Songs: HUNTED LIKE A BEAST * WON'T TELL * COURAGE

IF MY CHILD * FORGET ME

SCENE 91 - Night in the fields beyond the house where the WHARTONS are housed

(The night sets in dark and chilling, as FRANCES WHARTON, with a beating heart but light step, moves through the little garden that lay behind the farm-house which had been her brother's prison, and takes her way to the foot of the mountain, where she had seen the figure of him she supposed to be the peddler.)

(It is still early, but the darkness and the dreary nature of a November evening would, at any other moment, or with less inducement to exertion, have driven her back in terror to the family circle she had left. Without pausing to reflect, however, she flies over the ground with a rapidity that seems to bid defiance to all impediments, nor stop even to breathe, until she has gone half the distance to the rock that she had marked as the spot where BIRCH made his appearance on that very morning.)

(The good treatment of their women is the surest evidence that a people can give of their civilization; and there is no nation which has more to boast of, in this respect, than the Americans. FRANCES feels but little apprehension from the orderly and quiet troops who are taking their evening's repast on the side of the highway, opposite to the field through which she is flying.)

(They are her countrymen, and she knows that her sex would be respected by the Eastern militia, who composed this body; but in the volatile and reckless character of the Southern horse she had less confidence. Outrages of any description are seldom committed by the really American soldiery; but she recoils, with exquisite delicacy, from even the appearance of humiliation.)

(When, therefore, she hears the footsteps of a horse moving slowly up the road, she shrinks, timidly, into a little thicket of wood which grew around the spring that bubbled from the side of a hillock near her. The vidette passes her without noticing her form, which is so enveloped as to be as little conspicuous as possible, humming a low air to himself, and probably thinking of some other fair maiden that he left on the banks of the Potomac.)

(FRANCES listens anxiously to the retreating footsteps of his horse, and, as they die upon her ear, she ventures from her place of secrecy, and advances a short distance into the field, where, startled at the gloom, and appalled with the dreariness of the prospect, she pauses to reflect on what she has undertaken.)

(Throwing back the hood of her cardinal, she seeks the support of a tree, and gazes towards the summit of the mountain what is to be the goal of her enterprise. It rises from the plain like a huge pyramid, giving nothing to the eye but its outlines. The pinnacle can be faintly discerned in front of a lighter back-ground of clouds, between which a few glimmering stars occasionally twinkle in momentary brightness, and then gradually become obscured by the passing vapor that is moving before the wind, at a vast distance below the clouds themselves.)

(Should she return, HENRY and the peddler would most probably pass the night in fancied security upon that very hill, towards which she is straining her eyes, in the vain hope of observing some light that might encourage her to proceed.)

(The deliberate, and what to her seems cold-blooded, project of the officer for the recapture of the fugitives, still rings in her ears, and stimulates her to go on; but the solitude into which she must venture, the time, the actual danger of the ascent, and the uncertainty of her finding the hut, or what is more disheartening, the chance that it might be occupied by unknown tenants, and those of the worst description, like ones who burned her home - urges her to retreat.)

(The increasing darkness is each moment rendering objects less and less distinct, and the clouds are gathering more gloomily in the rear of the hill, until its form can no longer be discerned. FRANCES throws back her rich curls with both hands on her temples, in order to possess her senses in their utmost keenness; but the towering hill is entirely lost to the eye.)

(At length she discovers a faint and twinkling blaze in the direction in which she thought the building stood, that by its reviving and receding luster, might be taken for the glimmering of a fire. But the delusion vanishes, as the horizon again clears, and the star of evening shines forth from a cloud. She now sees the mountain to the left of the place where the planet is shining, and suddenly a streak of mellow light bursts upon the fantastic oaks that are thinly scattered over its summit, and gradually move down its side, until the whole pile becomes distinct under the rays of the rising moon.)

(Although it would be physically impossible for our heroine to advance without the aid of the friendly light, which now gleams on the long line of level land before her, yet she is not encouraged to proceed. If she can see the goal of her wishes, she can also perceive the difficulties that must attend her reaching it.)

(While deliberating in distressing incertitude, now shrinking with the timidity of her sex and years from the enterprise, and now resolving to rescue her brother at every hazard, FRANCES turns her looks towards the east, in earnest gaze at the clouds which constantly threaten to involve her again in comparative darkness.)

(Had an adder stung her, she could not have sprung with greater celerity than she recoils from the object against which she is leaning, and which she, for the first time, notices. The two upright posts, with a cross-bean on their tops, and a rude platform beneath, told but too plainly the nature of the structure; even the cord is suspended from an iron staple, and is swinging, to and fro, in the night air.)

(FRANCES hesitates no longer, but rather flies than runs across the meadow, and is soon at the base of the rock, where she hopes to find something like a path to the summit of the mountain. Here she is compelled to pause for breath, and she improves the leisure by surveying the ground about her. The ascent is quite abrupt, but she soon finds a sheep path that winds among the shelving rocks and through the trees, so as to render her labor much less tiresome than it otherwise would have been. throwing a fearful glance behind, the determined girl commences her journey upwards.)

SCENE 93 - FRANCES on mountainside in part moonlight

(FRANCES, being young, active, and impelled by her generous motive, moves up the hill with elastic steps, and very soon emerges from the cover of the woods, into an open space of more level ground, that has evidently been cleared of its timber, for the purpose of cultivation. But either the war, or the sterility of the soil, has compelled the adventurer to abandon the advantages that he had obtained over the wilderness, and already the bushes and briers are springing up afresh, as if the plough had never traced its furrows through the mold which nourished them.)

(The girl feels her spirits invigorated by these faint vestiges of the labor of man, and she walks up the gentle acclivity, with renewed hopes of success. The path now diverges in so many different directions, that she soon sees it would be useless to follow their windings, and abandoning it, at the first turn, she labors forward towards what she thinks is the nearest point of the summit.) 

(The cleared ground is soon past, and woods and rocks, clinging to the precipitous sides of the mountain, again oppose themselves to her progress. Occasionally, the path is to be seen running along the verge of the clearing, and then striking off into the scattering patches of grass and herbage, but in no instance can she trace it upward.)

(Tufts of wool, hanging to briers, sufficiently denote the origin of these tracks, and FRANCES rightly conjectures that whoever descended the mountain, would avail himself of their existence, to lighten the labor. Seating herself on a stone, the wearied girl again pauses to rest and to reflect; the clouds are rising before the moon, and the whole scene at her feet lies pictured in the softest colors.)

( The white tents of the militia are stretched in regular lines, immediately beneath her. The light is shining in the window of her aunt, who, FRANCES easily fancies, is watching the mountain, racked with all the anxiety she might be supposed to feel for her niece. Lanterns are playing about in the stableyard, where she knows the horses of the dragoons are kept, and believing them to be preparing for their night march, she again springs to her feet, and renews her toil.)

(Our heroine has to ascend more than a quarter of a mile farther, although she has already conquered two-thirds of the height of the mountain. But she is now without a path, or any guide to direct her in her course. Fortunately the hill is conical, like most of the mountains in that range, and, by advancing upwards, she is certain of at length reaching the desired hut, which hung, as it were, on the very pinnacle.)

( Nearly an hour she struggles with the numerous difficulties that she is obliged to overcome, when, having been repeatedly exhausted with her efforts, and, in several instances, in great danger from falls, she succeeds in gaining the small piece of table-land on the summit.)

(Faint with her exertions, which have been unusually severe for so slight a frame, she sinks on a rock, to recover her strength for the approaching interview. A few moments suffices for this purpose, when she proceeds in quest of the hut. All of the neighboring hills are distinctly visible by the aid of the moon, and FRANCES is able, where she stands, to trace the route of the highway, from the plains into the mountains.)

(By following this line with her eyes, she soon discovers the point whence she had seen the mysterious dwelling, and directly opposite to that point she well knows the hut must stand. The chilling air sighs through the leafless branches of the gnarled and crooked oaks, as with a step so light as hardly to rustle the dry leaves on which she treads, FRANCES moves forward to that part of the hill where she expects to find this secluded habitation; but nothing can she discern that in the least resembles a dwelling of any sort.)

(In vain she examines every recess of the rocks, or inquisitively explores every part of the summit that she thought could hold the tenement of the peddler. No hut, nor any vestige of a human being, can she trace. The idea of her solitude strikes on the terrified mind of the affrighted girl, and approaching to the edge of a shelving rock, she bends forward to gaze on the signs of life in the vale, when a ray of keen light dazzles her eyes, and a warm air diffuses itself over her whole frame.)

(Recovering from her surprise, FRANCES looks on the ledge beneath her, and at once perceives that she stands directly over the object of her search. A hole through its roof affords a passage to the smoke, which as it blew aside, shows her a clear and cheerful fire cracking and snapping on a rude hearth of stone. The approach to the front of the hut is by a winding path around the point of the rock on which she stands, and by this she advances to its door.)

SCENE 94 - Night as FRANCES stands outside the hut

(Three sides of this singular edifice, are composed of logs laid alternately on each other, to a little more than the height of a man; and the fourth is formed by the rock against which it leans. The roof is made of the bark of trees, laid in long strips from the rock to its eaves; the fissures between the logs have been stuffed with clay, which in many places have fallen out, and dried leaves are made use of as a substitute to keep out the wind.)

(A single window of four panes of glass are in front, but a board carefully closed it, in such a manner as to emit no light, from the fire within. After pausing some time to view this singularly constructed hiding-place, for such FRANCES well knows it to be, she applies her eye to a crevice to examine the inside.)

(There is no lamp or candle, but the blazing fire of dry wood makes the interior of the hut light enough to read by. In one corner lies a bed of straw, with a pair of blankets thrown carelessly over it, as if left where they had last been used. Against the walls and rock are suspended, from pegs forced into the crevices, various garments, and such as are apparently fitted for all ages and conditions, and for either sex.)

(British and American uniforms hang peaceably by the side of each other; and on the peg that supports a gown of striped calico, such as was the usual country wear, is also hanging a well-powered wig; in short, the attire is numerous, and as various as if a whole parish are to be equipped from this one wardrobe.)

(In the angle against the rock, and opposite to the fire which is burning in the other corner, is an open cupboard, that held a plate or two, a mug, and the remains of some broken meat. Before the fire is a table, with one of its legs fractured, and made of rough boards; these, with a single stool, composed the furniture, if we except a few articles of cooking.)

(A book that, by its size and shaped, appeared to be a Bible, is lying on the table, unopened; but it is the occupant of the hut in whom FRANCES is chiefly interested. This is a man, sitting on the stool, with his head leaning on his hand, in such a manner as to conceal his features, and deeply occupied in examining some open papers.)

(On the table lies a pair of richly mounted horseman's pistols, and the handle of a sheathed rapier, of exquisite workmanship, protruded from between the legs of the gentleman, one of whose hands carelessly rested on its guard. The tall stature of this unexpected tenant of the hut, and his form, much more athletic than that of either HARVEY or her brother, told FRANCES, without the aid of his dress, that it is neither of those she seeks.)

(A close surtout is buttoned high in the throat of the stranger, and parting at his knees, shows breeches of buff, with military boots and spurs. His hair is dressed so as to expose the whole face; and, after the fashion of that day, it is profusely powdered. A round hat is laid on the stones that formed a paved floor to the hut, as if to make room for a large map, which, among the other papers, occupies the table.)

(This is an unexpected event to our adventurer. She has been so confident that the figure twice seen was the peddler, that on learning his agency in her brother's escape, she did not in the least doubt of finding them both in this place, which, she now discovers, is occupied by another and a stranger.)

(She stands, earnestly looking through the crevice, hesitating whether to retire, or to wait with the expectation of yet meeting HENRY, as the stranger moves his hand from before his eyes, and raises his face, apparently in deep musing, when FRANCES, instantly recognizes the benevolent and strongly marked, but composed features of HARPER!)

SCENE 95 - Night inside the hut, where FRANCES finds HARPER

(All that DUNWOODIE had said of his power and disposition; all that he had himself promised her brother, and all the confidence that had been created by his dignified and paternal manner, rushes across the mind of FRANCES, who throws open the door of the hut, and falling at his feet, clasps his knees with her arms, as she cries)

FRANCES: Save him- save him - save my brother; remember your promise, and save him!

(HARPER rose as the door opened, and there was a slight movement of one hand towards his pistols; but it was cool, and instantly checked. He raises the hood of the cardinal, which has fallen over her features, and exclaims with some uneasiness -)

HARPER: Miss WHARTON! But you cannot be alone?

FRANCES: There is none here but my God and you; and by his sacred name, I conjure you to remember your promise, and save my brother.

(HARPER gently raises her from her knees, and places her on the stool, begging her at the same time to be composed, and to acquaint him with the nature of her errand. This FRANCES instantly did, ingenuously admitting him to a knowledge of all her views in visiting that lone spot at such an hour, and by herself.)

(It is at all times difficult to probe the thoughts of one who held his passions in such disciplined subjection as HARPER, but still there is a lighting of his thoughtful eye, and a slight unbending of his muscles, as the hurried and anxious girl proceeds in her narrative. His interest, as she dwells upon the manner of HENRY's escape, and the flight to the woods, is deep and manifest, and he listens to the remainder of her tale with a marked expression of benevolent indulgence.)

(Her apprehension, that her brother might still be too late through the mountains, seems to have much weight with him, for, as she concludes, he walks a turn or two across the hut, in silent musing. FRANCES hesitates, and unconsciously plays with the handle of one of the pistols, and the paleness that her fears had spread over her fine features begin to give place to a rich tint, as, after a short pause -)

FRANCES: We can depend much on the friendship of Major DUNWOODIE, but his sense of honor is so pure, that - that - no - withstanding his - his - feelings - his desire to serve us - he will conceive it to be his duty to apprehend my brother again. Besides, he thinks there will be no danger in so doing, as he relies greatly on your interference.

HARPER: On mine!

FRANCES: Yes, on yours. When we told him of you kind language, he at once assured us all, that you had the power, and if you had promised, would have the inclination, to procure HENRY's pardon.

HARPER: Miss WHARTON, that I bear no mean part, in the unhappy struggle between England and America, it might now be useless to deny. You owe your brother's escape, this night , to my knowledge of his innocence, and the remembrance of my word. Major DUNWOODIE is mistaken, when he says that I might openly have procured his pardon. I now, indeed, can control his fate, and I pledge to you a word which has some influence with Washington, that means shall be taken to prevent his recapture. But from you, also, I exact a promise, that this interview, and all that has passed between us, remain confined to your own bosom, until you have my permission to speak upon the subject.

(FRANCES gives the desired assurance - and he continues -)

HARPER: The peddler and your brother will soon be here, but I must not be seen by the royal officer, or the life of BIRCH might be the forfeiture.

FRANCES: Never! HENRY could never be so base as to betray the man who saved him.

HARPER: It is no childish game that we are now playing, Miss WHARTON. Men's lives and fortunes hang upon slender threads, and nothing must be left to accident that can be guarded against. Did Sir Henry Clinton know that the peddler had communion with me, and under such circumstances, the life of the miserable man would be taken instantly; therefore, as you value human blood, or remember the rescue of your brother, be prudent, and be silent. Communicate what you know then to them both, and urge them to instant departure. If they can reach the last pickets of our army before morning, it shall be my care that there are none to intercept them. There is better work for Major DUNWOODIE than to be exposing the life of a friend.

(While HARPER is speaking, he carefully rolls up the map he had been studying, and places it, together with sundry papers that are also open, into his pocket. He is still occupied in this manner, when the voice of the peddler, talking in unusually loud tones, is heard directly over their heads.

BIRCH: Stand further this way, Captain WHARTON, and you can see the tents, in the moonshine. But let them mount and ride; I have a nest here, that will hold us both, and we will go in at our leisure.

HENRY: And where is this nest? I confess that I have eaten but little the last two days, and I crave some of the cheer you mention.

BIRCH: Hem - (exerting his voice still more) -hem - this fog has given me a cold' but move slow - and be careful not to slip, or you may land on the bayonet of the sentinel on the flats; 'tis a steep hill to rise, but one can go down it with ease.

(HARPER presses his finger on his lip, to remind FRANCES of her promise, and taking his pistols and hat, so that no vestige of his visit remains, he retires deliberately to a far corner of the hut, where, lifting several articles of dress, he enters a recess in the rock, and, letting them fall again, was hidden from view. FRANCES notices, by the strong fire-light, as he enters, that it is a natural cavity, and contains nothing but a few more articles of domestic use.)

(The surprise of HENRY and the peddler, on entering and finding FRANCES in possession of the hut, may be easily imagined. Without waiting for explanations or questions, the warm-hearted girl flies into the arms of her brother, and gives a vent to her emotions in tears.)

(But the peddler seems struck with very different feelings. His first look is at the fire, which has been recently supplied with fuel; he then draws open a small drawer of the table, and looks a little alarmed at finding it empty.)

HARVEY (in a quick voice): Are you alone, Miss FRANCES? You did not come here alone?

FRANCES: As you see me, Mr. BIRCH . (raising herself from her brothers arms, and turning an expressive glance towards the secret cavern, that the quick eye of the peddler instantly understands.)

HENRY: But why and wherefore are you here? and how knew you of this place at all?

(FRANCES enters at once into a brief detail of what had occurred at the house since their departure, and the motives which induced her to seek them.)

HARVEY: But why follow us here, when we left on the opposite hill?

(FRANCES relates the glimpse that she had caught of the hut and peddler, in her passage through the Highlands, as well as her view of him on that day, and her immediate conjecture that the fugitives would seek the shelter of this habitation for the night. BIRCH examines her features as, with open ingenuousness, she relates the simple incidents that had made her mistress of his secret; and, as she ends, he springs upon his feet, and striking the window with the stick in his hand, demolishes it at a blow.)

(With bitter melancholy that is common to him-)

(The peddler seems satisfied; for he draws back, and watching his opportunity, unseen by HENRY, slips behind the screen and enters the cavern.)

(FRANCES and her brother, who thinks his companion has passed through the door, continues conversing on the latter's situation for several minutes, when FRANCES urges the necessity of speed on his part, in order to precede DUNWOODIE, from whose sense of duty they know they have no escape. The Captain takes a notebook from his pocket, and writes a few lines with his pencil; then folding the paper, he hands it to his sister.

FRANCES: I will, I will, but why delay? Why not fly, and improve these precious moments?

HARVEY (having entered unseen): Your sister says well, Captain WHARTON, we must go at once. Here is food to eat, as we travel.

HENRY: But who is to see this fair creature in safety? I can never desert my sister in such a place as this.

FRANCES: Leave me! Leave me I can descend as I came up. Do not doubt me; you know not my courage nor my strength.

HENRY: I have not known you, dear girl, it is true; but now, as I learn you value, can I quit you here? Never! Never!

BIRCH (throwing open the door): Captain WHARTON, you can trifle with your own lives, if you have many to spare; I have but one, and must nurse it. Do I go alone or not?

FRANCES: Go, go, dear HENRY, remember our father; remember SARAH (she waits not for his answer, but gently pushes him through the door, and closes it with her own hands).

(For a short time there is a warm debate between HENRY and the peddler; but the latter finally prevails, and the breathless girl hears the successful plunges, as they go down the sides of the mountain at a rapid pace.)

(After the noise of their departure has ceased, HARPER reappears. He takes the arm of FRANCES in silence, and leads her from the hut.)

Scene 96 - Night by moonlight outside FRANCES and HARPER seek their way from the hut

(The way seems familiar to him; for ascending to the ledge above them, he leads her across the table-land tenderly, pointing out the little difficulties in their route, and cautioning her against injury.)

(FRANCES feels, as she walks by the side of this extraordinary man, that she is supported by one of no common stamp. The firmness of his step, and the composure of his manner, seems to indicate a mind settled and resolved. By taking a route over the back of the hill, they descend with great expedition, and but little danger.)

(The distance it had taken FRANCES an hour conquer, is passed by HARPER and his companion in ten minutes, and they enter the open space already mentioned. He strikes into one of the sheep-paths, and, crossing the clearing with rapid steps, they come suddenly upon a horse, caparisoned for a rider of no mean rank. The noble beast snorts and paws the earth, as his master approaches, and replaces the pistols in the holsters.)

(Turning and taking the hand of FRANCES-)

HARPER: But you are my child, all who dwell in this broad land are my children, and my care and concern; take the blessing of one who hopes yet to meet you in happier days.

(As he speaks, with a solemnity that touches FRANCES to the heart, he lays his hand impressively upon her head. The guileless girl turns her face towards him, and the hood, again falling back, exposes her lovely features to the moonbeams. A tear is glistening on either cheek, and her mild blue eyes are gazing upon him in reverence. HARPER bends down and presses a paternal kiss upon her forehead, and -)

(He then mounts his horse, lifts his hat, and rides towards the back of the mountain, descending at the same time, and is soon hidden by the trees. FRANCES springs forward with a lightened heart, and taking the first path that leads downward, in a few minutes she reaches the plain in safety.)

SCENE 97 - Night on the plain below the mountain with the hut

(While busy in stealing through the meadows towards the house the noise of horse approaching startles FRANCES, and she feels how much more is to be apprehended from man, in some situations, than from solitude. Hiding her form in the angle of a fence near the road, she remains quiet for a moment, and watches, their passage.)

(A small party of dragoons, whose dress is different from the Virginians, passes at a brisk trot. They are followed by a gentleman, enveloped in a large cloak, who she at once knows to be HARPER. Behind him rides a black in livery, and two youths in uniform bring up the rear. Instead of taking the road that leads by the encampment, they turn short to the left, and enter the hills.)

(Wondering who this unknown but powerful friend of her brother can be, FRANCES glides across the fields, using due precautions in approaching the dwelling, regains her residence undiscovered and in safety.)