Part 14

"There appeared to be no difference of opinion about the mode of disposing of the prisoners--indeed, an opinion was scarcely asked or given. It seemed taken for granted--a thing of course; and the culprits were led in silence to the selected place of execution. There was neither judge nor jury--no delay--no prayer for mercy; a large oak then stood at the forks of two roads, one of which leads to Freehold; from the body of the tree a horizontal branch extended over the latter road, to which two ropes were attached. One of them having been fixed to the minor villain's neck, his sufferings were soon over; but a horrible and lingering death was reserved for Fagan. The iron hoops were taken off a meat cask, and by a blacksmith in the company fitted round his ankles, knees, and arms, pinioning the latter to his body, so that, excepting his head, which was 'left free to enjoy the prospect,' he could not move a muscle. In this condition he hung for days beside his stiffened companion; dying by inches of famine and cold, which had moderated so as, without ending, to aggravate his misery. Before he died, he had gnawed his shoulder from very hunger. On the fifth night, as it approached twelve o'clock, having been motionless for hours, his guards believed him to be dead, and, tired of their horrid duty, proposed to return home. In order, however, to be sure, they sent one of the party up the ladder to feel if his heart still beat. He had ascended into the tree, when a shriek, unlike anything human, broke upon the stillness of the night, and echoed from the neighboring wood with redoubled power. The poor fellow dropped from the tree like a dead man, and his companions fled in terror from the spot. When day encouraged them to return, their victim was swinging stiffly in the north wind--now lifeless as the companion of his crime and its punishment. It is believed, to this day, that no mortal power, operating upon the lungs of the dead murderer, produced that awful, unearthly, and startling scream; but that it was the voice of the Evil One, warning the intrusive guard not to disturb the fiend in the possession of his lawful victim; a belief materially strengthened by a fact that could not be disputed--the limb upon which the robbers hung, after suffering double pollution from them and their master's touch, never budded again; it died from that hour; the poison gradually communicated to the remaining branches, till, from a flourishing tree, it became a sapless and blasted trunk, and so stood for years, at once an emblem and a monument of the murderers' fate.

"Fagan was never buried; his body hung upon its gibbet till the winds picked the flesh from off his bones, and they fell asunder by their own weight. A friend of mine has seen his horrid countenance, as it hung festering and blackening in the wind, and remembers, by way of amusement, between schools, pelting the body with stones. The old trunk has disappeared, but the spot is still haunted in the belief of the people of the neighborhood, and he is a bold man who dare risk a nocturnal encounter with the bloody Fagan, instead of avoiding the direct road, at the expense of half a mile's additional walk. No persuasion or force will induce a horse raised in the neighborhood to pass the fated spot at night, although he will express no uneasiness by daylight. The inference is, that the animals, as we know animals do, and Balaam's certainly did, see more than their masters. A skeptical gentleman, near, thinks this only the force of habit, and that the innocent creatures have been so taught by the cowards who drive them, and would saddle the horses with their own folly.

"I am at the close of my story, and not a lover or a tender scene in the whole tedious relation--alas! what a defect, but it is too late to mind it now; it only remains to take leave of our friends. Nathan and Hannah have mingled with dust, and their spirits with that society whose only business is love, and where sighing and contention can never intrude. Nathan was permitted, on his expressing his sorrow that he had 'disobliged Friends,' to rejoin his society, and he died an elder. Rachel departed at a great age, as she had lived, a spotless maiden. The blooming, the warm-hearted, mischievous Amy lives, a still comely old lady, the mother of ten sons, and the grandparent of three times as many more. She adheres strictly to all the rules of her society, and bears her testimony in the capacity of a public Friend. Still, she is evidently not a little proud of her father's and brothers' share in the perils and honors of the revolutionary contest, though she affects to condemn their contumacy and unfriendly conformity to the world's ways, and their violation of 'Friends' testimony concerning war.' Old Annie died four years since, at an almost incredible age, though she was not able to name the exact number of the days of her pilgrimage. From the deep furrows on her cheeks, and the strong lines of her naturally striking countenance, which, as she advanced in years, assumed more and more the character of her Indian parentage, and the leather-like appearance of her skin, she might have passed for an antediluvian. While other less important matters lost their impression on her memory, the Hessian inroads upon her sausages and buckwheat cakes were neither forgotten nor entirely forgiven to the last. She sent for a friend when on her death-bed, to make arrangement of her little affairs. He found her strength of body exhausted, but her powers of mind unimpaired. After disposing her stock of personalities among some of her friends, she turned to him. 'That's all, Mr. Charles, except the old sash you used to play with, which I sp'iled from the Hessian officer, the Injin--keep that to mind old Anne by,'

"'Thank you, Anne--I'll keep it carefully. But you must not bear malice now, Anne; you must forgive even the Hessians,' said Charles.

"'What, them Hessians, the bloody thieves?' and the old woman's eyes lighted up, and she almost arose in her bed with astonishment, as she asked the question.

'Yes; even them: you are about to need forgiveness as much as they--they were your enemies and persecutors, whom you are especially enjoined to pardon, as you would expect to be pardoned.'

'So it is, Mr. Charles; you say the truth,--poor ignorant, sinful mortal that I am! Well, then, I do--I hope I do--forgive 'em; I'll try--the bloody creeters.'

"There; will that do for a story, Thomas Jefferson?" asked the old grandfather, when he had concluded. The old man had a straight-forward, natural way of telling a story that showed he had practised it frequently. The boy seemed much gratified by the horrible narration. Mrs. Harmar said she was interested, but didn't like it much; her husband remarked, however, that it would make a thrilling sketch.

"I suppose that Nathaniel Collins was very much the same sort of a Quaker as General Green," said Morton. "They were peaceable men, as long as peace and quiet were not inconsistent with self-defence. To be peaceable when a foe is wasting your fields and slaughtering your brethren, is cowardly and against nature."

"That's truth," replied Higgins. "We must look upon a merciless invader in the same light as upon a cruel beast, whom it is saving life to slay."

"Fagan was well punished for his outrages," remarked Wilson.

"It was the only way for the inhabitants to ensure their safety," said Smith.

THE TORY'S CONVERSION.

"By the bye," said Mr. Morton, "some events have just recurred to my mind, which interested me very much when I first heard of them, and which I think may strike you as being wonderful. I knew of many strange and unaccountable things that happened during the Revolution, but the conversion of Gil Lester from toryism capped the climax."

"Enlighten us upon the subject, by all means," remarked Mr. Jackson Harmar.

"Yes, that was a strange affair, Morton; tell 'em about it," added Higgins.

"There's a little love stuff mixed up with the story," said Morton, "but you will have to excuse that. I obtained the incidents from Lester himself, and I know he was always true to his word, whether that was right or wrong. Gilbert Lester, Vincent Murray, and their ladye-loves, lived up here in Pennsylvania, in the neighborhood of the Lehigh. One night a harvest ball was given at the house of farmer Williams. Vincent Murray and Mary Williams, the farmer's daughter, joined in the festivities, and, becoming tired of dancing in a hot room, they went out to walk along the banks of the Lehigh, and, of course, to talk over love matters.

"They had seated themselves on a fallen tree, and continued for a few moments to gaze in the mirrored Lehigh, as if their very thoughts might be reflected on its glassy surface. Visions of war and bloodshed were passing before the fancy of the excited girl, and she breathed an inward prayer to heaven to protect her lover; when, casting her eyes upward, she suddenly exclaimed with startling energy:

"'Vincent, look at the sky!' Murray raised his head, and sprang instantly on his feet. 'Tell me,' continued Mary, 'am I dreaming, or am I mad! or do I actually see armies marching through the clouds?'

"Murray gazed steadfastly for a moment, and then exclaimed, 'It is the British, Mary--I see the red coats as plainly as I see you.'

"The young girl seemed transfixed to the spot, without the power of moving. 'Look there,' said she, pointing her finger upward--'there are horses, with officers on them, and a whole regiment of dragoons! Oh, are you not frightened?'

"'No,' replied her companion--but before he had time to proceed, she again exclaimed:

'There, there, Vincent! See the colors flying, and the drums, and trumpets, and cannon, I can almost hear them! What can it mean?'

'Don't be so terrified, Mary. It is my belief, that what we see is an intimation from God of the approaching war. The 'Lord of Hosts' has set his sign in the heavens. But come, let us run to the house. This is no time to dance--and they will not believe us, unless their own eyes behold the vision!'

"Before he had finished speaking, they were hastily retracing their steps to the scene of merriment; and in another moment the sound of the violin was hushed, and the feet of the dancers were still. With one accord, they all stood in the open air, and gazed with straining glances at the pageant in the heavens; and marked it with awe and wonder. A broad streak of light spread itself gradually over the sky, till the whole wide expanse was in one brilliant blaze of splendor. The clouds, decked in the richest and most gorgeous colors, presented a spectacle of grandeur and glory, as they continued to shape themselves into various forms of men, and horses, and armor, till a warlike and supernatural host was distinctly presented to the view. The dragoons, on their prancing horses; the riflemen and artillery, with their military ensigns and accoutrements; the infantry, and even the baggage-wagons in the rear, were all there to complete the imposing array. It is no fiction; many were eye-witnesses of that remarkable vision, which passed on from the east, and disappeared in the west--and, from that evening, the sound of the violin was heard no more in those places, until the end of the Revolution.

"Mary Tracy hung upon the arm of her lover, and listened anxiously to his words, as he spoke to her in a low but decided tone." "That's very strange; but you have not told us how the young tory was converted," interrupted Mrs. Harmar.

"I am coming to that," replied Morton. "Vincent Murray and Mary Williams conversed together for some time. He told her he was going to leave his friends and join the American army. He said he thought the signs in the clouds were warning to all the friends of liberty to rush to the aid of our little struggling band; and that he intended to go to New York, and then seek out the best plan for enlistment. Before he bade his sweetheart farewell, he also told her he was resolved to do his best to convert Gilbert Lester from his tory principles. Now this was no easy task, as the two young men had often argued the question of rights, and Lester had shown that he was as firmly fixed to his creed as Murray was to his. Mary told him that she thought that the frowns or the smiles of Jane Hatfield alone could change his way of thinking. But, nevertheless, Murray resolved to try what he could do.

"The little group of dancers were all scattered in different directions. Murray sought among the number for Gilbert Lester, and found him, at length, leaning in a thoughtful attitude against the trunk of a huge sycamore tree, whose broad shadow fell upon the waters of the Lehigh. So profound was his reverie, that Murray touched his arm before he stirred from his position, or was aware of approaching footsteps.