No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter, lingering, chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
--GOLDSMITH.
The roads of Westchester are, at this hour, below the improvements of
the country. Their condition at the time of the tale has already been
alluded to in these pages; and the reader will, therefore, easily
imagine the task assumed by Caesar, when he undertook to guide the
translated chariot of the English prelate through their windings, into
one of the less frequented passes of the Highlands of the Hudson.
While Caesar and his steeds were contending with these difficulties, the
inmates of the carriage were too much engrossed with their own cares to
attend to those who served them. The mind of Sarah had ceased to wander
so wildly as at first; but at every advance that she made towards
reason, she seemed to retire a step from animation; from being excited
and flighty, she was gradually becoming moody and melancholy. There were
moments, indeed, when her anxious companions thought that they could
discern marks of recollection; but the expression of exquisite woe that
accompanied these transient gleams of reason, forced them to the
dreadful alternative of wishing that she might forever be spared the
agony of thought. The day's march was performed chiefly in silence, and
the party found shelter for the night in different farmhouses.
The following morning the cavalcade dispersed. The wounded diverged
towards the river, with the intention of taking water at Peekskill, in
order to be transported to the hospitals of the American army above. The
litter of Singleton was conveyed to a part of the Highlands where his
father held his quarters, and where it was intended that the youth
should complete his cure; the carriage of Mr. Wharton, accompanied by a
wagon conveying the housekeeper and what baggage had been saved, and
could be transported, resumed its route towards the place where Henry
Wharton was held in duress, and where he only waited their arrival to be
put on trial for his life.
The country which lies between the waters of the Hudson and Long Island
Sound, is, for the first forty miles from their junction, a succession
of hills and dales. The land bordering on the latter then becomes less
abrupt, and gradually assumes a milder appearance, until it finally
melts into the lovely plains and meadows of the Connecticut. But as you
approach the Hudson, the rugged aspect increases, until you at length
meet with the formidable barrier of the Highlands. Here the neutral
ground ceased. The royal army held the two points of land that commanded
the southern entrance of the river into the mountains; but all the
remaining passes were guarded by the Americans.
We have already stated that the pickets of the continental army were
sometimes pushed low into the country, and that the hamlet of the White
Plains was occasionally maintained by parties of its troops. At other
times, the advanced guards were withdrawn to the northern extremity of
the country, and, as has been shown, the intermediate country was
abandoned to the ravages of the miscreants who plundered between both
armies, serving neither.
The road taken by our party was not the one that communicates between
the two principal cities of the states, but was a retired and
unfrequented pass, that to this hour is but little known, and which,
entering the hills near the eastern boundary, emerges into the plain
above, many miles from the Hudson.
It would have been impossible for the tired steeds of Mr. Wharton to
drag the heavy chariot up the lengthened and steep ascents which now lay
before them; and a pair of country horses were procured, with but little
regard to their owner's wishes, by the two dragoons who still continued
to accompany the party. With their assistance, Caesar was enabled to
advance, by slow and toilsome steps, into the bosom of the hills.
Willing to relieve her own melancholy by breathing a fresher air, and
also to lessen the weight, Frances alighted as they reached the foot of
the mountain. She found that Katy had made similar preparations, with
the like intention of walking to the summit. It was near the setting of
the sun, and, from the top of the mountain, their guard had declared
that the end of their journey might be discerned. Frances moved forward
with the elastic step of youth; and, followed by the housekeeper at a
little distance, she soon lost sight of the sluggish carriage, that was
slowly toiling up the hill, occasionally halting to allow the cattle
to breathe.
"Oh, Miss Fanny, what dreadful times these be!" said Katy, when they
paused for breath themselves. "I know'd that calamity was about to
befall, ever sin' the streak of blood was seen in the clouds."
"There has been blood upon earth, Katy, though but little is ever seen
in the clouds."
"Not blood in the clouds!" echoed the housekeeper. "Yes, that there has,
often, and comets with fiery, smoking tails. Didn't people see armed men
in the heavens, the year the war began? And, the night before the battle
of the Plains, wasn't there thunder, like the cannon themselves? Ah!
Miss Fanny, I'm fearful that no good can follow rebellion against the
Lord's anointed!"
"These events are certainly dreadful," returned Frances, "and enough to
sicken the stoutest heart. But what can be done, Katy? Gallant and
independent men are unwilling to submit to oppression; and I am fearful
that such scenes are but too common in war."
"If I could but see anything to fight about," said Katy, renewing her
walk as the young lady proceeded, "I shouldn't mind it so much. 'Twas
said the king wanted all the tea for his own family, at one time; and
then again, that he meant the colonies should pay over to him all their
earnings. Now this is matter enough to fight about--for I'm sure that no
one, however he may be lord or king, has a right to the hard earnings of
another. Then it was all contradicted, and some said Washington wanted
to be king himself; so that, between the two, one doesn't know which
to believe."
"Believe neither--for neither is true. I do not pretend to understand,
myself, all the merits of this war, Katy; but to me it seems unnatural,
that a country like this should be ruled by another so distant
as England."
"So I have heard Harvey say to his father, that is dead and in his
grave," returned Katy, approaching nearer to the young lady, and
lowering her voice. "Many is the good time that I've listened to them
talking, when all the neighborhood was asleep; and such conversations,
Miss Fanny, that you can have no idea on! Well, to say the truth, Harvey
was a mystified body, and he was like the winds in the good book; no
one could tell whence he came, or whither he went."
Frances glanced her eye at her companion with an apparent desire to hear
more.
"There are rumors abroad relative to the character of Harvey," she said,
"that I should be sorry were true."
"'Tis a disparagement, every word on't," cried Katy, vehemently. "Harvey
had no more dealings with Beelzebub than you or I had. I'm sure if
Harvey had sold himself, he would take care to be better paid; though,
to speak the truth, he was always a wasteful and disregardful man."
"Nay, nay," returned the smiling Frances, "I have no such injurious
suspicion of him; but has he not sold himself to an earthly prince--one
too much attached to the interests of his native island to be always
just to this country?"
"To the king's majesty!" replied Katy. "Why, Miss Fanny, your own
brother that's in jail serves King George."
"True," said Frances, "but not in secret--openly, manfully, and
bravely."
"'Tis said he is a spy, and why ain't one spy as bad as another?"
"'Tis untrue; no act of deception is worthy of my brother; nor of any
would he be guilty, for so base a purpose as gain or promotion."
"Well, I'm sure," said Katy, a little appalled at the manner of the
young lady, "if a body does the work, he should be paid for it. Harvey
is by no means partic'lar about getting his lawful dues; and I dar'st to
say, if the truth was forthcoming, King George owes him money this
very minute."
"Then you acknowledge his connection with the British army," said
Frances. "I confess there have been moments when I have thought
differently."
"Lord, Miss Fanny, Harvey is a man that no calculation can be made on.
Though I lived in his house for a long concourse of years, I have never
known whether he belonged above or below [Footnote: The American party
was called the party belonging 'above,' and the British that of 'below.'
The terms had reference to the course of the Hudson.]. The time that
Burg'yne was taken he came home, and there was great doings between him
and the old gentleman, but for my life I couldn't tell if 'twas joy or
grief. Then, here, the other day, when the great British general--I'm
sure I have been so flurried with losses and troubles, that I forget
his name--"
"Andre," said Frances.
"Yes, Ondree; when he was hanged, acrost the Tappan, the old gentleman
was near hand to going crazy about it, and didn't sleep for night nor
day, till Harvey got back; and then his money was mostly golden guineas;
but the Skinners took it all, and now he is a beggar, or, what's the
same thing, despisable for poverty and want."
To this speech Frances made no reply, but continued her walk up the
hill, deeply engaged in her own reflections. The allusion to Andre had
recalled her thoughts to the situation of her own brother.
They soon reached the highest point in their toilsome progress to the
summit, and Frances seated herself on a rock to rest and to admire.
Immediately at her feet lay a deep dell, but little altered by
cultivation, and dark with the gloom of a November sunset. Another hill
rose opposite to the place where she sat, at no great distance, along
whose rugged sides nothing was to be seen but shapeless rocks, and oaks
whose stunted growth showed a meager soil.
To be seen in their perfection, the Highlands must be passed immediately
after the fall of the leaf. The scene is then the finest, for neither
the scanty foliage which the summer lends the trees, nor the snows of
winter, are present to conceal the minutest objects from the eye.
Chilling solitude is the characteristic of the scenery; nor is the mind
at liberty, as in March, to look forward to a renewed vegetation that is
soon to check, without improving, the view.
The day had been cloudy and cool, and thin fleecy clouds hung around the
horizon, often promising to disperse, but as frequently disappointing
Frances in the hope of catching a parting beam from the setting sun. At
length a solitary gleam struck on the base of the mountain on which she
was gazing, and moved gracefully up its side, until reaching the summit,
it stood for a minute, forming a crown of glory to the somber pile. So
strong were the rays, that what was before indistinct now clearly opened
to the view. With a feeling of awe at being thus unexpectedly admitted,
as it were, into the secrets of that desert place, Frances gazed
intently, until, among the scattered trees and fantastic rocks,
something like a rude structure was seen. It was low, and so obscured by
the color of its materials, that but for its roof, and the glittering of
a window, it must have escaped her notice. While yet lost in the
astonishment created by discovering a habitation in such a spot, on
moving her eyes she perceived another object that increased her wonder.
It apparently was a human figure, but of singular mold and unusual
deformity. It stood on the edge of a rock, a little above the hut, and
it was no difficult task for our heroine to fancy it was gazing at the
vehicles that were ascending the side of the mountain beneath her. The
distance, however, was too great to distinguish with precision. After
looking at it a moment in breathless wonder, Frances had just come to
the conclusion that it was ideal, and that what she saw was a part of
the rock itself, when the object moved swiftly from its position, and
glided into the hut, at once removing every doubt as to the nature of
either. Whether it was owing to the recent conversation that she had
been holding with Katy, or to some fancied resemblance that she
discerned, Frances thought, as the figure vanished from her view, that
it bore a marked likeness to Birch, moving under the weight of his pack.
She continued to gaze towards the mysterious residence, when the gleam
of light passed away, and at the same instant the tones of a bugle rang
through the glens and hollows, and were reechoed in every direction.
Springing on her feet, the alarmed girl heard the trampling of horses,
and directly a party in the well-known uniform of the Virginians came
sweeping round the point of a rock near her, and drew up at a short
distance. Again the bugle sounded a lively strain, and before the
agitated Frances had time to rally her thoughts, Dunwoodie dashed by the
party of dragoons, threw himself from his charger, and advanced to
her side.
His manner was earnest and interested, but in a slight degree
constrained. In a few words he explained that he had been ordered up,
with a party of Lawton's men, in the absence of the captain himself, to
attend the trial of Henry, which was fixed for the morrow; and that,
anxious for their safety in the rude passes of the mountain, he had
ridden a mile or two in quest of the travelers. Frances explained, with
trembling voice, the reason of her being in advance, and taught him
momentarily to expect the arrival of her father. The constraint of his
manner had, however, unwillingly on her part, communicated itself to her
own deportment, and the approach of the chariot was a relief to both.
The major handed her in, spoke a few words of encouragement to Mr.
Wharton and Miss Peyton, and, again mounting, led the way towards the
plains of Fishkill, which broke on their sight, on turning the rock, with
the effect of enchantment. A short half hour brought them to the door of
the farmhouse which the care of Dunwoodie had already prepared for their
reception, and where Captain Wharton was anxiously expecting
their arrival.