University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

Zoroaster.

The most gloomy period of the Revolutionary
struggle had now arrived. After the defeat
at Long Island and the capture of New-York,
a series of disasters befell the patriotic
cause, which formed the dark season that has
been emphatically termed, the time that tried
men's souls. The great object of the enemy
was to obtain possession of Philadelphia, the
capital of the Union, the seat of Congress, and
the place from which it drew its chief resources.
The invaders had overrun the Jerseys, and had
pushed their advanced posts as far as Trenton.
The army of Washington, the only force opposed
to their further progress, had dwindled,
by the combined effects of defeats, desertions,
and the expiration of the enlistment of many
regiments at this critical juncture, to very little
more than two thousand men, and these were
destitute of almost all the necessary equipments
of an army.

But the regular histories of the country have
dwelt largely and pathetically on the woful
condition and sad prospects of America at this

midnight of her calamities. On the zeal, the
prudence, the perseverance and the skill of one
man alone, did the patriotic and unwavering
Congress, and all who despaired not yet of the
destinies of the country, rely, under Providence,
for safety and final deliverance from their calamities.—Need
that man be named here?
The hearts of Americans will answer, “No;
we know our guardian was Washington.”

As a measure of prudence, Congress had removed
from Philadelphia to the town of York;
and Washington, with the small devoted band
of heroes that still adhered to him, hovered on
the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware, determined
to dispute the passage of that river with
the whole force of the enemy, in defence of the
city.

At this juncture the inhabitants of Philadelphia
were not wanting in exertions. A supply
of clothing, arms and ammunition, was given to
the almost destitute army, and citizens to the
number of fifteen hundred enrolled themselves
in the ranks of their defenders. These supplies
inspired the mind of Washington with renewed
energy; and he conceived the design of
striking a blow which might revive the drooping
spirits of the country, and perhaps turn
the balance of fortune in her favour.

It was on the evening of the twenty-third
of December, 1776, that Edward Meredith received

a summons from Washington, to attend
him at his quarters without delay. Edward
obeyed, and, in a few minutes, was in the presence
of his illustrious commander.

“Captain Meredith,” said the chief, “I am
aware of your zeal for the great cause in which
we are embarked, and my estimation of your
prudence and courage will be amply proved by
the proposal I am about to make. You know
the deplorable condition to which our army is
reduced, and the danger to which our chief
city is exposed. If under the present circumstances,
that city should fall into the hands
of the enemy, the courage of our firmest friends
may fail, our reputation abroad may fatally
suffer, and our cause be ruined. To avert such
a catastrophe, are you willing to undertake the
performance of a piece of very dangerous
duty?”

“Perfectly willing,” replied Meredith, elated
with the idea that Washington had thought
him worthy of being selected for such a
purpose. “In obeying your excellency's
orders, I will not shrink from any danger
whatever.”

“Heaven bless you,” said the chief, “and
protect you in the enterprise which, I trust,
will result in the rescue of your country from
her present state of distress and despondency.
The advanced post of the enemy is at Trenton.

I wish to know its strength and the nature of
the position it occupies. If it be such as will
warrant an attack, I am seized with a strong
desire to carry it, either by surprise or by
storm. Our success will, at this moment, be
attended with incalculable advantages to our
cause. You must undertake the dangerous office
of a spy, whether in the character of a deserter,
or in the disguise of a tory, I leave
it with yourself to determine. But you must
endeavour, by to-morrow evening, to bring me
such information as will enable me to adopt
the best measures for succeeding in my design.”

“I am proud of this mark of the confidence
of your Excellency,” replied Meredith, “and
your will shall be obeyed.”

Meredith disguised himself as an elderly farmer
of the Quaker persuasion, a character
which he could without difficulty sustain, and
which, he conceived, would subject him much
less to interrogation, than that of a deserter.
He passed up the Pennsylvania side of the river.
When nearly opposite Trenton, he purchased,
at a farm-house, some turkies, with
which, on the morning of Christmas eve he
crossed the Delaware, and appeared in the
Trenton market. His poultry being of a choice
description, was soon purchased by some Hessian
and British officers, who ordered him to

carry it to the barracks. He obeyed, and falling
into conversation with a communicative
British soldier, he soon obtained all the information
he required.

He now left the town by the road leading
up the river, in order to avoid suspicion of
having come from below. He had proceeded
but a short distance, when he met a small party
of light horse, who had been foraging,
guarding a wagon loaded with provisions,
which was driven by a countryman towards
the town. As they approached, he knew one of the
horsemen to be his cousin, Harris. He hastened
into the adjoining wood, to avoid too near a
contact with one who might recognise him.
To his great consternation, the party called after
him, and ordered him to stand still. The
wood being close, he determined to trust to
that circumstance and his own dexterity in
penetrating it, for safety, rather than encounter
the risk of an investigation in the presence of
an enemy who personally knew him. Instantly
half a dozen bullets were sent into the
wood after him, but happily the trees effectually
sheltered him from injury.

“A damned rebel, I'll warrant him, although
a Quaker,” cried one of the horsemen; “but
I'll catch him:” and he hastened into the woods
on foot in pursuit. Meredith, however, was as
nimble as he, and feared not to be overtaken.

But he soon came unexpectedly to the edge of
a high precipice that beetled over the river,
and over which he had no alternative but to
leap or await his pursuer. He preferred the latter,
having but little fear of facing one individual,
since he was secretly armed with a pistol and
a small dagger. His pursuer he knew to be
Harris. He had a reluctance to take his life;
but it was necessary for his own safety, as well
as for the success of his enterprise, that he
should disable him. He threw himself down
behind the trunk of a large fallen tree, that was
convenient. Harris approaching hastily and incautiously,
soon received a pistol-ball in one of
his legs, which broke it, and he fell. At the
same moment he discharged his pistol, but its
contents were arrested by the tree behind
which Meredith had taken shelter. The latter
spoke not, but hurried to the next farm-house,
where meeting with a young lad, he
sent him to the aid of Harris, and without
more delay or obstruction re-crossed the river.
Another hour brought him into the presence of
Washington, who thus gained the requisite intelligence,
which enabled him to form the judicious
and well-timed measure which resulted
in the capture of the Hessians and British at
Trenton, an exploit, whose brilliance broke like
the first dawning of a glorious day, upon the
darkness which had so long overshadowed the
American cause.

It would be encroaching on the province of
regular history to detail the series of successful
exploits performed by the army of Washington,
after the spell of misfortune was thus
broken by the victory at Trenton. The defeat
of the enemy at Princeton soon followed, and
the whole of the Jerseys were in a short time
freed from the presence of the invaders, who
being driven from post to post, were compelled
to take shelter in their fastnesses on Staten Island,
or in New York.

At the battle of Princeton, however, an incident
occurred which it is proper here to relate.
The enemy had broken and victory had
declared for the American cause, when it fell
to the lot of Meredith at the head of his troop
to pursue some retreating British cavalry. The
rugged and wooded nature of the country compelled
the fugitives, and consequently the pursuers,
to separate into small parties, each taking
different directions. An officer whom Meredith
had kept particularly in view as one
worthy of capture, at the bottom of a hill, darted
suddenly into the woods by an obscure path on
the left. Meredith followed singly, calling on
the fugitive to surrender. But the latter continued
his flight, until his horse stumbled and
threw him. The Briton, now on foot, discharged
a pistol at Meredith, whose horse received
its contents in his head and instantly fell. Both

riders being now dismounted, looked at each
other for some moments. The fire-arms of
neither being loaded, they were about joining
combat with their swords, when a voice known
to both called on them to forbear. The next moment
Francis Holmes rode in between them.

“I call upon you,” said he, “not to shed
kindred blood. Sir Robert Radnor, your antagonist
is the son of the lady of your first
love, and he has done you no personal injury.”

“True,” returned Sir Robert. “His father
ran away with Matilda. But he is not responsible
for his father's acts.”

“But, Sir Robert, you are responsible for
your own,” observed Meredith, “and I now
demand satisfaction for my mother's wrongs?”

“Hush,” cried Francis, “I forbid hostilities
of every kind. Ye are kinsmen and must not
fight. He who first attacks the other, shall
have me also for his foe.”

“Let Sir Robert surrender as a prisoner of
war,” cried Meredith, “and I shall sheathe
my sword.”

“Never!” shouted Sir Robert.

“I forbid that also!” said Francis. “Remember,
Mr. Meredith, I too am in the king's
service, and you will scarcely be able to capture
us both; for if battle must be, I must fight
in behalf of my own party.”

“Let the youngster become our prisoner!”

cried Sir Robert. “We are two to one, and
it would be disgraceful to permit his escape.”

“I think not so,” said Francis; “it would
be magnanimity. Public duty does not always
require the sacrifice of private friendship. Take
my hand, Mr. Meredith, I am, on your mother's
account, your friend; and, in Heaven's
name, let us have no bloodshed at present.”

Meredith's good-nature, added to the necessity
which he now saw he was under of yielding,
prevailed, and he cordially took the hand
which was extended to him, after which he exchanged
a short salutation with his kinsman,
and departed. His horse having been killed,
he was obliged to retrace his way to the main
road on foot. He had scarcely gained it, when
he was overtaken by Francis.

“I come,” said the latter, “to inquire whether,
if I surrender myself as your prisoner,
you will permit me to live in peace, on my
parole, and, if you think proper, under your
protection, in the vicinity of your residence on
the Brandywine?”

“I shall accept your surrender on those
terms,” replied Meredith, “but with the warning,
that if you should, in any manner, attempt
to injure our cause by communicating any information
relative to us to the enemy, I will
not promise you safety. Spies have been of
late repeatedly detected in our camp, and have
more than once died for their temerity.”

“I declare by the honour of a soldier and
the faith of a Christian,” returned Francis, “that
I harbour against your cause no sinister design
whatever, and that I never shall be tempted
to turn your betrayer. I come to you in truth
and sincerity. I am tired of war. I long for
tranquillity. Sir Robert and I have not been
the most cordial friends for some time past;
and he has just hinted that his duty would
compel him to report at head-quarters, my interference
to prevent your being made prisoner,
the issue of which report I have no great
desire to abide. I, therefore, knowing his fire-arms
to be unloaded, watched an opportunity
when he had gained some distance on the path
before me, to wheel suddenly about, gallop
after you, and make to you the proposal you
have heard. I shall fight no more against you;
but I must stipulate that I shall not be compelled
to fight against my own country.”

“I guarantee to you perfect freedom from
any such compulsion,” said Meredith. “You
were the friend of my mother. You shall, if
you please, reside with her. In these dangerous
times, your vigilance and activity may
contribute to her protection in my absence. I
shall, therefore, deem your presence in her
household, of much importance; and am pleased
at the good fortune which has thrown you
in my way as a friend, for I shall take

care to prevent your being considered a prisoner.”

“Your proposal charms me,” replied Francis.
“I know not in what better terms to express
the satisfaction it affords me than to say
that, from your father himself, if he were alive,
I could desire no greater instance of friendship.”

“But Francis,” observed Edward, “let me
ask how a man of your peaceful habits, came
to leave his home,—for I believe you wrote
once to my mother that you were about domesticating
in New York,—to follow the rude
and tumultuous trade of a soldier in active
service?”

“Ah! that scheme of domestication,” replied
Francis, “turned out an awkward affair.
In fact, the damsel jilted me. But happily I
had only imagined myself in love, and, therefore,
as I soon discovered my mistake, I did
not much grieve for the misfortune. I left New
York, however, on account of it, and went to
Boston, where I became a sort of military attendant
upon my old master, Sir Robert Radnor,
the hardness of whose steel I prevented
you from feeling to-day.”

“You saved him from feeling the hardness
of mine, I believe,” said Edward; “but of
that, enough.—You perceive that, at present,
we have won the day. We must now hasten
to report ourselves to our commander.”

Edward and Francis were soon in the presence
of Washington.

“Ah! you have made a captive?” said the
chief.

“No;” replied Meredith, “this is a personal
friend, who being tired of war, has voluntarily
surrendered himself to me, on condition that
I should obtain for him permission to live at
peace amongst us, as a neutral. I accepted of
the terms, and now ask your excellency's confirmation
of them.”

“Beware of spies!” said Washington. “They
have become rather numerous of late.”

“I pledge myself for the sincerity of this
man,” replied Meredith. “He is an old family
favourite, and is too honest for the business
of a spy.”

“Enough,” returned Washington. “Be it
as you wish. I have full confidence in your
recommendation. Besides, you have a right to
ask and receive from me a much greater favour
than this.”

Francis received his passports, and in a few
days had the pleasure of delivering to Mrs.
Meredith a cheerful and very welcome letter
from her son, and of being settled as an inmate
of her family.