CHAPTER IV.
“Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces,
Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces;
That man who bath a tongue, I say, is no man,
If with that tongue he cannot win a woman.”
Two Gentlemen of Verona.
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In making the arrangement by which Captain
Lawton had been left, with Sergeant Hollister
and twelve men, as a guard over the wounded and
heavy baggage of the corps, Dunwoodie had consuited
not only the information which had been conveyed
in the letter of Col. Singleton, but the supposed
bruises of his comrade's body. It was in
vain that Lawton had declared himself fit for any
duty that man could perform, or that he had plainly
intimated that his men would never follow Tom
Mason to a charge, with the alacrity and confidence
with which they followed himself; his commander
was firm, and the reluctant captain was
compelled to comply with as good a grace as he
could assume. Before parting, Dunwoodie renewed
his caution to Lawton, to keep a watchful
eye on the inmates of the cottage, and especially
enjoined him, if any movements of a particularly
suspicious nature were noticed in the neighbourhood,
to break up from his present quarters, and
move down with his party, and to take possession
of the domains of Mr. Wharton. A vague suspicion
of danger to the family had been awakened
in the breast of the major, by the language of the
pedlar, although he was unable to refer it to
any particular source, or understand why it was to
be apprehended.
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For some time after the departure of the
troops, the captain was walking to and fro, before
the door of the “Hotel,” inwardly cursing
his fate that condemned him to an inglorious idleness,
at a moment when a meeting with the enemy
might be expected, and replying to the occasional
queries of Betty, who from the interior of the building,
ever and anon, demanded in a high tone of
voice, an explanation of various points in the pedlar's
escape that as yet she could not comprehend.
At this instant he was joined by the surgeon, who
had hitherto been engaged among his patients in
a distant building, and was profoundly ignorant of
every thing that had occurred, even to the departure
of the troops.
“Where are all the sentinels, John,” he inquired,
as he gazed around with a look of curiosity,
“and why are you here alone?”
“Off—all off, with Dunwoodie, to the river. Yon
and I are left here to take care of a few sick men,
and some women.”
“I am glad, however,” said the surgeon, “that
Major Dunwoodie had consideration enough, not
to move the wounded. Here, you Mrs. Elizabeth
Flannagan, hasten with some food, that I may appease
my appetite. I have a dead body to dissect,
and am in a hurry.”
“And here you, Mister Doctor Archibald Sitgreaves,”
echoed Betty, showing her blooming
countenance from a broken window of the kitchen,
“you are ever a coming too late; here is nothing
to ate but the skin of Jenny and the body you are
mintioning.”
“Woman,” said the surgeon, in anger, “do you
take me for a cannibal, that you address your filthy
discourse to me in this manner.—I bid you
hasten with such food as may be proper to be received
into the stomach fasting.”
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“And I'm sure its for a pop-gun that I should be
taking you sooner than for a cannon-ball,” said
Betty, winking at the captain, “and I tell you that
its fasting you must be, unless you will let me cook
you a steak from the skin of Jenny. The boys
have eaten me up entirely.”
Lawton now interfered to preserve the peace,
and assured the surgeon that he had already despatched
the proper persons in quest of food for
the party. A little mollified with this explanation,
the operator soon forgot his hunger, and declared
his intention of proceeding to business at once.
“And where is your subject?” asked Lawton,
gravely.
“The pedlar,” said the other, gazing on the
sign-post; “you see I made Hollister put a stage
so high that the neck would not be dislocated by
the fall, and I intend making as handsome a skeleton
of him, as there is in the States of North-America—
the fellow has good points, and his bones are
well knit. Oh! Jack, I will make a perfect beauty
of him. I have long been wanting something
of the sort to send as a present to my old aunt in
Virginia, who was so kind to me when a boy.”
“The devil!” cried Lawton; “would you send
the old woman a dead man's bones.”
“Why not?” said the surgeon; “what nobler
object is there in nature than the figure of a man—
and a skeleton may be called his elementary parts.
But what has been done with the body?”
“Off too.”
“Off!” echoed the panic stricken operator;
“and who has dared to take it away without my
leave.”
“Sure jist the divil,” said Betty; “and who'll
be after taking yourself away some of these times
too, without asking your lave.”
“Silence, you witch,” said Lawton, with
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difficulty suppressing a laugh; “is this the manner
in which to address an officer.”
“Who called me the filthy Elizabeth Flannagan,”
cried the washerwoman, snapping her fingers
contemptuously. “I can remimber a frind for
a year, and don't forgit an inimy for a month.”
But the friendship or enmity of Mrs. Flannagan
were alike indifferent to the surgeon, who could
think of nothing but his loss; and Lawton was
obliged to explain to his friend the apparent manner
in which it happened.
“And a lucky escape it was for you, my jewel of
a doctor,” cried Betty, as the captain concluded.
“Sergeant Hollister, who saw him face to face, as
it might be, says it's Beelzeboob, and no pedlar, unless
it may be in a small matter of lies and thefts,
and sich wickednesses. Now a pretty figure you
would have been in cutting up Beelzeboob, if the
major had hung him. I don't think it's very asy
he would have been under your knife.”
Thus doubly disappointed in both his meal and
his business, Sitgreaves suddenly declared his intention
of visiting the “Locusts,” and inquiring
into the state of Captain Singleton. Lawton was
ready for the excursion, and mounting they were
soon on the road, though the surgeon was obliged
to submit to a few more jokes from the washerwoman,
before he could get out of hearing. For
some time the two rode in silence, when Lawton
perceiving that his companion's temper was somewhat
ruffled by his disappointments and Betty's
attack, made an effort to restore the tranquillity of
his feelings, by saying—
“That was a charming song, Archibald, that
you commenced, last evening, when we were interrupted
by the party that brought the pedlar. The
allusion to Galen was extremely neat.”
“I knew you would like it, Jack, when your
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eyes were opened to its beauties,” returned the
operator, suffering his muscles to relax into a smile;
“but when the brain has become confused by the
fumes of wine ascending from the stomach, intoxication
is liable to ensue, and the faculties by no
means continue qualified to discriminate, either in
matters of taste or of science.”
“And yet your ode partook largely of both,” observed
Lawton, suffering no part of him to smile
but his eyes.
“Ode is by no means a proper term for the
composition,” said Sitgreaves. “I should rather
term it a classical ballad.”
“Very probably,” said the trooper; “hearing
only one verse, it was difficult to affix a name to
it.”
The surgeon involuntarily hem'd, and began to
clear his throat, although by no means conscious
himself to what the preparation tended. But the
captain rolling his dark eye towards his companion,
and observing him to be sitting with great
uneasiness on his horse, continued—
“The air is still, and the road solitary—why
not give me the remainder—it might correct the
bad taste you accuse me of possessing, to hear it.”
“Oh! my dear John, if I thought it would correct
the errors you have imbibed, from habit and
indulgence, nothing could give me more pleasure.”
“Try; we are fast approaching some rocks on
our left—the echo from them, I should think, must
be delightful.”
Thus encouraged, and somewhat impelled by
the opinion that he both sung and wrote with exquisite
taste, the surgeon set about complying with
the request in sober earnest. After carefully removing
his spectacles from his eyes, and wiping
the glasses, they were replaced with the utmost
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accuracy and precision; his wig was adjusted to
his head with mathematical symmetry, and his voice
being cleared by various efforts until at length its
melody pleased the exquisite sensibility of his own
ear—then, to the no small delight of the trooper,
he begun anew the ditty of the preceding evening.
But whether it was that his steed became enlivened
by the notes of his master, or that he caught a
disposition to trot from Lawton's charger, the surgeon
had not concluded his second verse, before
his tones vibrated in regular cadence to the rise
and fall of his own body on the saddle. Notwithstanding
this somewhat inharmonious interruption,
Sitgreaves resolutely persevered, until he had got
through with the following words—
“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.
Hast thou ever known shame's blush, dearest,
Or felt its thrilling smart
Suffuse thy cheek, like marble, clearest,
As Damon read thy heart?
Then, silly girl, thou'st blush'd to own
A pain that Harvey e'en has known.
But for each pain of thine, dearest,
Or smart of keen love's wound,
For all that, foolish maid, thou fearest,
An antidote is found.
And mighty Hymen's art can heal
Each wound that youthful lovers feel.
Hast thou ever”—
“Hush!” interrupted the trooper; “what rustling
noise is that, among the rocks?”
“The echo.—
“Hast thou ever”—
“Listen,” said Lawton, stopping his horse. He
had not done speaking when a stone fell at his
feet, and rolled harmlessly across the path.
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“A friendly shot, that,” cried the trooper,
“neither the weapon, nor its force, implies much
ill will towards us.”
“Blows from stones seldom produce more than
contusions,” said the operator, bending his gaze
in every direction in vain, in quest of the hand
from which the missile had been hurled; “it must
be meteoric—there is no living being in sight, except
ourselves.”
“It would be easy to hide a regiment behind
those rocks,” returned the trooper, dismounting,
and taking the stone in his hand,—“Oh! here is
the explanation, along with the mystery.” So
saying, he tore a piece of paper that had been ingeniously
fastened to the small fragment of rock
which had thus singularly fallen before him, and
opening it, the captain read the following words
written in no very legible hand.
“A musket bullet will go farther than a stone,
and things more dangerous than yarbs for wounded
men, lie hid in the rocks of West-Chester. The
steed may be good, but can he mount a precipice?”
“Thou sayest the truth, strange man,” said
Lawton: “courage and activity would avail but
little against assassination, and these rugged passes.”
Remounting his horse, he cried aloud—
“Thanks, unknown friend—your caution will be
remembered, and it shall never be forgotten that
all my enemies are not merciless.”
A meagre hand was extended for an instant over
a rock, waving in the air, and afterwards nothing
further was seen or heard by the soldiers.
“Quite an extraordinary interruption,” said the
astonished operator, “and a letter of a very mysterious
meaning.”
“Oh! 'tis nothing but the wit of some bumpkin
who thinks to frighten two of the Virginians by an
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artifice of this kind,” said the trooper, placing the
billet in his pocket; “but let me tell you, Mr.
Archibald Sitgreaves, you were wanting to dissect
just now, a damn'd honest fellow.”
“It was the pedlar—one of the most notorious
spies in the enemy's service,” returned the other;
“and I must say, that I think it an honour to such
a man to be devoted to the use of science.”
“He may be a spy—he must be one,” said
Lawton, musing; “but he has a heart above enmity,
and a soul that would honour a gallant soldier.”
The surgeon turned an inquiring eye on his
companion as he uttered this soliloquy, while the
penetrating looks of the trooper had already discovered
another pile of rocks, which jutting forward,
nearly obstructed the highway that wound
directly around its base.
“What the steed cannot mount, the foot of
man can overcome,” exclaimed the wary partisan.
Throwing himself again from his saddle, and leaping
a wall of stone, he began to ascend the hill at
a place which would soon have given him a birds'
eye view of the rocks in question, together with
all their crevices. This movement was no sooner
made than Lawton caught a glimpse of the figure
of a man stealing rapidly from his approach, and
disappearing on the opposite side of the precipice.
“Spur—Sitgreaves—Spur,” shouted the trooper,
dashing over every impediment in pursuit,
“and murder the villain as he flies.”
The request was promptly complied with, and
a few moments brought the surgeon in full
view of a man armed with a musket, who was
crossing the road, and evidently seeking the protection
of the thick wood on its opposite side.
“Stop, my friend—stop until Captain Lawton
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comes up, if you please,” cried the surgeon, observing
him to flee with a rapidity that baffled his
horsemanship. But as if the invitation contained
new terrors, the footman redoubled his efforts, nor
paused even to breathe, until he had reached his
goal, when, turning his on heel, he discharged his
musket towards the operator, and was out of sight
in an instant. To gain the highway and throw
himself in his saddle detained Lawton but a moment,
and he rode to the side of his comrade just
as the figure had disappeared.
“Which way has he fled?” cried the trooper.
“John,” said the surgeon, “am I not a noncombatant?”
“Whither has the rascal fled?” cried Lawton
again, impatiently.
“Where you cannot follow—into that wood,”
returned the surgeon. “But I repeat, John, am I
not a non-combatant?”
The disappointed trooper perceiving that his
enemy had escaped him, now turned his eyes,
which were flashing with anger under his dark
brows, upon his comrade, and gradually his muscles
lost their rigid compression, his brow relaxed
and his eyes changed from their fierce expression,
to the covert laughter which so often distinguished
that organ in the trooper. The surgeon sat in
dignified composure on his horse; his thin body
erect, and head elevated with all the indignity of
conscious injustice towards himself—his spectacles
had been shaken down to the extreme end of
the ample member on which they rested, and his
eyes were glaring above them with the fullness
of indignation.
A slight convulsive effort composed the muscles
of the trooper's face, however, and he broke the
silence again, by saying—
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“Why did you suffer the rascal to escape—had you
but brought him within the reach of my sabre, I
would have given you a substitute for the pedlar.”
“'Twas impossible to prevent it,” said the surgeon,
pointing to the bars, before which he had
stopped his horse; “he threw himself on the other
side of this fence, and left me where you see—nor
would the man in the least attend to my remonstrances,
or intimation that you wished to hold discourse
with him.”
“No!” exclaimed Lawton, in an affected surprise;
“he was truly a discourteous rascal; but
why did you not leap the fence, and compel him
to a halt—you see but three of the bars are up, and
Betty Flannagan could clear them, on her cow.”
The surgeon, for the first time, withdrew his eyes
from the place where the fugitive had disappeared,
and turned his countenance towards his comrade.
His head, however, was not permitted to
lower itself in the least, as he replied—
“I humbly conceive, Captain Lawton, that neither
Mrs. Elizabeth Flannagan, nor her cow, are
examples to be emulated by Doctor Archibald
Sitgreaves—it would be but a sorry compliment
to science to say that a Doctor of Medicine had
fractured both his legs, by injudiciously striking
them against a pair of bar-posts.” While speaking,
the surgeon raised the limbs in question to
a nearly horizontal position, that really appeared
to bid defiance to any thing like a passage for
himself through the defile; but the trooper, disregarding
this ocular proof of the impossibility of
the movement, cried hastily—
“Here was nothing to stop you man; I could
leap a platoon through, boot and thigh, without
pricking with a single spur. Pshaw, I have often
charged upon the bayonets of infantry over greater
difficulties than this.”
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“You will please to remember, Captain John
Lawton,” said the surgeon, with a most imposing
air of offended dignity, “that I am not the riding
master to the regiment—nor a drill sergeant—nor
a crazy cornet—no, sir—and I speak it with a due
respect for the commission of the continental Congress—
nor an inconsiderate captain who regards
his own life as little as that of his enemies. I am
only, sir, a poor, humble man of letters, a mere
Doctor of Medicine, an unworthy graduate of
Edinburgh, and a surgeon of dragoons, nothing
more I do assure you, Captain John Lawton.”
So saying, he turned his horse's head towards the
cottage, and re-commenced his ride.
“Ay! you speak the truth,” muttered the dragoon;
“had I but the meanest rider of my troop
with me, I should have taken the scoundrel, and
given at least one victim to the offended laws of
my country. But, Archibald, no man can ride
well who straddles in this manner like the Colossus
of Rhodes. You should depend less on your
stirrup, and keep your seat by the power of the
knee.”
“With proper deference to your experience,
Captain Lawton,” returned the surgeon, “I conceive
myself to be no incompetent judge of muscular
action, whether in the knee or any other
part of the human frame. And although but humbly
educated, I am not now to learn, that the
wider the base, the more firm is the superstructure.”
“Yes, but damn it,” cried Lawton, impatiently,
“would you fill a highway in this manner with
one pair of legs, when half a dozen might pass
together in comfort—stretching them abroad like
the scythes to the ancient chariot wheels.”
The allusion to the practice of the ancients
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somewhat softened the indignation of the surgeon,
and he replied with rather less hauteur—
“You should speak with reverence of the
usages of those who have gone before us, and
who, however ignorant they were in matters of
science, and particularly that of surgery, yet furnished
many brilliant exceptions to the superstitions
of the day. Now, sir, I have no doubt that
Galen has operated on wounds occasioned by
these very scythes that you mention, although we
can find no evidence of the fact in cotemporary
writers. Ah! they must have given dreadful injuries,
and I doubt not, caused great uneasiness to
the medical gentlemen of that day.”
“There could not have been much science displayed,
I think,” returned the trooper, collecting
himself into his usual manner; “and
occasionally a body must have been left in two
pieces, to puzzle the ingenuity of those gentry to
unite. Yet doubtless they did it.”
“What!” cried the operator in amazement,
“unite two parts of the human body that have
been severed by an edged instrument, to any of
the purposes of animal life?”
“That have been rent asunder by a scythe, and
united to do military duty,” said Lawton.
“'Tis impossible—quite impossible,” cried the
surgeon; “it is in vain, Captain Lawton, that
human ingenuity endeavours to baffle the efforts
of nature. Think, my dear sir, in this case you
separate all the arteries—injure all of the intestines—
sever all of the nerves and sinews, and,
what is of more consequence, you”—
“Enough,” said Lawton, waving his hand;
“you have said enough, Dr. Sitgreaves, and I am
convinced. Nothing shall ever tempt me willingly
to submit to be divided in this irretrievable
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manner—a manner, I say, Dr. Sitgreaves, that
puts at defiance all the arts of surgery.”
“True—most true, my dear John,” cried the
surgeon with warmth, and forgetting his displeasure;
“it removes all the pleasure of a wound,
when you find it beyond the reach of science to
heal.”
“I should think so,” said Lawton, rather drily.
“What do you think is the greatest pleasure in
life?” asked the operator suddenly, and with all
his confidence in his companion restored.
“That may be difficult to answer.”
“Not at all,” cried the surgeon; “it is in witnessing,
or rather feeling, the ravages of disease
repaired by the lights of science co-operating with
nature. I once broke my little finger intentionally,
in order that I might reduce the fracture
and watch the cure; it was only on a small scale,
you know, dear John; still I think the thrilling sensation,
excited by the knitting of the bone, aided
by the contemplation of the art of man thus acting
in unison with nature, exceeded any other enjoyment
that I have ever experienced. Oh! had
it been one of the more important members, such
as the leg or arm, how much greater must the
pleasure have been.”
“Or the neck,” said the trooper; but their discourse
was interrupted by their arrival at the cottage
of Mr. Wharton. No one appearing to usher
them into an apartment, the captain proceeded to
the door of the parlour, where he knew visitors
were commonly shown. On opening it, he paused
for a moment, in admiration, at the scene within.
The person of Col. Wellmere first met his eye,
bending forward towards the figure of the blushing
Sarah, with an earnestness of manner, that
prevented the noise of Lawton's entrance being
heard by either of the parties. Certain
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significant signs, which were embraced at a glance by
the prying gaze of the trooper, at once made him
a master of their secret, and he was about to retire
as silently as he had advanced, when his companion,
pushing himself through the passage,
abruptly entered the apartment. Advancing instantly
to the chair of Wellmere, the surgeon instinctively
laid hold of his arm and exclaimed—
“Bless me—a quick and irregular pulse—
flushed cheek and fiery eye—strong febrile symptoms,
and such as must be attended to.” While
speaking, the doctor, who was much addicted to
practising in a summary way, had already produced
his lancet, and made certain other indications
of his intentions to proceed at once to business.
But Col. Wellmere, recovering from the
confusion of the surprise, arose from his seat,
rather haughtily, and said—
“Sir, it is the warmth of the room, that lends
me the colour, and I am already too much indebted
to your skill to give you any farther trouble—
Miss Wharton knows that I am quite well,
and I do assure you that I never felt better or
happier in my life.”
There was a peculiar emphasis in the latter
part of this speech, that, however it might gratify
the feelings of Sarah, brought the colour to her
cheeks with a redoubled brilliancy, and Sitgreaves,
as his eye followed the direction of those of his
patient, did not fail to observe it.
“Your arm, if you please, madam,” said the
surgeon promptly, advancing with a bow; “anxiety
and watching have done their work on your delicate
frame, and there are symptoms about you
that must not be neglected.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said Sarah, recovering herself
with womanly pride, “the heat is oppressive,
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and I will retire and acquaint Miss Peyton with
your presence.”
There was but little difficulty in practising on
the abstracted simplicity of the surgeon; but
it was necessary for Sarah to raise her eyes to return
the salutation of Lawton, as he bowed his
head to nearly a level with the hand that held
open the door for her passage. One look was
sufficient; she was able to control her steps sufficiently
to retire with dignity, but no sooner was
she relieved from the presence of all observers,
than she fell into a chair and abandoned herself
to a mingled feeling of shame and pleasure.
A little nettled at the contumacious deportment
of the British colonel, Sitgreaves, after once more
tendering services that were again rejected, withdrew
to the chamber of young Singleton whither
Lawton had already preceded him.
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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851 [1821], The spy, volume 2 (Wiley & Halsted, New York) [word count] [eaf052v2].
