FOR NATIVE LAND AND LOYALTY.
They all made so light of the occurrence that a note of apology from Mr.
Wharton settled the matter. Captain Nevitt felt in his cooler moments
that he had been a little to blame, also hasty and unreasonable. And
when, a few evenings after, he met pretty and vivacious Polly Wharton
and danced with her, he was very glad the matter had gone no farther.
Primrose was soon well again, but Madam Wetherill would not consent to
her going out on the river among the gay crowd, though she felt it a
great deprivation. There were two or three quiet spots on the creeks
where children could go without harm, and Patty used to take her when
Phil was engaged, though Lieutenant Vane was always inquiring if he
could not accompany them. He seemed younger and more boyish than the
captain, and proved quite delightful to the groups of children, though
he admitted laughingly that he found a great many rebels among them.
And so the days went on, one and another indignant over the "rollicking
winter" as Mr. Allen termed it, and others storming at General Howe for
the wanton destruction everywhere visible. Groves of trees were cut down
for firewood, gardens despoiled, and some of the houses taken possession
of by the troops were cut and hacked with insulting boasts, and really
ruined. Others, Continentals confessedly, railed at Washington for his
inaction and supineness.
Howe had planned one surprise and possible capture of the troops, but
heroic Lydia Darragh, having overheard the plot, walked to Washington's
camp while it was at Whitemarsh, and forewarned them. Finding the rebels
prepared with a warm welcome the British retraced their steps. There
were small skirmishes outside the lines, and once the impetuous
Lafayette advanced, hoping to surprise the enemy, but nothing came of
this. Baron Steuben was training the Continentals, as many of them were
raw recruits, but, used to hunting as they were, most of the young men
had a quick eye and correct aim.
But stories crept in concerning their hardships and sufferings. Every
avenue was closely watched that no supplies should be sent directly from
the city, but more than once keen wit evaded them. There were passes for
the farmers to come in on market days, and many were glad even to supply
their enemies for British gold. James Henry thought this no sin, and was
given a pass for his son and nephew. Penn had imbibed many of his
uncle's beliefs, and took home rather rose-colored accounts of the
prosperity of the city. He kept, too, a watchful eye over Andrew, who
was more than half suspected of being quite as willing to deal with the
rebels, and Madam Wetherill's was considered a rather tempting and
unsafe place for sober-going Friends.
But one day he came alone, and made his way to Arch Street, leaving his
empty wagon at a nearby tavern that he knew he could trust.
"It is thy cousin," whispered Madam Wetherill, who had some callers.
"Take him upstairs in Patty's sewing room."
Primrose ran out with delight in her eyes, but she had grown wise, and,
instead of a cry of joy, placed her finger archly on her lips and
motioned him through the hall.
"I saw a glimpse of a red coat," he said in a low tone. "I have no
desire to run into a hornets' nest. Oh, Primrose, thou hast grown taller
since the day thou wert at the farm. Thou wilt soon be a young lady. And
the sweetness of childhood will be ended."
"Is girlhood sharp, then, and--and sour?"
Her eyes danced with a merry, mischievous light.
"Nay, sweeter than ever; but it's sweetness is more sacred. And
presently comes the time of lovers."
"I shall not have any lovers. They say pert things and talk about pretty
faces, or else are silly like Anabella's lover, and forever kissing
one's hand. And what think you Lieutenant Vane did when we were going to
ride a few days since? There was pretty Mistress Wharton here, and my
brother is much taken with her, though she is such a rebel. But I was
not allowed to mount the stepping stone, and his hand was placed under
my foot. So I pressed down hard, wishing I could squeeze the British
blood out of him. They do nothing but run about and have pleasure. But
if I were a hundred years old I would have none of them for lovers. I
want no one but my brother and my cousin, and sometimes I think thou art
dearer, because thou would fight for thy country. And I am ashamed when
I think it is his country as well."
"What preachment is the little maid making, Andrew?" said the older
voice as the ample figure entered the doorway. "I sometimes think I
shall have to keep her shut up in one room, people talk to her so much
and spoil her."
"Nay, she is not spoiled," protested Andrew.
"She is a wise little thing, and saucy, too, and often amuses the
company by bits of patriotism that are shrewd and wholesome. I think
people in this mad revel are forgetting they are Americans and have a
country to fight for. And, now, what is the news? There is much
dissatisfaction, I hear, with General Washington. It cannot be that they
will give up the rallying point, the wisest man of them all, and break
up into factions."
"They will not give him up, madam. It is a bitter winter, and the stores
at York are sadly depleted. They are watched on every hand. While the
town is dancing to British music, and giving aid and comfort to the
enemy, our men are living in rude huts that hardly shelter them from the
storms and are glad for crusts. But the men will stand by him to the
last. It is only idle talk about superseding him. And the men worship
Madam Washington and Madam Knox. If you could see them! They minister to
the sick, they patch the worn-out clothes and blankets. There is so much
need of these things, stockings, and shoes."
"My heart aches for them. I have been gathering a store----" She paused
and eyed Primrose.
"You need not be afraid," cried Primrose eagerly. "Is it not _my_
country? And, Cousin Andrew, I have saved some money that my brother
gave me to buy frippery and sweetmeats with. And I am knitting socks."
"Thou art a brave girl, and quite able to keep thy own counsel. I have
known that aforetime," and he smiled. "Indeed, madam, we could trust her
to the uttermost."
"There is quite a store of some things----"
"I will tell thee--there is a false bottom to the wagon that I can
raise up after the load is sold. That is my secret. And I can trust him
at the Pewter Platter. I have carried more than one lot."
"There is a bagful," pulling it out of the cupboard.
"It will look like a sack of potatoes."
They all laughed.
"There is a blanket in my room. Come thither. Then thou hast little
fear? It is a great relief to hear this."
"Madam, such courage must be rewarded. I should want to be with them,
but that I think I can be of more service here. When the spring
opens----"
He paused and looked from one to the other.
"Wilt thou go, then?" Primrose slipped her hand in his, and though her
voice was just above a whisper it was an inspiration to him.
"I shall go, then. Penn can fill my place at home. The country's need
will never be greater."
There was another half fear that the loyal soul barely breathed to
itself. He must be away before it came to anything beyond the half fear.
The beautiful eyes were grave, and the face had a new solemnity. Her
faith inspired him.
"We have not much time to lose," he said. "You see, I must go up the
rough Perkiomen road to meet the friend in waiting. We have safe
points," and he smiled gravely.
Madam Wetherill pulled out the stout sack and held the top open.
"That will be a godsend. Madam, many a poor fellow's heart will be glad
and his toes warm. Heaven reward thee!"
"Heaven has rewarded me in many things. If I could see the end more
clearly!"
Primrose brought her little purse with its gilt clasps, and poured out
her money. Madam Wetherill added her store to it.
"Art thou sure there is no risk?" she said.
"I shall be careful. One learns much shrewdness."
He shouldered the bag.
"Let me out the side way like any other servant," he said, as he bade
them farewell.
"And now, little Primrose," cautioned her Aunt, "thou must keep guard
over thy tongue as if with a steel chain, for thy cousin's sake."
"It will never be a traitor tongue," returned the maiden proudly.
Patty had been down in the kitchen helping with some ironing, and now
she came up with an armful of stiff skirts. For many women on state
occasions wore a big hoop, and others swelled out with starched
petticoats.
"I have to go among the stores to find some things that have grown
scarce as hen's teeth. And thou hast not been out these two days,
Primrose. Thy gallants have deserted thee. What sayest thou to a little
run in the brisk air. We shall not go in public places, madam, and she
will be safe by my side."
"As she likes. There are plenty of pretty girls in town, perhaps better
worth being looked at. And it is early yet."
Primrose enjoyed these small shopping expeditions. There were some very
nice places kept by Friends who had been famous in merchandise a few
years before, but stocks had sadly diminished and prices gone up.
Patty's Yankee blood came to the fore in such times as these, and she
had become rather a dread to clerks and shopmen. This part of it amused
Primrose very much, as Patty was sure to make a good bargain.
"There seems nothing at all to buy now," she cried in disdain, finding
some difficulty in getting what she wanted.
"There will be less yet unless the war ends presently," was the reply of
the shopkeeper.
"Then we must turn our old gowns, though in truth there seems no lack of
fine attire if one looks at the gay maidens on the street. They seem
turned into butterflies. And it must take a mint of money for their
wings."
The clerk smiled.
"Let us go round by the creek," pleaded Primrose. "The skaters are so
merry."
"If thou wilt not coax to stay more than a moment."
The child promised.
As they were turning a corner a young man eyed them sharply. Primrose
did not see him, and Patty hurried on, for he was a stranger.
But he took some long strides and caught up to them.
"It is Mistress Primrose Henry----"
The little girl turned.
"Oh, Patty, it is Miss Polly Wharton's brother," she said, holding out
her hand.
"Who runs over thee again," said Patty sharply, for she had heard the
story.
"Nay, but it is quite a godsend, as I have been to thy aunt's to say
good-by. In an hour's time I shall be on my way to Valley Forge to cast
in my lot with the brave fellows there, and I wanted to take thy
godspeed with me. I have great faith in it."
"Oh!" Primrose gave a little cry.
"I want thee to be both sorrowful and joyful. Glad that thou hast a
patriot friend, and sorry that there should be war. I could not wait any
longer and wrung my father's consent from him, though he thinks we are
right. And I believe we shall have a great and grand country some day
that soldiers will be proud of defending. I go this very night with a
party of young men who have planned to elude observation. And
so--good-by."
"I wish thee--a safe return."
"Thanks. Keep me in mind when thou prayest for soldiers and victory."
Then he was gone like a flash.
"I have no heart for the skaters now," Primrose said with a sigh. "Let
us go home."
The Whartons kept the news very quiet, for it would have made them a
marked family to have it bruited abroad just now. But Polly was less
gay, and Primrose watched her wonderingly.
And now the long cold winter was drawing to a close. In March came
gleams of warmth, welcome sunny days that softened the ice and spoiled
skating, and the great Delaware sent floating cakes down to the sea.
Buds began to swell and grass to spring up, and there was a great deal
of drilling among the troops, and sickness as well.
England began to think that Howe might have captured Washington, cooped
up in a desolate wild as they considered it from their imperfect news.
The capture of Burgoyne had been an unexpected blow and led to eloquent
arguments in Parliament. Mr. Pitt's great speech had reached America,
and thrilled every patriotic heart. Leaning on his crutches he had
denounced the purchase of German hirelings and brutal savages.
"If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was
landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms, never! never!
never!" he had exclaimed.
Then King Louis of France acceded to the treaty of alliance and informed
the American commissioners "that it was decided to acknowledge the
independence of the United States."
Howe was to be recalled and succeeded by Sir Henry Clinton. Even this
news inspired the camp at Valley Forge, where the word from France had
not yet been received.
At the Henry farm there had been an undercurrent of dissatisfaction.
Lois Henry had set her heart on Rachel Morgan as a daughter-in-law, and
her husband was nothing loath, since she was a good housekeeper and
strong in the faith. It was feared that Andrew was wavering. He never
spoke at the meetings, and absented himself from home now and then with
no explanations. It was well known that his sympathies were with the
army at Valley Forge, and it was surmised in some way that he had a hand
in sending supplies. Several of the young men about had joined the army.
"Andrew," his father began one morning when they were sorting seeds of
various kinds for planting, "Andrew, I have somewhat to say to thee.
Thou art of age, and a good marriage is the best ballast for the journey
of life. I am elderly and shall never entirely recover from my accident,
but the farm is large, and some day it will all be thine. A wife that we
should agree with would pleasure us both fervently. It is true thou
wilt be able to marry well in a worldly point of view, but we do not
care so much for that. Thy mother and I have decided it would gratify us
greatly in the Lord, if thou shouldst see thy way clear to take thy
cousin Rachel."
"Rachel!" He had more than half suspected this and dreaded it. There was
also a feeling that Rachel cared for him. He could not imagine himself
in love with her. Love was something more than a cool, friendly regard,
meals properly cooked, and a house well kept; thriftiness and laying
farm to farm.
"Well, does it take thee so by surprise? Moreover, we both know she has
a deep regard for thee."
"I have not thought of it in that way. I am in no haste to marry," the
young man replied hesitatingly, casting about for a more forcible
rejoinder.
"A good wife is a good thing, and thou mayst look far and wide and not
find thy cousin's equal. She is well grounded in the faith, and I have
observed with sorrow thy tendency to stray from the old landmarks, but
youth hath such seasons until the carnal will is subdued. Then it will
need to make no change in our living. Thy mother and I can grow old in
this, the home of our youth, and see our children, and our children's
children, mayhap, growing up, well trained in the faith."
"I will consider it," Andrew said gravely.
"Lay my counsel to heart for thy mother's sake."
Andrew Henry went on with his work, but he knew a crisis had come in his
life. Like many another Friend trained in the ways of peace he had a
horror of the cruelties of war, of which he had heard and seen much
since the battle of Germantown, and shrank from the thought of taking
any human life. On the other hand was the brave and boundless
aspiration for liberty and a country of one's own, that had thrilled him
when he heard the Declaration of Independence read. And now that France
had held out a helping hand, and the English Parliament was divided, the
aspect looked more hopeful to him. But for his parents he would go at
once and cast in his lot with the heroes at Valley Forge, to whom
patriotism was as brave a religion as that of Roger Williams.
And Rachel! No, he could not marry her. All his soul rose up in revolt.
Not but what such marriages often occurred among Friends and were
reasonably happy. Very few sons or daughters went contrary to the advice
of their parents in such matters. And he knew to refuse would be giving
up his home.
If Rachel was soft-tongued and attractive like his mother, for Lois
Henry was still fair of face, visions of the pretty, graceful maidens in
town danced before his eyes. He had seen them on the streets chatting
merrily, on the ice flying swiftly like so many gay birds. He had
listened to Primrose playing on her spinet and singing pretty old love
songs that she did not understand aught of but the rare melody. And he
enjoyed Madam Wetherill's house--he had borrowed a few books from the
old case, and, plain as he was, he had been charmed by some volumes of
verse.
Surely this Master Quarles must have been a man of deep feeling and
godliness. And there was one Ben Jonson, and a Master Suckling, though
he was not quite sure about his dainty conceits. Queer old books in
stained leather covers and print hard to read. Volumes of one John
Milton who, he learned, had stood out bravely for liberty.
Madam Wetherill had come upon him one morning browsing deeply in the
case of books. "Take anything that pleaseth thee," she said kindly.
"They are old things in the Wardour family that came to my father, and
he knew many of the scholars of his day. They had not such a fear of
learning then. And he knew this Mr. Pope and Addison and many another.
And even our master Franklin, with all his many businesses, found time
to write verses for his wife, it seems, and with James Logan, has been
much in earnest that the town should have some sort of library."
He had carried home a thin, old book and kept it closely in his
waistcoat pocket that no one should surprise it, and read it by odd
spells. And a volume of John Milton's tracts stirred him mightily.
All these things he would have to give up if he was Rachel Morgan's
husband. He felt that he had grown out of the narrow bounds and could
never get back into them.
James Henry went into the house. His wife sat alone, knitting.
"I have spoken to Andrew," he said, "and he will take time to consider.
But he did not say aught against Rachel, and he certainly hath no other
fancy. I am thankful my brother's daughter is a mere child, since he
shows such fondness for her, and thou wert wise, wife, in not having her
here. She would have been an unmanageable firebrand, since we could not
control her wholly. And I have good hopes for Rachel. We will not delay
when the matter is settled, but have them man and wife speedily.
Marriage is a cure for many wayward notions."
Rachel had come downstairs in her list boots, that she was fond of
wearing indoors, and could make herself. The door was ajar and she had
heard all her uncle said. Her heart beat exultantly, and she crept back
again softly, with a flush on her face and a pleased light in her eye.
For she was very much in love with Andrew, though she did not call her
preference by that name. She would give him decorous opportunities to
speak.
But he went away and left her sitting alone by the fireside, and poured
over John Milton in his cold room. And if she went out to the barn at
meal time he made some excuse for not walking back with her.
"Dost thou know," she asked of Penn one day, "where Andrew goes in these
curious absences? His father is troubled, but he will not say a word."
"He went, one day, across the river to Swede's Ford. It was about some
wood," he said. "And he hath a friend on the Lancaster road. Now that I
think, I am afraid there is mischief in it. He hath a soft spot for the
rebels at Valley Forge. But he always brings home money for what he hath
sold."
"Uncle James hath spoken to him about marrying."
"Marrying! Whom, pray?"
Rachel flushed swarthily.
"If thy eyes were keen thou couldst have seen what they both desire. I
shall marry him ere long. It will be a good thing for all of us, and no
change of home."
Penn simply stared his amazement.
"He is an obstinate fellow in many things. Well--if thou canst manage
him," doubtfully. "He hath no plans for marriage at present, I know
that."
"He will heed his father, I think. And, Penn, it will be to thy interest
to help me. Thou canst put in a word here and there."
Penn Morgan soon learned some things that astonished him. His cousin was
giving aid to the rebels. Yet it was odd that these starving men could
pay in gold and silver when the Congress had issued so much paper money.
Penn half suggested the marriage one day when they were working
together.
Andrew glanced at him with resolute eyes.
"It is a fancy of my father's," he answered, "but I have no mind toward
it, as I shall tell him presently."
"Is anything displeasing to thee about Rachel?" was the rather nettled
response.
"Rachel is a good girl and my parents are fond of her. But I have other
plans for my life," was the quiet reply.
Rachel was vexed at his coldness and studious avoidance of her. She
boldly walked by his side on Sunday to meeting, but, coming home, there
was always someone to talk with, until they passed the cross-roads, and
then he would take Faith by the hand.
Penn Morgan was never quite sure that he had meant to betray his cousin,
but, finding that several others were trafficking with the rebels,
fancied he might mention their names as men on whom a sharp eye might be
kept. Andrew went unsuspiciously into town one day, eager to learn
something about the British army, and if it were true they were
preparing for an active campaign. As he stood in Market Square with his
load nearly disposed of a whisper caught his ear.
"The tall Quaker. He will go to the Pewter Platter. Jonas Evans has been
suspected for some time. When he has loaded up afresh and is about
starting will be the time to seize him."
Andrew Henry did not move a muscle while two men scrutinized him
closely. Afterward one of them approached with a half-insolent air.
"Is trade fair to-day, Friend Broadbrim? The winter seems quite broken
up. And round about country places they are plowing, no doubt. If thou
hast made a good bargain thou mightst stand treat. We have drained the
King's men pretty dry."
"Nay, I am busy just now with some bills to collect, but if thou wilt
meet me an hour hence at the Pewter Platter, thou shalt have thy fill of
meat and drink. And since my start was early this morning I shall bring
a hearty appetite myself."
"Thou art a good fellow, truly," nodding with a slight leer.
"And since thou hast to wait, here is a shilling for ale. There are pot
houses near by," returned Andrew.
He watched the man enter one. Then he summoned one of the idle boys
about.
"Keep my horses for five minutes," he said, "and thou shalt be well
paid." Then he dashed among the crowd, and could not have been told from
a dozen other men in drab coats and wide hats.