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

“He was; nay, he received a wound in the combat. You see he yet moves his arm with difficulty. Would he, think you, sir, have trusted himself where he could fall again into our hands, unless conscious of innocence?”

“Would André have deserted a field of battle, Major Dunwoodie, had he encountered such an event, near Tarrytown?” asked his deliberate examiner. “Is it not natural to youth to seek glory?”

“Do you call this glory?” exclaimed the major: “an ignominious death and a tarnished name.”

“Major Dunwoodie,” returned the other, still with inveterate gravity, “you have acted nobly; your duty has been arduous and severe, but it has been faithfully and honorably discharged; ours must not be less so.”

During the examination, the most intense interest prevailed among the hearers. With that kind of feeling which could not separate the principle from the cause, most of the auditors thought that if Dunwoodie failed to move the hearts of Henry’s judges, no other possessed the power. Caesar thrust his misshapen form forward and his features, so expressive of the concern he felt, and so different from the vacant curiosity pictured in the countenance of the other blacks, caught the attention of the silent judge. For the first time he spoke:—

“Let that black be brought forward.”

It was too late to retreat, and Caesar found himself confronted with a row of rebel officers, before he knew what was uppermost in his thoughts. The others yielded the examination to the one who suggested it, and using all due deliberation, he proceeded accordingly.

“You know the prisoner?”

“I t’ink he ought,” returned the black, in a manner as sententious as that of his examiner.

“Did he give you the wig when he threw it aside?”

“I don’t want ’em,” grumbled Caesar; “got a berry good hair heself.”

“Were you employed in carrying any letters or messages of any kind while
Captain Wharton was in your master’s house?”

“I do what a tell me,” returned the black.

“But what did they tell you to do?”

“Sometime a one ting—sometime anoder.”

“Enough,” said Colonel Singleton, with dignity. “You have the noble acknowledgment of a gentleman, what more can you obtain from this slave?—Captain Wharton, you perceive the unfortunate impression against you. Have you other testimony to adduce?”

To Henry there now remained but little hope; his confidence in his security was fast ebbing, but with an indefinite expectation of assistance from the loveliness of his sister, he fixed an earnest gaze on the pallid features of Frances. She arose, and with a tottering step moved towards the judges; the paleness of her cheek continued but for a moment, and gave place to a flush of fire, and with a light but firm tread, she stood before them. Raising her hand to her polished forehead, Frances threw aside her exuberant locks, and displayed a picture of beauty and innocence to their view that might have moved even sterner natures. The president shrouded his eyes for a moment, as if the wild eye and speaking countenance recalled the image of another. The movement was transient, and recovering himself, with an earnestness that betrayed his secret wishes,—

“To you, then, your brother previously communicated his intention of paying your family a secret visit?”

“No!—no!” said Frances, pressing her hand on her brain, as if to collect her thoughts; “he told me nothing—we knew not of the visit until he arrived; but can it be necessary to explain to gallant men, that a child would incur hazard to meet his only parent, and that in times like these, and in a situation like ours?”

“But was this the first time? Did he never even talk of doing so before?” inquired the colonel, leaning towards her with paternal interest.

“Certainly—certainly,” cried Frances, catching the expression of his own benevolent countenance. “This is but the fourth of his visits.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed the veteran, rubbing his hands with delight. “An adventurous, warm-hearted son—I warrant me, gentlemen, a fiery soldier in the field! In what disguises did he come?”

“In none, for none were then necessary; the royal troops covered the country, and gave him safe passage.”

“And was this the first of his visits out of the uniform of his regiment?” asked the colonel, in a suppressed voice, avoiding the penetrating looks of his companions.

“Oh! the very first,” exclaimed the eager girl. “His first offense, I do assure you, if offense it be.”

“But you wrote him—you urged the visit; surely, young lady, you wished to see your brother?” added the impatient colonel.

“That we wished it, and prayed for it,—oh, how fervently we prayed for it!—is true; but to have held communion with the royal army would have endangered our father, and we dared not.”

“Did he leave the house until taken, or had he intercourse with any out of your own dwelling?”

“With none—no one, excepting our neighbor, the peddler Birch.”

“With whom!” exclaimed the colonel, turning pale, and shrinking as from the sting of an adder.

Dunwoodie groaned aloud, and striking his head with his hand, cried in piercing tones, “He is lost!” and rushed from the apartment.

“But Harvey Birch,” repeated Frances, gazing wildly at the door through which her lover had disappeared.

“Harvey Birch!” echoed all the judges. The two immovable members of the court exchanged looks, and threw an inquisitive glance at the prisoner.

“To you, gentlemen, it can be no new intelligence to hear that Harvey Birch is suspected of favoring the royal cause,” said Henry, again advancing before the judges; “for he has already been condemned by your tribunals to the fate that I now see awaits myself. I will therefore explain, that it was by his assistance I procured the disguise, and passed your pickets; but to my dying moments, and with my dying breath, I will avow, that my intentions were as pure as the innocent being before you.”

“Captain Wharton,” said the president, solemnly, “the enemies of American liberty have made mighty and subtle efforts to overthrow our power. A more dangerous man, for his means and education, is not ranked among our foes than this peddler of Westchester. He is a spy—artful, delusive, and penetrating, beyond the abilities of any of his class. Sir Henry could not do better than to associate him with the officer in his next attempt. He would have saved André. Indeed, young man, this is a connection that may prove fatal to you!”

The honest indignation that beamed on the countenance of the aged warrior was met by a look of perfect conviction on the part of his comrades.

“I have ruined him!” cried Frances, clasping her hands in terror. “Do you desert us? then he is lost, indeed!”

“Forbear! lovely innocent, forbear!” said the colonel, with strong emotion; “you injure none, but distress us all.”

“Is it then such a crime to possess natural affection?” said Frances wildly. “Would Washington—the noble, upright, impartial Washington, judge so harshly? Delay, till Washington can hear his tale.”

“It is impossible,” said the president, covering his eyes, as if to hide her beauty from his view.

“Impossible! oh! but for a week suspend your judgment. On my knees I entreat you, as you will expect mercy yourself, when no human power can avail you, give him but a day.”

“It is impossible,” repeated the colonel, in a voice that was nearly choked. “Our orders are peremptory, and too long delay has been given already.”

He turned from the kneeling suppliant, but could not, or would not, extricate that hand that she grasped with frenzied fervor.

“Remand your prisoner,” said one of the judges to the officer who had the charge of Henry. “Colonel Singleton, shall we withdraw?”

“Singleton! Singleton!” echoed Frances. “Then you are a father, and know how to pity a father’s woes; you cannot, will not, wound a heart that is now nearly crushed. Hear me, Colonel Singleton; as God will listen to your dying prayers, hear me, and spare my brother!”

“Remove her,” said the colonel, gently endeavoring to extricate his hand; but none appeared disposed to obey. Frances eagerly strove to read the expression of his averted face, and resisted all his efforts to retire.

“Colonel Singleton! how lately was your own son in suffering and in danger! Under the roof of my father he was cherished-under my father’s roof he found shelter and protection. Oh! suppose that son the pride of your age, the solace and protection of your infant children, and then pronounce my brother guilty, if you dare!”

“What right has Heath to make an executioner of me!” exclaimed the veteran fiercely, rising with a face flushed like fire, and every vein and artery swollen with suppressed emotion. “But I forget myself; come, gentlemen, let us mount, our painful duty must be done.”

“Mount not! go not!” shrieked Frances. “Can you tear a son from his parent—a brother from his sister, so coldly? Is this the cause I have so ardently loved? Are these the men that I have been taught to reverence? But you relent, you do hear me, you will pity and forgive.”

“Lead on, gentlemen,” said the colonel, motioning towards the door, and erecting himself into an air of military grandeur, in the vain hope of quieting his feelings.

“Lead not on, but hear me,” cried Frances, grasping his hand convulsively. “Colonel Singleton, you are a father!—pity—mercy—mercy for the son! mercy for the daughter! Yes—you had a daughter. On this bosom she poured out her last breath; these hands closed her eyes; these very hands, that are now clasped in prayer, did those offices for her that you condemn my poor, poor brother, to require.”

One mighty emotion the veteran struggled with, and quelled; but with a groan that shook his whole frame. He even looked around in conscious pride at his victory; but a second burst of feeling conquered. His head, white with the frost of seventy winters, sank upon the shoulder of the frantic suppliant. The sword that had been his companion in so many fields of blood dropped from his nerveless hand, and as he cried, “May God bless you for the deed!” he wept aloud.

Long and violent was the indulgence that Colonel Singleton yielded to his feelings. On recovering, he gave the senseless Frances into the arms of her aunt, and, turning with an air of fortitude to his comrades, he said,—

“Still, gentlemen, we have our duty as officers to discharge; our feelings as men may be indulged hereafter. What is your pleasure with the prisoner?”

One of the judges placed in his hand a written sentence, that he had prepared while the colonel was engaged with Frances, and declared it to be the opinion of himself and his companion.

It briefly stated that Henry Wharton had been detected in passing the lines of the American army as a spy, and in disguise. That thereby, according to the laws of war, he was liable to suffer death, and that this court adjudged him to the penalty; recommending him to be executed by hanging, before nine o’clock on the following morning.

It was not usual to inflict capital punishments, even on the enemy, without referring the case to the commander in chief, for his approbation; or, in his absence, to the officer commanding for the time being. But, as Washington held his headquarters at New Windsor, on the western bank of the Hudson, there was sufficient time to receive his answer.

“This is short notice,” said the veteran, holding the pen in his hand, in a suspense that had no object; “not a day to fit one so young for heaven?”

“The royal officers gave Hale[12] but an hour,” returned his comrade; “we have granted the usual time. But Washington has the power to extend it, or to pardon.”

“Then to Washington will I go,” cried the colonel, returning the paper with his signature; “and if the services of an old man like me, or that brave boy of mine, entitle me to his ear, I will yet save the youth.”

So saying, he departed, full of his generous intentions in favor of
Henry Wharton.

The sentence of the court was communicated, with proper tenderness, to the prisoner; and after giving a few necessary instructions to the officer in command, and dispatching a courier to headquarters with their report, the remaining judges mounted, and rode to their own quarters, with the same unmoved exterior, but with the consciousness of the same dispassionate integrity, that they had maintained throughout the trial.

[12] An American officer of this name was detected within the British lines, in disguise, in search of military information. He was tried and executed, as stated in the text, as soon as the preparations could be made. It is said that he was reproached under the gallows with dishonoring the rank he held by his fate. ‘What a death for an officer to die!’ said one of his captors. ‘Gentlemen, any death is honorable when a man dies in a cause like that of America,’ was his answer. André was executed amid the tears of his enemies; Hale died