ART AND LITERATURE

Wellington Independent, Volume I, Issue 14, 17 May 1845, Page 4

ART AND LITERATURE

PAOLI. A STORY OF PENNSYLVANIA

(Concluded from our last.J

The latter was an alternative little agreeable io his fiery disposition. The men were happily already under arms, awaiting the order to inarch, and he now issued the command for them to form. At this instant a patrol dashed into camp, with bis horse smoking, and brought the intelligence that the enemy was advancing, in great force, along the Swedesford road. Instantly all the lion of Wayne's nature was aroused.

1 Major, he said, turning to an officer beside him, 'gallop to Colonel Hempton—the enemy are pushing for our right—tell him to wheel by sub-platoons to the right, and, marching off by the left, so gain the road leading on the top of the hill towards the White Horse.' The major bowed, withdrew, sprung into his saddle, and went off like an arrow.

' We must form the light infantry and the first regiment, gentlemen, on the right. These, with the horse, ought to enable us to cover the retreat.'

The troops were rapidly marshalled to their places, Wayne himself remaining with them. In a few minutes the British were seen advancing through the rain.

' Fire!' thundered the general

The rattling volley swept along the line, and was answered by one even more deafening from the foe, who, perceiving the scanty numbers opposed to them, cheered and dashed forward.

' In God's name, why don't Hempton move?' exclaimed Wayne, perceiving that, though the colonel had formed bis troops according to order, he did not put them in motion. 'Tell Colonel Hempton,' he continued, turning to an aid, 'to move instantly.'

The British were now pouring on in resistless numbers, and the retreating troops could not be covered until the fourth regiment had been added to the detachment under Wayne. The contest soon became animated. The enemy pressed on with great vigour, huzzaing at his evident victory, Colonel Hempton had only now begun to move tardily, and the line was continually giving way before the conquerors. Wayne was everywhere, ordering the officers, animating the men, and rallying the broken line. But, though he succeeded in making good his retreat, with the detachment immediately under him, be could not save all his ti oops. Many of them, detached from the ranks and losing their way, were overtaken and bayoneted, notwithstanding their cries for quarter. Some of the sick fell into the hands of the and these were butchered in their beds. In one portion of the field, the victory was changed into a massacre. In vain the conquered laid down their arms, in vain they pled for mere)', they were recklessly stabbed to the heart by the English soldiery. To this day the events of that night make the reader shudder: to this day, the name of Gray, the British leader, is execrated in popular tradition as the author of the Paoli massacre.

V chapter v. For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. Ancient Mariner,

The good Quaker had seized the opportunity, when Wayne turned to issue his orders, and left the camp, for now that his purpose had been accomplished, he was anxious to escape from the vxmity of the expected strife. As he mov ed along the lines of soldiery, his eye wandered to and fro in search of Henry, for bis heart glowed to behold again the son of his adoption, but the young man was invisible. The rapidity of the attack scarcely allowed the farmer, however, to extricate himself from the soldiery, but he pushed on as fast as possi ble, and, though the firing soon grew rapid and even once or twice appeared approaching, he escaped becoming involved in the mass of the retreating force. Half an hour passed, and he fancied himself rid of the contending parties, when suddenly, at a turn of the road, he came in sight of a band of English soldiery, detached from their ranks, as he at first supposed, either by accident or to execute some duty. But a few minutes satisfied him that they were a marauding party holding the restraints of discipline, for the time, at defiance. 'Hilloo!' said the sergeant of the party, speaking thick, like a man intoxicated. Whither so fast, old Broadbrim? Does the good dame know thee is out to-night?' and he mimicked the address of the sect, as a buffoon would on the stage. 'What wouldst thou have?' said the old Friend, mildly, drawing in his rein, and boldly confronting the man. ' By G—d, its the old rascal who told Wayne you were coming to attack him!' said one of the party, dressed in the uniform of an American soldier, stepping to the front—' I saw him pass to the general's tent. Yes! it's the same white horse and the sneaking hypocritical face under his hat.' 'James Wilson,'said the Quaker, in atone of mingled surprise and leproof, eyeing the deserter, ' art thou here! Hast thou sold, like Esau, thy birthright, and joined the men whom, an hour ago, thou wast wishing to encounter in deadly fight? I fear,' he added, turning to the party, ' that one who would betray his country would not stop to add falsehood to treachery.' Hold your canting tongue,' said Wilson, with an oath, striking the unresisting Quaker across tne mouth. ' He dare not deny that he told the enemy of your approach. Ask him.' • J, ye n° th ' n & to say,' replied the Quaker, mildly,but firmly, for he would not even then prevaricate, 'except that James here oweth me a grudge, as he has openly said heretofore, for ridding the neighbourhood of him on account of

certain evil praciices of his,' and he wiped the blood from his mouth. This conversation had passed far more rapidly than we have related it; indeed, so rapidly that the whole of the party had just come up as it was finished. Hot from the field of battle, drunk with liquor and the blood of those they had already massacred, and seeing in the person before them a rebel and a member of an unpopular sect, the soldiery did not wait to_ inquire further, but, with a wild laugh of derision, sprung on the Quaker, dragged him from his horse, buffeted him, and had already raised more than one bayonet to his breast, when the drunken sergeant interposed. 'Don't,' he said, hiccupping at every few words, 'don't —let —us massacre the man. You're British sol —diers, remember —my brave —lads. He's a rebel and a spy —and damme— et's hang him—that's the way to punish the king's enemies. We'll leave him here —a terror —to all evil doers.'

This proposition was hailed with a drunken shout, the girth of his own saddle was fabricated into a halter, and the unoffending victim dragged to the nearest tree. He maintained his firmness in this extremity, for fear was a stranger to the old Quaker's heart. But he thought of his wife and daughter, and resolved to make an effort for his life.

' What harm have I done ye ?' he said. ' I am a man of peace, and have had neither part nor lot in this unhappy conflict. Besides, I know that, even if I have offended against your

laws of war, I cannot be punished in this summary way. What you do is nothing short of murder.'

Those of the party who still retained glimmerings of sobriety, saw the force of what he said and interposed. 'Let him then deny that he visited Wayne,' said Wilson, craftily, ' and we will let him go. Shan't it be so, comrades?' The old Quaker paused. A single sentence would save his life. But that sentence would be an untruth. He did not long hesitate. 'I have nothing to say. May God forgive you. Oh! Hannah, Rachel,' he exclaimed, with a natural burst of emotion, ' would I could see ye again—but the will of heaven be done.' They hurried him toward the tree amid drunken shouts and laughter, the sergeant himself holding the halter, and another moment would have sent the spirit of the mild Quaker to its God ; but at this crisis the sharp rattle of a musket was heard, and the sergeant, leaping up like a deer, fell dead to the ground, dragging with him his victim.

' Huzza for the States —give it to 'em, my lads. Use the butt of your muskets, you that have no bayonets. Down with the murderers.' As that clear, bold voice rose on the air, a half dozen men appeared, like apparitions, m the bend of the road, and dashing in among the astonished soldiery, some with fixed bayonets and some with clubbed muskets, carried consternation before them. The intoxicated foe made no resistance. A few fell, smote down while gazing stupidly on the assailants, and the rest took to flight, darting wildly through the brush into the woods, as if there were the safest covert.

_' My faiher—my benefactor—he is dead !' said the voice which had before spoken, but now its tone was one of agony, and Henry, for it was he who had come up ihus opportunely, knelt by the side of the prostrate and senseless Friend. But in a minute the good Quaker revived and opened his eyes, having only been stunned by falling on a rock that shot up out of the soil.

' Henry, is it thou? said he, kindly. The young officer gazed a moment in astonishment, for there was forgiveness, regret, and love all united in that tone and look. A tear gushed into his eye. The old man arose to his elbow and opened his arms, and Henry fell into them and wept like a child.

'Let us forget the'past,' said the good old Quaker, at length. ' I have erred, my son, but now I see my error.' , .'°, n! , no .—father, protector, my best of friends, said the impetuous young man, ' I alone was to blame. I was too hasty—l went away in anger—' 'Then let us forget, or remember only to profit by it. I see now, my child, that there are ordinations of Providence far above our understanding. By doing what hitherto I thought a sin, thou hast been made the instrument to save my life. But God's ways are not our ways, and nenceforth I will be more humble, by his assistance, and more distrustful of my poor weak judgment. He made and loveth us allwhy should we not forgive each other?' In such conversation passed the few moments alter his deliverance. The lover was not long in inquiring after Rachel. The father told all-how she had suffered by Henry's absence, and how his own heart had first begun to reproach him. He no longer forbade the visits of the young officer. It is against the discipline of our sect,' he said, for me to give thee a daughter, but I will not say thee nay. Take her and the blessing of he Almighty be upon thee. I could have wished that thou hadst not departed from the simplicity of our people, but the things that seem even as a cross to us are often for the best. In heaven there will be no sects. ' As the old man spoke these words they reached the point where it was necessary to seperate for Henry s duty would not permit him to see his benefactor home, nor did they consider any further peril probable. The old Quaker raised his hands and uttered a silent prayer for his young friend, and thus they parted—both better men than they met. Our story draws to a close. Henry left the army the next year, on account of a wound which incapacitated him for service. He soon after married Rachel, for which she was, as of course disowned. But both still continued to attend the meetings of their fathers : and, in due n?o'ih° n <?n°- P Pr? r a Ps! ica £° n ' they were taken into the Society. On Henry's part this was done as much out of deference to his father-in-law as from choice. He gradually, however as he grew older, became more sedate; and, dying at a good age, left behind him a whose descendants, to this day, wear the formal cut and broad hat of the Quakers. the end.