to watch people while at work,
and to laugh at the jokes of others, though they
never perpetrate any themselves. Not being able to
afford drinking at their own cost, they were occasionally
permitted to partake of the major's bounty, whenever
they laughed particularly loud at one of his
hits at the governor.
“Governor,” said Major Forck, resuming the conversation
which had been interrupted by the entrance
of the beggar, “any news from down below? You
are in the secrets of the red coat general, you know.”
Here he winked to his auditors, who gave a significant
chuckle. “Tell me, are they bound east, west, north
or south.”
“They are going to move right perpendicular, as I
find by a letter I received from Sir Henry, yesterday.”
“Perpendicular? why governor, that's right up and
down. I never heard of an army moving that way.
But I see what you're at, and if you go to cut any of
your dry jokes on me, I'll serve you just as I did the
party of Yagers last year; did you ever hear that
story?”
“What—when you crept up chimney one night and
the Yagers thought it was a troop of horse, and all ran
away? If you mean that, I recollect it perfectly.
I am sure I should, for I have heard it at least a
thousand times.”
The major was nettled, especially as the audience
all laughed aloud at this sally of the governor. He
started up, flourished his cane over the governor's
head, and challenged him to mortal combat the next
morning. The governor contented himself with standing
on the defensive, by lifting his pipe, and mitigating
his wrath by an explanation.
“Oh! now I recollect. I beg your pardon, Major
Forck—by the way, Forck is Dutch for hog. But as
I was saying—Forck being Dutch for hog—I believe
I was mistaken in the particulars. I recollect, now, it
was not the chimney-swallows that frightened the
Yagers, it was you, major; yes, I recollect perfectly,
it was you.” Here the major, having recovered his
serenity, sat down, while the other continued, “Yes—
yes—it was you, Major Forck, which, I don't know
whether you know it or not, means hog.”
“Who cares what it means? Go on with your story,
since you pretend to know all about it. I don't suppose
anybody else ever heard it before.” The company
assured him they had not; whereupon the major
treated them to a tipple, and the governor proceeded
with great gravity.
“Well, as I was saying, you climbed up the chimney
as the best mode of putting the Yagers to flight,
by setting them an example, and laid hold of a gammon
that was hung up there to smoke; but the string
bacon—you know Forck is hog in Dutch—gave way,
and down you both came, so covered with soot—you
know you told me so—that the Yagers took you for
the old Harry, and all scampered away. Gentlemen,”
added the governor, “this is the true story, and I beg
the major's pardon—Forck being, as, I believe, I neglected
to observe before, Dutch for hog—for mistaking
one story for another. I recollect, it was not then
that you frightened the chimney-swallows. Neighbours,
I will tell you that story, and be very particular,
for it is one of the most brilliant achievements of
the whole war.”
Here, again, the major started up, flourished his
cane, and seemed on the point of annihilating the
governor, who, knowing his man, kept his seat, and
begged him to listen to his explanation, which he
would find perfectly satisfactory. He assured him he
would as soon insult King George himself, as Major
Forck, though he was sorry to say that Forck was
certainly Dutch for hog. “Sit down—sit down,” added
he, “and don't be in such a passion—brave men
never get angry. Come, sit down, my dear friend hog,
—I mean Forck—while I tell these gentlemen, who
have never heard the story, as soon as I light my
pipe.” Having done this, the governor commenced in
the most pompous style of bombast.
“One terrible night, in the year—I forget the year,
but it certainly happened some time or other—as Major
Forck was returning home, about half or three-quarters
over the bay—”
“It's a lie! I was as sober as a deacon!” exclaimed
the major.
“Well, as the major was coming home as sober as
a deacon—at least, his horse was sober—taking every
bush for a Yager, and everything white for a ghost,
but being able to see neither bush or Yager if there
had been ever so many, he thought he heard the clattering
of horses behind him, and naturally concluded,
being an old soldier, that if there were horses there
must be men on them, and if there were men there
must be soldiers, and if there were soldiers there must
be enemies. You see, neighbours, the major, whose
name is hog in English, was neither tipsy nor frightened,
or he would not have reasoned so coolly and judiciously.
Now, what do you think the major did?
Some people, with more liquor than brains in their
noddles, would have stopped, or turned round to ascertain
whether their conclusions were right; but the
major, being as sober as a deacon, knew which side
his bread was buttered, and kept on, right straightforward,
full tilt, as fast as his horse could carry him, utterly
regardless of meeting his enemies in the rear.
Some people may, perhaps, think, the major would
have stood a better chance of encountering his pursuers,
had he turned his horse's head towards them,
but the fact is, all old soldiers, like him, know very
well that the shortest way to get into trouble is to
run away from it. So the major ran from the enemy
that he might meet him the sooner, for he was pretty
certain they would follow and overtake him, which was
just what he wanted.”
“There was a manœuvre for you!” cried the major,
triumphantly.
“Well, neighbours, the major cut dirt at a great
rate, I tell you; and the faster he rode, the nearer the
horses' feet seemed to be, which shows that he was
taking the most expeditious way of meeting the enemy
in the very teeth.”
“To be sure,” quoth the major, “let an old soldier
alone for that.”
“When, at last, the enemy came fairly up with him,
such was his warlike appearance, and such mortal
defiance flashed from the back of his head, and especially
his cocked hat, that though they kept following
him, they never could pluck up the courage to draw
their swords or fire a pistol. What will scarcely be
credited, they quietly left him at his own door, in possession
of the field and of all the honours of victory.
What renders this affair still more remarkable, the
next morning not a single track was to be seen on the
road except that of the major's horse, and that there
are many envious people among the neighbours, who
swear it was his own horse he ran away from, and
that he was so far gone that he not only saw but
heard double.”
It was some time before the major, whose perceptions
were naturally somewhat obtuse, perceived the
drift of the governor's story; and when, by degrees,
he became aware of the joke, the conclusion of which
was hailed by bursts of laughter from the auditors, his
cheeks were seen to distend with a condensation of
mighty indignation, while his little black eyes sparkled
with consuming fires. For some time, he could not
gurgling in the throat was succeeded by words.
“It's a lie—a bloody lie! Any man that says he
ever saw me hear double, or run away from myself,
is a liar and a rascal to boot. Come out, if you dare,
you tory rascal, meet me in fair fight, like a man,
with sword and pistol, and I'll make you eat your
words without seasoning, or season them with gunpowder.
Follow me, you backsliding, cowardly tory
rascal, or I'll break my cane over your head. Come
out—come out, I say!”
The governor being satisfied with his joke, moved,
by degrees, towards the door, while the major followed,
flourishing his cane, and watching his opportunity,
made a precipitate retreat. Being, however, a better
runner than the major, he reached his home in time to
bolt the door behind him; whereupon, Major Forck
mounted his steed, and riding up the steps of the governor's
long piazza, paraded back and forth, denouncing
him a liar, a tory, and a poltroon. After this,
having satisfied his honour, he bent his course homewards,
where he arrived safely, though fast asleep,
under the conduct of his discreet charger. The play
being over, the audience departed, leaving John, who
had become very impatient, alone with the landlady.
During the preceding scene, he had remained perfectly
quiet, taking no part in the joke, but he could not help
observing that the governor occasionally eyed him
with a scrutinizing look, which caused some little apprehension
that the wily old tory suspected him of not
being what he seemed.
“Has he come?” asked he eagerly of the landlady.
“Not yet. I am afraid all is not right. The governor
was down below yesterday, and has been in and
out of my house I believe at least a dozen times today,
for no reason that I know of, except that he suspects
me.”
“How late is it?” asked John, again, after a pause,
in which he called to mind the sinister looks of the
governor.
“I don't know—past ten, I believe.”
“Then he will not come to-night, and I must make
all haste I can to the place of meeting down below.”
“Wait a little—something may have delayed him.”
“I am afraid the governor suspected me, from his
looks.”
“You—why your own father would not know you
in this wig,” and she sportively snatched it from his
head, laughing with great glee at the same time. Unfortunately,
however, the governor, who had emerged
from his stronghold on the retreat of the major, was
watching and listening at the window all this while.
He could not distinctly hear what was said, but the
moment the landlady pulled off the wig, he retreated
precipitately, saddled his horse, and rode off with all
speed towards New York.
After waiting some time, and finding the person expected
did not arrive with his boat from the opposite
shore, John determined to proceed on foot to the place
appointed for meeting the messenger from the city.
The distance was some fourteen or fifteen miles, and
it was indispensable that he should be there before
daylight. Avoiding the high road, he proceeded onward
by a path leading along the bank of the river,
some two hours before daylight. It was just
at the junction of the Hudson and Harlem rivers, on
the north side, and here he made at intervals the appointed
signal, a low whistle, but for a long time no
response was made, and no person appeared. He now
more than ever feared some untoward accident had
occurred to thwart his important mission, and deliberated
intensely on the propriety of remaining at the
imminent risk of discovery, or return without accomplishing
his purpose. Finally, he determined to wait,
and take the consequences, whatever they might be.
Shrouding himself among the thick evergreens that
grew on the bank of the river, he remained perfectly
quiet, except ever and anon repeating the signal. No
one appeared, none answered, and not a sound disturbed
the dread repose that precedes the hour when
all animated nature awakes to life and light, save
at intervals the challenge of the enemy's sentinels
at a distance, and the soft murmuring of the waves
on the shore. Anon faint streaks of yellow light
gradually shot up athwart the eastern sky; the stars
began to wink their eyes, as if overpowered by the
radiance of the rising sun, and one by one disappeared
like watchful sentinels that had performed their nightly
duty, and were now retiring from their posts; the
birds of spring began to twitter in their leafy coverts,
and at last the distant echoes of the morning gun, reverberated
from the high cliffs of the opposite shore,
announced that the sun had risen, and the labours of
the day commenced.
At this moment, and just as John was preparing to
the mists that glided like sheeted spectres along the
surface of the waters, something stealing along, close
to the shore, under the high bank, and weathering a
point of rocks projecting into the river, at a little distance
towards the south. Again he sought his place
of concealment, and stood watching with breathless
anxiety the approach of what he soon perceived was
a skiff, rowed by a single person, and advancing rapidly
towards him. A few minutes more, and the little
craft was opposite the spot of his concealment, where
it stopped, and the oarsman looked cautiously around
in all directions. Thus she lay for a brief period
without motion, during which John remained undecided
what course to pursue. Being of a nature to
risk everything for a great purpose, he hesitated not
long, but gave a signal, which was promptly answered,
and suddenly the skiff glided into a little cove among
the rocks, where it could neither be seen from the
river or the land. The person who conducted it then
landed, and approached our hero. He was, to all appearance,
a plain, substantial citizen, of an open, ruddy
countenance, with a clear, blue eye, and an expression
of face that invited confidence. He stepped on
shore with the caution of a cat seeking to ensnare a
bird in the grass, and his glance quick as lightning
continually ranged towards every point of the compass.
With all this, as he approached, he discovered nothing
like fear, but on the contrary, a perfect self-posession.
“You are late, friend,” said John, in a low tone.
“I could not come sooner,” repeated the other, in a
whisper. “I am afraid they begin to suspect me, for
my house, and asking idle questions, that seem to have
no meaning. They called for liquor, too, and drank
freely in sight of officers passing by, though I know it
is against a standing order.”
“Have you brought any important information?”
“Yes, very important. An officer of considerable
rank, but who sometimes gets into a frolic, was at my
house night before last, and while swaggering about,
more than half drunk, dropt a paper from his pocket,
which I secured without notice, and after copying,
went and delivered to Sir Henry next morning. It
contains the general order which will be published in
a few days, and details the course of operations at the
opening of the campaign.”
After looking about cautiously in every direction,
he slipped into John's hand a silver bullet, which he
said contained the information to which he referred,
and of which he enjoined him to be careful.
“It is a dangerous business you are engaged in, my
friend,” said John, “but I suppose you are well paid
for it.”
“Nothing can pay a man for such a task as I have
undertaken. I don't pretend to be better than other
people, but believe me, it is not money alone that
tempts me to risk my life every day, every hour, and
every minute. I love money, I confess, but I love my
country better, and liberty still more. The way I
choose to serve them both, I know is not considered
honourable; but if it is glorious to risk one's life for
our country, surely it is more so, to incur both the loss
of life and reputation in her cause. I expect that I
but am willing to do so whenever I am called.”
“You are a true friend to your country, and I honour
you with all my soul,” said John, shaking him
warmly by the hand, “but we must not be loitering
here. I shall set forth immediately on my way, while
you return to New York.”
“I shall not return till night; it is too late now. Let
us draw up the skiff into the thick bushes yonder,
where she will not be seen. I have some provisions
with me, and shall remain here quiet till evening.
But the sooner you are gone the better; so make haste,
and if you can, travel like a mole under ground.”
At this moment, a rustling was heard among the
bushes, and the next, a party of red coats rushed upon
them in the rear. Quick as thought, John hurled the
silver bullet from him with all his might out into the
river, where, after a few skips along the surface, it
disappeared. Defence was vain, for they were without
arms, and surrounded on all sides. The commanding
officer ordered them both to be seized and bound,
swearing he would soon find out the reason of their
skulking so near the lines, pretending to be skipping
stones in the river.
“As for you sir,” addressing the stranger, “we've
had our eyes on you for some time. You are from the
city. You came away last night in a boat, and unless
you can give a good account of yourself, you may
chance to swing for it, as well as this red-haired beggar,
who we know is in disguise.” Saying which, he
pulled off our hero's wig, amid a general titter of the
whole party.
“I can give a good account of myself,” was the
quiet response of the stranger.
“Very well, so much the better for you. As for
you, Mr. Rebel, we know you of old. You are the
gentleman who sliced a few Yagers not long ago, and
afterwards carried off one of our sentinels. You see,
I know all about you. Though not a beggar, I assure
you, you are an object of charity, for you'll swing by
the side of your worthy friend there, as sure as I am
one of his majesty's serjeants.”
When a man is caught in disguise, whatever may
be his motives, he is apt to look rather sheepish. Such
was the case with our hero, who remained silent, simply
because he did not know exactly what to say for
himself. His heart was heavy, for he felt that his
country might suffer new calamities from the failure
of his undertaking. This was his first thought; his
second was of Jane, whom now he never expected to
see more: for though he knew that not having been
within the lines of the enemy, he could not be considered
a spy, still he was perfectly aware that few
American prisoners ever escaped alive from the fangs
of old Cunningham, whose name is consecrated to
eternal infamy in our domestic traditions, or from the
fatal dungeons of the prison-ships, where so many
nameless patriots died for their country and were forgotten.
The prisoners were roughly hurried to the nearest
post of the enemy, whence they were carried before
the commander-in-chief for examination.
| CHAPTER IX. The old Continental, or, The price of liberty | |