WASHINGTON'S LAST MEETING WITH THE SPY.
It was at the close of a stormy day in 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[132] 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 steed 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,[133] 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 aid-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; then, casting a
brief but expressive glance at his aid, he retired into the building,
followed by that gentleman.
[Footnote 132: respect.]
[Footnote 133: forms required by good breeding.]
On entering the 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 aid-de-camp stood in expectation of
orders. At length the general raised his eyes, and spoke in those low,
placid tones that seemed natural to him:
"Has the man I wished to see arrived, sir?"
"He waits the pleasure of your excellency."
"I will receive him here, and alone, if you please."
The aid 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!"
"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 great-coat 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 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;[134] you will remember the poverty of our country, and
attribute to it the smallness of your pay."
[Footnote 134: a former Spanish coin, worth about $8.]
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:
"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 already
were embrowned with toil.
"But those may fail you; take enough to secure a support to your age.
Remember your risks and care. 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 may 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 lowliest 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 entrust 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 at the strong emotion he exhibited with pain, and he
made a slight movement towards 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 that I shall ever see your
excellency. May God pour down his choicest blessings on your head!" He
paused, and moved towards 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, withdrew.