University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

Thaunus.

A few days after the foregoing conversation,
the sanguinary battle of Germantown took
place, and produced two events highly agitating
to the feelings of Miss Lewis. These
were the capturing of Edward Meredith, and
the severe wounding of Sir Robert Radnor.
It was near the conclusion of the battle, and
the American army was beginning to retire
from the scene of combat, when a troop of
their horse turned suddenly upon an advancing
column of British cavalry, for the purpose
of checking the pursuit, so as to gain time for
the main body of the Americans to form into
retreating order. The contest between the
two cavalry parties was severe and bloody,
but the British soon obtained a reinforcement,
and their antagonists were obliged to give way.
But their leader attempted again to turn them
upon the enemy. A few only, animated with
his own enthusiasm, obeyed his call, and with

rash impetuosity rushed upon the pursuers.
Several of them fell to rise no more; and their
chief, after having, in single combat, severely
wounded an assailing officer, was taken prisoner.
This was Edward Meredith, and the
officer he had wounded was Sir Robert Radnor.
Edward was but very slightly wounded,
although his horse was killed under him before
he surrendered. His preservation was owing to
the magnanimity of the British General Gray,
who had observed his bravery when assailed
by superior numbers, and gave orders that he
should, if possible, be taken uninjured. A heroic
young officer overheard the order and gallantly
undertook its performance. Mounted on a
strong charger, he rushed between Meredith
and his assailants, commanding the latter to
withdraw, at the same time throwing his own
sword on the ground, he held out his unarmed
hand to Edward, who struck with the singular
generosity of the action, and seeing himself
on all sides surrounded by enemies, presented
his sword and surrendered. This noble
youth, to whose humanity Meredith was thus
so much indebted, became afterwards well-known
to history as the victim of an unhappy
destiny, which will long continue to excite the
sympathy of mankind—it was Major Andre.

Edward was for some days confined with
the other prisoners of war, in the Walnut street

jail. But having several very warm friends
among the tory faction in the city, powerful
intercession was made to procure his enlargement
on parole, which was granted within certain
prescribed limits of the city. This indulgence
rendered Edward happy; for it enabled
him to enjoy the society of her, who was daily
the first and the last in his thoughts—and to
be with whom he could have cheerfully sacrificed
every earthly consideration, except the
performance of his duty to his country.

But Meredith did not enjoy this indulgence
long undisturbed. The jealous eyes of Harris
were upon him, and his malignant heart longed
to do him mischief. Harris had ever since
his return to Philadelphia, been vainly endeavouring
to work himself into his former favour
with Miss Lewis. He suspected that she was
not unacquainted with his misdeeds in the
neighourhood of the Brandywine, for she received
his visits with much greater coolness than
was consistent with her natural affability and habitual
politeness. Since his rival's capture and
presence in the city, she was even more than
usually reserved, and seemed desirous of casting
him off entirely from her acquaintance. He
became, at length, so enraged by the preference
which she so decidedly and openly manifested
for Edward, that he determined to be
revenged upon him, and effect his destruction,
either by artifice or violence.

While Harris was darkly brooding over his
malignant purpose, the unsuspecting object of
his resentment was in the full enjoyment of
that highest luxury which a youthful mind can
know, the society and smiles of the chosen of
his heart. One evening, in the beginning of
December, he escorted her home from a theatrical
entertainment in which the chief characters
were performed by British officers, and at
which he was induced to attend as a spectator,
by the special invitation of his friend, Major
Andre. Having left Miss Lewis at her home,
he took his way to his own lodgings. His
path lay along a considerable space of vacant
ground since covered with houses, near the
centre of which, in a lonely situation, stood a
large deserted frame building. On reaching
this building, the noose of a rope was suddenly
thrown upon him, and he was dragged
inside by three soldiers in masks, who hurried
him through a dark passage to the top of
a stairway, down which they caused him to
descend into a cellar obscurely lighted by a
glimmering lamp. Here, after binding his
arms firmly with part of the rope, they secured
him with the remainder to an iron staple
strongly fixed in the wall.

To the demand which he made to know by
whose order, or for what purpose, they committed
this outrage, he was told that he need

ask no questions, for they were instructed to
make no replies.

“Our job is now done,” said one of them,
after they had sufficiently secured him. “The
rebel is snug enough till the Captain comes—
let us be off.” They then cautioned Edward,
on the peril of his life, to remain quiet, and
withdrew.

They had not been gone many minutes,
when Edward's gloomy reflections on his unpleasant
situation were interrupted by the sound
of footsteps in the apartment above him, at
first slow and measured, then rapid and irregular.
They were accompanied by sighs and
sorrowful ejaculations, of which, however, he
could not distinguish the purport. These ceased,
and all was again quiet for a short time, when a
loud noise commenced like the breaking down
of a partition or the bursting of a strong door,
with a crash which shook the whole building.
Instantly a brilliant light streamed down the
stairway, and illuminated the cell in which
he was confined. Heavy steps seemed to advance
along the passage towards the stairway,
which were suddenly arrested by an awful
voice of unearthly sound, exclaiming, “Rash
man! where goest thou? Fly from the dreadful
deed thou dost contemplate, nor burthen thy
soul with a heavier perdition than that which
thou hast already earned!”

No answer was given. But the light instantly

vanished, and a rush of footsteps towards
the door took place, when the ejaculation,
in a tremulous tone, of “Awful Being,
have mercy!” reached the ears of the astonished
Edward, and immediately all was silent.

Edward had not time to recover from his
astonishment sufficiently to form any rational
conjecture respecting these mysterious occurrences,
when he observed the figure of a man in
black and masked in a black visor, descending
the stairs. He approached with a large clasp-knife
opened in his hand, and without speaking,
hastened to cut the rope, and set Edward at
liberty. Edward was about to express gratitude
for this unexpected interference in his
behalf, but his deliverer motioned to him to
preserve silence and fly. He obeyed, and
in a few minutes, reached his lodgings, where
he passed a sleepless night, amazed and bewildered
in his reflections on this extraordinary
adventure. The next morning, he received,
through an unknown channel, the following
anonymous note.

“Your enemy, Harris, was the author of the
attempt against you last night. Fear him not,
nor inform any one of his villany. A power
watches his paths, which has awed his soul,
and will frustrate all his schemes. Leave him
to his conscience and to God!”

With the information contained in this short

letter, unsatisfactory as it was in relation to the
more mysterious parts of the adventure, Edward
was obliged to remain content. It satisfied
him respecting the author and the intention of
the attack upon him; but its being anonymous
rendered it unavailable as evidence against
his enemy, in case he should complain of him
to his commander. But, with the injunction
of secrecy contained in the communication, he
was resolved to comply. He, therefore, could
not use any evidence, if he had it. To know
that no new enemy had arisen against him was
satisfactory. As for his old one, he could guard
against him. Besides, he was told not to fear him,
for his soul was awed, and his schemes would
be frustrated. He had, therefore, no dread of any
similar conspiracy being formed against him, by
the same enemy, at least, for some time. In
the meanwhile, some fortunate event might occur,
which would place him beyond the reach
of his foe, and restore him to liberty and the
service of his country.

And was not Edward Meredith happy in his
captivity, which was, in fact, but nominal, and
which afforded him the society of the woman
he loved? Could he be desirous of that liberty,
which would banish him from the mistress of
his heart? Sometimes, it must be confessed,
in the weakness of his nature and the fervour
of his love, he was tempted to prefer his present
delicious thraldom, and would look forward

to the prospect of his enlargement, with
reluctance and pain. But his mind was imbued
with a strong sense of his duty to the cause he
had espoused; and if he was an ardent lover, he
was also an ardent patriot, and had heroism
sufficient, at any time, when honour and his
country called, to sacrifice the blandishments
of love at the shrine of duty.

But the period of his release at length came.
The defeat of a large detachment of the British
force under Count Donop, in an attempt to
storm the fort at Red Bank, threw into the
hands of the Americans, several prisoners of
distinction. Among others, Captain Harris
was not only captured, but badly wounded.
As his life was believed to be in danger, General
Howe was anxious that he should have the benefit
of the supposed superior skill of the British
physicians, as well as of the greater attention
and better accommodations he should receive in
Philadelphia, among his friends, than at Red
Bank, among his enemies. It was, in consequence,
proposed to release Edward Meredith
in exchange for him, a proposal to which
General Washington readily assented; and Edward,
on taking leave of his beloved Harriet,
felt that even liberty was unwelcome, when it
separated him from her sweet society. The
mutual vow, however, was pledged, the parting
embrace was given, the farewell was said,

and the painful separation accomplished. He
grieved for a space; but his fortitude soon
returned, more heroic feelings took possession
of his mind, and with true joy and alacrity he
resumed his former station at the head of his
favourite troop.

The wound of Sir Robert Radnor confined
him to his chamber, in the house of Mr. Lewis,
for several months. During that time, he
experienced from Harriet, a kindness and attention
for which he was extremely grateful,
and which contributed much to his recovery.
His feelings towards this young woman were
of a nature that he himself could not comprehend.
They were such as he had never before
entertained for a youthful female. They
were not tainted with the selfishness which
usually characterised his emotions. They had
the ardour of affection, but not of passion. He
wished for her welfare more disinterestedly
than he had ever wished for that of any other
person: and, in a will which he made while his
life was considered in danger, he manifested
his regard for her by a very liberal bequest.

Sir Robert was soon made acquainted, by
means of Harris, with the partiality of his favourite
for Meredith. He, at first, felt some
dissatisfaction at the circumstance. It was
from Meredith's hand he had received his almost
fatal wound, and the insinuations of

Harris had given him an unfavourable impression
of his antagonist's character. This impression,
however, was soon changed. Meredith
paid him frequent visits; and so earnestly
expressed his regret at the accident which had
brought them into contact on the field of battle,
and had occasioned him to inflict such an injury
on a near relation, that Sir Robert, whose
pride and resentment were now chastened and
mollified by sickness, not only forgave him,
but extended to him his favour and regard.
The mildness of the spring months restored
him to partial health, but he never recovered
sufficiently to undertake military duty.

The wound of Harris, although it confined
him also for many weeks, did not inflict much
injury upon his constitution, nor did it produce
any beneficial change in his character or disposition.
It is true, he suffered great internal
inquietude from the dreaded visitations of the
awful spectre which assumed the form of her on
whom he had brought destruction. In all his
dreams, and in all his solitary hours, that
death-like form seemed to be present with
him. On his couch of pain, he saw it, he
heard it; he shrunk from its accusations, he
trembled at its threats of vengeance; and its
predictions of a terrible doom awaiting him,
often forced the cold moisture of an unnatural
perspiration from his agonized frame. Yet he

felt no penitence—he attempted no amendment.
The selfishness of his nature caused
him to dread the denunciations of the image
that haunted him; but a genuine sorrow for the
sufferings of her whose form it assumed, had
taken no root in his bosom. The consequences
of his guilt to himself alone were what he regretted.
During the spring his health was
perfectly restored, and with it, his taste for
riotous enjoyments and intemperate gratifications.
To these, as formerly, he had frequent
recourse, for the purpose of driving from his
recollection the mental impressions which, in
his reflecting moments, so greatly disturbed his
repose.