PARTING.
Madam Wetherill sat deep in her account books. Primrose was studying
arithmetic, and the tough rules were not at all to her taste.
Janice Kent paused at the door. "Madam," she said, "Friend Henry is here
on urgent business. And he begs that he may come up to you."
Primrose's pretty face was in a glow, and she sprang from her seat.
"It may not concern thee, moppet. Go to Patty. Thou canst not be in
everything."
The child rose reluctantly, but obeyed.
"I am in trouble," Andrew began briefly. "We have been informed
about--how much I know not. I thought it best to come and warn thee.
Still I do not see how thou can be brought in, and thy shrewd wit will,
I think, save thee. But I must get out of the town some way. I may be
accused of spying about, and I am not over anxious for a hempen
necklace, nor lodgings in Walnut Street. So I have little time to
spare."
With that he related his morning's adventure and how he had left his
team.
"Canst thou send a blind message to the Pewter Platter at once? Jonas
Evans will understand."
"Yes. Patty will be best. We can trust her, and she will hardly be
noted. And thou?"
"I must get out of the town in some sort of disguise. There is much
behind this that I do not know."
Patty was dispatched on her errand. "Sit still, child, with thy book,
and presently thou shalt know what is meet," said she.
Andrew Henry went briefly over his inner life for the last two months,
his desire to enlist in the Continental army, his shrinking from the
pain it would be to his parents.
"But now, madam, it would bring greater trouble on them for me to go
home. The British would likely arrest me."
"Yes, I see. And thou hast resolved to be a soldier lad? Not from the
teasing of little Primrose, I hope."
"No, madam, though I shall be her soldier as well. But those brave men
at Valley Forge have been before my eyes night and day. I should have
done this a little later, anyhow. My father and mother are in good
hands."
"Heaven keep thee! But better a hundred times perish on the field of
battle than be thrust into that vile den, the Walnut Street Jail, where
that fiend in human shape, Cunningham, works his cruel will on helpless
men. Not a day but dead bodies are carried out, some of them bruised and
beaten and vermin-covered. Faugh! The thought sickens me! Yes, thou must
escape. Primrose, child, come in."
She ran eagerly to Andrew, who greeted her with a smile. Then Patty
returned breathless.
"It is all right. They will find nothing from cellar to the top layer of
the chimney. But Master Evans says get out of the town as fast as you
can."
Madam Wetherill was considering. "A disguise," she said. "A suit of
Captain Nevitt's is here, but thou couldst hardly squeeze into it. At
thirty thou wilt be the counterpart of thy uncle Philemon. Thou wilt go
to Valley Forge?"
"Yes. After I have struck into the old Perkiomen road no one will look
for me. It is getting through the city. And the time is brief. I would
not for worlds raise any suspicion for thee."
"Patty, exercise thy quick wit. If we could dress him up as a young man
of fashion--or make him into Ralph Jeffries, who is more barrel-shaped.
But there, the pass!"
"I have it," cried Patty with a merry laugh. "Order up gray Bess, and
dress him to personate thee. He can put on a mask and drop his
shoulders. Thy plaided camlet cape will do well. And put Moppet on a
pillion behind. Someone else must go. Ah, Madam Kent! who will enjoy it
mightily and sit up like a brigadier. Then, when he is out of harm's
way, she can bring Primrose home."
"But the mare--how shall I get her back?"
"Thou mayst need her; if not, present her to Madam Washington. Patty,
thy brain has served us as well as in the matter of making gowns. Come,
we must make ready."
Janice Kent was summoned, and ready enough for the adventure; and the
horses were ordered up. Then came a great deal of amusement in attiring
Andrew.
"Since it is quite muddy put my linen safeguard petticoat on him, Patty,
the better to conceal his long legs, for it will be somewhat awkward
riding woman-fashion, but my saddle is broad. Now my bedgown of
paduasoy. Alack! how short the sleeves are! Here are the long cuffs.
That will do. Now the camlet cape and my black beaver hat. A mercy it
is, Andrew, that thou hast no beard. Patty, tie the bow. Upon my word,
thou art so good-looking, with the coquettish bow under thy chin, that I
am half afraid some saucy redcoat may stop thee. Janice, guard him well.
And you must wear my silken mask. April wind is bad for complexions and
might freckle thee."
Primrose had been dancing about, not comprehending the gravity of the
case.
"Oh, Aunt Wetherill, how queer it all is! He is like and unlike thee."
"And if thou shouldst meet a friend, be careful and remember that 'tis
thy aunt. And now, Janice, make thyself ready. Meanwhile I will go into
retirement under Patty's wing."
Patty went down to see that all was ready. Old Cato stood with the
horses. Luckily sharper-eyed Julius had gone to market.
Janice helped her mistress, who was rather awkward, it was true. The
skirts were adjusted, the mask dropped over the face, and then Primrose
was put in her seat.
"Not a word out of thee for thy very life," said Patty. "Look as demure
as if on the road to church."
Mistress Janice sprang into her saddle. As they were going out of the
courtyard, she exclaimed: "Let us take Fairemount, Madam Wetherill, and
find some wild flowers. The spring is late, to be sure, but they must be
in bloom."
"There will be no danger, I think," said Patty softly, as she re-entered
the room.
"I will have my netting and sit here by the child's bed. What a queer
caper, and so quickly managed! But it is what I thought would come
presently. Not the suspicion, but Andrew Henry's going over to the
rebels. He is more like his uncle than Phil Nevitt. Ah, if it could be
true that the British would decamp before they have quite ruined our
city we should all give thanks."
There was an imperious knock presently that made the great door rattle.
The small black factotum, in his Barbadoes suit and red turban, opened
the top door and glanced at the caller.
"Madam Wetherill----"
"Madam and Missy and Mistress Janice have gone out ridin' som'er."
"Out riding, hey! with mud a foot deep! Tell your mistress that I came
to have my revenge for her beating me last night at piquet. The young
people made such a rumpus with their talk I lost my head," and Ralph
Jeffries looked vexed.
The youngster nodded and grinned. Later on came Polly Wharton and Miss
Stuart, to meet with the same reply.
At the corner of the street they encountered Captain Nevitt and Vane,
and an elderly officer.
"It is a fine day save for the mud!" exclaimed Sally. "Fine overhead,
but few are going that way."
"We did not set out for that," returned Vane, smiling.
"And if you have set out for Madam Wetherill's it will be quite as
useless. She and the young one have gone off larking, for wild flowers,
I believe. Mistress Kent went with them for dragon."
Then the men looked at each other.
"How long have they been gone, I wonder."
"Oh, since about high noon!"
Patty had looked up from her sewing at the second knock.
"Thy ride will get noised about and throw suspicion off guard, which
will be so much the better," she exclaimed.
They waited impatiently for the return of the guard, laughing over
another call or two. It was almost dusk when Janice and Primrose
returned.
"Friend Henry escaped safely, though, madam, if thou shouldst be taxed
with rudeness in not bowing at the proper time, pray apologize. We met
some old friends, but he was somewhat stiff. And the saddle is left with
one Master Winter at Fairemount. I ripped it that he might have the job
of sewing and earn a few pence. Friend Henry was glad enough to doff
petticoats and jump on astride; 'tis about the only thing I envy in a
man. And then I put on thy skirt, and we slunk into town quietly. Quite
an adventure, truly! If one could only hear the end of it!"
James Henry heard the next day that there was a warrant out for his son,
who was suspected of carrying messages and other matters to the rebel
headquarters at Valley Forge. He had left his horses and the wagon in
the market place, and disappeared. No one remembered letting him out on
his pass. It might be that he was still hiding in the town.
"There has been too much of this carrying back and forth," declared the
sergeant. "It is time there was a sterner hand at the helm, and not so
much pleasuring."
There were reasons why Captain Nevitt said nothing to his little sister
about the matter, and she was strictly forbidden to suggest it. The
Wetherill household had not seen Andrew, as he had watched his
opportunity to slip in unaware; consequently, nothing was gained by
questioning them.
"They would certainly have known if he had come in our absence," said
Madam Wetherill with an air of interest. "Of course we must be sorry to
have him in danger, but we will not lay the matter before Primrose."
There were stirring events on both sides. On the 7th of May the news
reached the Continental army of the recognition of France. The warmer
weather and the replenishment of food and clothing had inspirited the
men. Many new enlistments from the country around had come in. On this
morning they were assembled for prayers and thanksgiving. General
Steuben had drilled them until they presented a really soldierly
appearance. But their enthusiasm broke bounds when the salutes were
fired.
"Long live the King of France!" ran through the army with a shout.
Another salute was fired. "Long live the friendly European powers." And
the third, "The American States," was received with the wildest joy.
They all forgot the suffering of the long, dreary winter.
After a discourse by one of the chaplains, there was a collation. When
the General and Mrs. Washington retired the soldiers lined the way with
the cry of "Long live General Washington!" "Long live Lady Washington!"
a title that seemed to follow her, and that had been given her before by
Colonel Hancock.
It was supposed the campaign would open almost at once. But General
Howe's army had been demoralized more by dissipation than the
Continentals by hardships, and weakened by numerous desertions. The
officers had been in one round of gayety, and the city recalled their
charms long afterward. They had made the theater a reputable place of
amusement, and the higher-class balls had been well patronized by the
Tory ladies.
But the farewell to General Howe was to excel all other gayeties, and to
be an event long remembered, including a regatta, a tournament, and a
dance. Decorated barges left Knight's Wharf in the afternoon, full of
handsomely attired guests, who were carried to Old Fort, and escorted by
troops to the beautiful and spacious lawn of Walnut Grove. The English
fleet lay at anchor, flying their colors, and the transport ships were
crowded with spectators.
The tournament, with its two sets of knights ready to do battle for
their favorite ladies, sounds like a chapter out of the Middle Ages. New
York had abounded in gayeties, but this eclipsed anything yet attempted.
The apartment had been decorated by the British officers, foremost among
them young Andre, little dreaming then what fate had in store for him,
and how his life would end.
After the tournament, with its stilted magnificence, came a dance, a
display of fireworks, a supper with twenty-four slaves in Oriental
costumes, with silver collars and gilt armlets. The walls were hung with
mirrors, and thousands of wax tapers reflected the brilliance of silken
gowns and jewels, of scarlet and gold uniforms, of fair women and brave
men that made the Mischianza a glittering page of history.
It was true that many beside the Tory ladies graced the occasion. There
had been an undeniable friendliness between both Americans and British,
and many a heart won and lost, as it was said six hundred or more
deserters from Clinton's army found their way back to Philadelphia and
made worthy citizens, some of them indeed entering the American army.
Captain Nevitt had importuned Madam Wetherill to attend, for he was
resolved Primrose should see the pageant. Polly Wharton had, as she
admitted, nine minds out of the ten to go, as Thomas Wharton, the owner
of Walnut Grove, was her uncle. But her brother was in the American
army, and her heart really went with her country.
"As if a little dancing could matter!" said Phil Nevitt. "Nay, Miss
Polly, I doubt not but that some day I shall see you at the court of our
King, and perhaps dance with you in a palace. And I want Primrose to go,
but Madam Wetherill will not, though Major Andre himself sent the
invitation. He is such a charming, generous fellow that he can do more
with his winning air than many with their swords. But Primrose I must
take. She is such a pretty, saucy, captivating rebel that it is charming
to tease her. And, if you will go, her aunt will give in, I know."
"I'm not sure," Primrose declared with dainty hesitation, "whether I
want to go or not. I am certain, Phil, I shall be a worse rebel than
ever, afterward."
"Nay, Primrose, when you see the gallant gentlemen who have come over to
help the King restore peace and order, and punish some of the
ringleaders, you will be convinced of the great mistake the Americans
have made. And then we shall be friends again."
"I wish you were all going back to England with General Howe!"
"And you give me up so easily--your own brother?" with a pathetic
upbraiding in his tone.
"Only a half-brother! And the Tory half I can't like. The other, the
Henry half----"
"Well----" studying her mischievous, dancing eyes.
"I like that--a little," demurely.
"I shall be patient, sweet darling. I have come to love you dearly--your
mother's half, and your father's half."
She glanced up with her warm, frank heart shining in her eyes, and he
kissed her fondly.
"When thou lovest me well I shall know it by one sign: thou wilt kiss me
of thy own accord."
She had to steel her heart hard when he adopted the old phraseology, and
smiled in that beseeching manner.
"We shall not be converted, little Primrose," said Polly Wharton. "I
shall think of Allin at Valley Forge, and thou of thy splendid Quaker
cousin that so adroitly escaped the snare set for him. And we shall
twist the festivities about. When they drink to the King and the redcoat
army, we shall say to ourselves, 'Washington and the buff and blue.' And
when we dance, for there will be your brother and young Vane and Captain
Fordham, so we are sure of three partners, and as we whirl around we
shall say to ourselves 'Hurrah for the flag of the thirteen colonies!'"
"It looks quite patriotic that way," answered Primrose archly.
It ended by their going. Mrs. Stuart and Sally, who were hardly Whig or
Tory, promised to keep watch of them. And though Miss Auchmuty had been
crowned Queen of Beauty at the tournament, and there were the fair
Shippen women and the Chews, men paused to look at the sweet,
golden-haired child who was so simply gowned that her dress did not
detract from her beauty. And long afterward, when she was an old lady,
she could recount the famous scene that ended, as one might say, the
British possession of Philadelphia. For even as they danced amid the
gleaming lights and fragrant flowers, a premonition of what was to come,
although unexpected, and a bloodless victory, occurred. The redoubts
were sharply attacked by a daring body of rebels, but so well protected
that surprise was not possible.
Sir Henry Clinton arrived and the accomplished Andre was made his
adjutant general. Then came the news that a French fleet would sail up
the Delaware. Sir Henry prepared to leave at once, and the city was
shaken with both joy and alarm. At midnight, on the 18th of June, the
British stole away silently, to the great surprise of the inhabitants,
who knew Washington was preparing to descend upon them and feared a
bloody battle, for now the Continentals were well equipped, well
drilled, and strong in numbers.
Primrose sat poring over a book of verse. For a wonder there was no one
in to play cards. Madam Wetherill had been a little indisposed for
several days.
"Do go to bed, child," she said rather sharply. "Thou wilt turn into a
book next."
"I hope it will have a new, bright cover and not this musty, old one."
"I dare say, Miss Vanity."
"Good-night," and she made her pretty courtesy. Then she stood still at
the quick knock. Barely was the door opened when Captain Nevitt rushed
in and caught her to his heart.
"Little Primrose, darling Primrose, for I have learned to love thee
dearly, I have come to say good-by. We are ordered to New York and
leave at once. When I shall see thee again I cannot tell, but I may
send, and will write thee letters and letters. Hast thou one kiss that I
may take with me, holding all the sweetness of generous accord?"
"Oh, do not go! do not go! I have teased thee often! I have tried not to
love thee, but, after all----" And she was sobbing in his arms.
"It is a soldier's duty, dear. Wish me well, and I will take it as a
guerdon."
"Oh, I cannot wish thee well to fight against my country. My heart is
torn in two."
Her cry pierced his inmost soul. With all his love and persuasion she
had kept her loyalty. Gifts and pleasures had not won her. There was a
great gulf still between them.
"But for love's sake."
"If your men win I shall have no country. If they lose----"
"And if I should be lost----"
"Oh, Heaven bring thee back to me again!"
There were Captain Fordham and the lieutenant thanking Madam Wetherill
for her charming hospitality. But Philemon Henry Nevitt could only wring
her hand, as his eyes were full of tears and his voice drowned in the
grief of parting. Then the big door clanged on the night air, and there
was a little sobbing heap at the foot of the broad stairway.
"Come, dear," said Madam Wetherill, much moved. "Thou shalt sleep in my
bed and I will comfort thee."
It was true enough that the Continentals, marching down, found an empty
city. General Charles Lee had held back some information and acted in an
unpatriotic manner when his commander had reposed unlimited trust in
him. And a few days later his indecision was made manifest at the battle
of Monmouth, when he was courtmartialed and disgraced.
But another tall soldier came in buff and blue, and so amazed Primrose
that she hardly knew him. With him was Allin Wharton, who had much to
say about Andrew's work through the winter, and that no gift had ever
been more timely than Madam Wetherill's great bag of stockings that was
still talked about; and Lady Washington had esteemed it as one of the
most providential happenings.
"I have much to tell thee, sometime," Andrew said. "There is only a
moment now, for we are after the runaways." And then he gave her a long,
fond kiss.
Madam Wetherill glanced at them. Would it be the old story over again?
The battle of Monmouth was hard fought, but a victory for neither side,
since Sir Henry saved his stores at the sacrifice of many lives, and
escaped. Washington came back to the city for a brief stay and new
plans.
Lovely old Philadelphia, that had been William Penn's dream, was no
more. British occupation had overthrown its quaint charm. Gardens had
been destroyed, houses ruined, streets were a mass of filth and rubbish,
the country roads were full of lawless gangs who plundered inoffensive
people.
"Oh, how sweet is the quiet of these parts, freed from the anxious and
troublesome solicitations, hurries, and perplexities of woeful Europe,"
Penn had exclaimed, on his return from his first visit back to England.
But the quiet had disappeared; even the old Quaker homes, that had held
out alike from blaming foe and encouraging friend, were full of
apprehension.
Washington at once placed General Arnold in command. His marriage with
Mistress Margaret Shippen, and his beautiful home at Mount Pleasant,
where elegance and extravagance reigned, had rendered him an object of
disapprobation with the sober-thoughted and solid part of the community.
Joseph Ross, the president of the executive council, brought many
charges against him, which though angrily repelled at the time were
proved sadly true later on.
There were some trials of Tories, and two men were hanged for high
treason, both Quakers, one of whom had enlisted in Howe's army, and the
other was accused of numerous crimes. Many had to choose between exile,
or contempt that was ostracism at home. Dr. Duche had in the darkest
period written a letter to General Washington beseeching him to submit
to any proffer of peace that England might hold out, having lost his
ardent patriotism, and he went to his old home to meet with charges of
disloyalty there.
But people began to take heart a little, to clear up their wasted
gardens and fields and repair their houses. Some of the pleasure haunts
were opened again, and women ventured on their afternoon walks on the
streets, well protected, to be sure. There was, too, a certain amount of
gayety, tea-drinking and cards, and excursions up the river were well
patronized.
Andrew Henry, now sergeant, was detailed for a while among the troops to
remain in Philadelphia. Now that he had embarked in the war he preferred
a more active life, and it was too near his old home to be satisfactory.
But as soon as possible he reported to Madam Wetherill.
"I can never thank thee sufficiently for thy assistance and quick wit,"
he said to her. "Through it I escaped without harm, but I found
afterward they had more proof than I could have safely met. And when I
arrived at camp I dispatched a messenger to my father, telling him of my
changed mind and plans for the future."
"And he was angry enough!" interposed Madam Wetherill.
"It was worse than that. Mere anger is, perhaps, outlived. He had some
other plans," and the young Quaker flushed. "He gave me a fortnight to
return, and, if not, would put Penn in my place and I need expect
nothing more."
"See what thy talk hath led to, Primrose! For I was afraid thy patriotic
rebellion was contagious."
Andrew smiled down on the child. "She hath been a wise little one, and I
am not sorry to be her soldier. With women like you, madam, to bring up
girls, and Lady Washington to care for disheartened soldiers, there will
be still greater victories, and there can be but one end."
Primrose looked up with an enchanting smile. "I am proud of thee," she
made answer with an exultant ring in her voice. "And there is Polly
Wharton's brother who ran over me on the ice, and--my own brother that I
pray may come around."
"I feel very much as if I had been on both sides of the fence," remarked
Madam Wetherill. "Still I could not have helped so much if I had been
outspoken on the rebel side. I heard many a little thing that could be
passed on, and found how a few supplies could be forwarded without
suspicion. But, Andrew, wilt thou never regret this step?"
"I considered well for many weeks. There were some other conditions I
could not wisely accept. And Penn will be a good son to my father.
Otherwise I could hardly have left him. But 'tis done now, and though I
shall long many times to see my dear mother's face, I shall fight none
the less bravely for our land. I hope to follow our intrepid Washington,
and may soon be transferred."
"And leave the city?" cried Primrose in dismay.
"I do not quite like our new general. I am afraid the coming winter will
be like the last, and I, for one, would have no heart for pleasure until
we have won our independence."
Andrew promised to come in again when he was off duty, and Primrose
reluctantly let him go. Yet she watched him with glistening eyes, and
could hardly decide how much was glory and how much tears.