The Spy
The SpyAUTHOR'S INTRODUCTIONCHAPTER ICHAPTER IICHAPTER IIICHAPTER IVCHAPTER VCHAPTER VICHAPTER VIICHAPTER VIIICHAPTER IXCHAPTER XCHAPTER XICHAPTER XIICHAPTER XIIICHAPTER XIVCHAPTER XVCHAPTER XVICHAPTER XVIICHAPTER XVIIICHAPTER XIXCHAPTER XXCHAPTER XXICHAPTER XXIICHAPTER XXIIICHAPTER XXIVCHAPTER XXVCHAPTER XXVICHAPTER XXVIICHAPTER XXVIIICHAPTER XXIXCHAPTER XXXCHAPTER XXXICHAPTER XXXIICHAPTER XXXIIICHAPTER XXXIVCHAPTER XXXVCopyright
The Spy
James Fenimore Cooper
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION
The author has often been asked if there were any
foundation in real life for the delineation of the principal
character in this book. He can give no clearer answer to the
question than by laying before his readers a simple statement of
the facts connected with its original publication.Many years since, the writer of this volume was at the
residence of an illustrious man, who had been employed in various
situations of high trust during the darkest days of the American
Revolution. The discourse turned upon the effects which great
political excitement produces on character, and the purifying
consequences of a love of country, when that sentiment is
powerfully and generally awakened in a people. He who, from his
years, his services, and his knowledge of men, was best qualified
to take the lead in such a conversation, was the principal speaker.
After dwelling on the marked manner in which the great struggle of
the nation, during the war of 1775, had given a new and honorable
direction to the thoughts and practices of multitudes whose time
had formerly been engrossed by the most vulgar concerns of life, he
illustrated his opinions by relating an anecdote, the truth of
which he could attest as a personal witness.The dispute between England and the United States of America,
though not strictly a family quarrel, had many of the features of a
civil war. The people of the latter were never properly and
constitutionally subject to the people of the former, but the
inhabitants of both countries owed allegiance to a common king. The
Americans, as a nation, disavowed this allegiance, and the English
choosing to support their sovereign in the attempt to regain his
power, most of the feelings of an internal struggle were involved
in the conflict. A large proportion of the emigrants from Europe,
then established in the colonies, took part with the crown; and
there were many districts in which their influence, united to that
of the Americans who refused to lay aside their allegiance, gave a
decided preponderance to the royal cause. America was then too
young, and too much in need of every heart and hand, to regard
these partial divisions, small as they were in actual amount, with
indifference. The evil was greatly increased by the activity of the
English in profiting by these internal dissensions; and it became
doubly serious when it was found that attempts were made to raise
various corps of provincial troops, who were to be banded with
those from Europe, to reduce the young republic to subjection.
Congress named an especial and a secret committee, therefore, for
the express purpose of defeating this object. Of this committee
Mr.——, the narrator of the anecdote, was chairman.In the discharge of the novel duties which now devolved on
him, Mr.—— had occasion to employ an agent whose services differed
but little from those of a common spy. This man, as will easily be
understood, belonged to a condition in life which rendered him the
least reluctant to appear in so equivocal a character. He was poor,
ignorant, so far as the usual instruction was concerned; but cool,
shrewd, and fearless by nature. It was his office to learn in what
part of the country the agents of the crown were making their
efforts to embody men, to repair to the place, enlist, appear
zealous in the cause he affected to serve, and otherwise to get
possession of as many of the secrets of the enemy as possible. The
last he of course communicated to his employers, who took all the
means in their power to counteract the plans of the English, and
frequently with success.It will readily be conceived that a service like this was
attended with great personal hazard. In addition to the danger of
discovery, there was the daily risk of falling into the hands of
the Americans themselves, who invariably visited sins of this
nature more severely on the natives of the country than on the
Europeans who fell into their hands. In fact, the agent of Mr. ——
was several times arrested by the local authorities; and, in one
instance, he was actually condemned by his exasperated countrymen
to the gallows. Speedy and private orders to the jailer alone saved
him from an ignominious death. He was permitted to escape; and this
seeming and indeed actual peril was of great aid in supporting his
assumed character among the English. By the Americans, in his
little sphere, he was denounced as a bold and inveterate Tory. In
this manner he continued to serve his country in secret during the
early years of the struggle, hourly environed by danger, and the
constant subject of unmerited opprobrium.In the year —-, Mr. —— was named to a high and honorable
employment at a European court. Before vacating his seat in
Congress, he reported to that body an outline of the circumstances
related, necessarily suppressing the name of his agent, and
demanding an appropriation in behalf of a man who had been of so
much use, at so great risk. A suitable sum was voted; and its
delivery was confided to the chairman of the secret
committee.Mr. —— took the necessary means to summon his agent to a
personal interview. They met in a wood at midnight. Here Mr. ——
complimented his companion on his fidelity and adroitness;
explained the necessity of their communications being closed; and
finally tendered the money. The other drew back, and declined
receiving it. "The country has need of all its means," he said; "as
for myself, I can work, or gain a livelihood in various ways."
Persuasion was useless, for patriotism was uppermost in the heart
of this remarkable individual; and Mr. —— departed, bearing with
him the gold he had brought, and a deep respect for the man who had
so long hazarded his life, unrequited, for the cause they served in
common.The writer is under an impression that, at a later day, the
agent of Mr. —— consented to receive a remuneration for what he had
done; but it was not until his country was entirely in a condition
to bestow it.It is scarcely necessary to add, that an anecdote like this,
simply but forcibly told by one of its principal actors, made a
deep impression on all who heard it. Many years later,
circumstances, which it is unnecessary to relate, and of an
entirely adventitious nature, induced the writer to publish a
novel, which proved to be, what he little foresaw at the time, the
first of a tolerably long series. The same adventitious causes
which gave birth to the book determined its scene and its general
character. The former was laid in a foreign country; and the latter
embraced a crude effort to describe foreign manners. When this tale
was published, it became matter of reproach among the author's
friends, that he, an American in heart as in birth, should give to
the world a work which aided perhaps, in some slight degree, to
feed the imaginations of the young and unpracticed among his own
countrymen, by pictures drawn from a state of society so different
from that to which he belonged. The writer, while he knew how much
of what he had done was purely accidental, felt the reproach to be
one that, in a measure, was just. As the only atonement in his
power, he determined to inflict a second book, whose subject should
admit of no cavil, not only on the world, but on himself. He chose
patriotism for his theme; and to those who read this introduction
and the book itself, it is scarcely necessary to add, that he took
the hero of the anecdote just related as the best illustration of
his subject.Since the original publication ofThe Spy, there have appeared several accounts of different persons
who are supposed to have been in the author's mind while writing
the book. As Mr. —— did not mention the name of his agent, the
writer never knew any more of his identity with this or that
individual, than has been here explained. Both Washington and Sir
Henry Clinton had an unusual number of secret emissaries; in a war
that partook so much of a domestic character, and in which the
contending parties were people of the same blood and language, it
could scarcely be otherwise.The style of the book has been revised by the author in this
edition. In this respect, he has endeavored to make it more worthy
of the favor with which it has been received; though he is
compelled to admit there are faults so interwoven with the
structure of the tale that, as in the case of a decayed edifice, it
would cost perhaps less to reconstruct than to repair.
Five-and-twenty years have been as ages with most things connected
with America. Among other advantages, that of her literature has
not been the least. So little was expected from the publication of
an original work of this description, at the time it was written,
that the first volume ofThe Spywas
actually printed several months, before the author felt a
sufficient inducement to write a line of the second. The efforts
expended on a hopeless task are rarely worthy of him who makes
them, however low it may be necessary to rate the standard of his
general merit.One other anecdote connected with the history of this book
may give the reader some idea of the hopes of an American author,
in the first quarter of the present century. As the second volume
was slowly printing, from manuscript that was barely dry when it
went into the compositor's hands, the publisher intimated that the
work might grow to a length that would consume the profits. To set
his mind at rest, the last chapter was actually written, printed,
and paged, several weeks before the chapters which precede it were
even thought of. This circumstance, while it cannot excuse, may
serve to explain the manner in which the actors are hurried off the
scene.A great change has come over the country since this book was
originally written. The nation is passing from the gristle into the
bone, and the common mind is beginning to keep even pace with the
growth of the body politic. The march from Vera Cruz to Mexico was
made under the orders of that gallant soldier who, a quarter of a
century before, was mentioned with honor, in the last chapter of
this very book. Glorious as was that march, and brilliant as were
its results in a military point of view, a stride was then made by
the nation, in a moral sense, that has hastened it by an age, in
its progress toward real independence and high political influence.
The guns that filled the valley of the Aztecs with their thunder,
have been heard in echoes on the other side of the Atlantic,
producing equally hope or apprehension.There is now no enemy to fear, but the one that resides
within. By accustoming ourselves to regard even the people as
erring beings, and by using the restraints that wisdom has adduced
from experience, there is much reason to hope that the same
Providence which has so well aided us in our infancy, may continue
to smile on our manhood.
CHAPTER I
And though amidst the calm of thought entire,Some high and haughty features might betrayA soul impetuous once—'twas earthly fireThat fled composure's intellectual ray,As Etna's fires grow dim before the rising day.—Gertrude of Wyoming.It was near the close of the year 1780 that a solitary
traveler was seen pursuing his way through one of the numerous
little valleys of Westchester. [Footnote: As each state of the
American Union has its own counties, it often happens that there
are several which bear the same name. The scene of this tale is in
New York, whose county of Westchester is the nearest adjoining to
the city.] The easterly wind, with its chilling dampness and
increasing violence, gave unerring notice of the approach of a
storm, which, as usual, might be expected to continue for several
days; and the experienced eye of the traveler was turned in vain,
through the darkness of the evening, in quest of some convenient
shelter, in which, for the term of his confinement by the rain that
already began to mix with the atmosphere in a thick mist, he might
obtain such accommodations as his purposes required. Nothing
whatever offered but the small and inconvenient tenements of the
lower order of the inhabitants, with whom, in that immediate
neighborhood, he did not think it either safe or politic to trust
himself.The county of Westchester, after the British had obtained
possession of the island of New York, [Footnote: The city of New
York is situated on an island called Manhattan: but it is at one
point separated from the county of Westchester by a creek of only a
few feet in width. The bridge at this spot is called King's Bridge.
It was the scene of many skirmishes during the war, and is alluded
to in this tale. Every Manhattanese knows the difference between
"Manhattan Island" and the "island of Manhattan." The first is
applied to a small District in the vicinity of Corlaer's Hook,
while the last embraces the Whole island; or the city and county of
New York as it is termed in the laws.] became common ground, in
which both parties continued to act for the remainder of the war of
the Revolution. A large proportion of its inhabitants, either
restrained by their attachments, or influenced by their fears,
affected a neutrality they did not feel. The lower towns were, of
course, more particularly under the dominion of the crown, while
the upper, finding a security from the vicinity of the continental
troops, were bold in asserting their revolutionary opinions, and
their right to govern themselves. Great numbers, however, wore
masks, which even to this day have not been thrown aside; and many
an individual has gone down to the tomb, stigmatized as a foe to
the rights of his countrymen, while, in secret, he has been the
useful agent of the leaders of the Revolution; and, on the other
hand, could the hidden repositories of divers flaming patriots have
been opened to the light of day, royal protections would have been
discovered concealed under piles of British gold.At the sound of the tread of the noble horse ridden by the
traveler, the mistress of the farmhouse he was passing at the time
might be seen cautiously opening the door of the building to
examine the stranger; and perhaps, with an averted face
communicating the result of her observations to her husband, who,
in the rear of the building, was prepared to seek, if necessary,
his ordinary place of concealment in the adjacent woods. The valley
was situated about midway in the length of the county, and was
sufficiently near to both armies to make the restitution of stolen
goods no uncommon occurrence in that vicinity. It is true, the same
articles were not always regained; but a summary substitute was
generally resorted to, in the absence of legal justice, which
restored to the loser the amount of his loss, and frequently with
no inconsiderable addition for the temporary use of his property.
In short, the law was momentarily extinct in that particular
district, and justice was administered subject to the bias of
personal interests and the passions of the strongest.The passage of a stranger, with an appearance of somewhat
doubtful character, and mounted on an animal which, although
unfurnished with any of the ordinary trappings of war, partook
largely of the bold and upright carriage that distinguished his
rider, gave rise to many surmises among the gazing inmates of the
different habitations; and in some instances, where conscience was
more than ordinarily awake, to no little alarm.Tired with the exercise of a day of unusual fatigue, and
anxious to obtain a speedy shelter from the increasing violence of
the storm, that now began to change its character to large drops of
driving rain, the traveler determined, as a matter of necessity, to
make an application for admission to the next dwelling that
offered. An opportunity was not long wanting; and, riding through a
pair of neglected bars, he knocked loudly at the outer door of a
building of a very humble exterior, without quitting his saddle. A
female of middle age, with an outward bearing but little more
prepossessing than that of her dwelling, appeared to answer the
summons. The startled woman half closed her door again in affright,
as she saw, by the glare of a large wood fire, a mounted man so
unexpectedly near its threshold; and an expression of terror
mingled with her natural curiosity, as she required his
pleasure.Although the door was too nearly closed to admit of a minute
scrutiny of the accommodations within, enough had been seen to
cause the horseman to endeavor, once more, to penetrate the gloom,
with longing eyes, in search of a more promising roof, before, with
an ill-concealed reluctance, he stated his necessities and wishes.
His request was listened to with evident unwillingness, and, while
yet unfinished, it was eagerly interrupted by the
reply:"I can't say I like to give lodgings to a stranger in these
ticklish times," said the female, in a pert, sharp key. "I'm
nothing but a forlorn lone body; or, what's the same thing, there's
nobody but the old gentleman at home; but a half mile farther up
the road is a house where you can get entertainment, and that for
nothing. I am sure 'twill be much convenienter to them, and more
agreeable to me—because, as I said before, Harvey is away; I wish
he'd take advice, and leave off wandering; he's well to do in the
world by this time; and he ought to leave off his uncertain
courses, and settle himself, handsomely, in life, like other men of
his years and property. But Harvey Birch will have his own way, and
die vagabond after all!"The horseman did not wait to hear more than the advice to
pursue his course up the road; but he had slowly turned his horse
towards the bars, and was gathering the folds of an ample cloak
around his manly form, preparatory to facing the storm again, when
something in the speech of the female suddenly arrested the
movement."Is this, then, the dwelling of Harvey Birch?" he inquired,
in an involuntary manner, apparently checking himself, as he was
about to utter more."Why, one can hardly say it is his dwelling," replied the
other, drawing a hurried breath, like one eager to answer; "he is
never in it, or so seldom, that I hardly remember his face, when he
does think it worth his while to show it to his poor old father and
me. But it matters little to me, I'm sure, if he ever comes back
again, or not;—turn in the first gate on your left;—no, I care but
little, for my part, whether Harvey ever shows his face again or
not—not I"—and she closed the door abruptly on the horseman, who
gladly extended his ride a half mile farther, to obtain lodgings
which promised both more comfort and greater security.Sufficient light yet remained to enable the traveler to
distinguish the improvements [Footnote: Improvements is used by the
Americans to express every degree of change in converting land from
its state of wilderness to that of cultivation. In this meaning of
the word, it is an improvement to fell the trees; and it is valued
precisely by the supposed amount of the cost.] which had been made
in the cultivation, and in the general appearance of the grounds
around the building to which he was now approaching. The house was
of stone, long, low, and with a small wing at each extremity. A
piazza, extending along the front, with neatly turned pillars of
wood, together with the good order and preservation of the fences
and outbuildings, gave the place an air altogether superior to the
common farmhouses of the country. After leading his horse behind an
angle of the wall, where it was in some degree protected from the
wind and rain, the traveler threw his valise over his arm, and
knocked loudly at the entrance of the building for admission. An
aged black soon appeared; and without seeming to think it
necessary, under the circumstances, to consult his superiors,—first
taking one prying look at the applicant, by the light of the candle
in his hand,—he acceded to the request for accommodations. The
traveler was shown into an extremely neat parlor, where a fire had
been lighted to cheer the dullness of an easterly storm and an
October evening. After giving the valise into the keeping of his
civil attendant, and politely repeating his request to the old
gentleman, who arose to receive him, and paying his compliments to
the three ladies who were seated at work with their needles, the
stranger commenced laying aside some of the outer garments which he
had worn in his ride.On taking an extra handkerchief from his neck, and removing a
cloak of blue cloth, with a surtout of the same material, he
exhibited to the scrutiny of the observant family party, a tall and
extremely graceful person, of apparently fifty years of age. His
countenance evinced a settled composure and dignity; his nose was
straight, and approaching to Grecian; his eye, of a gray color, was
quiet, thoughtful, and rather melancholy; the mouth and lower part
of his face being expressive of decision and much character. His
dress, being suited to the road, was simple and plain, but such as
was worn by the higher class of his countrymen; he wore his own
hair, dressed in a manner that gave a military air to his
appearance, and which was rather heightened by his erect and
conspicuously graceful carriage. His whole appearance was so
impressive and so decidedly that of a gentleman, that as he
finished laying aside the garments, the ladies arose from their
seats, and, together with the master of the house, they received
anew, and returned the complimentary greetings which were again
offered.The host was by several years the senior of the traveler, and
by his manner, dress, and everything around him, showed he had seen
much of life and the best society. The ladies were, a maiden of
forty, and two much younger, who did not seem, indeed, to have
reached half those years. The bloom of the elder of these ladies
had vanished, but her eyes and fine hair gave an extremely
agreeable expression to her countenance; and there was a softness
and an affability in her deportment, that added a charm many more
juvenile faces do not possess. The sisters, for such the
resemblance between the younger females denoted them to be, were in
all the pride of youth, and the roses, so eminently the property of
the Westchester fair, glowed on their cheeks, and lighted their
deep blue eyes with that luster which gives so much pleasure to the
beholder, and which indicates so much internal innocence and peace.
There was much of that feminine delicacy in the appearance of the
three, which distinguishes the sex in this country; and, like the
gentleman, their demeanor proved them to be women of the higher
order of life.After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his guest, Mr.
Wharton, for so was the owner of this retired estate called,
resumed his seat by the fire, with another in his own hand. For a
moment he paused, as if debating with his politeness, but at length
threw an inquiring glance on the stranger, as he
inquired,—"To whose health am I to have the honor of
drinking?"The traveler had also seated himself, and he sat
unconsciously gazing on the fire, while Mr. Wharton spoke; turning
his eyes slowly on his host with a look of close observation, he
replied, while a faint tinge gathered on his
features,—"Mr. Harper.""Mr. Harper," resumed the other, with the formal precision of
that day, "I have the honor to drink your health, and to hope you
will sustain no injury from the rain to which you have been
exposed."Mr. Harper bowed in silence to the compliment, and he soon
resumed the meditations from which he had been interrupted, and for
which the long ride he had that day made, in the wind, might seem a
very natural apology.The young ladies had again taken their seats beside the
workstand, while their aunt, Miss Jeanette Peyton, withdrew to
superintend the preparations necessary to appease the hunger of
their unexpected visitor. A short silence prevailed, during which
Mr. Harper was apparently enjoying the change in his situation,
when Mr. Wharton again broke it, by inquiring whether smoke was
disagreeable to his companion; to which, receiving an answer in the
negative, he immediately resumed the pipe which had been laid aside
at the entrance of the traveler.There was an evident desire on the part of the host to enter
into conversation, but either from an apprehension of treading on
dangerous ground, or an unwillingness to intrude upon the rather
studied taciturnity of his guest, he several times hesitated,
before he could venture to make any further remark. At length, a
movement from Mr. Harper, as he raised his eyes to the party in the
room, encouraged him to proceed."I find it very difficult," said Mr. Wharton, cautiously
avoiding at first, such subjects as he wished to introduce, "to
procure that quality of tobacco for my evenings' amusement to which
I have been accustomed.""I should think the shops in New York might furnish the best
in the country," calmly rejoined the other."Why—yes," returned the host in rather a hesitating manner,
lifting his eyes to the face of Harper, and lowering them quickly
under his steady look, "there must be plenty in town; but the war
has made communication with the city, however innocent, too
dangerous to be risked for so trifling an article as
tobacco."The box from which Mr. Wharton had just taken a supply for
his pipe was lying open, within a few inches of the elbow of
Harper, who took a small quantity from its contents, and applied it
to his tongue, in a manner perfectly natural, but one that filled
his companion with alarm. Without, however, observing that the
quality was of the most approved kind, the traveler relieved his
host by relapsing again into his meditations. Mr. Wharton now felt
unwilling to lose the advantage he had gained, and, making an
effort of more than usual vigor, he continued,—"I wish from the bottom of my heart, this unnatural struggle
was over, that we might again meet our friends and relatives in
peace and love.""It is much to be desired," said Harper, emphatically, again
raising his eyes to the countenance of his host."I hear of no movement of consequence, since the arrival of
our new allies," said Mr. Wharton, shaking the ashes from his pipe,
and turning his back to the other under the pretense of receiving a
coal from his youngest daughter."None have yet reached the public, I believe.""Is it thought any important steps are about to be taken?"
continued Mr. Wharton, still occupied with his daughter, yet
suspending his employment, in expectation of a reply."Is it intimated any are in agitation?""Oh! nothing in particular; but it is natural to expect some
new enterprise from so powerful a force as that under
Rochambeau."Harper made an assenting inclination with his head, but no
other reply, to this remark; while Mr. Wharton, after lighting his
pipe, resumed the subject."They appear more active in the south; Gates and Cornwallis
seem willing to bring the war to an issue there."The brow of Harper contracted, and a deeper shade of
melancholy crossed his features; his eye kindled with a transient
beam of fire, that spoke a latent source of deep feeling. The
admiring gaze of the younger of the sisters had barely time to read
its expression, before it passed away, leaving in its room the
acquired composure which marked the countenance of the stranger,
and that impressive dignity which so conspicuously denotes the
empire of reason.The elder sister made one or two movements in her chair,
before she ventured to say, in a tone which partook in no small
measure of triumph,—"General Gates has been less fortunate with the earl, than
with GeneralBurgoyne.""But General Gates is an Englishman, Sarah," cried the
younger lady, with quickness; then, coloring to the eyes at her own
boldness, she employed herself in tumbling over the contents of her
work basket, silently hoping the remark would be
unnoticed.The traveler had turned his face from one sister to the
other, as they had spoken in succession, and an almost
imperceptible movement of the muscles of his mouth betrayed a new
emotion, as he playfully inquired of the younger,—"May I venture to ask what inference you would draw from that
fact?"Frances blushed yet deeper at this direct appeal to her
opinions upon a subject on which she had incautiously spoken in the
presence of a stranger; but finding an answer necessary, after some
little hesitation, and with a good deal of stammering in her
manner, she replied,—"Only—only—sir—my sister and myself sometimes differ in our
opinions of the prowess of the British." A smile of much meaning
played on a face of infantile innocency, as she
concluded."On what particular points of their prowess do you differ?"
continued Harper, meeting her look of animation with a smile of
almost paternal softness."Sarah thinks the British are never beaten, while I do not
put so much faith in their invincibility."The traveler listened to her with that pleased indulgence,
with which virtuous age loves to contemplate the ardor of youthful
innocence; but making no reply, he turned to the fire, and
continued for some time gazing on its embers, in
silence.Mr. Wharton had in vain endeavored to pierce the disguise of
his guest's political feelings; but, while there was nothing
forbidding in his countenance, there was nothing communicative; on
the contrary it was strikingly reserved; and the master of the
house arose, in profound ignorance of what, in those days, was the
most material point in the character of his guest, to lead the way
into another room, and to the supper table. Mr. Harper offered his
hand to Sarah Wharton, and they entered the room together; while
Frances followed, greatly at a loss to know whether she had not
wounded the feelings of her father's inmate.The storm began to rage with great violence without; and the
dashing rain on the sides of the building awakened that silent
sense of enjoyment, which is excited by such sounds in a room of
quiet comfort and warmth, when a loud summons at the outer door
again called the faithful black to the portal. In a minute the
servant returned, and informed his master that another traveler,
overtaken by the storm, desired to be admitted to the house for a
shelter through the night.At the first sounds of the impatient summons of this new
applicant, Mr. Wharton had risen from his seat in evident
uneasiness; and with eyes glancing with quickness from his guest to
the door of the room, he seemed to be expecting something to
proceed from this second interruption, connected with the stranger
who had occasioned the first. He scarcely had time to bid the
black, with a faint voice, to show this second comer in, before the
door was thrown hastily open, and the stranger himself entered the
apartment. He paused a moment, as the person of Harper met his
view, and then, in a more formal manner, repeated the request he
had before made through the servant. Mr. Wharton and his family
disliked the appearance of this new visitor excessively; but the
inclemency of the weather, and the uncertainty of the consequences,
if he were refused the desired lodgings, compelled the old
gentleman to give a reluctant acquiescence.Some of the dishes were replaced by the orders of Miss
Peyton, and the weather-beaten intruder was invited to partake of
the remains of the repast, from which the party had just risen.
Throwing aside a rough greatcoat, he very composedly took the
offered chair, and unceremoniously proceeded to allay the cravings
of an appetite which appeared by no means delicate. But at every
mouthful he would turn an unquiet eye on Harper, who studied his
appearance with a closeness of investigation that was very
embarrassing to its subject. At length, pouring out a glass of
wine, the newcomer nodded significantly to his examiner, previously
to swallowing the liquor, and said, with something of bitterness in
his manner,—"I drink to our better acquaintance, sir; I believe this is
the first time we have met, though your attention would seem to say
otherwise."The quality of the wine seemed greatly to his fancy, for, on
replacing the glass upon the table, he gave his lips a smack, that
resounded through the room; and, taking up the bottle, he held it
between himself and the light, for a moment, in silent
contemplation of its clear and brilliant color."I think we have never met before, sir," replied Harper with
a slight smile on his features, as he observed the move ments of
the other; but appearing satisfied with his scrutiny, he turned to
Sarah Wharton, who sat next him, and carelessly
remarked,—"You doubtless find your present abode solitary, after being
accustomed to the gayeties of the city.""Oh! excessively so," said Sarah hastily. "I do wish, with my
father, that this cruel war was at an end, that we might return to
our friends once more.""And you, Miss Frances, do you long as ardently for peace as
your sister?""On many accounts I certainly do," returned the other,
venturing to steal a timid glance at her interrogator; and, meeting
the same benevolent expression of feeling as before, she continued,
as her own face lighted into one of its animated and bright smiles
of intelligence, "but not at the expense of the rights of my
countrymen.""Rights!" repeated her sister, impatiently; "whose rights can
be stronger than those of a sovereign: and what duty is clearer,
than to obey those who have a natural right to
command?""None, certainly," said Frances, laughing with great
pleasantry; and, taking the hand of her sister affectionately
within both of her own, she added, with a smile directed towards
Harper,—"I gave you to understand that my sister and myself differed
in our political opinions; but we have an impartial umpire in my
father, who loves his own countrymen, and he loves the British,—so
he takes sides with neither.""Yes," said Mr. Wharton, in a little alarm, eying first one
guest, and then the other; "I have near friends in both armies, and
I dread a victory by either, as a source of certain private
misfortune.""I take it, you have little reason to apprehend much from the
Yankees, in that way," interrupted the guest at the table, coolly
helping himself to another glass, from the bottle he had
admired."His majesty may have more experienced troops than the
continentals," answered the host fearfully, "but the Americans have
met with distinguished success."Harper disregarded the observations of both; and, rising, he
desired to be shown to his place of rest. A small boy was directed
to guide him to his room; and wishing a courteous good-night to the
whole party, the traveler withdrew. The knife and fork fell from
the hands of the unwelcome intruder, as the door closed on the
retiring figure of Harper; he arose slowly from his seat; listening
attentively, he approached the door of the room—opened it—seemed to
attend to the retreating footsteps of the other—and, amidst the
panic and astonishment of his companions, he closed it again. In an
instant, the red wig which concealed his black locks, the large
patch which hid half his face from observation, the stoop that had
made him appear fifty years of age, disappeared."My father!-my dear father!"—cried the handsome young man;
"and you, my dearest sisters and aunt!—have I at last met you
again?""Heaven bless you, my Henry, my son!" exclaimed the
astonished but delighted parent; while his sisters sank on his
shoulders, dissolved in tears.The faithful old black, who had been reared from infancy in
the house of his master, and who, as if in mockery of his degraded
state, had been complimented with the name of Caesar, was the only
other witness of this unexpected discovery of the son of Mr.
Wharton. After receiving the extended hand of his young master, and
imprinting on it a fervent kiss, Caesar withdrew. The boy did not
reenter the room; and the black himself, after some time, returned,
just as the young British captain was exclaiming,—"But who is this Mr. Harper?—is he likely to betray
me?""No, no, no, Massa Harry," cried the negro, shaking his gray
head confidently; "I been to see—Massa Harper on he knee—pray to
God—no gemman who pray to God tell of good son, come to see old
fader—Skinner do that—no Christian!"This poor opinion of the Skinners was not confined to Mr.
Caesar Thompson, as he called himself—but Caesar Wharton, as he was
styled by the little world to which he was known. The convenience,
and perhaps the necessities, of the leaders of the American arms,
in the neighborhood of New York, had induced them to employ certain
subordinate agents, of extremely irregular habits, in executing
their lesser plans of annoying the enemy. It was not a moment for
fastidious inquiries into abuses of any description, and oppression
and injustice were the natural consequences of the possession of a
military power that was uncurbed by the restraints of civil
authority. In time, a distinct order of the community was formed,
whose sole occupation appears to have been that of relieving their
fellow citizens from any little excess of temporal prosperity they
might be thought to enjoy, under the pretense of patriotism and the
love of liberty.Occasionally, the aid of military authority was not wanting,
in enforcing these arbitrary distributions of worldly goods; and a
petty holder of a commission in the state militia was to be seen
giving the sanction of something like legality to acts of the most
unlicensed robbery, and, not infrequently, of
bloodshed.On the part of the British, the stimulus of loyalty was by no
means suffered to sleep, where so fruitful a field offered on which
it might be expended. But their freebooters were enrolled, and
their efforts more systematized. Long experience had taught their
leaders the efficacy of concentrated force; and, unless tradition
does great injustice to their exploits, the result did no little
credit to their foresight. The corps—we presume, from their known
affection to that useful animal—had received the quaint appellation
of "Cowboys."Caesar was, however, far too loyal to associate men who held
the commission of George III, with the irregular warriors, whose
excesses he had so often witnessed, and from whose rapacity,
neither his poverty nor his bondage had suffered even him to escape
uninjured. The Cowboys, therefore, did not receive their proper
portion of the black's censure, when he said, no Christian, nothing
but a "Skinner," could betray a pious child, while honoring his
father with a visit so full of peril.
CHAPTER II
And many a halcyon day he lived to seeUnbroken, but by one misfortune dire,When fate had reft his mutual heart—but sheWas gone-and Gertrude climbed a widowed father's
knee.—Gertrude of Wyoming.
The father of Mr. Wharton was a native of England, and of a
family whose parliamentary interest had enabled them to provide for
a younger son in the colony of New York. The young man, like
hundreds of others in this situation, had settled permanently in
the country. He married; and the sole issue of his connection had
been sent early in life to receive the benefits of the English
schools. After taking his degrees at one of the universities of the
mother country, the youth had been suffered to acquire a knowledge
of life with the advantages of European society. But the death of
his father recalled him, after passing two years in this manner, to
the possession of an honorable name, and a very ample
estate.
It was much the fashion of that day to place the youth of
certain families in the army and navy of England, as the regular
stepping-stones to preferment. Most of the higher offices in the
colonies were filled by men who had made arms their profession; and
it was even no uncommon sight to see a veteran warrior laying aside
the sword to assume the ermine on the benches of the highest
judicial authority.
In conformity with this system, the senior Mr. Wharton had
intended his son for a soldier; but a natural imbecility of
character in his child interfered with his wishes.
A twelvemonth had been spent by the young man in weighing the
comparative advantages of the different classes of troops, when the
death of his father occurred. The ease of his situation, and the
attentions lavished upon a youth in the actual enjoyment of one of
the largest estates in the colonies, interfered greatly with his
ambitious projects. Love decided the matter; and Mr. Wharton, in
becoming a husband, ceased to think of becoming a soldier. For many
years he continued happy in his family, and sufficiently respected
by his countrymen, as a man of integrity and consequence, when all
his enjoyments vanished, as it were, at a blow. His only son, the
youth introduced in the preceding chapter, had entered the army,
and had arrived in his native country, but a short time before the
commencement of hostilities, with the reinforcements the ministry
had thought it prudent to throw into the disaffected parts of North
America. His daughters were just growing into life, and their
education required all the advantages the city could afford. His
wife had been for some years in declining health, and had barely
time to fold her son to her bosom, and rejoice in the reunion of
her family, before the Revolution burst forth, in a continued
blaze, from Georgia to Massachusetts. The shock was too much for
the feeble condition of the mother, who saw her child called to the
field to combat against the members of her own family in the South,
and she sank under the blow.
There was no part of the continent where the manners of
England and its aristocratical notions of blood and alliances,
prevailed with more force than in a certain circle immediately
around the metropolis of New York. The customs of the early Dutch
inhabitants had, indeed, blended in some measures, with the English
manners; but still the latter prevailed. This attachment to Great
Britain was increased by the frequent intermarriages of the
officers of the mother country with the wealthier and most powerful
families of the vicinity, until, at the commencement of
hostilities, their united influence had very nearly thrown the
colony into the scale on the side of the crown. A few, however, of
the leading families espoused the cause of the people; and a
sufficient stand was made against the efforts of the ministerial
party, to organize, and, aided by the army of the confederation, to
maintain an independent republican form of government.
The city of New York and the adjacent territory were alone
exempted from the rule of the new commonwealth; while the royal
authority extended no further than its dignity could be supported
by the presence of an army. In this condition of things, the
loyalists of influence adopted such measures as best accorded with
their different characters and situations. Many bore arms in
support of the crown, and, by their bravery and exertions,
endeavored to secure what they deemed to be the rights of their
prince, and their own estates from the effects of the law of
attainder. Others left the country; seeking in that place they
emphatically called home, an asylum, as they fondly hoped, for a
season only, against the confusion and dangers of war. A third, and
a more wary portion, remained in the place of their nativity, with
a prudent regard to their ample possessions, and, perhaps,
influenced by their attachments to the scenes of their youth. Mr.
Wharton was of this description. After making a provision against
future contingencies, by secretly transmitting the whole of his
money to the British funds, this gentleman determined to continue
in the theater of strife, and to maintain so strict a neutrality as
to insure the safety of his large estate, whichever party
succeeded. He was apparently engrossed in the education of his
daughters, when a relation, high in office in the new state,
intimated that a residence in what was now a British camp differed
but little, in the eyes of his countrymen, from a residence in the
British capital. Mr. Wharton soon saw this was an unpardonable
offense in the existing state of things, and he instantly
determined to remove the difficulty, by retiring to the country. He
possessed a residence in the county of Westchester; and having been
for many years in the habit of withdrawing thither during the heats
of the summer months, it was kept furnished and ready for his
accommodation. His eldest daughter was already admitted into the
society of women; but Frances, the younger, required a year or two
more of the usual cultivation, to appear with properéclat; at least so thought Miss Jeanette
Peyton; and as this lady, a younger sister of their deceased
mother, had left her paternal home, in the colony of Virginia, with
the devotedness and affection peculiar to her sex, to superintend
the welfare of her orphan nieces, Mr. Wharton felt that her
opinions were entitled to respect. In conformity to her advice,
therefore, the feelings of the parent were made to yield to the
welfare of his children.
Mr. Wharton withdrew to the Locusts, with a heart rent with
the pain of separating from all that was left him of a wife he had
adored, but in obedience to a constitutional prudence that pleaded
loudly in behalf of his worldly goods. His handsome town residence
was inhabited, in the meanwhile, by his daughters and their aunt.
The regiment to which Captain Wharton belonged formed part of the
permanent garrison of the city; and the knowledge of the presence
of his son was no little relief to the father, in his unceasing
meditations on his absent daughters. But Captain Wharton was a
young man and a soldier; his estimate of character was not always
the wisest; and his propensities led him to imagine that a red coat
never concealed a dishonorable heart.
The house of Mr. Wharton became a fashionable lounge to the
officers of the royal army, as did that of every other family that
was thought worthy of their notice. The consequences of this
association were, to some few of the visited, fortunate; to more,
injurious, by exciting expectations which were never to be
realized, and, unhappily, to no small number ruinous. The known
wealth of the father and, possibly, the presence of a high-spirited
brother, forbade any apprehension of the latter danger to the young
ladies: but it was impossible that all the admiration bestowed on
the fine figure and lovely face of Sarah Wharton should be thrown
away. Her person was formed with the early maturity of the climate,
and a strict cultivation of the graces had made her decidedly the
belle of the city. No one promised to dispute with her this female
sovereignty, unless it might be her younger sister. Frances,
however, wanted some months to the charmed age of sixteen; and the
idea of competition was far from the minds of either of the
affectionate girls. Indeed, next to the conversation of Colonel
Wellmere, the greatest pleasure of Sarah was in contemplating the
budding beauties of the little Hebe, who played around her with all
the innocency of youth, with all the enthusiasm of her ardent
temper, and with no little of the archness of her native humor.
Whether or not it was owing to the fact that Frances received none
of the compliments which fell to the lot of her elder sister, in
the often repeated discussions on the merits of the war, between
the military beaux who frequented the house, it is certain their
effects on the sisters were exactly opposite. It was much the
fashion then for the British officers to speak slightingly of their
enemies; and Sarah took all the idle vaporing of her danglers to be
truths. The first political opinions which reached the ears of
Frances were coupled with sneers on the conduct of her countrymen.
At first she believed them; but there was occasionally a general,
who was obliged to do justice to his enemy in order to obtain
justice for himself; and Frances became somewhat skeptical on the
subject of the inefficiency of her countrymen. Colonel Wellmere was
among those who delighted most in expending his wit on the
unfortunate Americans; and, in time, Frances began to listen to his
eloquence with great suspicion, and sometimes with
resentment.
It was on a hot, sultry day that the three were in the parlor
of Mr. Wharton's house, the colonel and Sarah seated on a sofa,
engaged in a combat of the eyes, aided by the usual flow of small
talk, and Frances was occupied at her tambouring frame in an
opposite corner of the room, when the gentleman suddenly
exclaimed,—
"How gay the arrival of the army under General Burgoyne will
make the city, Miss Wharton!"
"Oh! how pleasant it must be," said the thoughtless Sarah, in
reply; "I am told there are many charming women with that army; as
you say, it will make us all life and gayety."
Frances shook back the abundance of her golden hair, and
raised her eyes, dancing with the ardor of national feeling; then
laughing, with a concealed humor, she asked,—
"Is it so certain that General Burgoyne will be permitted to
reach the city?"
"Permitted!" echoed the colonel. "Who is there to prevent it,
my prettyMiss Fanny?"
Frances was precisely at that age when young people are most
jealous of their station in society; neither quite a woman, nor yet
a child. The "pretty Miss Fanny" was too familiar to be relished,
and she dropped her eyes on her work again with cheeks that glowed
like crimson.
"General Stark took the Germans into custody," she answered,
compressing her lip; "may not General Gates think the British too
dangerous to go at large?"
"Oh! they were Germans, as you say," cried the colonel,
excessively vexed at the necessity of explaining at all; "mere
mercenary troops; but when the really British regiments come in
question, you will see a very different result."
"Of that there is no doubt," cried Sarah, without in the
least partaking of the resentment of the colonel to her sister, but
hailing already in her heart the triumph of the British.
"Pray, Colonel Wellmere," said Frances, recovering her good
humor, and raising her joyous eyes once more to the face of the
gentleman, "was the Lord Percy of Lexington a kinsman of him who
fought at Chevy Chase?"
"Why, Miss Fanny, you are becoming a rebel," said the
colonel, endeavoring to laugh away the anger he felt; "what you are
pleased to insinuate was a chase at Lexington, was nothing more
than a judicious retreat—a—kind of—"
"Running fight," interrupted the good-humored girl, laying a
great emphasis on the first word.
"Positively, young lady"—Colonel Wellmere was interrupted by
a laugh from a person who had hitherto been unnoticed.
There was a small family apartment adjoining the room
occupied by the trio, and the air had blown open the door
communicating between the two. A fine young man was now seen
sitting near the entrance, who, by his smiling countenance, was
evidently a pleased listener to the conversation. He rose
instantly, and coming through the door, with his hat in his hand,
appeared a tall, graceful youth, of dark complexion, and sparkling
eyes of black, from which the mirth had not entirely vanished, as
he made his bow to the ladies.
"Mr. Dunwoodie!" cried Sarah, in surprise; "I was ignorant of
your being in the house; you will find a cooler seat in this
room."
"I thank you," replied the young man, "but I must go and seek
your brother, who placed me there in ambuscade, as he called it,
with a promise of returning an hour ago." Without making any
further explanation, the youth bowed politely to the young women,
distantly and with hauteur to the gentleman, and withdrew. Frances
followed him into the hall, and blushing richly, inquired, in a
hurried voice,—
"But why—why do you leave us, Mr. Dunwoodie? Henry must soon
return."
The gentleman caught one of her hands in his own, and the
stern expression of his countenance gave place to a look of
admiration as he replied,—
"You managed him famously, my dear little kinswoman;
never—no, never, forget the land of your birth; remember, if you
are the granddaughter of an Englishman, you are, also, the
granddaughter of a Peyton."
"Oh!" returned the laughing girl, "it would be difficult to
forget that, with the constant lectures on genealogy before us,
with which we are favored by Aunt Jeanette; but why do you
go?"
"I am on the wing for Virginia, and have much to do." He
pressed her hand as he spoke, and looking back, while in the act of
closing the door, exclaimed, "Be true to your country—be American."
The ardent girl kissed her hand to him as he retired, and then
instantly applying it with its beautiful fellow to her burning
cheeks, ran into her own apartment to hide her confusion.
Between the open sarcasm of Frances, and the ill-concealed
disdain of the young man, Colonel Wellmere had felt himself placed
in an awkward predicament; but ashamed to resent such trifles in
the presence of his mistress, he satisfied himself with observing,
superciliously, as Dunwoodie left the room,—
"Quite a liberty for a youth in his situation; a shop boy
with a bundle,I fancy."
The idea of picturing the graceful Peyton Dunwoodie as a shop
boy could never enter the mind of Sarah, and she looked around her
in surprise, when the colonel continued,—
"This Mr. Dun—Dun—"
"Dunwoodie! Oh, no—he is a relation of my aunt," cried the
young lady, "and an intimate friend of my brother; they were at
school together, and only separated in England, when one went into
the army, and the other to a French military academy."
"His money appears to have been thrown away," observed the
colonel, betraying the spleen he was unsuccessfully striving to
conceal.
"We ought to hope so," added Sarah, with a smile, "for it is
said he intends joining the rebel army. He was brought in here in a
French ship, and has just been exchanged; you may soon meet him in
arms."
"Well, let him—I wish Washington plenty of such heroes;" and
he turned to a more pleasant subject, by changing the discourse to
themselves.
A few weeks after this scene occurred, the army of Burgoyne
laid down their arms. Mr. Wharton, beginning to think the result of
the contest doubtful, resolved to conciliate his countrymen, and
gratify himself, by calling his daughters into his own abode. Miss
Peyton consented to be their companion; and from that time, until
the period at which we commenced our narrative, they had formed one
family.
Whenever the main army made any movements, Captain Wharton
had, of course, accompanied it; and once or twice, under the
protection of strong parties, acting in the neighborhood of the
Locusts, he had enjoyed rapid and stolen interviews with his
friends. A twelvemonth had, however, passed without his seeing
them, and the impatient Henry had adopted the disguise we have
mentioned, and unfortunately arrived on the very evening that an
unknown and rather suspicious guest was an inmate of the house,
which seldom contained any other than its regular
inhabitants.
"But do you think he suspects me?" asked the captain, with
anxiety, after pausing to listen to Caesar's opinion of the
Skinners.
"How should he?" cried Sarah, "when your sisters and father
could not penetrate your disguise."
"There is something mysterious in his manner; his looks are
too prying for an indifferent observer," continued young Wharton
thoughtfully, "and his face seems familiar to me. The recent fate
of André has created much irritation on both sides. Sir Henry
threatens retaliation for his death; and Washington is as firm as
if half the world were at his command. The rebels would think me a
fit subject for their plans just now, should I be so unlucky as to
fall into their hands."
"But my son," cried his father, in great alarm, "you are not
a spy; you are not within the rebel—that is, the American lines;
there is nothing here to spy."
"That might be disputed," rejoined the young man, musing.
"Their pickets were as low as the White Plains when I passed
through in disguise. It is true my purposes are innocent; but how
is it to appear? My visit to you would seem a cloak to other
designs. Remember, sir, the treatment you received not a year
since, for sending me a supply of fruit for the winter."
"That proceeded from the misrepresentations of my kind
neighbors," said Mr. Wharton, "who hoped, by getting my estate
confiscated, to purchase good farms at low prices. Peyton
Dunwoodie, however, soon obtained our discharge; we were detained
but a month."
"We!" repeated the son, in amazement; "did they take my
sisters, also?Fanny, you wrote me nothing of this."
"I believe," said Frances, coloring highly, "I mentioned the
kind treatment we received from your old friend, Major Dunwoodie;
and that he procured my father's release."
"True; but were you with him in the rebel camp?"
"Yes," said the father, kindly; "Fanny would not suffer me to
go alone. Jeanette and Sarah took charge of the Locusts, and this
little girl was my companion, in captivity."
"And Fanny returned from such a scene a greater rebel than
ever," cried Sarah, indignantly; "one would think the hardships her
father suffered would have cured her of such whims."
"What say you to the charge, my pretty sister?" cried the
captain gayly; "did Peyton strive to make you hate your king, more
than he does himself?"
"Peyton Dunwoodie hates no one," said Frances, quickly; then,
blushing at her own ardor, she added immediately, "he loves you,
Henry, I know; for he has told me so again and again."
Young Wharton tapped his sister on the cheek, with a smile,
as he asked her, in an affected whisper, "Did he tell you also that
he loved my little sister Fanny?"
"Nonsense!" said Frances; and the remnants of the
supper-table soon disappeared under her superintendence.
CHAPTER III
'Twas when the fields were swept of Autumn's
store,And growing winds the fading foliage toreBehind the Lowmon hill, the short-lived light,Descending slowly, ushered in the night;When from the noisy town, with mournful look,His lonely way the meager peddler took.—WILSON.
A storm below the highlands of the Hudson, if it be
introduced with an easterly wind, seldom lasts less than two days.
Accordingly, as the inmates of the Locusts assembled, on the
following morning, around their early breakfast, the driving rain
was seen to strike in nearly horizontal lines against the windows
of the building, and forbade the idea of exposing either man or
beast to the tempest. Harper was the last to appear; after taking a
view of the state of the weather, he apologized to Mr. Wharton for
the necessity that existed for his trespassing on his goodness for
a longer time. To appearances, the reply was as courteous as the
excuse; yet Harper wore a resignation in his deportment that was
widely different from the uneasy manner of the father. Henry
Wharton had resumed his disguise with a reluctance amounting to
disgust, but in obedience to the commands of his parent. No
communications passed between him and the stranger, after the first
salutations of the morning had been paid by Harper to him, in
common with the rest of the family. Frances had, indeed, thought
there was something like a smile passing over the features of the
traveler, when, on entering the room, he first confronted her
brother; but it was confined to the eyes, seeming to want power to
affect the muscles of the face, and was soon lost in the settled
and benevolent expression which reigned in his countenance, with a
sway but seldom interrupted. The eyes of the affectionate sister
were turned in anxiety, for a moment, on her brother, and glancing
again on their unknown guest, met his look, as he offered her, with
marked attention, one of the little civilities of the table; and
the heart of the girl, which had begun to throb with violence,
regained a pulsation as tempered as youth, health, and buoyant
spirits could allow. While yet seated at the table, Caesar entered,
and laying a small parcel in silence by the side of his master,
modestly retired behind his chair, where, placing one hand on its
back, he continued in an attitude half familiar, half respectful, a
listener.
"What is this, Caesar?" inquired Mr. Wharton, turning the
bundle over to examine its envelope, and eying it rather
suspiciously.
"The 'baccy, sir; Harvey Birch, he got home, and he bring you
a little good 'baccy from York."
"Harvey Birch!" rejoined the master with great deliberation,
stealing a look at his guest. "I do not remember desiring him to
purchase any tobacco for me; but as he has brought it, he must be
paid for his trouble."
For an instant only, as the negro spoke, did Harper suspend
his silent meal; his eye moved slowly from the servant to the
master, and again all remained in impenetrable reserve.
To Sarah Wharton, this intelligence gave unexpected pleasure;
rising from her seat with impatience, she bade the black show Birch
into the apartment; when, suddenly recollecting herself, she turned
to the traveler with an apologizing look, and added, "If Mr. Harper
will excuse the presence of a peddler."
The indulgent benevolence expressed in the countenance of the
stranger, as he bowed a silent acquiescence, spoke more eloquently
than the nicest framed period, and the young lady repeated her
order, with a confidence in its truth that removed all
embarrassment.
In the deep recesses of the windows of the cottage were seats
of paneled work; and the rich damask curtains, that had ornamented
the parlor in Queen Street, [Footnote: The Americans changed the
names of many towns and streets at the Revolution, as has since
been done in France. Thus, in the city of New York, Crown Street
has become Liberty Street; King Street, Pine Street; and Queen
Street, then one of the most fashionable quarters of the town,
Pearl Street. Pearl Street is now chiefly occupied by the auction
dealers, and the wholesale drygoods merchants, for warehouses and
counting-rooms.] had been transferred to the Locusts, and gave to
the room that indescribable air of comfort, which so gratefully
announces the approach of a domestic winter. Into one of these
recesses Captain Wharton now threw himself, drawing the curtain
before him in such a manner as to conceal most of his person from
observation; while his younger sister, losing her natural frankness
of manner, in an air of artificial constraint, silently took
possession of the other.
