“And so do I,” she ran on. “I loved her at sight. But if ever thou
dost come to love her--and I see signs, oh, I see signs--if ever,--then
beware of thy Cousin Wynne. I heard him once say to thy father, ‘If
there is only one glass of the Madeira left, I want it, because there
is only one.’ And there is only one of a good woman. What another wants
that man is sure to want, and I do not like him, Hugh. Thou dost, I
think. He has some reason to linger here. Is it this woman? Or would lie
spy out the land to know what we mean to do? I am sure he has orders to
watch the way things are going, or why should not he have gone with
Sir Guy Carleton to Quebec? It is a roundabout way to go through
Philadelphia.”
I said I did not know; but her words set me to thinking, and to
wondering, too, as I had not done before. Another time she asked me why
Arthur talked so as to disgust my father out of all idea of going to see
the home of his ancestors. I promised to be careful of my relations with
my cousin, whom I liked less and less as time ran on.
At Lewes we parted. Shall I ever forget it? Those great blue eyes above
the gunwale, and then a white handkerchief, and then no more. When I
could no longer see the ship’s hull I climbed a great sand-dune, and
watched even the masts vanish on the far horizon. It was to me a solemn
parting. The seas were wide and perilous in those days, the buccaneers
not all gone, and the trading ship was small, I thought, to carry a load
so precious.
As the sun went down I walked over the dunes, which are of white sand,
and forever shifting, so as at one time to threaten with slow burial
the little town, and at another to be moving on to the forest. As they
changed, old wrecks came into view, and I myself saw sticking out the
bones of sailors buried here long ago, or haply cast ashore. A yet
stranger thing I beheld, for the strong northwest wind, which blew hard
all day and favoured the “Fair Trader,” had so cast about the fine sand
that the buried snow of last winter was to be seen, which seemed to me
a thing most singular. When I told Jack, he made verses about it, as he
did sometimes, but would show them only to me. I forget entirely what
he wrote; how a man can make verses and dig rhymes out of his head has
always been to me a puzzle.
At the town inn, “The Lucky Fisherman,” I saw, to my surprise, Jack
on horseback, just arrived. He said he had a debt to collect for his
father. It was no doubt true, for Jack could not tell even the mildest
fib and not get rose-red. But he knew how I grieved at this separation
from my mother, and, I think, made an occasion to come down and bear me
company on my long ride home. I was truly glad to have him. Together we
wandered through the great woodlands Mr. Penn had set aside to provide
firewood forever for the poor of Lewes.
The next day we sent Tom on ahead with our sacks to Newcastle, where we
meant to bait ourselves and our horses. But first we rode down the coast
to Rehoboth, and had a noble sea-bath; also above the beach was a bit of
a fresh-water lake, most delicious to take the salt off the skin. After
this diversion, which as usual dismissed my blue devils, we set out up
the coast of the Bay of Delaware, and were able to reach Newcastle that
evening, and the day after our own homes.
This ride gave us a fine chance for talk, and we made good use of it.
As we passed between the hedges and below the old Swede church nigh, to
Wilmington, Jack fell into talk of Darthea Peniston. Why we had not done
so before I knew not then; we were both shy of the subject. I amused
myself by insisting that she was but a light-minded young woman with no
strong basis of character, and too fond of a red coat. It did amuse me
to see how this vexed Jack, who would by no means accept my verdict. We
conversed far longer on the stormy quarrels of the colonies and their
stepmother England, who seemed to have quite forgot of what blood and
breed they were.
Concerning my Cousin Wynne, with whom at first I had been much taken,
Jack was not inclined to speak freely. This I foolishly thought was
because Arthur laughed at him, and was, as he knew, of some folks’
notion that Jack was a feminine kind of a fellow. That he had the quick
insight and the heart of a woman was true, but that was not all of my
dear Jack.
My aunt came back to town early in September, and I took up my abode in
her town house, where a new life began for me. Letters went and came at
long intervals. Our first reached me far on in October.
My mother wrote: “There is great anger here in London because of this
matter of the tea. Lord Germaine says we are a tumultuous rabble;
thy father has been sent for by Lord North, and I fear has spoken
unadvisedly as to things at home. It is not well for a wife to differ
with her husband, and this I will not; nevertheless I am not fully of
his way of thinking as to these sad troubles; this, however, is not for
any eye or ear but thine. Benjamin, Franklin was here to see us last
week. He seems to think we might as well, or better, pay for the tea,
and this suited thy father; but after thus agreeing they went wide
apart, Franklin having somewhat shed his Quaker views. I did fear at
times that the talk would be strong.
“When he had gone away, thy father said he never had the Spirit with
him, and was ever of what creed did most advantage him, and perhaps
underneath of none at all. But this I think not. He hath much of the
shrewd wisdom of New England, which I like not greatly; but as to this,
I know some who have less of any wisdom, and, after all, I judge not a
man so wise, and so much my elder.
“General Gage, lately come hither on a visit, we are told assured the
king that no other colony would stand by Massachusetts, and that four
regiments could put an end to the matter. I am no politician, but it
makes me angry to hear them talk of us as if we were but a nursery of
naughty children. It seems we are to pay for the tea, and until we do no
ships may enter Boston harbour. Also all crown officers who may commit
murder are to be tried in England; and there is more, but I forget.”
This was most of it fresh news to us. Meanwhile Hutchinson, the governor
of the rebel State, was assuring Lord North that to resist was against
our interest, and we, being “a trading set,” would never go to extremes.
“As if,” said Wilson, “nations, like men, had not passions and emotions,
as well as day-books and ledgers.”
Meanwhile at home our private affairs were rapidly wound up and put
in good condition. My father found it difficult to collect his English
debts, and so had to limit his purchases, which we stowed as they came
over, declining to sell. As business failed, I was more and more at
leisure, and much in the company of my cousin, whom to-day I disliked,
and tomorrow thought the most amusing and agreeable of companions.
He taught me to shoot ducks at League Island, and chose a good
fowling-piece for me.
On Sundays I went to hear my aunt’s friend, the Rev. Mr. White, preach
at Christ Church, and would not go to Meeting, despite Samuel Wetherill,
whose Society of Free Quakers did not come to life until 1780. Meanwhile
by degrees I took to wearing finer garments. Cards I would never touch,
nor have I often, to this day.
One morning, long after my parents left, my Aunt Gainor looked me over
with care, pleased at the changes in my dress, and that evening she
presented me with two fine sets of neck and wrist ruffles, and with
paste buckles for knees and shoes. Then she told me that my cousin, the
captain, had recommended Pike as a fencing-master, and she wished me
to take lessons; “for,” said she, “who knows but you may some day have
another quarrel on your hands, and then where will you be?”
I declared that my father would be properly furious; but she laughed,
and opened and shut her fan, and said he was three thousand miles away,
and that she was my guardian, and responsible for my education. I was
by no means loath, and a day later went to see the man with my Cousin
Arthur, who asked, as we went, many questions about my mother, and then
if my father had left England, or had been to Wyncote.
I had, as he spoke, a letter in my pocket writ in the neat characters
I knew so well; our clerk coming from New York had just given it to me,
and as I had not as yet read it, liking for this rare pleasure to taste
it when alone, I did not mention it to my cousin. I told him I was sure
my father would not go to Wales, both because of business, and for other
reasons; but I hoped when he came back to get leave to be a year away,
and then I should be sure to visit our old nest.
My cousin said, “A year--a year,” musingly, and asked when my parents
would return.