CHAPTER XVI.
And let me the canakin clink, clink
And let me the canakin clink:
A soldier's a man;
A life's but a span;
Why then, let a soldier drink.
Iago.
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The position held by the corps of dragoons, we
have already said, was a favorite place of halting
with their commander. A cluster of some half
dozen small and dilapidated buildings formed
what, from the circumstance of two roads intersecting
each other at right angles, was called the
village of the four corners. As usual, one of the
most imposing of these edifices had been termed,
in the language of the day, “a house of entertainment
for man and beast.” On a rough board suspended
from the gallows looking post that had
supported the ancient sign was, however, written
in red chalk “Elizabeth Flanagan, her hotel,”
an ebullition of wit from some of the idle wags of
the corps. The matron, whose name had thus
been exalted to an office of such unexpected dignity,
ordinarily discharged the duties of a female
sutler, washerwoman, and, to use the language of
Katy Haynes, bitch-doctor to the troops; she was
the widow of a soldier who had been killed in the
service, and who, like herself, was a native of a
distant island, that had early tried his fortune in
the colonies of North America. She constantly migrated
with the troops, and it was seldom that
they became stationary for two days at a time,
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but the little cart of the bustling woman was seen
driving into their encampment, loaded with such
articles, as she conceived would make her presence
most welcome. With a celerity that seemed
almost supernatural, Betty took up her ground
and commenced her occupation; sometimes the
cart itself was her shop; at others, the soldiers
made her a rude shelter of such materials as offered;
but on the present occasion she had seized
on a vacant building, and by dint of stuffing the
dirty breeches and half dried linen of the troopers
in the broken windows, to exclude the cold which
had now become severe, she formed what she
herself had pronounced to be “most iligant lodgings.”
The men were quartered in the adjacent
barns, and the officers collected in the “Hotel
Flanagan,” which they facetiously called headquarters.
Betty was well known to every trooper
in the corps, could call each by his christian or
nick-name, as best suited her fancy; and, although
absolutely intolerable to all whom habit had not
made familiar with her virtues, was a general favorite
with these partizan warriors. Her faults
were, a trifling love of liquor, excessive filthiness,
and a total disregard to all the decencies of language;
her virtues, an unbounded love for her
adopted country, perfect honesty when dealing on
certain known principles with the soldiery, and
great good nature: added to these, Betty had the
merit of being the inventor of that beverage which
is so well known at the present hour, to all the
patriots who make a winter's march between the
commercial and political capitals of this great
state, and which is distinguished by the name of
“cock-tail.” Elizabeth Flanagan was peculiarly
well qualified by education and circumstances to
perfect this improvement in liquors, having been
literally brought up on its principal ingredient,
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and having acquired from her Virginia customers
the use of mint, from its flavour in a julep, to its
height of renown in the article in question. Such,
then, was the mistress of the mansion, who, reckless
of the cold northern blasts, showed her blooming
face from the door of the building to welcome
the arrival of her favorite, Captain Lawton, and
his companion, her master in matters of surgery.
“Ah! by my hopes of promotion, my gentle
Elizabeth, but you are welcome,” cried the
trooper, as he threw himself from his saddle;
“this villanous fresh water gas from the Canadas,
has been whistling among my bones till they ache
with the cold, but the sight of your fiery countenance
is as cheering as a christmas fire.”
“Now, sure, Captain Jack, you are always full
of your complimentaries,” replied the sutler, taking
the bridle of her customer; “but hurry in for
the life of you, darling; the fences hereabouts are
not so strong as in the Highlands, and there's that
within will warm both sowl and body.”
“So you have been laying the rails under contribution,
I see; well, that may do for the body,”
said the captain coolly; “but I have had a pull
at a bottle of cut glass with a silver stand, and
don't think I could relish your whiskey for a
month to come.”
“If it's silver or goold that your thinking of, it's
but little I have, though I've a trifling bit of the
continental,” said Betty with a look of much meaning,”
but there's that within that's fit to be put in
vessels of di'monds.”
“What can she mean, Archibald?” asked Lawton
quickly: “the animal looks as if she meant
more than she says.”
“ 'Tis probably a wandering of the reasoning
powers, created by the frequency of intoxicating
draughts,” observed the surgeon coolly, as he deliberately
threw his left leg over the pommel of
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his saddle, and slid down on the right side of his
horse.
“Faith, my dear jewel of a doctor, but it was
this side I was expecting you; the whole corps
come down on this side but yourself,” said Betty,
winking at the trooper; “but I've been feeding
the wounded, in your absence, with the fat of the
land.”
“Barbarous stupidity!” cried the panic-stricken
physician, “to feed men labouring under the excitement
of fever with powerful nutriment; woman,
woman, you are enough to defeat the skill
of Hippocrates himself.”
“Pooh!” said Betty with infinite composure,
“what a botheration you make about a little
whiskey; there was but a gallon betwixt a good
two dozen of them, and I gave it to the boys to
make them sleep easy; sure jist as slumbering
drops.”
Lawton and his companion now entered the
building, and the first objects which met their
eyes explained the hidden meaning of Betty's comfortable
declaration. A long table, made of boards
torn from the side of an out-building, was stretched
through the middle of the largest apartment or
bar-room, and on it was a very scanty display of
crockery ware. The steams of cooking arose from
an adjoining kitchen, but the principal attraction
was in a demi-john of fair proportions, which had
been ostentatiously placed on high by Betty as
the object most worthy of notice. Lawton soon
learnt that it was teeming with the real amber-coloured
juice of the grape, and had been sent
from the Locusts as an offering to Major Dunwoodie,
from his friend Captain Wharton of the
royal army.
“And a royal gift it is,” said the grinning subaltern
who made the explanation. “The major
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gives us an entertainment in honour of our victory,
and you see the principal expense is borne, as it
should be, by the enemy. Zounds, I am thinking
that after we have primed with such stuff, we
could charge through Sir Henry's head quarters
and carry off the knight himself.”
The captain of dragoons was in no manner displeased
at the prospect of terminating so pleasantly
a day that had been so agreeably commenced; he
was soon surrounded by his comrades, who made
many eager inquiries concerning his adventures,
while the surgeon proceeded with certain quakings
of the heart, to examine into the state of his wounded.
Enormous fires were crackling in the chimneys
of the house, superseding the necessity of
candles, by the bright light which was thrown from
the blazing piles. The group within were all
young men, and tried soldiers; in number they
were rather more than a dozen, and their manners
and conversation, were a strange mixture of
the bluntness of the partizan with the polish of
gentlemen. Their dresses were neat, though plain;
and a never failing topic amongst them was the
performance and quality of their horses—some
were endeavouring to sleep on the benches which
lined the walls, some were walking the apartments,
and others were seated in earnest discussion
on subjects connected with the business of
their lives. Occasionally, as the door of the kitchen
opened, the hissing sounds of the frying pans,
and the inviting savour of the food, created a stagnation
in all other employments; even the sleepers,
at such moments, would open their eyes and
raise their heads to reconnoitre the state of the
preparations. All this time Dunwoodie sat by
himself gazing at the fire, and lost in reflections
that none of his officers presumed to disturb; he
had made earnest inquiries of Sitgreaves on his
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entrance after the condition of Singleton, during
which a profound and respectful silence was maintained
in the room; but as soon as he had ended
and resumed his seat, the usual ease and freedom
prevailed.
The arrangement of the table was a matter of
but little concern to Mrs. Flanagan, and Cæsar
would have been sadly scandalized at witnessing
the informality with which various dishes, each
bearing a wonderful resemblance to the others,
were placed before so many gentlemen of consideration.
In taking their places at the board, the
strictest attention was paid to precedency; for
notwithstanding the freedom of manners which
prevailed in the corps, the points of military etiquette
were at all times observed, with something
approaching to religious veneration. Most of the
guests had been fasting too long to be in any degree
fastidious in their appetites, but the case was
different with Captain Lawton; he felt an unaccountable
loathing at the exhibition of Betty's
food, and could not refrain from making a few
passing comments on the condition of the knives,
and the clouded colourings of the plates. The
good nature and personal affection of Betty for
the offender, restrained her for some time from answering
to his innuendos, until Lawton, with a
yawn, ventured to admit a piece of the black meat
before him into his mouth, where, either from sated
appetite, or qualities inherent in the food, much
time was spent in vain efforts at mastication, when
he cried with some spleen—
“What kind of animal might this have been
when living, Mrs. Flanagan?”
“Sure, captain, and was'nt it the ould cow,”
replied the suttler with an emotion, that proceeded
partly from dissatisfaction at the complaints of
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her favourite, and partly from grief at the loss of
the deceased.
“What!” roared the trooper, stopping short as
he was happily about to swallow his morsel, “ancient
Jenny!”
“The devil!” cried another dropping his knife
and fork, “she who made the campaign of the
Jerseys with us?”
“The very same,” replied the mistress of the
hotel with a most piteous aspect of woe; “sure
gentlemen 'tis awful to have to eat sitch an ould
frind.”
“And has she sunk to this,” said Lawton pointing
with his knife to the remnants on the table.
“Nay, captain,” said Betty with spirit, “I sould
two of her quarters to some of your troop; but
divil the word did I tell the boys what an ould
frind it was they had bought, for fear it might
damage their appetites.”
“Fury!” cried the trooper with affected anger,
“I shall have my fellows as limber as supple-jacks
on such fare. Afraid of an Englishman as a Virginia
negro is of his driver.”
“Well,” said Lieutenant Mason, dropping his
knife and fork in a kind of despair, “my jaws have
more sympathy than many men's hearts. They
absolutely decline making any impression on the
relics of their old acquaintance.”
“Try a drop of the gift,” said Betty soothingly,
pouring a large allowance of the wine into a bowl,
and drinking it off as taster to the corps. “Faith
'tis but a wishy-washy sort of stuff after all.”
The ice once broken, however, a clear glass of
wine was handed to Dunwoodie, who, bowing to
his companions, drank the liquor in the midst of a
most profound silence. For a few glasses there
was much formality observed, and sundry patriotic
toasts and sentiments were duly noticed by the
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company. The liquor, however, performed its
wonted office; and before the second sentinel at
their door had been relieved, all recollection of
the dinner and their cares were lost in the present
festivity. Dr. Sitgreaves had not returned in season
to partake of Jenny, but had come in time to
receive his fair proportion of Captain Wharton's
present.
“A song—a song from Captain Lawton,” cried
two or three of the party in a breath, on observing
the failure of some of the points of good
fellowship in the trooper; “silence for the song
of Captain Lawton.”
“Gentlemen,” returned Lawton, his dark
eyes swimming with the bumper he had finished,
though his head was as impenetrable as a post,
“I am not much of a nightingale, but under the
favour of your good wishes, I consent to comply
with the demand.”
“Now, Jack,” said Sitgreaves, nodding on his
seat, “remember the air I taught you, and—stop,
I have a copy of the words in my pocket.”
“Forbear—forbear, good doctor,” said the
trooper, filling his glass with great deliberation,
“I never could wheel round those hard names.
Gentlemen I will give you an humble attempt of
my own.”
“Silence for Captain Lawton's song,” roared
five or six at once, when the trooper proceeded,
in a fine full tone, to sing the following words to a
well known bacchanalian air; several of his comrades
helping him through the chorus with a fervour
that shook the crazy edifice they were in:
Now push the mug, my jolly boys,
And live, while live we can,
To-morrow's sun may end your joys,
For brief's the hour of man.
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And he who bravely meets the foe
His lease of life can never know.
Old mother Flanagan
Come and fill the can again,
For you can fill, and we can swill,
Good Betty Flanagan.
If love of life pervades your breast,
Or love of ease your frame,
Quit honor's path, for peaceful rest,
And bear a coward's name;
For soon and late, we danger know,
And fearless on the saddle go.
Old mother, &c.
When foreign foes invade the land,
And wives and sweethearts call:
In freedom's cause we'll bravely stand,
Or will as bravely fall
In this fair home the fates have given,
We'll live as lords, or live in heaven.
Old mother, &c.
At each appeal made to herself, by the united
voices of the choir, Betty invariably advanced
and complied literally with the request contained
in the chorus, to the infinite delight of the singers,
and perhaps with no small participation in the
satisfaction on her own account. The hostess was
provided with a beverage more suited to the
high seasoning she had accustomed her palate to,
than the tasteless present of Captain Wharton;
by which means Betty had managed, with tolerable
facility, to keep even pace with the exhileration
of her guests. The applause received by
Captain Lawton, was general with the exception
of the surgeon, who rose from the bench during
the first chorus, and paced the floor, in a fine
glow of classical indignation. The bravos and
bravissimo's drowned all other noises for a short
time, but as they gradually ceased, the doctor
turned to the musician, and exclaimed, with manifest
heat—
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“Captain Lawton, I marvel that a gentlemen,
and a gallant officer, can find no other
subject for his muse, in these times of trial, than
in such beastly invocations to that notorious follower
of the camp, the filthy Elizabeth Flanagan.
Methinks the Goddess of Liberty could furnish a
more noble inspiration, and the sufferings of your
country a more befitting theme.”
“Heyday!” shouted the hostess, advancing
upon him in a most threatening attitude, “and
who is it that calls me filthy? Master squirt Master
pop-gun—”
“Peace,” said Dunwoodie, in a voice that
was exerted but a little more than common, but
which was succeeded by the stillness of death;
“woman leave the room. Dr. Sitgreaves, I call
you to your seat, to wait the order of the revels.”
“Proceed—proceed,” said the surgeon, drawing
himself up in an attitude of dignified composure,
“I trust, Major Dunwoodie, I am not unacquainted
with the rules of decorum, nor ignorant
of the by-laws of good fellowship.” Betty made
a hasty but somewhat devious retreat to her own
dominions, being unaccustomed to dispute the orders
of the commanding officer.
“Major Dunwoodie will honour us with a sentimental
song,” said Lawton, bowing to his leader,
with the politeness of a gentleman, and the
collected manner he so well knew how to assume.
The Major hesitated a moment, and then sung,
with fine execution, the following words:
Some love the heats of southern suns,
Where life's warm current mad'ning runs,
In one quick circling stream;
But dearer far's the mellow light,
Which trembling shines, reflected bright
In Luna's milder beams.
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Some love the tulip's gandier dyes,
Where deep'ning blue with yellow vies,
And gorgeous beauty glows;
But happier he, whose bridal wreathe,
By love entwined, is found to breathe
The sweetness of the rose.
The voice of Dunwoodie never lost its authority
with his inferiors, and the applause which followed
his song, though by no means so riotous as
that which succeeded the effort of the captain,
was much more flattering.
“If, sir,” said the doctor, after joining in the
plaudits of his companions, “you would but learn
to unite classical allusions with your delicate imagination,
you would become a pretty amateur
poet.”
“He who criticizes ought to be able to perform,”
said Dunwoodie with a smile; “I call on
Dr. Sitgreaves for a specimen of the style he admires.”
“Dr. Sitgreave's song—Dr. Sitgreaves song,”
echoed all at the table with delight: “a classical
ode from Dr. Sitgreaves.
The surgeon made a complacent bow of acquiescence,
took the remnant of his glass, and gave
a few preliminary hems, that served hugely to delight
three or four young cornets at the foot of the
table. He then commenced singing in a cracked
voice, and to any thing but a tune, the following
ditty—
Hast thou ever felt love's dart, dearest,
Or breathed his trembling sigh—
Thought him, afar, was ever nearest,
Before that sparkling eye.
Then hast thou known, what 'tis to feel
The pain that Galen could not heal.
“Hurrah!” shouted Lawton in a burst of applause,
“Archibald eclipses the muses themselves;
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his words flow like the sylvan stream by moonlight,
and his melody is a cross breed of the
nightingale and the owl.”
“Captain Lawton,” cried the exasperated operator,
“it is one thing to despise the lights of classical
learning, and another to be despised for your
own ignorance.”
A loud summons at the door of the building
created a dead halt in the uproar, and the dragoons
instinctively caught up their arms, to be
prepared for any intruders. The door was opened,
and the skinners entered, dragging in the pedlar,
bending under the load of his pack.
“Which is Captain Lawton?” said the leader
of the gang; gazing around him in some little astonishment.
“He waits your pleasure,” said the trooper
drily, and with infinite composure.
“Then here I deliver to your hands a condemned
traitor—this is Harvey Birch, the pedlar-spy.”
Lawton started as he looked his old acquaintance
in the face, and turning to the skinner with
a lowering look, continued—
“And who are you, sir, that speak so freely of
your neighbours?” bowing to Dunwoodie, “but
your pardon, sir; here is the commanding officer,
to him you will please to address yourself.”
“No, said the man sullenly, “it is to you I deliver
the pedlar, and from you I claim my reward.”
“Are you Harvey Birch?” said Dunwoodie,
advancing with an air of authority, that instantly
drove the skinner to a corner of the room.
“I am,” said Birch proudly.
“And a traitor to your country,” continued the
major with sternness; “do you know that I should
be justified in ordering your execution this night?”
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“'Tis not the will of God to send a soul so
hastily to his presence,” said the pediar with solemnity.
“You speak truth,” said Dunwoodie; “and a
few brief hours shall be added to your life; but as
your offence is most odious to a soldier, so it will
be sure to meet with the soldier's vengeance:
you die tomorrow.”
“'Tis as God wills,” returned Harvey without
moving a muscle.
“I have spent many a good hour to entrap the
villain,” said the skinner, advancing a little from
his corner, “and I hope you will give me a certificate
that will entitle us to the reward; 'twas
promised to be paid in gold.”
“Major Dunwoodie,” said the officer of the
day entering the room, “the patroles report a
hourse to be burnt, near yesterday's battle ground.”
“'Twas the hut of the pedlar,” muttered the
leader of the gang; “we have not left him a shingle
for shelter; I should have burnt it months ago, but
I wanted his shed for a trap to catch the sly fox
in.”
“You seem a most ingenious patriot, “said
Lawton with extreme gravity; “Major Dunwoodie,
I second the request of this worthy gentleman,
and crave the office of bestowing the reward
on him and his fellows.”
“Take it;” cried the major, “and you, miserable
man, prepare for that fate which will surely
await you before the setting of to-morrow's
sun.”
“Life offers but little to tempt me with,” said
Harvey, slowly raising his eyes, and gazing wildly
at the strange faces in the apartment.
“Come, worthy children of America,” said
Lawton, “follow, and receive your reward.”
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The gang eagerly accepted this invitation, and
followed the captain towards the quarters assigned
to his troop. Dunwoodie paused a moment, from
reluctance to triumph over a fallen foe, and proceeded
with great solemnity—
“You have already been tried, Harvey Birch,
and the truth has proved you to be an enemy, too
dangerous to the liberties of America, to be suffered
to live.”
“The truth!” echoed the pedlar starting, and
raising himself proudly, in a manner that regarded
the weight of his pack as nothing.
“Ay, the truth—you were charged with loitering
near the continental army, to gain intelligence
of its movements, and by communicating it to the
enemy, to enable him to frustrate the intentions of
Washington.”
“Will Washington say so, think you?” said
Birch with a ghastly smile.
“Doubtless he would—even the justice of
Washington condemns you.”
“No—no—no,” cried the pedlar, in a voice,
and with a manner that startled Dunwoodie;
“Washington can see beyond the hollow views of
pretended patriots. Has he not risked his all on
the cast of the die?—if a gallows is ready for me,
was there not one for him also? no—no—no,
Washington would never say, `lead him to a gallows.”
'
“Have you any thing, wretched man, to urge
to the commander in chief, why you should not
die?” said the major, recovering from the surprise
created by the manner of the other.
Birch trembled with the violence of the emotions
that were contending in his bosom; his face
assumed the ghastly paleness of death, and his
hand drew a box of tin from the folds of his shirt—
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he opened it, and its contents was a small piece of
paper—his eye was for an instant fixed on it—he
had already held it towards Dunwoodie, when
suddenly withdrawing his hand, he exclaimed—
“No—it dies with me—I know the conditions
of my service, and will not purchase life with their
forfeiture—it dies with me.”
“Deliver that paper, and you may possibly yet
find favour,” said Dunwoodie eagerly; expecting a
discovery of importance to the cause.
“It dies with me,” repeated Birch, a flush passing
over his pallid features, and lighting them
with extraordinary brilliancy.
“Seize the traitor, cried the major hastily,
“and wrest the secret from his hands.”
The order was immediately obeyed; but the
movements of the pedlar were too quick for them;
in an instant he swallowed it. The officers paused
in astonishment, at the readiness and energy of
the spy; but the surgeon cried eagerly—
“Hold him, while I administer an emetic.”
“Forbear,” said Dunwoodie, beckoning him
back with his hand; “if his crime is great, so will
his punishment be heavy.”
“Lead on,” cried the pedlar, dropping his pack
from his shoulders, and advancing towards the
door with a manner of incomprehensible dignity.
“Whither?” asked Dunwoodie in amazement.
“To the gallows.”
“No,” said the major, recoiling in horror at his
own justice. “My duty requires that I order you
to be executed; but surely not so hastily—take
until nine to-morrow to prepare for the awful
change you are to undergo.”
Dunwoodie whispered his orders in the ear of a
subaltern, and motioned to the pedlar to withdraw.
The interruption caused by this scene
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prevented further enjoyment around the table,
and the officers dispersed to their several places
of rest. In a short time the only noise to be
heard was the heavy tread of the sentinel, as he
paced over the frozen ground, in front of the Hotel
Flanagan.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
