In this Revolutionary story of Cooper’s, the Spy was one of
Washington’s most faithful helpers. The following pages tell of their
last meeting, shortly before the close of the war.
The commencement of the year was passed, on the part of the Americans,
in making great preparations, in conjunction with their allies, to
bring the war to a close. In the south, Greene and Rawdon made a bloody
campaign that was highly honorable to the troops of the latter, but
which, by terminating entirely to the advantage of the former, proved
him to be the better general of the two.
New York was the point that was threatened by the allied armies; and
Washington, by exciting a constant apprehension for the safety of that
city, prevented such reënforcements from being sent to Cornwallis as
would have enabled him to improve his success.
At length, as autumn approached, every indication was given that the
final moment had arrived.
The French forces drew near to the royal lines, passing through
the Neutral Ground, and threatened an attack in the direction of
Kingsbridge, while large bodies of Americans were acting in concert.
By hovering around the British posts, and drawing nigh in the Jerseys,
they seemed to threaten the royal forces from that quarter also.
The preparations partook of the nature of both a siege and a storm.
But Sir Henry Clinton, in the possession of intercepted letters
from Washington, rested securely within his lines, and cautiously
disregarded the solicitations of Cornwallis for succor.
It was at the close of a stormy day in the month of September that a
large assemblage of officers was collected near the door of a building
that was situated in the heart of the American troops, who held the
Jerseys. The age, the dress, and the dignity of deportment of most
of these warriors indicated them to be of high rank; but to one in
particular was paid a deference and obedience that announced him to be
of the highest. His dress was plain, but it bore the usual military
distinctions of command. He was mounted on a noble animal, of a deep
bay, and a group of young men, in gayer attire, evidently awaited his
pleasure, and did his bidding. Many a hat was lifted as its owner
addressed this officer; and when he spoke, a profound attention,
exceeding the respect of mere professional etiquette, was exhibited
on every countenance. At length the General raised his own hat, and
bowed gravely to all around him. The salute was returned, and the party
dispersed, leaving the officer without a single attendant, except his
body-servants and one aide-de-camp. Dismounting, he stepped back a few
paces, and for a moment viewed the condition of his horse with the eye
of one who well understood the animal, and then, casting a brief but
expressive glance at his aide, he retired into the building, followed
by that gentleman.
On entering an apartment that was apparently fitted for his reception,
he took a seat, and continued for a long time in a thoughtful attitude,
like one in the habit of communing much with himself. During this
silence the aide-de-camp stood in expectation of his orders. At length
the General raised his eyes, and spoke in those low, placid tones that
seemed natural to him:
“Has the man whom I wished to see arrived, sir?”
“He waits the pleasure of your Excellency.”
“I will receive him here, and alone, if you please.”
The aide bowed and withdrew. In a few minutes the door again opened,
and a figure, gliding into the apartment, stood modestly at a distance
from the General, without speaking. His entrance was unheard by
the officer, who sat gazing at the fire, still absorbed in his own
meditations. Several minutes passed, when he spoke to himself in an
undertone:
“To-morrow we must raise the curtain, and expose our plans. May heaven
prosper them!”
A slight movement made by the stranger caught his ear, and he turned
his head, and saw that he was not alone. He pointed silently to the
fire, toward which the figure advanced, although the multitude of his
garments, which seemed more calculated for disguise than comfort,
rendered its warmth unnecessary. A second mild and courteous gesture
motioned to a vacant chair, but the stranger refused it with a modest
acknowledgment. Another pause followed, and continued for some time.
At length the officer arose, and opening a desk that was laid upon the
table near which he sat, took from it a small but apparently heavy bag.
“Harvey Birch,” he said, turning to the stranger, “the time has arrived
when our connection must cease; henceforth and forever we must be
strangers.”
The peddler dropped the folds of the greatcoat that concealed his
features, and gazed for a moment earnestly at the face of the speaker;
then dropping his head upon his bosom, he said meekly:
“If it be your Excellency’s pleasure.”
“It is necessary. Since I have filled the station which I now hold, it
has become my duty to know many men, who, like yourself, have been my
instruments in procuring intelligence. You have I trusted more than
all; I early saw in you a regard to truth and principle, that, I am
pleased to say, has never deceived me--you alone know my secret agents
in the city, and on your fidelity depend, not only their fortunes, but
their lives.”
He paused, as if to reflect, in order that full justice might be done
to the peddler, and then continued:
“I believe you are one of the very few that I have employed who have
acted faithfully to our cause; and, while you have passed as a spy of
the enemy, have never given intelligence that you were not permitted
to divulge. To me and to me only of all the world, you seem to have
acted with a strong attachment to the liberties of America.”
During this address Harvey gradually raised his head from his bosom,
until it reached the highest point of elevation; a faint tinge gathered
in his cheeks, and, as the officer concluded, it was diffused over
his whole countenance in a deep glow, while he stood proudly swelling
with his emotions, but with eyes that modestly sought the feet of the
speaker.
“It is now my duty to pay you for these services; hitherto you have
postponed receiving your reward, and the debt has become a heavy one--I
wish not to undervalue your dangers: here are a hundred doubloons;
you will remember the poverty of our country, and attribute to it the
smallness of your pay.”
The peddler raised his eyes to the countenance of the speaker, but, as
the other held forth the money, he moved back, as if refusing the bag.
“It is not much for your services and risks, I acknowledge,” continued
the General, “but it is all that I have to offer; at the end of the
campaign it may be in my power to increase it.”
“Does your Excellency think that I have exposed my life, and blasted my
character, for money?”
“If not for money, what then?”
“What has brought your Excellency into the field? For what do you daily
and hourly expose your precious life to battle and the halter? What
is there about me to mourn, when such men as you risk their all for
our country? No, no, no, not a dollar of your gold will I touch; poor
America has need of it all!”
The bag dropped from the hand of the officer, and fell at the feet
of the peddler, where it lay neglected during the remainder of the
interview. The officer looked steadily at the face of his companion,
and continued:
“There are many motives which might govern me that to you are unknown.
Our situations are different; I am known as the leader of armies--but
you must descend into the grave with the reputation of a foe to your
native land. Remember that the veil which conceals your true character
cannot be raised in years--perhaps never.”
Birch again lowered his face, but there was no yielding of the soul in
the movement.
“You will soon be old; the prime of your days is already past; what
have you to subsist on?”
“These!” said the peddler, stretching forth his hands that were already
embrowned with toil.
“But those may fail you; take enough to secure a support to your age.
Remember your risks and cares. I have told you that the characters of
men who are much esteemed in life depend on your secrecy; what pledge
can I give them of your fidelity?”
“Tell them,” said Birch, advancing, and unconsciously resting one foot
on the bag, “tell them that I would not take the gold!”
The composed features of the officer relaxed into a smile of
benevolence, and he grasped the hand of the peddler firmly.
“Now, indeed, I know you; and although the same reasons which have
hitherto compelled me to expose your valuable life will still exist,
and prevent my openly asserting your character, in private I can always
be your friend; fail not to apply to me when in want or suffering, and
so long as God giveth to me, so long will I freely share with a man
who feels so nobly and acts so well. If sickness or want should ever
assail you, and peace once more smile upon our efforts, seek the gate
of him whom you have so often met as Harper, and he will not blush to
acknowledge you in his true character.”
“It is little that I need in this life,” said Harvey; “so long as God
gives me health and honest industry, I can never want in this country;
but to know that your Excellency is my friend is a blessing that I
prize more than all the gold of England’s treasury.”
The officer stood for a few moments in the attitude of intense thought.
He then drew to him the desk, and wrote a few lines on a piece of
paper, and gave it to the peddler.
“That Providence destines this country to some great and glorious fate
I must believe, while I witness the patriotism that pervades the bosoms
of her lowest citizens,” he said. “It must be dreadful to a mind like
yours to descend into the grave, branded as a foe to liberty; but
you already know the lives that would be sacrificed, should your real
character be revealed. It is impossible to do you justice now, but I
fearlessly intrust you with this certificate, should we never meet
again, it may be serviceable to your children.”
“Children!” exclaimed the peddler; “can I give to a family the infamy
of my name!”
The officer gazed with pain at the strong emotion he exhibited and he
made a slight movement toward the gold; but it was arrested by the
expression of his companion’s face. Harvey saw the intention, and shook
his head, as he continued more mildly:
“It is, indeed, a treasure that your Excellency gives me; it is safe,
too. There are men living who could say that my life was nothing to
me, compared to your secrets. The paper that I told you was lost I
swallowed when taken last by the Virginians. It was the only time I
ever deceived your Excellency, and it shall be the last; yes, this is,
indeed, a treasure to me; perhaps,” he continued, with a melancholy
smile, “it may be known after my death who was my friend; but if it
should not, there are none to grieve for me.”
“Remember,” said the officer, with strong emotion, “that in me you will
always have a secret friend; but openly I cannot know you.”
“I know it, I know it,” said Birch; “I knew it when I took the service.
’Tis probably the last time I shall ever see your Excellency. May God
pour down His choicest blessings on your head!” He paused, and moved
toward the door. The officer followed him with eyes that expressed
deep interest. Once more the peddler turned, and seemed to gaze on
the placid but commanding features of the General with regret and
reverence, and then, bowing low, he withdrew.
The armies of America and France were led by their illustrious
commander against the enemy under Cornwallis, and terminated a campaign
in triumph that had commenced in difficulties. Great Britain soon after
became disgusted with the war; and the independence of the States was
acknowledged.