These limbs are strengthened with a soldier's toil,
Nor has this cheek been ever blanched with fear--
But this sad tale of thine enervates all
Within me that I once could boast as man;
Chill trembling agues seize upon my frame,
And tears of childish sorrow pour, apace,
Through scarred channels that were marked by wounds.
--_Duo._
The friends of Henry Wharton had placed so much reliance on his
innocence, that they were unable to see the full danger of his
situation. As the moment of trial, however, approached, the uneasiness
of the youth himself increased; and after spending most of the night
with his afflicted family, he awoke, on the following morning, from a
short and disturbed slumber, to a clearer sense of his condition, and a
survey of the means that were to extricate him from it with life. The
rank of Andre, and the importance of the measures he was plotting,
together with the powerful intercessions that had been made in his
behalf, occasioned his execution to be stamped with greater notoriety
than the ordinary events of the war. But spies were frequently arrested;
and the instances that occurred of summary punishment for this crime
were numerous. These were facts that were well known to both Dunwoodie
and the prisoner; and to their experienced judgments the preparations
for the trial were indeed alarming. Notwithstanding their apprehensions,
they succeeded so far in concealing them, that neither Miss Peyton nor
Frances was aware of their extent. A strong guard was stationed in the
outbuilding of the farmhouse where the prisoner was quartered, and
several sentinels watched the avenues that approached the dwelling.
Another was constantly near the room of the British officer. A court was
already detailed to examine into the circumstances; and upon their
decision the fate of Henry rested.
The moment at length arrived, and the different actors in the
approaching investigation assembled. Frances experienced a feeling like
suffocation, as, after taking her seat in the midst of her family, her
eyes wandered over the group who were thus collected. The judges, three
in number, sat by themselves, clad in the vestments of their profession,
and maintained a gravity worthy of the occasion, and becoming in their
rank. In the center was a man of advanced years, and whose whole
exterior bore the stamp of early and long-tried military habits. This
was the president of the court; and Frances, after taking a hasty and
unsatisfactory view of his associates, turned to his benevolent
countenance as to the harbinger of mercy to her brother. There was a
melting and subdued expression in the features of the veteran, that,
contrasted with the rigid decency and composure of the others, could
not fail to attract her notice. His attire was strictly in conformity to
the prescribed rules of the service to which he belonged; but while his
air was erect and military, his fingers trifled with a kind of
convulsive and unconscious motion, with a bit of crape that entwined the
hilt of the sword on which his body partly reclined, and which, like
himself, seemed a relic of older times. There were the workings of an
unquiet soul within; but his military front blended awe with the pity
that its exhibition excited. His associates were officers selected from
the eastern troops, who held the fortresses of West Point and the
adjacent passes; they were men who had attained the meridian of life,
and the eye sought in vain the expression of any passion or emotion on
which it might seize as an indication of human infirmity. In their
demeanor there was a mild, but a grave, intellectual reserve. If there
was no ferocity nor harshness to chill, neither was there compassion nor
interest to attract. They were men who had long acted under the dominion
of a prudent reason, and whose feelings seemed trained to a perfect
submission to their judgments.
Before these arbiters of his fate Henry Wharton was ushered under the
custody of armed men. A profound and awful silence succeeded his
entrance, and the blood of Frances chilled as she noted the grave
character of the whole proceedings. There was but little of pomp in the
preparations, to impress her imagination; but the reserved, businesslike
air of the whole scene made it seem, indeed, as if the destinies of life
awaited the result. Two of the judges sat in grave reserve, fixing their
inquiring eyes on the object of their investigation; but the president
continued gazing around with uneasy, convulsive motions of the muscles
of the face, that indicated a restlessness foreign to his years and
duty. It was Colonel Singleton, who, but the day before, had learned the
fate of Isabella, but who stood forth in the discharge of a duty that
his country required at his hands. The silence, and the expectation in
every eye, at length struck him, and making an effort to collect
himself, he spoke, in the tones of one used to authority.
"Bring forth the prisoner," he said, with a wave of the hand.
The sentinels dropped the points of their bayonets towards the judges,
and Henry Wharton advanced, with a firm step, into the center of the
apartment. All was now anxiety and eager curiosity. Frances turned for a
moment in grateful emotion, as the deep and perturbed breathing of
Dunwoodie reached her ears; but her brother again concentrated all her
interest in one feeling of intense care. In the background were arranged
the inmates of the family who owned the dwelling, and behind them,
again, was a row of shining faces of ebony, glistening with pleased
wonder. Amongst these was the faded luster of Caesar Thompson's
countenance.
"You are said," continued the president, "to be Henry Wharton, a captain
in his Britannic Majesty's 60th regiment of foot."
"I am."
"I like your candor, sir; it partakes of the honorable feelings of a
soldier, and cannot fail to impress your judges favorably."
"It would be prudent," said one of his companions, "to advise the
prisoner that he is bound to answer no more than he deems necessary;
although we are a court of martial law, yet, in this respect, we own the
principles of all free governments."
A nod of approbation from the silent member was bestowed on this remark,
and the president proceeded with caution, referring to the minutes he
held in his hand.
"It is an accusation against you, that, being an officer of the enemy,
you passed the pickets of the American army at the White Plains, in
disguise, on the 29th of October last, whereby you are suspected of
views hostile to the interests of America, and have subjected yourself
to the punishment of a spy."
The mild but steady tones of the speaker, as he slowly repeated the
substance of this charge, were full of authority. The accusation was so
plain, the facts so limited, the proof so obvious, and the penalty so
well established, that escape seemed impossible. But Henry replied, with
earnest grace,--
"That I passed your pickets in disguise, is true; but--"
"Peace!" interrupted the president. "The usages of war are stern enough
in themselves; you need not aid them to your own condemnation."
"The prisoner can retract that declaration, if he please," remarked
another judge. "His confession, if taken, goes fully to prove
the charge."
"I retract nothing that is true," said Henry proudly.
The two nameless judges heard him in silent composure, yet there was no
exultation mingled with their gravity. The president now appeared,
however, to take new interest in the scene.
"Your sentiment is noble, sir," he said. "I only regret that a youthful
soldier should so far be misled by loyalty as to lend himself to the
purposes of deceit."
"Deceit!" echoed Wharton. "I thought it prudent to guard against capture
from my enemies."
"A soldier, Captain Wharton, should never meet his enemy but openly, and
with arms in his hands. I have served two kings of England, as I now
serve my native land; but never did I approach a foe, unless under the
light of the sun, and with honest notice that an enemy was nigh."
"You are at liberty to explain what your motives were in entering the
ground held by our army in disguise," said the other judge, with a
slight movement of the muscles of his mouth.
"I am the son of this aged man before you," continued Henry. "It was to
visit him that I encountered the danger. Besides, the country below is
seldom held by your troops, and its very name implies a right to either
party to move at pleasure over its territory."
"Its name, as a neutral ground, is unauthorized by law; it is an
appellation that originates with the condition of the country. But
wherever an army goes, it carries its rights along, and the first is the
ability to protect itself."
"I am no casuist, sir," returned the youth; "but I feel that my father
is entitled to my affection, and I would encounter greater risks to
prove it to him in his old age."
"A very commendable spirit," cried the veteran. "Come, gentlemen, this
business brightens. I confess, at first, it was very bad, but no man can
censure him for desiring to see his parents."
"And have you proof that such only was your intention?"
"Yes--here," said Henry, admitting a ray of hope. "Here is proof--my
father, my sister, Major Dunwoodie, all know it."
"Then, indeed," returned his immovable judge, "we may be able to save
you. It would be well, sir, to examine further into this business."
"Certainly," said the president, with alacrity. "Let the elder Mr.
Wharton approach and take the oath."
The father made an effort at composure, and, advancing with a feeble
step, he complied with the necessary forms of the court.
"You are the father of the prisoner?" said Colonel Singleton, in a
subdued voice, after pausing a moment in respect for the agitation of
the witness.
"He is my only son."
"And what do you know of his visit to your house, on the 29th day of
October last?"
"He came, as he told you, to see me and his sisters."
"Was he in disguise?" asked the other judge.
"He did not wear the uniform of the 60th."
"To see his sisters, too!" said the president with great emotion. "Have
you daughters, sir?"
"I have two--both are in this house."
"Had he a wig?" interrupted the officer.
"There was some such thing I do believe, upon his head."
"And how long had you been separated?" asked the president.
"One year and two months."
"Did he wear a loose greatcoat of coarse materials?" inquired the
officer, referring to the paper that contained the charges.
"There was an overcoat."
"And you think that it was to see you, only, that he came out?"
"Me, and my daughters."
"A boy of spirit," whispered the president to his silent comrade. "I see
but little harm in such a freak; 'twas imprudent, but then it was kind."
"Do you know that your son was intrusted with no commission from Sir
Henry Clinton, and that the visit to you was not merely a cloak to
other designs?"
"How can I know it?" said Mr. Wharton, in alarm. "Would Sir Henry
intrust me with such a business?"
"Know you anything of this pass?" exhibiting the paper that Dunwoodie
had retained when Wharton was taken.
"Nothing--upon my honor, nothing," cried the father, shrinking from the
paper as from contagion.
"On your oath?"
"Nothing."
"Have you other testimony? This does not avail you, Captain Wharton. You
have been taken in a situation where your life is forfeited; the labor
of proving your innocence rests with yourself. Take time to reflect,
and be cool."
There was a frightful calmness in the manner of this judge that appalled
the prisoner. In the sympathy of Colonel Singleton, he could easily lose
sight of his danger; but the obdurate and collected air of the others
was ominous of his fate. He continued silent, casting imploring glances
towards his friend. Dunwoodie understood the appeal, and offered himself
as a witness. He was sworn, and desired to relate what he knew. His
statement did not materially alter the case, and Dunwoodie felt that it
could not. To him personally but little was known, and that little
rather militated against the safety of Henry than otherwise. His account
was listened to in silence, and the significant shake of the head that
was made by the silent member spoke too plainly what effect it
had produced.
"Still you think that the prisoner had no other object than what he has
avowed?" said the president, when he had ended.
"None other, I will pledge my life," cried the major, with fervor.
"Will you swear it?" asked the immovable judge.
"How can I? God alone can tell the heart; but I have known this
gentleman from a boy; deceit never formed part of his character. He is
above it."
"You say that he escaped, and was retaken in open arms?" said the
president.
"He was; nay, he received a wound in the combat. You see he yet moves
his arm with difficulty. Would he, think you, sir, have trusted himself
where he could fall again into our hands, unless conscious of
innocence?"
"Would Andre have deserted a field of battle, Major Dunwoodie, had he
encountered such an event, near Tarrytown?" asked his deliberate
examiner. "Is it not natural to youth to seek glory?"
"Do you call this glory?" exclaimed the major: "an ignominious death and
a tarnished name."
"Major Dunwoodie," returned the other, still with inveterate gravity,
"you have acted nobly; your duty has been arduous and severe, but it has
been faithfully and honorably discharged; ours must not be less so."
During the examination, the most intense interest prevailed among the
hearers. With that kind of feeling which could not separate the
principle from the cause, most of the auditors thought that if Dunwoodie
failed to move the hearts of Henry's judges, no other possessed the
power. Caesar thrust his misshapen form forward and his features, so
expressive of the concern he felt, and so different from the vacant
curiosity pictured in the countenance of the other blacks, caught the
attention of the silent judge. For the first time he spoke:--
"Let that black be brought forward."
It was too late to retreat, and Caesar found himself confronted with a
row of rebel officers, before he knew what was uppermost in his
thoughts. The others yielded the examination to the one who suggested
it, and using all due deliberation, he proceeded accordingly.
"You know the prisoner?"
"I t'ink he ought," returned the black, in a manner as sententious as
that of his examiner.
"Did he give you the wig when he threw it aside?"
"I don't want 'em," grumbled Caesar; "got a berry good hair heself."
"Were you employed in carrying any letters or messages of any kind while
Captain Wharton was in your master's house?"
"I do what a tell me," returned the black.
"But what did they tell you to do?"
"Sometime a one ting--sometime anoder."
"Enough," said Colonel Singleton, with dignity. "You have the noble
acknowledgment of a gentleman, what more can you obtain from this
slave?--Captain Wharton, you perceive the unfortunate impression against
you. Have you other testimony to adduce?"
To Henry there now remained but little hope; his confidence in his
security was fast ebbing, but with an indefinite expectation of
assistance from the loveliness of his sister, he fixed an earnest gaze
on the pallid features of Frances. She arose, and with a tottering step
moved towards the judges; the paleness of her cheek continued but for a
moment, and gave place to a flush of fire, and with a light but firm
tread, she stood before them. Raising her hand to her polished
forehead, Frances threw aside her exuberant locks, and displayed a
picture of beauty and innocence to their view that might have moved even
sterner natures. The president shrouded his eyes for a moment, as if the
wild eye and speaking countenance recalled the image of another. The
movement was transient, and recovering himself, with an earnestness that
betrayed his secret wishes,--
"To you, then, your brother previously communicated his intention of
paying your family a secret visit?"
"No!--no!" said Frances, pressing her hand on her brain, as if to
collect her thoughts; "he told me nothing--we knew not of the visit
until he arrived; but can it be necessary to explain to gallant men,
that a child would incur hazard to meet his only parent, and that in
times like these, and in a situation like ours?"
"But was this the first time? Did he never even talk of doing so
before?" inquired the colonel, leaning towards her with
paternal interest.
"Certainly--certainly," cried Frances, catching the expression of his
own benevolent countenance. "This is but the fourth of his visits."
"I knew it!" exclaimed the veteran, rubbing his hands with delight. "An
adventurous, warm-hearted son--I warrant me, gentlemen, a fiery soldier
in the field! In what disguises did he come?"
"In none, for none were then necessary; the royal troops covered the
country, and gave him safe passage."
"And was this the first of his visits out of the uniform of his
regiment?" asked the colonel, in a suppressed voice, avoiding the
penetrating looks of his companions.
"Oh! the very first," exclaimed the eager girl. "His first offense, I do
assure you, if offense it be."
"But you wrote him--you urged the visit; surely, young lady, you wished
to see your brother?" added the impatient colonel.
"That we wished it, and prayed for it,--oh, how fervently we prayed for
it!--is true; but to have held communion with the royal army would have
endangered our father, and we dared not."
"Did he leave the house until taken, or had he intercourse with any out
of your own dwelling?"
"With none--no one, excepting our neighbor, the peddler Birch."
"With whom!" exclaimed the colonel, turning pale, and shrinking as from
the sting of an adder.
Dunwoodie groaned aloud, and striking his head with his hand, cried in
piercing tones, "He is lost!" and rushed from the apartment.
"But Harvey Birch," repeated Frances, gazing wildly at the door through
which her lover had disappeared.
"Harvey Birch!" echoed all the judges. The two immovable members of the
court exchanged looks, and threw an inquisitive glance at the prisoner.
"To you, gentlemen, it can be no new intelligence to hear that Harvey
Birch is suspected of favoring the royal cause," said Henry, again
advancing before the judges; "for he has already been condemned by your
tribunals to the fate that I now see awaits myself. I will therefore
explain, that it was by his assistance I procured the disguise, and
passed your pickets; but to my dying moments, and with my dying breath,
I will avow, that my intentions were as pure as the innocent being
before you."
"Captain Wharton," said the president, solemnly, "the enemies of
American liberty have made mighty and subtle efforts to overthrow our
power. A more dangerous man, for his means and education, is not ranked
among our foes than this peddler of Westchester. He is a spy--artful,
delusive, and penetrating, beyond the abilities of any of his class. Sir
Henry could not do better than to associate him with the officer in his
next attempt. He would have saved Andre. Indeed, young man, this is a
connection that may prove fatal to you!"
The honest indignation that beamed on the countenance of the aged
warrior was met by a look of perfect conviction on the part of
his comrades.
"I have ruined him!" cried Frances, clasping her hands in terror. "Do
you desert us? then he is lost, indeed!"
"Forbear! lovely innocent, forbear!" said the colonel, with strong
emotion; "you injure none, but distress us all."
"Is it then such a crime to possess natural affection?" said Frances
wildly. "Would Washington--the noble, upright, impartial Washington,
judge so harshly? Delay, till Washington can hear his tale."
"It is impossible," said the president, covering his eyes, as if to hide
her beauty from his view.
"Impossible! oh! but for a week suspend your judgment. On my knees I
entreat you, as you will expect mercy yourself, when no human power can
avail you, give him but a day."
"It is impossible," repeated the colonel, in a voice that was nearly
choked. "Our orders are peremptory, and too long delay has been
given already."
He turned from the kneeling suppliant, but could not, or would not,
extricate that hand that she grasped with frenzied fervor.
"Remand your prisoner," said one of the judges to the officer who had
the charge of Henry. "Colonel Singleton, shall we withdraw?"
"Singleton! Singleton!" echoed Frances. "Then you are a father, and know
how to pity a father's woes; you cannot, will not, wound a heart that is
now nearly crushed. Hear me, Colonel Singleton; as God will listen to
your dying prayers, hear me, and spare my brother!"
"Remove her," said the colonel, gently endeavoring to extricate his
hand; but none appeared disposed to obey. Frances eagerly strove to read
the expression of his averted face, and resisted all his efforts
to retire.
"Colonel Singleton! how lately was your own son in suffering and in
danger! Under the roof of my father he was cherished-under my father's
roof he found shelter and protection. Oh! suppose that son the pride of
your age, the solace and protection of your infant children, and then
pronounce my brother guilty, if you dare!"
"What right has Heath to make an executioner of me!" exclaimed the
veteran fiercely, rising with a face flushed like fire, and every vein
and artery swollen with suppressed emotion. "But I forget myself; come,
gentlemen, let us mount, our painful duty must be done."
"Mount not! go not!" shrieked Frances. "Can you tear a son from his
parent--a brother from his sister, so coldly? Is this the cause I have
so ardently loved? Are these the men that I have been taught to
reverence? But you relent, you do hear me, you will pity and forgive."
"Lead on, gentlemen," said the colonel, motioning towards the door, and
erecting himself into an air of military grandeur, in the vain hope of
quieting his feelings.
"Lead not on, but hear me," cried Frances, grasping his hand
convulsively. "Colonel Singleton, you are a father!--pity--mercy--mercy
for the son! mercy for the daughter! Yes--you had a daughter. On this
bosom she poured out her last breath; these hands closed her eyes; these
very hands, that are now clasped in prayer, did those offices for her
that you condemn my poor, poor brother, to require."
One mighty emotion the veteran struggled with, and quelled; but with a
groan that shook his whole frame. He even looked around in conscious
pride at his victory; but a second burst of feeling conquered. His head,
white with the frost of seventy winters, sank upon the shoulder of the
frantic suppliant. The sword that had been his companion in so many
fields of blood dropped from his nerveless hand, and as he cried, "May
God bless you for the deed!" he wept aloud.
Long and violent was the indulgence that Colonel Singleton yielded to
his feelings. On recovering, he gave the senseless Frances into the
arms of her aunt, and, turning with an air of fortitude to his comrades,
he said,--
"Still, gentlemen, we have our duty as officers to discharge; our
feelings as men may be indulged hereafter. What is your pleasure with
the prisoner?"
One of the judges placed in his hand a written sentence, that he had
prepared while the colonel was engaged with Frances, and declared it to
be the opinion of himself and his companion.
It briefly stated that Henry Wharton had been detected in passing the
lines of the American army as a spy, and in disguise. That thereby,
according to the laws of war, he was liable to suffer death, and that
this court adjudged him to the penalty; recommending him to be executed
by hanging, before nine o'clock on the following morning.
It was not usual to inflict capital punishments, even on the enemy,
without referring the case to the commander in chief, for his
approbation; or, in his absence, to the officer commanding for the time
being. But, as Washington held his headquarters at New Windsor, on the
western bank of the Hudson, there was sufficient time to receive
his answer.
"This is short notice," said the veteran, holding the pen in his hand,
in a suspense that had no object; "not a day to fit one so young
for heaven?"
"The royal officers gave Hale [Footnote: An American officer of this
name was detected within the British lines, in disguise, in search of
military information. He was tried and executed, as stated in the text,
as soon as the preparations could be made. It is said that he was
reproached under the gallows with dishonoring the rank he held by his
fate. 'What a death for an officer to die!' said one of his captors.
'Gentlemen, any death is honorable when a man dies in a cause like that
of America,' was his answer. Andre was executed amid the tears of his
enemies; Hale died unpitied and with reproaches in his ears; and yet one
was the victim of ambition, and the other of devotion to his country.
Posterity will do justice between them.] but an hour," returned his
comrade; "we have granted the usual time. But Washington has the power
to extend it, or to pardon."
"Then to Washington will I go," cried the colonel, returning the paper
with his signature; "and if the services of an old man like me, or that
brave boy of mine, entitle me to his ear, I will yet save the youth."
So saying, he departed, full of his generous intentions in favor of
Henry Wharton.
The sentence of the court was communicated, with proper tenderness, to
the prisoner; and after giving a few necessary instructions to the
officer in command, and dispatching a courier to headquarters with their
report, the remaining judges mounted, and rode to their own quarters,
with the same unmoved exterior, but with the consciousness of the same
dispassionate integrity, that they had maintained throughout the trial.