The Spy & Lionel Lincoln

by James Fenimore Cooper

  Ungracious as was this reception, if one could judge of the Skinner’s feelings from his manner, it nevertheless delighted him. He moved with alacrity towards the city, and really was so happy to escape the brutal looks and frightful manner of his interrogator, as to lose sight of all other considerations. But the man who performed the functions of orderly in the irregular troop, rode up to the side of his commander, and commenced a close and apparently a confidential discourse with his principal. They spoke in whispers, and cast frequent and searching glances at the Skinner, until the fellow began to think himself an object of more than common attention. His satisfaction at this distinction was somewhat heightened, at observing a smile on the face of the captain, which, although it might be thought grim, certainly denoted satisfaction. This pantomime occupied the time they were passing a hollow, and concluded as they rose another hill. Here the captain and his sergeant both dismounted, and ordered the party to halt. The two partisans each took a pistol from his holster, a movement that excited no suspicion or alarm, as it was a precaution always observed, and beckoned to the pedlar and the Skinner to follow. A short walk brought them to a spot where the hill overhung the river, the ground falling nearly perpendicularly to the shore. On the brow of the eminence stood a deserted and dilapidated barn. Many boards of its covering were torn from their places, and its wide doors were lying the one in front of the building and the other half way down the precipice, whither the wind had cast it. Entering this desolate spot, the Refugee officer very coolly took from his pocket a short pipe, which, from long use, had acquired not only the hue but the gloss of ebony, a tobacco box, and a small roll of leather that contained steel, flint and tinder. With this apparatus, he soon furnished his mouth with a companion that habit had long rendered necessary to reflection. So soon as a large column of smoke arose from this arrangement, the captain significantly held forth a hand towards his assistant. A small cord was produced from the pocket of the sergeant, and handed to the other. The Refugee threw out vast puffs of smoke until nearly all of his head was obscured, and looked around the building with an inquisitive eye. At length he removed the pipe, and inhaling a draught of pure air, returned it to its domicile, and proceeded at once to business. A heavy piece of timber lay across the girths of the barn, but a little way from the southern door, which opened directly upon a full view of the river as it stretched far away, towards the bay of New-York. Over this beam, the Refugee threw one end of the rope, and regaining it, joined the two parts in his hand. A small and weak barrel that wanted a head, the staves of which were loose and at one end standing apart, was left on the floor probably as useless. The sergeant in obedience to a look from his officer, placed it beneath the beam. All of these arrangements were made with immoveable composure, and they now seemed completed to the officer’s perfect satisfaction.

  “Come,” he said coolly to the Skinner, who, admiring the preparations, had stood a silent spectator of their progress. He obeyed—and it was not until he found his neckcloth removed, and hat thrown aside, that he took the alarm. But he had so often resorted to a similar expedient to extort information or plunder, that he by no means felt the terror an unpractised man would have suffered, at these ominous movements. The rope was adjusted to his neck with the same coolness that formed the characteristic of the whole movement, and a fragment of board being laid upon the barrel, he was ordered to mount.

  “But it may fall,” said the Skinner, for the first time beginning to tremble. “I will tell you any thing,—even how to surprise our party at the Pond, without all this trouble; and it is commanded by my own brother.”

  “I want no information,” returned his executioner, (for such he now seemed really to be,) throwing the rope repeatedly over the beam, first drawing it tight, so as to annoy the Skinner a little, and then casting the end from him, beyond the reach of any one.

  “This is joking too far,” cried the Skinner, in a tone of remonstrance, and raising himself on his toes, with the vain hope of releasing himself from the cord by slipping his head through the noose—But the caution and experience of the Refugee officer had guarded against this escape.

  “What have you done with the horse you stole from me, rascal?” muttered the officer of the Cow-Boys, throwing out columns of smoke, while he waited for a reply.

  “He broke down in the chase,” replied the Skinner quickly; “but I can tell you where one is to be found, that is worth him and his sire.”

  “Liar! I will help myself when I am in need—you had better call upon God for aid, as your hour is short.” On concluding this consoling advice, he struck the barrel a violent blow with his heavy foot, and the slender staves flew in every direction, leaving the Skinner whirling in the air. As his hands were unconfined, he threw them upwards, and held himself suspended by main strength.

  “Come, captain,” he said coaxingly, a little huskiness creeping into his voice, and his knees beginning to shake with tremor, “end the joke—’tis enough to make a laugh, and my arms begin to tire—I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “Harkee, Mr. Pedlar,” said the Refugee, in a voice that would not be denied, “I want not your company. Through that door lies your road—march!—offer to touch that dog, and you’ll swing in his place, though twenty Sir Henrys wanted your services.” So saying, he retired to the road with the sergeant, as the pedlar precipitately retreated down the bank.

  Birch went no farther than a bush that opportunely offered itself as a skreen to his person, while he yielded to an unconquerable desire, to witness the termination of this extraordinary scene.

  Left alone, the Skinner began to throw fearful glances around, to espy the hiding places of his tormentors. For the first time, the horrid idea seemed to shoot through his brain, that something serious was intended by the Cow-Boy. He called entreatingly to be released, and made rapid and incoherent promises of important information, mingled with affected pleasantry at their conceit, which he would hardly admit to himself could mean any thing so dreadful as it seemed.—But as he heard the tread of the horses moving on their course, and in vain looked around for human aid, violent trembling seized his limbs, and his eyes began to start from his head with terror.—He made a desperate effort to reach the beam, but too much exhausted with his previous exertions he caught the rope in his teeth, in a vain effort to sever the cord, and fell to the whole length of his arms.—Here his cries were turned into shrieks—

  “Help—cut the rope—captain!—Birch!—good pedlar—down with the Congress!—sergeant!—for God’s sake help—Hurrah for the King!—Oh God! Oh God!—mercy!—mercy!—mercy!—”

  As his voice became suppressed, one of his hands endeavoured to make its way between the rope and his neck, and partially succeeded, but the other fell quivering by his side. A convulsive shuddering passed over his whole frame, and he hung a hideous corpse.

  Birch continued gazing on this scene with a kind of infatuation. At its close he placed his hands to his ears, and rushed towards the highway. Still the cries for mercy rang through his brain, and it was many weeks before his memory ceased to dwell on the horrid event. The Cow-Boys rode steadily on their route, as if nothing had occurred, and the body was left swinging in the wind, until chance directed the footsteps of some straggler to the place.

  Chapter XXXIII

  “Green be the turf above thee,

  Friend of my better days—

  None knew thee but to love thee,

  Nor nam’d thee but to praise.”

  Halleck.

  * * *

  WHILE THE SCENES and events that we have recorded, were occurring, Captain Lawton led his small party, by slow and wary marches, from the Four Corners to the front of a body of the enemy, where he so successfully manoeuvred for a short time as completely to elude all their efforts to entrap him, and yet so disguised his own force, as to excite the constant apprehension of an attack from the Americans. This forbearing policy on the side of the partisan
, was owing to positive orders received from his commander. When Dunwoodie left his detachment, the enemy were known to be slowly advancing, and he directed Lawton to hover around them, until his own return and the arrival of a body of foot, might enable him to intercept their retreat.

  The trooper discharged his duty to the letter, but with no little of the impatience that made part of his character, when restrained from the attack. During these movements, Betty Flanagan guided her little cart with indefatigable zeal among the rocks of West-Chester, now discussing with the sergeant the nature of evil spirits, and now combatting with the surgeon sundry points of practice that were hourly arising between them. But the moment at length arrived that was to decide the temporary mastery of the field. A detachment of the eastern militia moved out from their fastnesses, and approached the enemy.

  The junction between Lawton and his auxiliaries, was made at midnight, and an immediate consultation was held between him and the leader of the foot soldiers. After listening to the statements of the partisan, who rather despised the prowess of his enemy, the commandant of the party determined to attack the British, the moment daylight enabled him to reconnoitre their position, without waiting for the aid of Dunwoodie and his horse. So soon as this decision was made, Lawton retired from the building where the consultation was held, and rejoined his own small command.

  The few troopers who were with the captain, had fastened their horses in a spot adjacent to a hay-stack, and laid their own frames under its shelter, to catch a few hours sleep. But Dr. Sitgreaves, Sergeant Hollister, and Betty Flanagan, were congregated at a short distance by themselves, having spread a few blankets upon the dry surface of a rock. Lawton threw his huge frame by the side of the surgeon, and folding his cloak about him, leaned his head upon one hand, and appeared deeply engaged in contemplating the moon as it waded through the heavens. The sergeant was sitting upright, in respectful deference to the surgeon, and the washerwoman was now, raising her head in order to vindicate some of her favourite maxims, and now composing it on one of her gin casks, in a vain effort to sleep.

  “So, sergeant,” continued Sitgreaves, following up a previous position, “if you cut upwards, the blow, by losing the additional momentum of your weight, will be less destructive, and at the same time effect the true purposes of war, that of disabling your enemy.”

  “Pooh! pooh! sargeant, dear,” said the washerwoman, raising her head from the blanket; “where’s the harm of taking a life, jist in the way of battle? Is it the rig’lars who’ll show favour, and they fighting? Ask Captain Jack, there, if the country could get the liberty, and the boys no strike their might—I wouldn’t have them disparage the whiskey so much.”

  “It is not to be expected, that an ignorant female like yourself, Mrs. Flanagan,” returned the surgeon, with a calmness that only rendered his contempt more stinging to Betty, “can comprehend the distinctions of surgical science; neither are you accomplished in the sword exercise; so that dissertations upon the judicious use of that weapon could avail you nothing, either in theory or in practice.”

  “It’s but little I care, any way, for such botherments; but fighting is no play, and a body should’nt be partic’lar how they strike, or who they hit, so it’s the inimy.”

  “Are we likely to have a warm day, Captain Lawton?”

  “’Tis more than probable,” replied the trooper; “these militia seldom fail of making a bloody field, either by their cowardice or their ignorance. And the real soldier is made to suffer for their bad conduct.”

  “Are you ill, John?” said the surgeon, passing his hand along the arm of the captain, until it instinctively settled on his pulse; but the steady, even beat announced neither bodily nor mental malady.

  “Sick at heart, Archibald, at the folly of our rulers, in believing that battles are to be fought, and victories won, by fellows, who handle a musket as they would a flail—lads who wink when they pull a trigger, and form a line like a hoop pole. The dependance we place on these men spills the best blood of the country.”

  The surgeon listened with amazement. It was not the matter but the manner that surprised him. The trooper had uniformly exhibited on the eve of battle, an animation and an eagerness to engage, that was directly at variance with the admirable coolness of his manner at other times. But now there was a despondency in the tones of his voice, and a listlessness in his air, that was entirely different. The operator hesitated a moment to reflect in what manner he could render this change of service, in furthering his favorite system, and then continued—

  “It would be wise, John, to advise the colonel to keep at long shot—a spent ball will disable—”

  “No!” exclaimed the trooper impatiently; “let the rascals singe their whiskers at the muzzles of the British muskets—if they can be driven there; but enough of them. Archibald, do you deem that moon to be a world like this, containing creatures like ourselves?”

  “Nothing more probable, dear John—we know its size, and reasoning from analogy, may easily conjecture its use. Whether or not its inhabitants have attained to that perfection in the sciences which we have acquired, must depend greatly on the state of its society, and in some measure, upon its physical influences.”—

  “I care nothing about their learning, Archibald; but, ’tis a wonderful power that can create such worlds, and control them in their wanderings! I know not why, but there is a feeling of melancholy excited within me, as I gaze on that body of light, shaded as it is by your fancied sea and land. It seems to be the resting-place of departed spirits!”

  “Take a drop, darling,” said Betty, raising her head once more, and proffering her own bottle; “’tis the night damp that chills the blood—and then the talk with the cursed militia is no good for a fiery temper; take a drop darling, and yee’ll sleep ’till the morning. I fed Roanoke myself, for I thought yee might need hard riding the morrow.”

  “’Tis a glorious heaven to look upon!” continued the trooper, in the same tone, disregarding the offer of Betty; “and ’tis a thousand pities, that such worms as men, should let their vile passions deface such goodly work!”

  “You speak the truth, dear John; there is room for all to live and enjoy themselves in peace, if each could be satisfied with his own. Still war has its advantages—it particularly promotes the knowledge of surgery—and”

  “There is a star,” continued Lawton, still bent on his own ideas, “struggling to glitter through a few driving clouds; perhaps that too is a world, and contains its creatures endowed with reason like ourselves; think you, that they know of war and bloodshed?”

  “If I might be so bold,” said Sergeant Hollister, mechanically raising his hand to his cap, “’tis mentioned in the good book, that the Lord made the sun to stand still, while Joshua was charging the enemy, in order, sir, as I suppose, that they might have day-light to turn their flank, or perhaps make a feint in the rear, or some such manoeuvre. Now, if the Lord would lend them a hand, fighting cannot be sinful. I have often been nonplushed though, to find that they used them chariots instead of heavy dragoons, who are in all comparison, better to break a line of infantry, and who, for the matter of that, could turn such wheel carriages, and getting in the rear, play the very devil with them, horse, and all.”

  “It is because you do not understand the construction of those ancient vehicles, Sergeant Hollister, that you judge of them so erroneously,” said the surgeon. “They were armed with sharp weapons that protruded from their wheels, and which broke up the columns of foot like dismembered particles of matter. I doubt not, if similar instruments were affixed to the cart of Mrs. Flanagan, that great confusion might be carried into the ranks of the enemy, thereby, this very day.”

  “It’s but little that the mare would go, and the rig’lars firing at her,” grumbled Betty, from under her blanket; “when we got the plunder, the time we drove them through the Jarseys, it was I had to back the baste up to the dead, for divil
the foot would she move, forenent the firing, wid her eyes open. Roanoke and Captain Jack are good enough for the red coats, letting alone myself and the mare.”

  A long roll of the drums, from the hill occupied by the British, announced that they were on the alert, and a corresponding signal was immediately heard from the Americans. The bugle of the Virginians struck up its martial tones, and in a few moments, both the hills, the one held by the royal troops, and the other by their enemies, were alive with armed men. Day had begun to dawn, and preparations were making by both parties, to give and to receive the attack. In numbers the Americans had greatly the advantage, but in discipline and equipments, the superiority was entirely with their enemies. The arrangements for the battle were brief, and by the time the sun had risen, the militia moved forward.

  The ground did not admit of the movements of horse, and the only duty that could be assigned to the dragoons, was to watch the moment of victory, and endeavour to improve the success to the utmost. Lawton soon got his warriors into the saddle, and leaving them to the charge of Hollister, he rode himself along the line of foot, who in varied dresses and imperfectly armed, were formed in a shape that in some degree resembled a martial array. A scornful smile lowered about the lip of the trooper, as he guided Roanoke with a skilful hand through the windings of their ranks, and when the word was given to march, he turned the flank of the regiment, and followed close in the rear. The Americans had to descend into a little hollow, and rise a hill on its opposite side to approach the enemy. The descent was made with tolerable steadiness, until near the foot of the hill, when the royal troops advanced in a beautiful line, with their flanks protected by the formation of the ground. The appearance of the British drew a fire from the militia, which was given with good effect, and for a moment staggered the regulars. But they were rallied by their officers, and threw in volley after volley, with great steadiness. For a short time the fire was warm and destructive, until the English advanced with the bayonet. This assault the militia had not sufficient discipline to withstand. Their line wavered, then paused, and finally broke into companies, and fragments of companies, keeping up at the same time a scattering and desultory fire.