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"FREEDOM'S APOSTATE.”

"Beneath that mound, o'ershadowed by the deadly hemlock,
And heaped around with relics of grandeur and of art,
The traitor now lies low;

The haughty Turk, the humble and submissive Jew,
The follower of Jesus, and the son of Ismael,

Alike detest the spot;

And with the prayer for mercy, and for pardon,
Poured forth at Mahmoud's, or the Saviour's shrine,
Is mingled the deep and solemn curse

Upon the Apostate's head."

[The fall of the Alhambra; a Moorish Poem.

There is perhaps no country which has not in the course of time been subjected in a more or less degree to the ravages of warfare. Strife and discord seem to have entered into the human system, from its first origin: from the day that saw the firstborn son of man a murderous fratricide, till the present time, this spirit is found in every part of the globe where the human species exists. Among civilized nations, however, the horrors of warfare have been somewhat modified, by a tacit agreement to observe prescribed rules; and those violations of private right and feeling, which characterized the military operations of the ruder ages, have been in our day but seldom witnessed. But, among the examples of unlicensed rapine which are to be found in

the history of modern times, the State of Virginia can perhaps furnish more than any of the American Confederacy. With the worst ravages of regular and licensed military operations, she has encountered the more gross and outrageous violations attendant upon the most completely partizan and dishonourable warfare. To Lord Dunmore, the last viceroy of the Old Dominion, may be allowed the credit of commencing the last mentioned species of offence. Upon his expulsion from the Colonial Palace, it seemed as though all the far-famed feelings of honour and nobility which had characterized the behaviour of his predecessors in office, and descended to him spotless and unsullied, at once disappeared. It is useless to recount the manifold aggressions, the numberless indignities which he liberally bestowed upon the Colonists, and by which he sought to crush their spirits into the most abject submission. His predatory incursions, his numberless petty acts of rapine and devastation, rivalling those of the freebooters of earlier times, or of his renowned imitator Cockburn, will long be remembered in Virginia. But, the acts of this high-born ruffian sink into nothingness, when compared with those committed during the invasion by the traitor Arnold in '81. It was during this period that the events occurred which form our narrative, and which we will endeavour to present in a proper and interesting light.

The family of Thornhill had long occupied the beautiful seat, which had been settled by their ancestors in the time of Sir William Berkeley. They had, previous to the revolution, been distinguished

for their loyalty, and recognized as able statesmen in the Colonial Parliament, and gallant soldiers during the Provincial wars of that period. At the commencement of the revolutionary troubles, the estate was occupied by Arthur Thornhill, who, with an only son, were the last remaining male descendants of the name. The elder Thornhill was at this time considerably advanced in age, yet possessed all that vigour of intellect and activity of body, founded upon a preceding life of study and temperance. He had been amongst the first of the members in the House of Burgesses, to support the overwhelming opposition made by Patrick Henry in '65, to the famous Stamp Act; and in the same capacity, he continued to render aid to the cause of liberty during the troubled administrations of Botetourt and Dunmore. His only child, Edgar Thornhill, was now advanced to a man's estate; and like the generality of the ardent spirits of the age, was foremost in entering the ranks as a volunteer to aid the cause of freedom. Under the command of the impetuous Colonel Washington, he had served in all the principal events of the South. At the time in which our narrative commences, he had returned home upon a short visit, ostensibly to see his parents; but there was another cause conjoined with his strong parental affections. There was a certain fair damsel, one of those angels in female shape, who forms the object of man's adoration, for whom the young soldier had long since entertained the most ardent affection. Being the daughter of an old friend and acquaintance of his

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father, there was none of that outrageous opposition to his affection, which forms the soul and body of an old fashioned novel, but every opportunity of facilitating reciprocal feeling, had been unsparingly afforded. Previous to his entering the army, and at the last interview which had occurred between Edgar Thornhill and his beloved Flora Summers, a mutual pledge of lasting love and undying constancy had passed between them. An absence of three years, instead of chilling the young soldier's passion, had only served to strengthen it; and the flame of love, instead of dwindling to a spark, burnt with a stronger and fiercer glow. It may be readily supposed that but a short time elapsed upon his return home, before he found an excuse for leaving the company of his parents and flying to the caresses of his betrothed, when the usual scene of crying and laughing by turns, and all the other nonsense so customary, but yet so delightful in such cases, occurred. In this happy state we will leave our hero for a short time, for the purpose of bringing on other matters completely essential to our purpose.

Upon the river's bank, close to the residence of the Thornbills, resided an amphibious being, who was half fisherman, half farmer, by the name of Gilbert Drumhead. He had, as a tenant by courtesy, occupied the little spot on which stood his house and cornfield, for the half century previous. It belonged to and formed a part of the Thornhill estate, but from the circumstance of its having been so long occupied by the Drumhead family, and from the honest, faithful behaviour of its occupants,

it had been allowed to remain in their possession until they might have barred an ejectment.

The old fisherman, and his son Dan, were at this time sole proprietors of the house and its appurtenances, and enjoyed that easy, vagabond mode of existence peculiar to their class. When the weather was fair they fished, and when it was rough they lounged; in the warm season they cultivated corn sufficient for the winter's use, and in the winter oysters and wild ducks were abundant. In this manner had they lived, perfectly contented and happy. Although the violence of warfare had raged throughout the continent, it had not as yet reached them, and they heard of the devastation in other parts, with the most perfect non-chalance.

It was upon a cold, bleak evening in the month of January, 1781, shortly after the return of young Thornbill, that the two fishermen, the elder and younger Drumhead, determined after a long discussion over a bottle of whiskey, to try the chance of scraping up a few fish to eke out their evening's meal of hominy and middling. An old scoop-net, which showed by its many inequalities of mesh, and a hole here and there carefully secured by hickory bark, that it had been long and faithfully employed, was drawn down from the clapboard roof, and being placed on the shoulder of Drumhead, jr. the pair proceeded down to the beach. Their little fishing canoe being released from the sycamore root to which it was attached by a grape-vine, and both of them firmly seated, they gallantly put out from land. The wind was sharp, and the waves ran high, yet

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