The Spy by James Fenimore Cooper (top ebook reader TXT) 📖

The house of Birch had been watched at different times by the Americans, with a view to his arrest, but never with success; the reputed spy possessing a secret means of intelligence, that invariably defeated their schemes. Once, when a strong body of the continental army held the Four Corners for a whole summer, orders had been received from Washington himself, never to leave the door of Harvey Birch unwatched. The command was rigidly obeyed, and during this long period the peddler was unseen; the detachment was withdrawn, and the following night Birch reentered his dwelling. The father of Harvey had been greatly molested, in consequence of the suspicious character of the son. But, notwithstanding the most minute scrutiny into the conduct of the old man, no fact could be substantiated against him to his injury, and his property was too small to keep alive the zeal of patriots by profession. Its confiscation and purchase would not have rewarded their trouble. Age and sorrow were now about to spare him further molestation, for the lamp of life had been drained of its oil. The recent separation of the father and son had been painful, but they had submitted in obedience to what both thought a duty. The old man had kept his dying situation a secret from the neighborhood, in the hope that he might still have the company of his child in his last moments. The confusion of the day, and his increasing dread that Harvey might be too late, helped to hasten the event he would fain arrest for a little while. As night set in, his illness increased to such a degree, that the dismayed housekeeper sent a truant boy, who had shut up himself with them during the combat, to the Locusts, in quest of a companion to cheer her solitude. Caesar, alone, could be spared, and, loaded with eatables and cordials by the kind-hearted Miss Peyton, the black had been dispatched on his duty. The dying man was past the use of medicines, and his chief anxiety seemed to center in a meeting with his child. The noise of the chase had been heard by the group in the house, but its cause was not understood; and as both the black and Katy were apprised of the detachment of American horse being below them, they supposed it to proceed from the return of that party. They heard the dragoons, as they moved slowly by the building; but in compliance with the prudent injunction of the black, the housekeeper forbore to indulge her curiosity. The old man had closed his eyes, and his attendants believed him to be asleep. The house contained two large rooms and as many small ones. One of the former served for kitchen and sitting room; in the other lay the father of Birch; of the latter, one was the sanctuary of the vestal, and the other contained the stock of provisions. A huge chimney of stone rose in the center, serving, of itself, for a partition between the larger rooms; and fireplaces of corresponding dimensions were in each apartment. A bright flame was burning in that of the common room, and within the very jambs of its monstrous jaws sat Caesar and Katy, at the time of which we write. The African was impressing his caution on the housekeeper, and commenting on the general danger of indulging an idle curiosity.

“Best nebber tempt a Satan,” said Caesar, rolling up his eyes till the whites glistened by the glare of the fire. “I berry like heself to lose an ear for carrying a little bit of a letter; dere much mischief come of curiosity. If dere had nebber been a man curious to see Africa, dere would be no color people out of dere own country; but I wish Harvey get back.”

“It is very disregardful in him to be away at such a time,” said Katy, imposingly. “Suppose now his father wanted to make his last will in the testament, who is there to do so solemn and awful an act for him? Harvey is a very wasteful and very disregardful man!”

“Perhap he make him afore?”

“It would not be a wonderment if he had,” returned the housekeeper; “he is whole days looking into the Bible.”

“Then he read a berry good book,” said the black solemnly. “Miss Fanny read in him to Dinah now and den.”

“You are right, Caesar. The Bible is the best of books, and one that reads it as often as Harvey’s father should have the best of reasons for so doing. This is no more than common sense.”

She rose from her seat, and stealing softly to a chest of drawers in the room of the sick man, she took from it a large Bible, heavily bound, and secured with strong clasps of brass, with which she returned to the negro. The volume was eagerly opened, and they proceeded instantly to examine its pages. Katy was far from an expert scholar, and to Caesar the characters were absolutely strangers. For some time the housekeeper was occupied in finding out the word Matthew, in which she had no sooner succeeded than she pointed out the word, with great complacency, to the attentive Caesar.

“Berry well, now look him t’rough,” said the black, peeping over the housekeeper’s shoulder, as he held a long lank candle of yellow tallow, in such a manner as to throw its feeble light on the volume.

“Yes, but I must begin with the very beginning of the book,” replied the other, turning the leaves carefully back, until, moving two at once, she lighted upon a page covered with writing. “Here,” said the housekeeper, shaking with the eagerness of expectation, “here are the very words themselves; now I would give the world itself to know whom he has left the big silver shoe buckles to.”

“Read ’em,” said Caesar, laconically.

“And the black walnut drawers; for Harvey could never want furniture of that quality, as long as he is a bachelor!”

“Why he no want ’em as well as he fader?”

“And the six silver tablespoons; Harvey always uses the iron!”

“P’r’ap he say, without so much talk,” returned the sententious black, pointing one of his crooked and dingy fingers at the open volume.

Thus repeatedly advised, and impelled by her own curiosity, Katy began to read. Anxious to come to the part which most interested herself, she dipped at once into the center of the subject.

“Chester Birch, born September 1st, 1755,”—read the spinster, with a deliberation that did no great honor to her scholarship.

“Well, what he gib him?”

“Abigail Birch, born July 12th, 1757,” continued the housekeeper, in the same tone.

“I t’ink he ought to gib her ’e spoon.”

“June 1st, 1760. On this awful day, the judgment of an offended God lighted on my house.” A heavy groan from the adjoining room made the spinster instinctively close the volume, and Caesar, for a moment, shook with fear. Neither possessed sufficient resolution to go and examine the condition of the sufferer, but his heavy breathing continued as usual. Katy dared not, however, reopen the Bible, and carefully securing its clasps, it was laid on the table in silence. Caesar took his chair again, and after looking timidly round the room, remarked,—

“I t’ought he time war’ come!”

“No,” said Katy, solemnly, “he will live till the tide is out, or the first cock crows in the morning.”

“Poor man!” continued the black, nestling still farther into the chimney corner, “I hope he lay quiet after he die.”

“’Twould be no astonishment to me if he didn’t; for they say an unquiet life makes an uneasy grave.”

“Johnny Birch a berry good man in he way. All mankind can’t be a minister; for if he do, who would be a congregation?”

“Ah! Caesar, he is good only who does good. Can you tell me why honestly gotten gold should be hidden in the bowels of the earth?”

“Grach!—I t’ink it must be to keep t’e Skinner from findin’ him; if he know where he be, why don’t he dig him up?”

“There may be reasons not comprehensible to you,” said Katy, moving her chair so that her clothes covered the charmed stone, underneath which lay the secret treasures of the peddler, unable to refrain from speaking of what she would have been very unwilling to reveal; “but a rough outside often holds a smooth inside.” Caesar stared around the building, unable to fathom the hidden meaning of his companion, when his roving eyes suddenly became fixed, and his teeth chattered with affright. The change in the countenance of the black was instantly perceived by Katy, and turning her face, she saw the peddler himself, standing within the door of the room.

“Is he alive?” asked Birch, tremulously, and seemingly afraid to receive the answer.

“Surely,” said Katy, rising hastily, and officiously offering her chair.
“He must live till day, or till the tide is down.”

Disregarding all but the fact that his father still lived, the peddler stole gently into the room of his dying parent. The tie which bound the father and son was of no ordinary kind. In the wide world they were all to each other. Had Katy but read a few lines further in the record, she would have seen the sad tale of their misfortunes. At one blow competence and kindred had been swept from them, and from that day to the present hour, persecution and distress had followed their wandering steps. Approaching the bedside, Harvey leaned his body forward, and, in a voice nearly choked by his feelings, he whispered near the ear of the sick,—

“Father, do you know me?”

The parent slowly opened his eyes, and a smile of satisfaction passed over his pallid features, leaving behind it the impression of death, more awful by the contrast. The peddler gave a restorative he had brought with him to the parched lips of the sick man, and for a few minutes new vigor seemed imparted to his frame. He spoke, but slowly, and with difficulty. Curiosity kept Katy silent; awe had the same effect on Caesar; and Harvey seemed hardly to breathe, as he listened to the language of the departing spirit.

“My son,” said the father in a hollow voice, “God is as merciful as He is just; if I threw the cup of salvation from my lips when a youth, He graciously offers it to me in mine age. He has chastised to purify, and I go to join the spirits of our lost family. In a little while, my child, you will be alone. I know you too well not to foresee you will be a pilgrim through life. The bruised reed may endure, but it will never rise. You have that within you, Harvey, that will guide you aright; persevere as you have begun, for the duties of life are never to be neglected and”—a noise in the adjoining room interrupted the dying man, and the impatient peddler hastened to learn the cause, followed by Katy and the black. The first glance of his eye on the figure in the doorway told the trader but too well his errand, and the fate that probably awaited himself. The intruder was a man still young in years, but his lineaments bespoke a mind long agitated by evil passions. His dress was of the meanest materials, and so ragged and unseemly, as to give him the appearance of studied poverty. His hair was prematurely whitened, and his sunken, lowering eye avoided the bold, forward look of innocence. There was a restlessness in his movements, and an agitation in his manner, that proceeded from the workings of the foul spirit within him, and which was not less offensive to others than distressing to himself. This man was a well-known leader of one of those gangs of marauders who infested the county with a semblance of patriotism, and who were guilty of every grade of offense, from simple theft up to murder. Behind him stood several other figures clad in a similar manner, but whose countenances expressed nothing more than the indifference of brutal insensibility. They were well armed with muskets and bayonets, and provided with the usual implements of foot soldiers. Harvey knew resistance to be vain, and quietly submitted to their directions. In the twinkling of an eye both he and Caesar were stripped of their decent garments, and made to exchange clothes with two of the filthiest of the band. They were then placed in separate corners of the room, and, under the muzzles of the muskets, required faithfully to answer such interrogatories as were put to them.

“Where is your pack?” was the first question to the peddler.

“Hear me,” said Birch, trembling with agitation; “in the next room is my father, now in the agonies of death. Let me go to him, receive his blessing, and close his eyes, and