THE SPY - A Tale of the Neutral Ground (Historical Novel). Джеймс Фенимор Купер
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bowed to the whole party, and without taking any notice of the peddler, other than by simply thanking him for his attentions, mounted his horse, and, riding steadily and gracefully through the little gate, was soon lost behind the hill which sheltered the valley to the northward.
The eyes of the peddler followed the retiring figure of the horseman so long as it continued within view, and as it disappeared from his sight, he drew a long and heavy sigh, as if relieved from a load of apprehension. The Whartons had meditated in silence on the character and visit of their unknown guest for the same period, when the father approached Birch and observed,
“I am yet your debtor, Harvey, for the tobacco you were so kind as to bring me from the city.”
“If it should not prove so good as the first,” replied the peddler, fixing a last and lingering look in the direction of Harper’s route, “it is owing to the scarcity of the article.”
“I like it much,” continued the other; “but you have forgotten to name the price.”
The countenance of the trader changed, and, losing its expression of deep care in a natural acuteness, he answered,—
“It is hard to say what ought to be the price; I believe I must leave it to your own generosity.”
Mr. Wharton had taken a hand well filled with the images of Carolus III from his pocket, and now extended it towards Birch with three of the pieces between his finger and thumb. Harvey’s eyes twinkled as he contemplated the reward; and rolling over in his mouth a large quantity of the article in question, coolly stretched forth his hand, into which the dollars fell with a most agreeable sound: but not satisfied with the transient music of their fall, the peddler gave each piece in succession a ring on the stepping-stone of the piazza, before he consigned it to the safekeeping of a huge deerskin purse, which vanished from the sight of the spectators so dexterously, that not one of them could have told about what part of his person it was secreted.
This very material point in his business so satisfactorily completed, the peddler rose from his seat on the floor of the piazza, and approached to where Captain Wharton stood, supporting his sisters on either arm, as they listened with the lively interest of affection to his conversation.
The agitation of the preceding incidents had caused such an expenditure of the juices which had become necessary to the mouth of the peddler, that a new supply of the weed was required before he could turn his attention to business of lesser moment. This done, he asked abruptly,—
“Captain Wharton, do you go in to-night?”
“No!” said the captain, laconically, and looking at his lovely burdens with great affection. “Mr. Birch, would you have me leave such company so soon, when I may never enjoy it again?”
“Brother!” said Frances, “jesting on such a subject is cruel.”
“I rather guess,” continued the peddler, coolly, “now the storm is over, the Skinners may be moving; you had better shorten your visit, Captain Wharton.”
“Oh!” cried the British officer, “a few guineas will buy off those rascals at any time, should I meet them. No, no, Mr. Birch, here I stay until morning.”
“Money could not liberate Major Andre,” said the peddler, dryly.
Both the sisters now turned to the captain in alarm, and the elder observed,—
“You had better take the advice of Harvey; rest assured, his opinion in such matters ought not to be disregarded.”
“Yes,” added the younger, “if, as I suspect, Mr. Birch assisted you to come here, your safety, our happiness, dear Henry, requires you to listen to him now.”
“I brought myself out, and can take myself in,” said the captain positively. “Our bargain went no further than to procure my disguise, and to let me know when the coast was clear; and in the latter particular, you were mistaken, Mr. Birch.”
“I was,” said the peddler, with some interest, “and the greater is the reason why you should get back to-night; the pass I gave you will serve but once.”
“Cannot you forge another?”
The pale cheek of the trader showed an unusual color, but he continued silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground, until the young man added, with great positiveness, “Here I stay this night, come what will.”
“Captain Wharton,” said the peddler, with great deliberation and marked emphasis, “beware a tall Virginian, with huge whiskers; he is below you, to my knowledge; the devil can’t deceive him; I never could but once.”
“Let him beware of me,” said Wharton, haughtily. “But, Mr. Birch, I exonerate you from further responsibility.”
“Will you give me that in writing?” asked the cautious Birch.
“Oh! cheerfully,” cried the captain, with a laugh. “Caesar! pen, ink, and paper, while I write a discharge for my trusty attendant, Harvey Birch, peddler, etc., etc.”
The implements for writing were produced, and the captain, with great gayety, wrote the desired acknowledgment in language of his own; which the peddler took, and carefully depositing it by the side of the image of his Catholic Majesty, made a sweeping bow to the whole family, and departed as he had approached. He was soon seen at a distance, stealing into the door of his own humble dwelling.
The father and sisters of the captain were too much rejoiced in retaining the young man to express, or even entertain, the apprehensions his situation might reasonably excite; but on retiring to their evening repast, a cooler reflection induced the captain to think of changing his mind. Unwilling to trust himself out of the protection of his father’s domains, the young man dispatched Caesar to desire another interview with Harvey. The black soon returned with the unwelcome intelligence that it was now too late. Katy had told him that Harvey must be miles on his road to the northward, “having left home at early candlelight with his pack.” Nothing now remained to the captain but patience, until the morning should afford further opportunity of deciding on the best course for him to pursue.
“This Harvey Birch, with his knowing looks and portentous warnings, gives me more uneasiness than I am willing to own,” said Captain Wharton, rousing himself from a fit of musing in which the danger of his situation made no small part of his meditations.
“How is it that he is able to travel to and fro in these difficult times, without molestation?” inquired Miss Peyton.
“Why the rebels suffer him to escape so easily, is more than I can answer,” returned the other; “but Sir Henry would not permit a hair of his head to be injured.”
“Indeed!” cried Frances, with interest. “Is he then known to Sir Henry
Clinton?”
“At least he ought to be.”
“Do you think, my son,” asked Mr. Wharton, “there is no danger of his betraying you?”
“Why—no; I reflected on that before I trusted myself to his power,” said the captain, thoughtfully. “He seems to be faithful in matters of business. The danger to himself, should he return to the city, would prevent such an act of villainy.”
“I think,” said Frances, adopting the manner of her brother, “Harvey Birch is not without good feelings; at least, he has the appearance of them at times.”
“Oh!” cried his sister, exulting, “he has loyalty, and that with me is a cardinal virtue.”
“I am afraid,” said her brother, laughing, “love of money is a stronger passion than love of his king.”
“Then,” said the father, “you cannot be safe while in his power—for no love will withstand the temptations of money, when offered to avarice.”
“Surely, sir,” cried the youth, recovering his gayety, “there must be one love that can resist anything—is there not, Fanny?”
“Here