“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!”