Alexandria Gazette

ALEXANDRIA GAZETTE AND VIRGINIA ADVERTISER.

THE GAZETTE.

TUESDAY MORNING, APRIL 20, 1847.

From the New York Times.

REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENTS.—THE MURDER OF FANNY BURTON.

BY WM. T. RODGERS, JR.

In small clump of bushes growing at an angle of one of those old fashioned zig-zag worm fences, so common in all the thinly settled parts of our country, two men were conversing in an under tone. One a tall, stout, athletic man, about thirty-five years old, whose compact and sinewy form bespoke enormous strength, was habited in a common grey home-spun hunting frock, tied at the waist with a stout hempen cord, and strong leather breeches; his feet were encased in a pair of heavy cow-skin boots reaching nearly to his knees; upon his head was placed with a careless, jaunty air, an old felt hat surmounted by a turkey's feather. Across his shoulders were slung a huge powder-horn and a buckskin bullet pouch, and from the hempen belt protruded the half of a long two-edged hunting knife. He was seated upon a decayed stump, listening quietly to what his companion was saying.

The other, much his junior, was certainly not more than twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. He was slightly, but well and strongly made, and his every movement gave indication of great activity. Like his companion he was fully armed, with the addition of a short sabre that hung at his side. His dress, formed of a much better material, consisted of a blue frock-coat, cap and breeches, with a green silken sash about his waist, and light Hessian boots. He stood leaning upon a short silver-mounted rifle, and was addressing his elder companion.

"I shall not be gone longer than an hour or an hour and a half at most—keep a strict watch, and if there should be any danger of a surprise, your whistle will bring me instantly back."

"Aye, aye, Ned," said he of the turkey feather, "I'll keep quiet enough, and if the cowardly tories don't stumble over me, my rifle shan't speak; but make haste, and don't stay too long, for you know it is just as natural for 'old fire-eater' to plant a bullet in the skull of a tory or red coat, as it is for the stars to twinkle on a clear night in June. So hurry back my boy and keep your eyes about you; be careful of that nigger Joe! he has not forgotten the night you pitched him off the bridge at the landing, when he let the Britisher go; he'd betray you if he could. The moon will be out an hour after midnight, and we must be at the cross roads before morning. If you want me you can easily give the signal."

"Don't be rash Harry," said Ned. "recollect I depend upon your keeping quiet and prudently concealed." So saying he shouldered his rifle and following the direction of the fence, was soon creeping quietly along the banks of a small stream in the rear of the garden of Mr. Stephen Burton, where we will leave him for a few moments to explain the reason why he was thus approaching the house of one whom he had known from childhood.

New Jersey, in common with every other State in the confederacy, produced some specimens of that detestable, traitorous, cowardly class of men called Tories, although in justice to the brave sons of Jersey, it must be admitted that they were few in comparison with the number in other States.

Some were doubtless made tories by the force of unrelenting circumstances, but these seldom took an active part in the struggle, though they always afforded assistance and a shelter to the British. Some preferred toryism to the confiscation of their property; others again embraced it for the gratification of personal revenge for fancied injuries received from the hands of the patriots. Ambition was the inciting motive of few. Many others, and by far the greatest number, were actuated by the hope of pecuniary profit, and stimulated by the absurdly liberal promises of the British government; promises which, however, the tyrants were never able to fulfil.

The basest and most unprincipled men were thus collected, and served to swell the ranks of those who went out to fight against their own country, and to murder their own brethren upon their own soil.

Headed by leaders as unprincipled as themselves, they were even more cruel than the unrelenting minions of King George, who fought only for their pay, and brutality, murder, rapine, and unheard of cruelty were their principal characteristics.

Old Burton was one of those who had joined the tories, not so much from an inclination to their opinions, as to preserve his property from falling into their hands. He himself never fought upon either side, but while his house was closed against the patriot, it was ever opened to the tory or the British officer; and was the point at which the principal traitors were accustomed to hold their meetings for the concoction of their infernal schemes.

The brother of Burton, a staunch patriot who died about four years previously, had left as a legacy, his daughter Fanny, then about fifteen years of age, beseeching him with his dying breath, to guard with a father's solicitude the sacred trust. Burton never forgot his promise, but performed it faithfully, and judiciously refrained from the slightest attempts to influence her opinion of either of the parties engaged in the great struggle.

Four years had rolled away, and from a gay thoughtless girl, she was just budding into womanhood. Her features were fine and regularly formed, and although they were not absolutely beautiful, there was something irresistibly fascinating in the witching smile that played round her small and exquisitely formed mouth. Her glossy hair, black as the raven's wing, fell in rich profusion upon a neck and shoulders more purely white than the finest Parian marble. And when she was animated, her dark eyes, beaming with intelligence lighted up her expressive and highly intellectual countenance, it was impossible to conceive an object in nature more interesting or more beautiful. In person she was somewhat below the general standard of height, but what was wanting in stature, was more than made up in the faultless symmetry of her form, and the grace and elegant ease which marked her every movement.

Fanny never forgot the teaching of her father, but despised a tory with her whole soul, and many were the plans she had thwarted by giving information of their blood-thirsty designs to the patriots.

Lieutenant Coddington, an officer in one of the Jersey regiments who we left at the foot of the garden, had known her intimately for a period of not more than eighteen months, but that seemingly short time had sufficed for them to become fully acquainted with the characters and sentiments of each other, and their intimacy had grown into a love, deep, sincere and lasting.

Latterly they had met but seldom. He was stationed at a distance, and the presence of a great number of tories in the vicinity of Weston, and the strict watch that was kept by them for the appearance of Ned, who had rendered himself highly obnoxious to them by his uncompromising opposition, and whose partiality to the lovely Fanny was not unknown, compelled them to be very guarded in their watchfulness. Ned had several times successfully eluded the vigilance of the scouts, and guided by true love, succeeded in visiting his soul's idol. And it was for this purpose, that on his return from a scouting expedition, accompanied by his faithful companion Harry Taber, he was lingering in the vicinity of Burton's house.

The night was beautifully clear—not a trace of vapor was visible in the deep blue canopy of heaven, from whence looked down a myriad of sparkling gems. The whole atmosphere was hushed—every leaf hung motionless from its parent stem—and the heavenly quiet that reigned supreme, was unbroken, save by the soft and unmusical croaking of the wakeful frog.

Ned had scaled the picket fence which surrounded the garden, and seating himself upon a rude bench in a rustic arbour, overgrown with the gaudy morning glory, the fragrant sweet pea, and the wild creeping clematis, was patiently awaiting the coming of his beloved—