CAPTAIN WHARTON'S TRIAL.
The following morning the cavalcade[99] dispersed. The wounded
diverged towards the river, with the intention of taking water at
Peekskill, in order to be transported to the hospital of the American
army above.
[Footnote 99: a procession of persons on horseback.]
The road taken by our party was not the one that communicates between
the two principal cities of the State, 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 was 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.
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 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 sombre pile. 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 mould 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 for her
to distinguish with precision. She continued to gaze at the mysterious
residence, when the tones of a bugle rang through the glens and
hollows, and were reechoed in every direction, and directly a party in
the well-known uniform of the Virginians came sweeping round the point
of a rock, and drew up at a short distance.
Dunwoodie dashed by the party of dragoons, threw himself from his
charger, and advanced to her side. His manner was earnest and
interested. 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 travellers. A short half-hour
brought them to the door of the farm-house which the care of Dunwoodie
had already prepared for their reception, and where Captain Wharton
was anxiously expecting their arrival.
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. The moment at length arrived, and the different actors in
the approaching investigation assembled. The judges, three in number,
sat by themselves, clad in the vestments of their profession, and
maintaining a gravity worthy of the occasion and becoming their rank.
In the centre 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[100] 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 associates were selected
from the Eastern troops, who held the fortresses of West Point[101]
and the adjacent passes; they were men who had attained the
meridian[102] 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.
[Footnote 100: messenger.]
[Footnote 101: a stronghold on the Hudson.]
[Footnote 102: middle age.]
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. Two of the judges sat in grave
reserve, fixing their eyes on the object of their investigation; but
the president continued gazing round with uneasy, convulsive motions
of the muscles of the face, that indicated a restlessness foreign to
his years and duty. The silence, and the expectation in every eye, at
length struck him, and making an effort to collect himself, he spoke,
in the tone of one used to authority.
"Bring forth the prisoner," he said, with a wave of the hand.
Frances turned for a moment, in grateful emotion, as the deep and
perturbed breathings 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. Among these was the faded
lustre of Caesar Thompson's countenance.
"You are said," continued the president, "to be Henry Wharton, a
captain in his Britannic Majesty's Sixtieth regiment of foot."
"I am."
"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 in 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.
"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 face.
"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 neutral ground is unauthorized by law; it is an
appellation[103] 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."
[Footnote 103: name.]
"I am no casuist,[104] 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."
[Footnote 104: one who studies cases of conscience.]
"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 parent."
"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 the 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.
"He is my only son."
"And what do you know of his visit to your house on the twenty-ninth
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 Sixtieth."
"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 great-coat of coarse materials?" inquired the
officer, referring to a paper that contained the charges.
"There was an overcoat."
"And you think 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 his visit to you was not merely a cloak to
other designs?"
"How can I know it?" said Mr. Wharton, in alarm. "Would Sir Henry
trust me with such 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.[105]
[Footnote 105: communication of disease by contact.]
"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 friends.
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 too plainly told what effect it had made.
"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.
"Will you swear it?" asked the immovable judge.
"How can I? God alone can see 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 taken in open arms?" said the
president.
"He was; nay, he received a wound in the combat."
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.
"To you, then, your brother previously communicated his intention of
paying your family a secret visit?"
"No, no!" said Frances, pressing her hand to her head, 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 offence, I
do assure you, if offence 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 for it, and prayed for it--oh, how fervently we prayed
for it!--is true; but to have 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 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
out 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 see now 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 beings 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 his
class. 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.
"Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?" asked the president.
One of the judges placed in his hand a written sentence, 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 adjudge him to the penalty, recommending
him to be executed, by hanging, before nine o'clock on the following
morning.
"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[106] but an hour," returned his comrade;
"we have granted the usual time. But Washington has the power to
extend it, or to pardon."
[Footnote 106: an American officer who was detected within
the British lines in disguise.]
"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 the generous intentions in favor of
Henry Wharton.