Part 28 (1/2)
”These hands,” said the peddler, stretching forth his meager, bony fingers, ”have spent years in toil, but not a moment in pilfering.”
”It is well that it is so,” said the honest-hearted soldier, ”and, no doubt, you now feel it a great consolation. There are three great sins, that, if a man can keep his conscience clear of, why, by the mercy of G.o.d, he may hope to pa.s.s muster with the saints in heaven: they are stealing, murdering, and desertion.”
”Thank G.o.d!” said Birch, with fervor, ”I have never yet taken the life of a fellow creature.”
”As to killing a man in lawful battle, that is no more than doing one's duty. If the cause is wrong, the sin of such a deed, you know, falls on the nation, and a man receives his punishment here with the rest of the people; but murdering in cold blood stands next to desertion as a crime in the eye of G.o.d.”
”I never was a soldier, therefore never could desert,” said the peddler, resting his face on his hand in a melancholy att.i.tude.
”Why, desertion consists of more than quitting your colors, though that is certainly the worst kind; a man may desert his country in the hour of need.”
Birch buried his face in both his hands, and his whole frame shook; the sergeant regarded him closely, but good feelings soon got the better of his antipathies, and he continued more mildly,-
”But still that is a sin which I think may be forgiven, if sincerely repented of; and it matters but little when or how a man dies, so that he dies like a Christian and a man. I recommend you to say your prayers, and then to get some rest, in order that you may do both. There is no hope of your being pardoned; for Colonel Singleton has sent down the most positive orders to take your life whenever we met you. No, no-nothing can save you.”
”You say the truth,” cried Birch. ”It is now too late-I have destroyed my only safeguard. But he will do my memory justice at least.”
”What safeguard?” asked the sergeant, with awakened curiosity.
”'Tis nothing,” replied the peddler, recovering his natural manner, and lowering his face to avoid the earnest looks of his companion.
”And who is he?”
”No one,” added Harvey, anxious to say no more.
”Nothing and no one can avail but little now,” said the sergeant, rising to go. ”Lay yourself on the blanket of Mrs. Flanagan, and get a little sleep; I will call you betimes in the morning; and from the bottom of my soul I wish I could be of some service to you, for I dislike greatly to see a man hung up like a dog.”
”Then you might save me from this ignominious death,” said Birch, springing to his feet, and catching the dragoon by the arm. ”And, oh! what will I not give you in reward!”
”In what manner?” asked the sergeant, looking at him in surprise.
”See,” said the peddler, producing several guineas from his person; ”these are nothing to what I will give you, if you will a.s.sist me to escape.”
”Were you the man whose picture is on the gold, I would not listen to such a crime,” said the trooper, throwing the money on the floor with contempt. ”Go-go, poor wretch, and make your peace with G.o.d; for it is He only that can be of service to you now.”
The sergeant took up the lantern, and, with some indignation in his manner, he left the peddler to sorrowful meditations on his approaching fate. Birch sank, in momentary despair, on the pallet of Betty, while his guardian proceeded to give the necessary instructions to the sentinels for his safe-keeping.
Hollister concluded his injunctions to the man in the shed, by saying, ”Your life will depend on his not escaping. Let none enter or quit the room till morning.”
”But,” said the trooper, ”my orders are, to let the washerwoman pa.s.s in and out, as she pleases.”
”Well, let her then; but be careful that this wily peddler does not get out in the folds of her petticoats.” He then continued his walk, giving similar orders to each of the sentinels near the spot.
For some time after the departure of the sergeant, silence prevailed within the solitary prison of the peddler, until the dragoon at his door heard his loud breathings, which soon rose into the regular cadence of one in a deep sleep. The man continued walking his post, musing on an indifference to life which could allow nature its customary rest, even on the threshold of the grave. Harvey Birch had, however, been a name too long held in detestation by every man in the corps, to suffer any feelings of commiseration to mingle with these reflections of the sentinel; for, notwithstanding the consideration and kindness manifested by the sergeant, there probably was not another man of his rank in the whole party who would have discovered equal benevolence to the prisoner, or who would not have imitated the veteran in rejecting the bribe, although probably from a less worthy motive. There was something of disappointed vengeance in the feelings of the man who watched the door of the room on finding his prisoner enjoying a sleep of which he himself was deprived, and at his exhibiting such obvious indifference to the utmost penalty that military rigor could inflict on all his treason to the cause of liberty and America. More than once he felt prompted to disturb the repose of the peddler by taunts and revilings; but the discipline he was under, and a secret sense of shame at the brutality of the act, held him in subjection.
His meditations were, however, soon interrupted by the appearance of the washerwoman, who came staggering through the door that communicated with the kitchen, muttering execrations against the servants of the officers, who, by their waggery, had disturbed her slumbers before the fire. The sentinel understood enough of her maledictions to comprehend the case; but all his efforts to enter into conversation with the enraged woman were useless, and he suffered her to enter her room without explaining that it contained another inmate. The noise of her huge frame falling on the bed was succeeded by a silence that was soon interrupted by the renewed respiration of the peddler, and within a few minutes Harvey continued to breathe aloud, as if no interruption had occurred. The relief arrived at this moment.
The sentinel, who felt nettled at the contempt of the peddler, after communicating his orders, while he was retiring, exclaimed to his successor,-
”You may keep yourself warm by dancing, John; the peddler spy has tuned his fiddle, you hear, and it will not be long before Betty will strike up, in her turn.”