Chapter 14

I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honored head:
No more that meek, that suppliant look in prayer,
Nor that pure faith that gave it force, are there:
But he is blest, and I lament no more,
A wise good man, contented to be poor.
--CRABBE.

We have already said that the customs of America leave the dead but a
short time in sight of the mourners; and the necessity of providing for
his own safety had compelled the peddler to abridge even this brief
space. In the confusion and agitation produced by the events we have
recorded, the death of the elder Birch had occurred unnoticed; but a
sufficient number of the immediate neighbors were hastily collected, and
the ordinary rites of sepulture were now about to be paid to the
deceased. It was the approach of this humble procession that arrested
the movements of the trooper and his comrade. Four men supported the
body on a rude bier; and four others walked in advance, ready to
relieve their friends from their burden. The peddler walked next the
coffin, and by his side moved Katy Haynes, with a most determined aspect
of woe, and next to the mourners came Mr. Wharton and the English
captain. Two or three old men and women, with a few straggling boys,
brought up the rear. Captain Lawton sat in his saddle, in rigid silence,
until the bearers came opposite to his position, and then, for the first
time, Harvey raised his eyes from the ground, and saw the enemy that he
dreaded so near him. The first impulse of the peddler was certainly
flight; but recovering his recollection, he fixed his eye on the coffin
of his parent, and passed the dragoon with a firm step but swelling
heart. The trooper slowly lifted his cap, and continued uncovered until
Mr. Wharton and his son had moved by, when, accompanied by the surgeon,
he rode leisurely in the rear, maintaining an inflexible silence.

Caesar emerged from the cellar kitchen of the cottage, and with a face
of settled solemnity, added himself to the number of the followers of
the funeral, though with a humble mien and at a most respectful distance
from the horsemen. The old negro had placed around his arm, a little
above the elbow, a napkin of unsullied whiteness, it being the only time
since his departure from the city that he had enjoyed an opportunity of
exhibiting himself in the garniture of servile mourning. He was a great
lover of propriety, and had been a little stimulated to this display by
a desire to show his sable friend from Georgia all the decencies of a
New York funeral; and the ebullition of his zeal went off very well,
producing no other result than a mild lecture from Miss Peyton at his
return, on the fitness of things. The attendance of the black was
thought