The Spy by James Fenimore Cooper (english reading book .txt) 📗

of that digitated member; and it is ordinarily encircled, during the solemnization of wedlock, with a cincture or ring, as if to chain that affection to the marriage state, which is best secured by the graces of the female character.” While speaking, the operator laid his hand expressively on his heart, and he bowed nearly to the floor when he had concluded.

“I know not, sir, that I rightly understand your meaning,” said Miss
Peyton, whose want of comprehension was sufficiently excusable.

“A ring, madam—a ring is wanting for the ceremony.”

The instant that the surgeon spoke explicitly, the awkwardness of the situation was understood. She glanced her eyes at her nieces, and in the younger she read a secret exultation that somewhat displeased her; but the countenance of Sarah was suffused with a shame that the considerate aunt well understood. Not for the world would she violate any of the observances of female etiquette. It suggested itself to all the females, at the same moment, that the wedding ring of the late mother and sister was reposing peacefully amid the rest of her jewelry in a secret receptacle, that had been provided at an early day, to secure the valuables against the predatory inroads of the marauders who roamed through the county. Into this hidden vault, the plate, and whatever was most prized, made a nightly retreat, and there the ring in question had long lain, forgotten until at this moment. But it was the business of the bridegroom, from time immemorial, to furnish this indispensable to wedlock, and on no account would Miss Peyton do anything that transcended the usual reserve of the sex on this solemn occasion; certainly not until sufficient expiation for the offense had been made, by a due portion of trouble and disquiet. This material fact, therefore, was not disclosed by either; the aunt consulting female propriety; the bride yielding to shame; and Frances rejoicing that an embarrassment, proceeding from almost any cause, should delay her sister’s vow. It was reserved for Doctor Sitgreaves to interrupt the awkward silence.

“If, madam, a plain ring, that once belonged to a sister of my own—” He paused and hemmed—“If, madam, a ring of that description might be admitted to this honor, I have one that could be easily produced from my quarters at the Corners, and I doubt not it would fit the finger for which it is desired. There is a strong resemblance between—hem—between my late sister and Miss Wharton in stature and anatomical figure; and, in all eligible subjects, the proportions are apt to be observed throughout the whole animal economy.”

A glance of Miss Peyton’s eye recalled Colonel Wellmere to a sense of his duty, and springing from his chair, he assured the surgeon that in no way could he confer a greater obligation on himself than by sending for that very ring. The operator bowed a little haughtily, and withdrew to fulfill his promise, by dispatching a messenger on the errand. The aunt suffered him to retire; but unwillingness to admit a stranger into the privacy of their domestic arrangements induced her to follow and tender the services of Caesar, instead of those of Sitgreaves’ man, who had volunteered for this duty. Katy Haynes was accordingly directed to summon the black to the vacant parlor, and thither Miss Peyton and the surgeon repaired, to give their several instructions.

The consent to this sudden union of Sarah and Wellmere, and especially at a time when the life of a member of the family was in such imminent jeopardy, was given from a conviction that the unsettled state of the country would probably prevent another opportunity to the lovers of meeting, and a secret dread on the part of Mr. Wharton, that the death of his son might, by hastening his own, leave his remaining children without a protector. But notwithstanding Miss Peyton had complied with her brother’s wish to profit by the accidental visit of a divine, she had not thought it necessary to blazon the intended nuptials of her niece to the neighborhood, had even time been allowed; she thought, therefore, that she was now communicating a profound secret to the negro, and her housekeeper.

“Caesar,” she commenced, with a smile, “you are now to learn that your young mistress, Miss Sarah, is to be united to Colonel Wellmere this evening.”

“I t’ink I see him afore,” said Caesar, chuckling. “Old black man can tell when a young lady make up he mind.”

“Really, Caesar, I find I have never given you credit for half the observation that you deserve; but as you already know on what emergency your services are required, listen to the directions of this gentleman, and observe them.”

The black turned in quiet submission to the surgeon, who commenced as follows:—

“Caesar, your mistress has already acquainted you with the important event about to be solemnized within this habitation; but a cincture or ring is wanting to encircle the finger of the bride; a custom derived from the ancients, and which has been continued in the marriage forms of several branches of the Christian church, and which is even, by a species of typical wedlock, used in the installation of prelates, as you doubtless understand.”

“P’r’aps Massa Doctor will say him over ag’in,” interrupted the old negro, whose memory began to fail him, just as the other made so confident an allusion to his powers of comprehension. “I t’ink I get him by heart dis time.”

“It is impossible to gather honey from a rock, Caesar, and therefore I will abridge the little I have to say. Ride to the Four Corners, and present this note to Sergeant Hollister, or to Mrs. Elizabeth Flanagan, either of whom will furnish the necessary pledge of connubial affection; and return forthwith.”

The letter which the surgeon put into the hands of his messenger, as he ceased, was conceived in the following terms:—

“If the fever has left Kinder, give him nourishment. Take three ounces more of blood from Watson. Have a search made that the woman Flanagan has left none of her jugs of alcohol in the hospital. Renew the dressings of Johnson, and dismiss Smith to duty. Send the ring, which is pendent from the chain of the watch, that I left with you to time the doses, by the bearer.

“ARCHIBALD SITGREAVES, M. D.”,
“Surgeon of Dragoons.”

“Caesar,” said Katy, when she was alone with the black, “put the ring, when you get it, in your left pocket, for that is nearest your heart; and by no means endeavor to try it on your finger, for it is unlucky.”

“Try um on he finger?” interrupted the negro, stretching forth his bony knuckles. “T’ink a Miss Sally’s ring go on old Caesar finger?”

“’Tis not consequential whether it goes on or not,” said the housekeeper; “but it is an evil omen to place a marriage ring on the finger of another after wedlock, and of course it may be dangerous before.”

“I tell you, Katy, I neber t’ink to put um on a finger.”

“Go, then, Caesar, and do not forget the left pocket; be careful to take off your hat as you pass the graveyard, and be expeditious; for nothing, I am certain, can be more trying to the patience, than thus to be waiting for the ceremony, when a body has fully made up her mind to marry.”

With this injunction Caesar quitted the house, and he was soon firmly fixed in the saddle. From his youth, the black, like all of his race, had been a hard rider; but, bending under the weight of sixty winters, his African blood had lost some of its native heat. The night was dark, and the wind whistled through the vale with the dreariness of November. When Caesar reached the graveyard, he uncovered his grizzled head with superstitious awe, and threw around him many a fearful glance, in momentary expectation of seeing something superhuman. There was sufficient light to discern a being of earthly mold stealing from among the graves, apparently with a design to enter the highway. It is in vain that philosophy and reason contend with early impressions, and poor Caesar was even without the support of either of these frail allies. He was, however, well mounted on a coach horse of Mr. Wharton’s and, clinging to the back of the animal with instinctive skill, he abandoned the rein to the beast. Hillocks, woods, rocks, fences, and houses flew by him with the rapidity of lightning, and the black had just begun to think whither and on what business he was riding in this headlong manner, when he reached the place where the roads met, and the “Hotel Flanagan” stood before him in its dilapidated simplicity. The sight of a cheerful fire first told the negro that he had reached the habitation of man, and with it came all his dread of the bloody Virginians; his duty must, however, be done, and, dismounting, he fastened the foaming animal to a fence, and approached the window with cautious steps, to reconnoiter.

Before a blazing fire sat Sergeant Hollister and Betty Flanagan, enjoying themselves over a liberal potation.

“I tell ye, sargeant dear,” said Betty, removing the mug from her mouth, “’tis no r’asonable to think it was more than the piddler himself; sure now, where was the smell of sulphur, and the wings, and the tail, and the cloven foot? Besides, sargeant, it’s no dacent to tell a lone famale that she had Beelzeboob for a bedfellow.”

“It matters but little, Mrs. Flanagan, provided you escape his talons and fangs hereafter,” returned the veteran, following the remark by a heavy draft.

Caesar heard enough to convince him that little danger from this pair was to be apprehended. His teeth already began to chatter, and the cold without and the comfort within stimulated him greatly to enter. He made his approaches with proper caution, and knocked with extreme humility. The appearance of Hollister with a drawn sword, roughly demanding who was without, contributed in no degree to the restoration of his faculties; but fear itself lent him power to explain his errand.

“Advance,” said the sergeant, throwing a look of close scrutiny on the black, as he brought him to the light; “advance, and deliver your dispatches. Have you the countersign?”

“I don’t t’ink he know what dat be,” said the black, shaking in his shoes, “dough massa dat sent me gib me many t’ings to carry, dat he little understand.”

“Who ordered you on this duty, did you say?”

“Well, it war he doctor, heself, so he come up on a gallop, as he always do on a doctor’s errand.”

“’Twas Doctor Sitgreaves; he never knows the countersign himself. Now, blackey, had it been Captain Lawton he would not have sent you here, close to a sentinel, without the countersign; for you might get a pistol bullet through your head, and that would be cruel to you; for although you be black, I am none of them who thinks niggers have no souls.”

“Sure a nagur has as much sowl as a white,” said Betty. “Come hither, ould man, and warm that shivering carcass of yeers by the blaze of this fire. I’m sure a Guinea nagur loves hate as much as a soldier loves his drop.”

Caesar obeyed in silence, and a mulatto boy who was sleeping on a bench in the room, was bidden to convey the note of the surgeon to the building where the wounded were quartered.

“Here,” said the washerwoman, tendering to Caesar a taste of the article that most delighted herself, “try a drop, smooty, ’twill warm the black sowl within your crazy body, and be giving you spirits as you are going homeward.”

“I tell you, Elizabeth,” said the sergeant, “that the souls of niggers are the same as our own; how often have I heard the good Mr. Whitefield say that there was no distinction of color in heaven. Therefore it is reasonable to believe that the soul of this here black is as white as my own, or even Major Dunwoodie’s.”

“Be sure he be,” cried Caesar, a little tartly, whose courage had revived by tasting the drop of Mrs. Flanagan.

“It’s a good sowl that the major is, anyway,” returned the washerwoman; “and a kind sowl—aye, and a brave sowl too; and ye’ll say all that yeerself, sargeant, I’m thinking.”

“For the matter of that,” returned the veteran, “there is One above even Washington, to judge of souls; but this I will say, that Major Dunwoodie is a gentleman who never says, Go, boys—but always says, Come, boys; and if a poor fellow is in want of a spur or a martingale, and the leather-whack is gone, there is never wanting the real silver to make up the loss, and that from his own pocket too.”

“Why, then, are you here idle when all that he holds most dear are in danger?” cried a voice with startling abruptness. “Mount, mount, and follow your captain; arm and mount, and that instantly, or