TRUE TO HER COLORS.
The American forces had not gone on triumphantly. The two battles,
fierce as they had been, had not decided anything. After the battle at
Germantown Howe broke up his encampment there and proceeded to
Philadelphia, resolved to make that his winter quarters. To be secure
against starvation it was necessary to reduce Fort Mercer and Fort
Mifflin, since supplies were to be brought into the city that way.
Washington prepared to go into winter quarters at Whitemarsh, but later
moved to Valley Forge, that he might the better afford protection to the
stores at Reading, and the Congress that had fled to York. The defeats
had cast a gloom over the Continentals, but they were not utterly
disheartened. In spite of his wound the Marquis de Lafayette carried
himself hopefully, and helped inspire the waning courage of the men.
The news of the glorious victory at Saratoga was sedulously kept from
them for some time. There were quarters to construct, wounded to tend,
and winter at hand.
Philadelphia was crowded. Hospitals were full, prisons overflowing. The
English settled themselves for the winter, many in the belief that the
spring would see the crushing out of the rebellion.
In this serene hope they began to cast about for amusements. They found
not a few of the Tory young women charming and affable. They resolved
upon weekly balls at the city tavern. There were club dinners and gay
suppers at the Indian Queen, and Ferry tavern, that often degenerated
into orgies. For the ruder sort there were cockpits, where the betting
ran high, and no end of dice and card-playing. There was among many of
the lower classes an insolent revolt against an established order of
things that had not brought them prosperity, and tradesmen had felt the
pinch of hard times severely. The influx of British gold was hailed with
delight, and some timorous souls that had longed for the larger liberty,
yet feared the Colonies could never win independence, went over to the
other side with sudden fervor.
Those of royalist proclivities opened their houses to the gayeties that
swept over the town like sudden intoxication. There were private balls
and dinners and tea-drinking, with no end of scarlet-coated young
officers, and card-playing was rampant. The shabby little theater on
South Street was no longer relegated to opprobrium, but put in some
repair and made a place of fashionable entertainment; the versatile
Englishmen turning their hands and their wits to almost anything in that
line, from scene-painting to acting in comedy, farce, or tragedy.
It was soon noised about that Madam Wetherill's grand niece and protege
had a brother among the English officers. Many people could recall the
fine old Quaker Philemon Henry, and his pretty second wife Bessy
Wardour.
"Surely you are in luck, Madam Wetherill," said bright, inconsequent
Sally Stuart. "Will you not be generous enough to give us a peep at
this handsome captain? My mother remembers his father well. And what
does the child say to this fine surprise?"
"She is not as enthusiastic as one might suppose."
"Ah! I remember; she is quite a little rebel, and her patriotism becomes
her well, since she is but a child, but she will mend of that."
"Thou shalt see the young man, with pleasure. I shall choose some of the
young people who have a hankering for scarlet."
"Well, they are going to give us a gay winter, and, Heaven knows, we
have been dull as ditch water. The theater has been refitted. And there
is talk of racing again and no end of diversion."
So Madam Wetherill gave a dancing party and asked the favorite young
women of the day, since Captain Nevitt had proposed to bring some
brother officers. Miss Franks and Miss Kitty Ross and Betty Randolph
were to be among the belles of the evening, and many were pleading for
invitations.
"I hardly know how to manage," the Mistress said with a sigh to Janice
Kent. "Many have had soldiers quartered upon them with hardly a moment's
notice. Mrs. Norris was relieved, it is true, and Lord Cornwallis proved
himself a gentleman. Elizabeth Drinker protested since her husband was
from home, but it was not regarded. And we have been favored, whether
from the influence of this young Nevitt or not, I cannot decide. I like
not to be so identified with the Tory party, but I cannot be ungracious
to my little girl's half-brother and the child Bessy Henry loved. I
think he must favor his mother's people; he has not much of the old
Henry blood in him."
"I am not sure it is so bad a thing, madam, for we shall be less
suspected of kindliness to the poor fellows who need it so much. And we
may hear news to their benefit occasionally."
"Ah, if a turn could be brought about for our brave men! I hear that
Mrs. Washington is to join her husband and share his hardships. It will
put courage into many a loyal fellow that misfortunes have well-nigh
disheartened."
So the great apartment was cleared of some of its ornaments that there
might be more room for dancing, in that and the spacious hall.
Primrose had been curiously distant and wary. It had amused her brother
very much, and he teased her about being a little rebel and said he
should take her to England to cure her of such folly and that she should
be presented at Court. For certainly the Continentals could not hold out
when all the principal cities were taken and trade stopped.
He was proud of her beauty, and his flattery might have turned the head
of almost any child.
"I shall insist upon taking her back to England with me," he announced
to his friend. "And this fine old lady, Madam Wetherill, can be induced
to go along, I think, when she realizes the hopelessness of the cause,
for she is, by birth, an Englishwoman. And Primrose, it is true, will be
quite an heiress. What a pretty name her mother gave her, and it seems
that in it she outwitted my father. He was one of the strait sort as I
remember him, and my pretty stepmother planned many a bit of indulgence
for me, and hid some childish pranks from his eyes that would have
brought severe punishment."
"You have good reason, then, to care for her and love the child. It
seems to me a curious thing that your father should let you go
abroad--his only son."
"But, if he had lived, he might have had half a dozen sons. He was a
hale, hearty man, much too fine looking for a Friend. You must go with
me to see the portrait of him, which, with some other keepsakes, belongs
to me."
"And these cousins they talk about?"
"Yes, I must pay my respects to them. The days go so rapidly that one
does not get through half one's plans. I had no idea there was so much
interest in this old town of William Penn's. The winter will be a merry
one."
"It seems not much like war," returned Gilbert Vane thoughtfully.
The party at Madam Wetherill's was a most brilliant affair. It seemed as
if every conclave except the Continentals were represented. There were
staid Friends in the rich attire of the better class; some in drab,
others in coat and breeches of brown velveteen and silk stockings, and
the younger men with various touches of worldly gauds. There were other
citizens in the picturesque attire of the day, with embroidered satin
waistcoats, powdered hair, and side rolls beside the queue, lace ruffles
and gold lace and gold buttons.
And the belles were not to be outdone by the beaux. There were gowns of
almost every degree of elegance, in brocades and glistening satins,
wrought with roses or silver thread, turned back over beautiful
petticoats. Gowns of Venise silk and velvet, with elbow sleeves and
ruffles of rich lace, and square corsages filled in with stiffened lace
called a modesty fence, through which the younger girls ran a narrow
ribbon that was tied in a cluster of bows.
The hair was worn high on the head, with puffs and rolls held in place
with great gilt or silver pins, and an aigrette nodding saucily from the
top. The elder women had large caps of fine and costly material. Few
were brave enough to go without, lest they might be accused of aping
youthfulness. There were fans of white, gray, and lavender silk,
bordered with peacocks' eyes, and their fair owners needed no Japanese
training to flirt with them.
There had been numerous discussions about Primrose. Her brother longed
to see her attired quite as a young lady.
"Nay, they grow up fast enough," protested Madam Wetherill. "And there
will be a host of town beauties to whom you must pay court, who would be
jealous of such a chit and think her forward."
"But she dances so beautifully. I can never be grateful enough that you
have had her so well instructed, and brought up a churchwoman. And
really she must dance. Lieutenant Vane is almost as much smitten with
her as I am."
"The more need for me to be careful, then."
"Nay, I shall guard her well, for I want to take her to England
fancy-free, so that she may have her pick among titles. She is fast
outgrowing childhood. And there is nothing so sweet as an opening bud."
"Mine shall not be pulled open before the time. Remember she has
guardians, and thou art not one. Her Quaker uncle may have a word. He
hath only lent her to me."
"We will settle that with other questions," the young man replied
laughingly.
That very morning he had brought her in a pair of pretty bracelets that
had delighted her mightily. He clasped them on her slender wrists.
"Now you are my prisoner," he said. "I will not let you go until I have
a sweet kiss from your rosy lips."
She turned her cheek to him gravely.
"Nay, that will not do. Truly thou art stingy of kisses. And I am thy
own brother!"
"I am not thy prisoner!" turning her eyes full upon him with a spirit of
resistance.
"Yes, indeed. I will get a requisition from General Howe that you shall
be delivered over to my keeping."
"But I will not go. Americans are born free."
"Yes, I have heard that they so declared. And equal, which is very
amusing, seeing there are slaves and work people of all sorts, with no
more manners than a plowboy at home. And elegant women like your Madam
Wetherill and that charming Miss Franks and the handsome Shippens.
Still, I adore thy spirit."
"Thou mayst take back thy gifts. I shall never go to London with thee."
"Oh, Primrose! What does possess thee to be so cruel! I am half a Friend
for thy sake, and our soldiers laugh at my thee and thou. What else
shall I do to win thee?"
"Thou shalt fight on the side of my country instead of against it. I
cannot love a traitor."
"Nay, I am no traitor. There was no question of this war when I was sent
to England. There are many Friends siding with us and longing for peace
and prosperity. It is these in arms against us who have forgotten their
fealty to their King. They are the ones to be called traitors."
"Nay, there is no king here. And many of them came hither to be free and
away from the King's rule, and they have the right to choose."
"What a saucy little rebel! And yet thou art so daintily sweet! Love me
just a little bit because thy mother did. Many a time she kissed me. And
hast thou no word of praise for the bracelets?"
"They are pretty, but I will not be a prisoner for their sake," and her
eyes sparkled with resolution and a spice of mischief.
"Thou shalt be quite free if thou wilt wear them for my sake and give me
a tender thought. Come, can I not be liked a little? I have heard thee
declare an ardent love for the woman Patty. Am I of less account than a
serving woman?"
There was something persuasive and plaintive in his tone.
"Patty makes my clothes and helps me with lessons when they are
difficult, and she knows how to cure earache and pains, and lets me go
with her to do errands, and tucks me up at night. And she has promised
to keep watch that no British soldier shall surprise us."
"It is a long list of virtues truly, but I will see the house is not
molested, and I might help with lessons. As for the earache--I do not
think such pretty ears can ever ache."
There were some quivering lines about her mouth, and now both laughed.
"And I will dance with thee to-night. Some day I will come and sing
songs with thee. And all I ask is one poor little kiss in return for my
gift."
"I would not give away a poor little kiss," she answered with
well-feigned indignation.
"No. Forgive me. It shall be the sweetest thing in the whole wide world.
Primrose, I am glad I can never be a lover to sue to thee. Thou wilt
wring many a heart. And now I must go. It is a pleasure to me to bring
thee pretty gauds, whether thou carest for me or not."
"I do care for thee," she said softly, a delicious color stealing over
her face.
"Then one kiss."
She stood up on tiptoe and her soft, rosy lips met his.
"Heaven bless thee, little Primrose. Thou art very dear to me. Go show
thy gift to Madam Wetherill. I asked her permission beforehand."
She ran to Madam Wetherill's room, holding up both arms. "See!" she
cried.
"Yes. It is a new fashion, and I said when thou wert old enough for
rings and gewgaws there is all thy mother's. But he coaxed so to give
thee something. I hope thou thanked him prettily."
She hung her head, while a warm color came into her face, and raised her
eyes hesitatingly.
"I would not be pleased at first because he said I was a prisoner, and
that Americans were traitors."
"He loves to tease thee, Primrose. Yet he has a deep and fervent
affection for thee."
Primrose hid her face on the ample shoulder. "I kissed him," she
murmured softly. "Was it very wrong? For he coaxed so about it."
"Why, no, child. Thine own brother? But it is not proper to kiss outside
of one's family, and now thou art growing a large girl and may see many
gallants. So be wise and careful."
Patty did her hair high on her head, but Madam Wetherill bade her take
it down again and tie it with a ribbon. And her white muslin dress was
short and scant, just coming to her ankles and showing the instep of her
pretty clocked stockings. There were lace frills to her puffed sleeves,
and a lace tucker, with a pretty bow on one shoulder. But it seemed as
if she looked more beautiful than ever before.
Everybody made much of her. It appeared to be an easy road to Captain
Nevitt's heart. Even the handsome Major Andre, who had come because
Nevitt had talked so much about his little sister and Madam Wetherill,
and also because he was likely to meet some of the attractive young
women of the town, and "Primrose was like a little fairy for beauty, and
that her smiles were bewitching."
A very great time it was indeed. There were ombre and quadrille tables,
piquet and guinea points for the elders, while the black fiddlers in the
end of the hall inspired the feet of the younger portion. With the
dancing there were jest and laughter and compliments enough to give a
novice vertigo. Primrose was daintily shy and clung close to her
brother, of which he was very proud, as she had never shown him quite
such favor before.
Anabella Morris was setting up for a young lady, being nearly two years
older than Primrose. Mrs. Morris had taken a certain Captain Decker in
her house to lodge, who seemed very devoted to her daughter. She had not
succeeded in capturing a husband yet, but it seemed quite possible with
all this influx of masculines. The glowing and attractive description of
"Fairemount" given before, as a place "where no woman need go without a
husband," had not held good of late years.
The supper was in keeping with all the rest. There were solids in the
way of cold meats served up in various fashions, there were wines of all
kinds, and lighter refreshments of cake, floating islands, jellies,
whipped sillabubs, curds and cream, and all the delicacies in vogue.
There were healths drunk, toasts and witty replies, and, after a
complimentary mention of the hostess, someone asked whether that
pestilent old Quaker Samuel Wetherill was any relative, expressing
ironical regret that he was not present.
Madam Wetherill rose tall and stately, with the most courteous
self-possession.
"My husband and Mr. Samuel Wetherill's grandfather came from different
towns in old England, but there may have been some of the same blood in
their veins. And I think if my husband had espoused a cause he believed
right, and gave of his means and influence courageously, fought, and
should, perhaps, die for it, I should honor him as a brave man. For
there will many brave men die on both sides."
There was a moment's silence, then hearty applause without a dissentient
sound.
And when, toward morning, the servants were carrying away dishes and
putting out lights, Madam Wetherill came and jingled three guineas in
her hands, close to Janice Kent.
"I was thinking of our poor fellows and the sick and wounded to-night,
and resolved that when they return to the city they shall have a greater
welcome than this. And that rampant old Tory Ralph Jeffries, whom I
should not have asked but for his daughter's sake, insisted upon playing
when he was half fuddled. He is shrewd enough when sober, but to-night I
won his guineas. And now I tell thee, Janice, what I will do. These new
people are ready enough with their play and have plenty of money.
Whatever I win I shall lay aside for our poor fellows."
"That is a fine scheme," and Janice Kent laughed.
"We must get out to the farm some day and see if we cannot send
provisions before these British troops lay hands on it. For it will take
a great deal to feed eighteen thousand men, and I doubt if they suffer
at any time from honest scruples."
"It was a grand time. There are many handsome young men among them. But
I think that Major Andre bears off the palm. There is music in his
laugh, and his handsome face is enough to turn a girl's head. They are
to act a play, I believe. Miss Becky Franks was talking of it to the
Shippens."
Madam Wetherill sighed a little.
Already the quiet streets of the town had taken on a new aspect. There
were fiddling and singing in many of the decorous old taverns. Men were
shouting Tory broadsides of ridiculous verse; selling places for the
races, when Tarleton was to ride, as that was sure to draw crowds, or
hawking tickets for plays. Women were careful about going in the streets
unattended, and cavaliers became general.
A few days later Captain Nevitt came in to escort the ladies out to
Cherry Farm, as, somehow, many duties and engagements had intervened
since his arrival until, as he admitted, he was quite ashamed of the
lack of respect due his uncle. It was a bright, clear winter day, with a
sky of wonderful blue, against which the distant trees stood out
distinctly, the hemlocks looking almost black against it. The soldiers'
barracks stretched out, giving a strange appearance to the once peaceful
city. Groups of men were lounging idly about, and confusion seemed to
predominate. But they soon left the city behind them, and rode along the
Schuylkill, where the wintry landscape, leafless trees, and denuded
cornfields met their glance, dreary now, but to be ruinous by and by.
Primrose had a pony of her own and rode beside her aunt, with her
brother as her guard, while Lieutenant Vane was her aunt's escort.
Primrose wore a blue cloth coat and skirt, trimmed with fur, and her
white beaver hat was tied under her chin. Many women used a thin, silken
sort of mask to protect their complexion from wind and dust, but Madam
Wetherill had discarded it and did not always insist upon Primrose
wearing one.
Many of the beautiful houses destroyed later on were standing now. A few
had been taken as outposts for the army, others looked lonely enough
closed for the season, as it had not been considered prudent to leave
even the farmer in charge, after the battle of Germantown.
"Primrose does credit to someone's training," Captain Nevitt remarked.
"Is it a long ride?"
"We are used to this fashion of getting about and hardly think of
fatigue. It would be a poor weakling who could not stand a few miles.
The roads are rough for the chaise."
How pretty she looked in her white and blue. She smiled at him. They had
been quite good friends since the night of the dance, though there had
been no opportunity of teasing each other.
But she was not thinking of his regard nor his pleasure just now. She
seemed to have changed mysteriously, to have grown out of careless
childhood, and taken a great deal of thought about the country. When
she remembered that General Howe had come with his army to subdue it and
that her brother was in the soldiery she shrank from him. How could she
love him? He had pleaded for her sweet mother's sake, and that touched
her inmost soul.
She had listened with frightened eyes and a breathless throbbing of the
heart to the account of the battle of Germantown, and her fears for her
beloved country often outran her hopes when she had a quiet time to
think. The servants had been forbidden to tell her the more awesome part
of it, only she knew General Washington had been beaten and forced to
retreat, and the British hailed it as a great victory.
The young lieutenant and the stately dame found many things to talk
about, as well-bred people often do, skirting over the thin places, for
by this time he understood that madam's heart was not on the English
side. But he was confident when it was all over that she would accept
defeat gracefully.
The ascent from the city was gradual. In the distance they noted the
small gray stone houses, looking frosty in the wintry air, with here and
there a larger one, like the Chew House, to be famous long afterward in
history. Then they turned aside and lost sight of it. Captain Nevitt
thought he would like to have been in the fray, but he did not say so.
"Thou art very quiet, little one. I have heard people offer a penny for
one's thoughts, a big English penny," smilingly.
"Mine do not go as cheap as that," answered the maiden.
"A crown, then?"
"I do not think I will sell them."
"Thou art not very much in love with the cousins?" he said presently.
She colored quickly and turned her face to him, quite unaware of
betrayal until he laughed.
"Ah, I have thy thoughts without the penny! Is it the tall Quaker cousin
madam talks about, or the other--William Penn?"
"His name is simply Penn, Penn Morgan. And he is not an own cousin.
Surely it is not strange if I did think about them."
"Do not be offended. I shall like them if they have thy affection."
"Thou hast small mind of thy own if thou takest a girl's whims for thy
pattern," she answered with a show of disdain. "Whether I like them or
not is my own affair. And Patty declares I change about with every puff
of wind."
"Nay, I shall not believe that until I follow the changes, or they are
made in my behalf."
"Oh, you know why I am cross to you! I cannot like a redcoat! But
because my own mamma loved you----"
"Primrose, thou art quite too peppery in temper with thy brother,"
interrupted Madam Wetherill gently. "The Henrys will think I have
indulged thee ruinously."
She looked up laughingly. The soft yellow hair was blown about her like
a cloud, and the great bow under her chin gave her a coquettish air.
What a changeful little sprite she was!
They were coming in sight of the great barns and outhouses for the
cattle, and nestled down among them was the house, looking really
smaller. A line of blue smoke from the chimney was floating over to the
west, betokening a storm wind not far off. Someone was coming from the
barn, a stoutish man who walked with a cane, and paused to wonder at the
party.
"That is your uncle, your father's brother," said Madam Wetherill.