University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Maxims of Amram.

Edward Meredith was, at this time, extremely
active at the head of his troop, in harassing
the foraging and marauding parties of the
British and tories, and in protecting the persons
and properties of the whigs from their attacks.
For this service, he was peculiarly well
qualified by his knowledge of the country,
which was now the seat of war, as well as by
his zeal to defend his immediate friends and
neighbours from the spoliations and personal
outrages daily inflicted on them by victorious
and insolent foes, who denounced them, and
often treated them, as rebels unworthy of mercy.
He had heard of Harris occupying the
house of Balantyne, and he was making preparations
to dislodge him from it, when he was
informed that he had suddenly abandoned it.
He was, however, determined to make some
effort to capture Harris. He knew him to be
in league with the notorious depradator, Fitzpatrick,
whose band of native prowlers, was,

at that time, more dreaded by the whig inhabitants
of the country, than the foreign enemy.
From the latter, submission procured exemption
from attack; but nothing could mollify the
rancour of the former, who were goaded to hostility
more by feelings of private resentment
or a desire for plunder, than by any sense of
public duty.

Meredith was at this time attached to the
division of the army commanded by General
Wayne, who belonged to the same neighbourhood,
and was equally solicitous to protect its
patriotic inhabitants from the evils of the disastrous
war which now surrounded them. It was
on the evening of the twentieth of September,
while Edward was consulting with the General
on the propriety of penetrating with a
chosen band, through the most private paths of
the country, in order to come unawares upon
the depredators, he received information that
his own house had been plundered and destroyed
by the troops of Harris.

“Ah!” cried Wayne, “that decides the
question. That ruffian cousin of yours, must
be seized at all risks, or he will not leave a respectable
house standing in the country. You
see that your mother's loyalty has not been
able to protect her residence from the destructive
rage of her own relative. The rebelliousness
of her son is, no doubt, to be thanked for

this. I hope she herself has suffered no personal
injury.”

“I thank Heaven,” said Meredith, “that
my mother is at a safe distance from the barbarians.
I conveyed her to Philadelphia immediately
on learning that the enemy had landed
in our neighbourhood. I believe also, that
the enemy found little but the walls of our
house to destroy, as on my mother's departure,
my uncle undertook to have every thing valuable
conveyed to his own residence.”

“That's lucky enough,” observed Wayne.
“Your uncle's toryism will surely be sufficient
to protect his own house, though it could not
preserve that of his nephew.—But for revenge
—or justice, if you prefer a milder word—in
Heaven's name, start off with a hundred men,
and either by force or stratagem, bring the barbarian
to me dead or alive.”

At that moment, they perceived a horseman
hastily approaching.

“Delay one moment! Here are tidings,”
cried Wayne. Edward paused. In a few
seconds, William Barton alighted, and informed
them that a strong British force was
rapidly approaching with the hope of attacking
their encampment by surprise.

“Let them come,” said Wayne, coolly.
“We are not very numerous, it is true, and
my men have prepared for their night's rest,

for they are much fatigued. But with Heaven's
help, we shall stand our ground and try them.
Captain Meredith, to your post on the left.
I cannot now spare you. When this affair
shall be over, you may hunt the ruffian Harris
as speedily as you please.”

“That ruffian,” cried Barton, “you will
not have far to hunt. I am greatly mistaken,
if he will not be among your assailants tonight.”

“Heaven send that I may meet him front to
front in the battle!” said Meredith, and he
hastened to the post assigned him.

The British under General Gray were soon
on the field of Paoli. They approached on
the right of the Americans where the artillery
was stationed, and where an effectual resistance
might have been made. But the officer who
commanded there, being too slow in obeying
the orders of Wayne to advance against the
assailants, suffered the latter to approach so
near that they charged his men with their bayonets,
before they were prepared for resistance.
They were consequently put to flight.
Wayne hastened with other troops to their
support. But it was in vain. The enemy's
battalions were too numerous for the
force he commanded, and he was obliged
to leave the field with the loss of nearly one
fourth of his patriot band, who being thus

taken almost by surprise, were slaughtered on
that disastrous night.

Edward Meredith's post, which was on the
extreme left of that memorable field, had been
gallantly defended against a powerful attack of
the enemy's cavalry, who, but for this resistance,
would have surrounded the main body of
the Americans, and prevented the retreat which
Wayne fortunately effected with the survivers
of the conflict. But Edward's bravery on
this occasion cost him dear. He was wounded
and taken prisoner; and what added greatly to
his mortification, his captor was his arch-enemy,
Harris.

“Ah! intermeddler!” exclaimed the latter,
“I have you, at length, in my power. And,
blest be the fates! you shall not remain much
longer an obstacle between me and Miss
Lewis.”

“I am in your power only as a captive,”
replied Edward; “and I demand the protection
due to a prisoner of war.”

“Fitch!” cried Harris, “I wish not to argue
with your young Brandywine rebel. He spouts
too much morality for me. Carry him to your
subterranean stronghold. Let none of our officers
see him. I would not have them know
that he is captured. Guard him strictly. I
shall be with you by noon to-morrow.”

Fitch, who was no other than the noted

Fitzpatrick mentioned already in this history,
assisted by several other men, immediately
dragged Edward to an adjoining obscure hollow
in the midst of the woods, where having
examined his wound, which was in his right
shoulder, and found not to be dangerous, they
placed him on horseback, and travelled with him
all night, by unfrequented paths, until they came
to the foot of a high and rocky precipice, at
the bottom of which flowed a rapid running
stream. Here they halted underneath a gigantic
overhanging rock, around and above which
towered the tall and dark branches of the
mountain pines.

“Mr. Meredith,” said Fitch—“for I can't
call you Captain, as you don't hold the king's
commission—you must now dismount and follow
me.”

“You speak imperatively, Major Fitch,”
replied Edward. “You perceive I do not
grudge you your title. I envy it too little
for that. As for your imperative mood—why
you only follow the example of your employers.—Lead
on!”

Fitch replied only with a wild sarcastic
laugh, which indicated a feeling of indifference
rather than ill-nature at the rebuke. He then
ascended the hill by a narrow path near the
rock. Edward ascended also, and was followed
by five or six of his escort. After

clambering about eighteen or twenty yards,
they reached the top of the rock, which presented
a flat portion of ground ten or twelve
yards square, thickly covered with pine trees,
which curtained the face of the hill, and amidst
which they were soon concealed.

“Here is an asylum for true men, but a prison
for rebels. Be pleased to enter, Mr. Meredith,”
said Fitch, pointing to a perpendicular
cleft in the rock which was nearly concealed
from view by a large tree that grew within
a few feet of it. “Our accommodations may
not be of the first order, but such as they are,
you are welcome to them.”

“With so polite an invitation, it would be
uncivil to refuse compliance,” replied Meredith,
and he bowed ironically to his sarcastic
conductor, as he entered his rude prison.

“Faith, Meredith,” observed Fitch, as he
followed him, “you are a pleasant fellow,
with a stout heart, and I bear you, in truth,
no great degree of ill-will, except for being a
vile rebel like many other hot-headed fools of
our acquaintance.—But you have, some how
or other mortally displeased Captain Harris,
who swears you must be put out of the way.
Faith, 'tis a pity; you're so young and spirited.
But fretting is useless; for, hang it, the
Captain's will must be obeyed.”

“But my destruction will undoubledly bring

upon Harris the displeasure of his superior officers,
as being a violation of the usages of
war.” said Meredith.

“Oh! faith, it may be so, should it come to
be known. But that is a matter for the Captain's
own consideration. At present, there is
your resting-place,” replied Fitch, pointing to
a quantity of rustic bed-clothes which were
spread between two logs on the floor of the
cavern.

Meredith seated himself on one of the logs
in silence. He believed it to be a waste of
words, and a derogation of dignity, to pursue
the conversation further in relation to himself,
with a man he so thoroughly despised.
He was determined also to manifest in his presence,
no great degree of concern for his situation.
He, therefore, partook freely of the refreshments
which were soon placed before him,
and affected to enjoy the broad mirth and humour
of the low jests and vulgar songs, with
which his entertainers, after becoming elated
with various liberal potations of brandy, amused
themselves until, overcome with their previous
fatigue and their present debauchery, they
all, except one who acted as sentinel, threw
themselves down on the floor of the cave, and
sought repose.

Meredith now leisurely surveyed the extent
of his rocky prison. It was near mid-day, and

the light of the sun penetrated the gloomy recess
sufficiently to make the objects around him
perceptible, especially as his eyes were becoming
familiarized to the darkness of the place.
There was, however, little to be seen. With
the exception of a quantity of fire-arms and
other instruments of war, and some blankets
on which Fitch and his drowsy companions
were stretched, the furniture was merely such
as is usually found in a rustic and slovenly
kept kitchen. Meredith conceiving that this
cavern was one of the grand depots of tory
plunder, had expected to find himself surrounded
by much of the valuable property of
which the neighbouring whigs had, of late,
been so abundantly robbed. But nothing of
the kind was visible. It is true, he did not see
far into the cavern. His eye could not penetrate
its dark and winding recesses. He could
not tell the extent of its capacity. It might
have even other communications with the open
air than that by which he had entered. He
was acquainted with several caverns which
were merely elongated passages under ground
with an entrance at each extremity. Such a
one would naturally be preferred as the lurking
place of robbers and desperadoes, as affording
them, in case of being attacked at the one
entrance, means of escape by the other.

These reflections suggested to Edward the

possibility of effecting his own escape by such
means. He cast his eye wistfully towards the
dark interior. His arms alone were bound.
The sentinel kept watch outside of the cave,
and had not yet looked into it. The other
tories were all asleep. He could, at least, satisfy
his curiosity respecting the extent of his prison,
and ascertain whether it contained any thing
more remarkable than he had yet discovered.
He moved cautiously past Fitch and his sleeping
companions, and had advanced to an angle
of the subterraneous passage, when he heard
the sound of voices conversing with the sentinel
at the entrance. He hastened back to his
rude couch, and had soon the mortification to
perceive Harris, with five or six soldiers, approaching
towards him. The noise of their
entrance awakened the sleepers, who instantly
started to their feet.

“So, Captain Fitch, your prisoner is yet safe,
I perceive,” said Harris, casting a look of
scowling hatred at Meredith.

“Yes, to be sure,” replied Fitch. “You
did not suppose he could escape from this den
with so many stout fellows around him.”

“I supposed it not,” returned Harris. “But,
Fitch, some how or other, it has become known
to General Gray that we have this prisoner,
and he has ordered him to be brought to head
quarters and treated well.”

“I have no objection,” said Fitch, “for I
respect young Meredith there as much as e'er a
rebel among them, and did not quite like your
intentions this morning.”

“You did not, eh!” returned Harris, haughtily
and impatiently. But in a moment he assumed
a cooler tone as he added, “It was no
concern of yours, Fitch. You understood not
my motives.—But it is a pleasant day for ranging.
A gallant troop waits without. Buckle
up, my brave fellow, and with your men, lead
us to the habitation of some rich whig that we
may replenish our coffers. I wish to be five
minutes alone with our prisoner. I will then
follow you.”

Harris was speedily obeyed, and Edward
was left alone, bound and unarmed, in the presence
of his most inveterate foe.

“Meredith,” said the latter, with a look
of ferocity intended to produce intimidation,
“thank fate, you are now in my power. You
see these pistols. They are loaded with deadly
shot. You see that paper; it contains the
only condition on which I will permit you to
live. Read it, and sign it, or in five minutes
you shall be a dead man.”

Edward read the paper as follows:

At that moment, a voice, issuing from the
dark interior of the cave, cried out, “For-bear!”
in a tone which made Harris turn pale
and tremble at every joint. An instant after,

the same awful apparition which had visited
him in the arbour near Dilworth, advanced
from amidst the darkness, and frowned
fearfully upon him. The instrument of intended
murder fell from his hands, and he
staggered towards the rocky wall of the cavern
for support, while the following soul-harrowing
words were addressed to him.

“Wretch! wouldst thou commit another
diabolical crime, that another aggrieved spirit
may haunt thy footsteps, and render thee as miserable
as thou art accursed! Thou needest care
for no rival, for she whom thou didst destroy
shall be alone thy bride, and that shall be on
thy dying day. Hearken, and let my prophecy
sink into thy soul.

So saying, the apparition again mingled
with the darkness of the cavern, and left Edward
Meredith equally astonished, although
not equally terrified, with the guilty object of
its visit.

It was some minutes before Harris could recover
sufficient recollection and firmness to obey
the order of the spectre to release the prisoner,
which still sounded awfully in his ears. At length

he convulsively rushed towards Meredith, and
hastily loosening the fastenings that bound his
arms, without uttering a word, he hurried frantically
out of the cavern. The fresh air and
the presence of his soldiers soon restored his
self-possession. He ordered the sentinel to
leave the cavern and permit Meredith to escape,
informing Fitch that he would satisfactorily
account to General Gray for so doing.
He then marched off with his party to the
quarters of that officer.

The amazement of Edward Meredith at this
miraculous interposition, by which he was
snatched from the jaws of death, may be easily
imagined. To account for it was beyond his
power. That the being who so providentially
interfered in his behalf, was from the land of
spirits, he could scarcely doubt, for it exhibited
the express form, features, and voice—and
in a corpse-like condition,—of one whose
likeness he could never forget, and of whose
death several months before, he had been well
assured. Yet his reason had been so long accustomed
to reject the belief that spiritual beings
ever assume material and visible forms,
that he knew not how to reconcile what he had
witnessed with his preconceived convictions
on the subject. His philosophy and his experience
being thus at issue, it is no wonder that,
as often as he thought upon the strange occurrence,

he became perplexed, and was tempted
to abandon the most apparently conclusive deductions
of philosophy as being opposed to the
evidence of his senses.

It was not, however, at the moment of his
deliverance, that he permitted his mind to
revolve on these intricate points. Time was
then too precious to be wasted in thought.
Self-preservation called for instant action. He
hastened to the mouth of the cavern; and, as
soon as the troops of Harris had disappeared,
he descended the hill, and in about twenty minutes,
found himself under the hospitable roof
of a trusty friend attached to the patriotic
cause. Here he remained for a few days; the
bodily fatigue, long watchfulness, and extreme
excitement of mind he had undergone, independently
of his wound, which now pained
him considerably, rendering some repose indispensable
for the recovery of his strength
and spirits. His convalescence, however, was
rapid; and to the great joy of his brother officers,
as well as that of his favourite troop, he
was soon again at its head, ready to lead it
against his country's foes.