The Spy, James Fenimore Cooper [uplifting book club books TXT] 📗

sure of nothing, dear. But why don’t the boys prick their horses and jog a trot? The mare is mighty un’asy, and it’s no warm in this cursed valley, riding as much like a funeral party as old rags is to continental.”[10] “Fairly and softly, aye, and prudently, Mrs. Flanagan; it’s not rashness that makes the good officer. If we have to encounter a spirit, it’s more than likely he’ll make his attack by surprise; horses are not very powerful in the dark, and I have a character to lose, good woman.”

“Caractur! and isn’t it caractur and life too that Captain 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, unless it be a matter of Captain Jack’s sowl that’s come to haunt ye, for not being brisker on the march.”

“Betty, your levity makes you an unfit comrade for such an expedition. Advance, one of you, and reconnoiter the spot; draw swords!—rear rank, close to the front!”

“Pshaw!” shouted Betty, “is it a big fool or a big coward that ye 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; “without the one, the other may be said to be good for nothing.”

“Prudence without courage: 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 that was a human pistol, and one from our regiment. Rear rank, close to the front!—Mrs. Flanagan, I must leave you.” So saying, having recovered all his faculties, by hearing a sound that he understood, he placed himself at the head of his men with an air of military pride, that the darkness prevented the washerwoman from beholding. A volley of musketry 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, riding a short distance in front himself, to meet the rider.

“Stand!—who goes there?” shouted Hollister.

“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 responsibility, and as eager as a boy to be led against his enemy.

“’Tis well!” said the trooper, riding up to his men; then, 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 sutler was soon distanced, and Betty, thus thrown out in the chase, turned to the side of the road, and observed,—

“There—it’s no difficult to tell that Captain Jack is wid ’em, anyway; and away they go like so many nagur boys to a husking-frolic; well, I’ll jist hitch the mare to this bit of a fence, and walk down and see the sport afoot—it’s no r’asonable 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 personal prowess; and these are virtues that are sure to captivate the thoughtless soldiery. On arriving near the gates 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; if anything attempt to pass, stop it, or cut it down, and—”

The flames at this moment burst through the dormer windows and cedar roof of the cottage, and a bright light glared on the darkness of the night. “On!” shouted the trooper “on!—give quarter 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, he stood in nerveless dread; then rushing to a window, he threw up the sash; at this instant Lawton entered, saber in hand, into the apartment.

“Die, miscreant!” cried the trooper, cleaving a marauder to the jaw; but the leader sprang into the lawn, and escaped his vengeance. The shrieks of the 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 his death; but the remainder had taken the alarm in season. Occupied with Sarah, neither Miss Singleton, nor the ladies of the house, had discovered the entrance of the Skinners, though the flames were raging around them with a fury that threatened the building with rapid destruction. The shrieks of Katy and the terrified consort of Caesar, together with the noise and uproar in the adjacent apartment, first roused Miss Peyton and Isabella to a sense of their danger.

“Merciful Providence!” exclaimed the alarmed aunt; “there is a dreadful confusion in the house, and there will be blood shed in consequence of this affair.”

“There are none to fight,” returned Isabella, with a face paler than that of the other. “Dr. Sitgreaves is very peaceable in his disposition, and surely Captain 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, though the lion is not his equal when roused.”

“We must interfere: our presence will quell the tumult, and possibly save the life of a fellow creature.”

Miss Peyton, excited to attempt what she conceived a duty worthy of her sex and nature, advanced with the dignity of injured female feeling, to the door, followed by Isabella. The apartment to which Sarah had been conveyed was in one of the wings of the building, and it communicated with the principal hall of the cottage by a long and dark passage. This was now light, and across its termination several figures were seen rushing with an impetuosity that prevented an examination of their employment.

“Let us advance,” said Miss Peyton, with a firmness her face belied; “they must respect our sex.”

“They shall,” cried Isabella, taking the lead in the enterprise. Frances was left alone with her sister. A few minutes were passed in silence, 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 noonday sun. Sarah raised herself on her bed, and staring wildly around, pressed both her hands on her forehead, endeavoring to recollect herself.

“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 shall 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; perhaps they will come together. Oh! how joyful will be the meeting!”

Frances sprang on her feet, and paced the apartment. The eye of Sarah followed her in childish admiration of her beauty.

“You look like my sister; but all good and lovely spirits are alike. Tell me, were you ever married? Did you ever let a stranger steal your affections from father, and brother, and sister? If not, poor wretch, I pity you, although you may be in heaven.”

“Sarah—peace, peace—I implore you to be silent,” shrieked Frances, rushing to her bed, “or you will kill me at your feet.”

Another dreadful crash shook the building to its center. 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 with distraction to the fiery edifice, and apparently urging the dragoons to enter it. For the first time she comprehended their danger; and uttering a wild shriek, she flew through the passage 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 she owed her life Lo Lawton, and throwing herself on her knees, she cried,—

“Sarah! Sarah! Sarah! save my sister, and may the blessing of God await you!”

Her strength failed, and she sank on the grass, in insensibility. The trooper pointed to her figure, motioned to Katy for assistance, and advanced once more to the building. 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, when he dashed into the heat and darkness, where, missing the entrance, he wandered for a minute, and precipitated himself back, again, upon the lawn. Drawing a single breath of pure air, he renewed the effort, and was again unsuccessful. 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; seizing both in his arms, with gigantic strength, he bore them through the smoke. He soon perceived, to his astonishment, 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 miscreant to light again? His deeds are rank to heaven!”

The surgeon, who had been in imminent peril, was too much bewildered to reply instantly, but wiping the moisture from his forehead, and clearing his lungs from the vapor 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 hemorrhage; life is extinct indeed. Well, are there any more wounded?”

His question was put to the air, for Frances had been removed to the opposite side of the building, where her friends were collected, and Lawton had once more 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. There was but barely time to reach the lawn again, before the fire broke through the windows, and wrapped the whole building in a sheet of flame.

“God be praised!” ejaculated the preserver of Sarah. “It would have been a dreadful death to die.”

The trooper turned from gazing at the edifice, to the speaker, and to his astonishment, instead of one of his own men, he beheld the peddler.

“Ha! the spy,” he exclaimed; “by heavens, you cross me like a specter.”

“Captain 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 her children to forget gratitude and honor. Fly, unhappy man, while yet you are unseen, or