University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

Shirtey.

The success which attended the judicious
and active movements of Washington during
the winter and spring of 1777, having frustrated
the efforts of Sir William Howe to penetrate
to Philadelphia, by way of the Jerseys,
he, in the fall of the same year, resolved to
attempt effecting that object by another route.
Accordingly, aided by the powerful fleet commanded
by his brother, Lord Howe, he landed
in full force, near Elkton, at the head of the
Cheaspeake Bay.

Washington, well aware that the possession
of Philadelphia was the great object of this
enterprise, hastened with his whole force
to oppose the advancing enemy. After much
manœuvering and some skirmishing, the two
armies met on the 11th of September, on the
banks of the Brandywine, when a general engagement
ensued, which resulted in the British
effecting their passage over the river and
driving the Americans from the field of battle.
The tories, in consequence, once more acquired

the ascendancy in the neigbourhood of Dilworth;
and Harris, now captain of a company
of dragoons, being once more among his old
confederates, became very active in re-organizing
their scattered bands. The notorious Fitzpatrick
again appeared at the head of his desperadoes;
and excesses which the regular troops
of Britain were not permitted to commit, were,
without hesitation, perpetrated upon the lives
and properties of the whigs of the district, by
those lawless natives of the country.

Balantyne was not, at this time, an inhabitant
of the neighbourhood. Shortly after the
calamity related in the last chapter, had assailed
him, he not only relinquished his occupation
as a teacher, but secretly withdrew
from his residence. He left a letter for his
friend Elias, desiring him not to be alarmed
for his safety, and requesting him to take charge
of his dwelling and other property, until he
should hear further from him.

Harris soon ascertained that the man whom
he had so grievously injured, was out of the
way. Francis's letter had before made him
acquainted with the fate of his once loved
Mary. Not fearing, therefore, to meet with
any one at the deserted mansion of Balantyne,
who would reprimand him for his misconduct,
he, without scruple, and in defiance of the remonstrances
of Elias, seized upon it, and made
it the quarters of his troop.

There is a sentiment of an amiable nature,
of which even the most depraved minds are
not totally devoid, that causes us to feel pleasure
in retracing scenes, from which we have
been for some time absent, where we have enjoyed
any excitement of the affections, or indulged
any imaginings of passion or dreams of
romance. Hence, unfeeling and regardless as
Harris was in relation to the misfortunes he
had brought upon Mary Balantyne, he could
not view the scenes of their frequent and endearing
intercourse with indifference. He visited
all the well-remembered places where they
had been in the habit of meeting; and, in his
better and softer moments, felt growing over
him a tenderness and regard for her memory,
which even surprised himself, but which, as
they were agreeable emotions, he cherished
with eagerness and zeal.

On the evening of the second day after he
had taken possession of Balantyne's house, he
wandered towards the scene of their guilty loves.
He had even the hardihood, although not without
experiencing some touches of compunction
in his breast, to approach the fatal arbour.
When about entering it, however, bold and
daring as he was, he hesitated. A thousand
strange thoughts rushed upon his mind. His
spirit faltered, and he turned to retrace his
steps, when he heard distinctly the awful

sounds of “Wo! wo! wo!” uttered in a voice
which, in dispite of its hollow and unearthly
tone, he well remembered as hers whom he
had on the spot whence it issued, sacrificed to
his wicked passions. His heart became weak
and cowardly. He fled from the place.
But, when some distance from it, he became
ashamed of his retrograde movement. It might
have been but the excitement of imagination
that had formed these fearful sounds. And did
it become him—a man of the world and a soldier—to
be overcome by a non-entity, an ideal
mockery! He resolved not to harbour even
the consciousness of having been so easily
frightened. Besides, he began to suspect that,
if the voice had not been altogether imaginary,
it might have proceeded from some person desirous
of playing him a trick, and who had, consequently,
become acquainted with the timidity
he had displayed, and would, no doubt, expose
it so as to render him an object of ridicule
among his companions. Such a thought
he could not endure. He, therefore, again
turned his steps towards the arbour. And
again, from some inexplicable cause, he became
alarmed as he approached it. He stole
slowly and cautiously forward, as if he were
afraid to apprize the attendant spirit of the fatal
spot of his presence. He strained to the utmost,
his faculties of seeing and hearing, in order
that nothing, whether earthly or unearthly,
should take him by surprise. The wind
was gentle, but to his excited senses, it moved
audibly, with fitful sighs, among the trembling
leaves of the pendent willows that surrounded
him. As he drew near to the arbour, these
sighing sounds became more distinct, and
evidently much louder than was consistent
with the mild condition of the wind. At length
the articulate sounds of “Ruin! ruin!” struck
upon his ear. A sudden chillness crept over
him—he faltered in his pace, but it was only
for a moment. He struggled with his weakness.
His courage returned, and he determined
not to yield again to the influence of terror, be
its cause either real or imaginary.

With a violent effort, he advanced to the
entrance of the arbour. But he advanced
no further; for there now stood before his terrified
vision a figure which sent a cold shuddering
through all his veins, and almost froze
the current of his life at its fountain. It was the
figure of Mary Balantyne in her winding sheet,
shadowy, thin, pale, pensive and awfully solemn
in her looks. She shook her head slowly
and mournfully as she fixed a withering
gaze upon him. He would, in the surprise of
his first recognition of her appearance, have
sunk to the ground, but for the support
he obtained from the branch of a tree, at

which he caught, while his enfeebled joints
trembled beneath him. Harris, however, was
neither cowardly nor superstitious, and he had
long indulged in absolute scepticism regarding
the spirits of deceased human beings becoming
visible on earth. In a few seconds, therefore,
he began to rally his fortitude, and soon recovered
sufficient firmness to look at the apparition
and address it.

“Who art thou,” said he, “that assumest
the likeness of one who is dead, and cannot
consequently be now standing before me?”

“Wretched man!” the figure replied, and
its voice thrilled fearfully like electric fire
along the nerves of the awe-struck criminal;
“remember this fatal spot. Dark is thy doom.
We meet again!”

The apparition then slowly faded away
among the foliage at the back part of the arbour,
and became invisible, like a thin mist
disappearing from the side of a green hill, or
a light cloud by moonlight, sinking behind the
waving tops of the dusky trees. The terrified
culprit was for some time scarcely sensible of
the departure of the awful image. His fixed
gaze was riveted, as if, by enchantment, on the
spot where it had stood, and its fearful words
still tingled in his ears. His perceptions, at
length, gradually returned to their natural state,
and he became sensible of his true situation.

His strength of frame was restored, and perhaps
his hardihood, but not his tranquillity of mind.
He hastened to his quarters. But his conscience
was now disturbed, and he no longer, reflected
with pride or complacency on the triumph
he had gained, in the shades of Dilworth,
over the innocence and virtue of the
loveliest maiden they had ever screened from
the glare of the noon-tide sun. But although
frightened into remorse, he was not humbled
into penitence. Instead of seeking tranquillity
in a fixed resolution to sin no more, he sought
oblivion for his troubles in the intoxicating revel;
and in the jovial carousals of his brother
officers, the remorseful impression made on his
feelings by the awful apparition in the arbour,
was soon, for a time, obliterated.

Perhaps this power of affording temporary
relief to the conscience-struck mind, is the most
mischievous in its effects upon mankind, that
is possessed by inebrieting fluids. Thousands
who would be driven by the goadings of remorse
to seek geninue relief in amendment
of life, fly to the fallacious substitute which is
offered in the hilarity of the bowl; and instead
of cherishing that salutary regret for past
misconduct which would naturally lead to reformation
as the only means of regaining tranquillity,
they seek a transient refuge from remorse
in the turbulence of a fleeting madness,

which removes every good impression, and
confirms every evil propensity.

On the return of sobriety, however, Harris
felt his mind ill at ease. Every object in and
around the place where he had fixed his quarters,
reminded him of his crime and of the
awful vision which had denounced him for it.
He hastened to remove from the neighbourhood,
and, for the purpose of diverting his
mind from the unpleasant subject that perpetually
obtruded itself upon him, he plunged
with unwonted activity into the exciting scenes
of the desultory warfare in which he was now
engaged.