I was to have come home earlier, but in June I got letters from my
father instructing me to await a vessel which would reach Jamaica in
June, and sail thence to Madeira. There were careful instructions given
as to purchase of wines, and the collection of delayed payments for
staves, in the wine islands.
I did not like it, but I was young, and to travel had its charm after
all. Had there been no Darthea, I had been altogether pleased. The
excuse of this new business made me smile. It was clear my father was
using that pretext to keep me out of the mischief which was involving
most young men of courage, and creating in them a desire to train as
soldiers in the organisations which were everywhere being formed. He was
unwise enough to say that my cousin, from whom he had heard, sent his
love, and was glad I was out of our disloyal and uneasy country.
There was no help for it, and thus it chanced that not until September
did I see the red brick houses of my native city. Late news I had almost
none, for none reached me, and I was become wild with desire to learn
what the summer months had brought forth.
On the fifth, day of September, 1774, at seven in the morning, I saw my
Jack in a boat come out to meet me as we came to anchor in the stream.
He looked brown and handsome, reddening with joy as he made me welcome.
All were well, he said. I did not ask for Darthea.
My father was on the slip, and told me that business might wait until
the evening. My aunt had not been well, and would see me at once. This
really was all, and I might have been any one but his son for what there
was in his mode of meeting me. I walked with Jack to my Aunt Gainor’s,
where he left me. I was pleased to see the dear lady at her breakfast,
in a white gown with frills and a lace tucker, with a queen’s nightcap
such as Lady Washington wore when I first saw her. Mistress Wynne looked
a great figure in white, and fell on my neck and kissed me; and I must
sit down, and here were coffee and hot girdle-cakes and blueberries, and
what not. Did I like Jamaica? And had I fetched some fans? She must have
her choice; and rum, she hoped, I had not forgot. How well I looked, and
my eyes were bluer than ever! Was it the sea had got into them? and so
on.
I asked about the Congress, and she was off in a moment. Mr. John Adams
had been to see her, and that cat, Bessy Ferguson, had been rude to him.
An ill-dressed man, but clear of head and very positive; and the members
from Virginia she liked better. Mr. Peyton Randolph had called; and I
would like Mr. Pendleton; he had most delightful manners. Mr. Livingston
had been good enough to remember me, and had asked for me. He thought we
must soon choose a general, and Mr. Washington had been talked of.
“Has it come to that?” said I.
“Yes; all the North is up, and Gage has more troops and is at work
intrenching himself, he who was to settle us with three regiments. Mrs.
Chew was here, and behaved like the lady she is. But they are all in a
nice mess, Master Hugh, and know not what to do. I hate these moderates.
Mr. Washington is a man as big as your father, and better builded. I
like him, although he says little and did not so much as smile at Bessy
Ferguson’s nonsense. And Darthea--you do not ask about Darthea. She is
playing the mischief with Jack and her captain. She will not let me talk
about him. He is in Boston with Mr. Gage, I hear. Why don’t you tell me
about yourself?”
“How could I, Aunt Gainor? Thou--” and I laughed.
Then she became grave. “You will have to declare yourself and take
sides; and how can I counsel you to resist your father? You must
think it over and talk to Mr. Wilson. He is of the Congress. Poor Mr.
Wetherill the Meeting has a mind to bounce, and he takes it hard. Come
back at eleven, and we will go to Chestnut street, where they meet,
and see the gentlemen go into the Carpenters’ Hall. I came to town on
purpose. And now go; I must dress.”
At half-past ten--my aunt very splendid--we drove down Second street and
up Chestnut, where was a great crowd come to look on. Dr. Rush, seeing
my aunt’s chariot, got in at Second street, and, being one of the
members, enabled us to get near to Carpenters’ Alley, where at the far
end, back from the street, is the old building in which the Congress was
to be held. Jack met us here, and got up beside the coachman. I think
none had a better view than we. Andrew Allen came to speak to us, and
then Mr. Galloway, not yet scared by the extreme measures of which few
as yet dreamed, and which by and by drove these and many other gentlemen
into open declarations for the crown.
I saw James Pemberton looking on sadly, and near him other Friends with
sour aspects. Here and there militia uniforms were seen amid the dull
grays, the smocks of farmers and mechanics, and the sober suits of
tradesmen, all come to see.
“The Rev. Dr. Duche passed us,” says Jack, whom now I quote, “in a fine
wig and black silk small-clothes. He was to make this day the famous
prayer which so moved Mr. Adams.” And later, I may add, he went over to
the other side. “Soon others came. Some we knew not, but the great Dr.
Rush, pointed out such as were of his acquaintance.
“‘There.’ he said, ‘is Carter Braxton. He tells me he does not like the
New England men--either their religion or their manners; and I like them
both.’ The doctor was cynical, I thought, but very interesting. I set
down but little of what he said or I saw; for most of it I forget.
“‘There Is the great Virginia orator, Mr. Patrick Henry,’ said the
doctor. He was in simple dress, and looked up at us curiously as he went
by with Pendleton and Mr. Carroll. ‘He has a great estate--Mr. Carroll,’
said the doctor. ‘I wonder he will risk it.’ He was dressed in brown
silk breeches, with a yellow figured waistcoat, and, like many of them,
wore his sword. Mr. Franklin was not yet come home, and some were late.
“Presently the doctor called, and a man in the military dress of the
Virginia militia turned toward us. ‘Colonel Washington,’ said our
doctor, ‘will permit me to present him to a lady, a great friend of
liberty. Mistress Wynne, Colonel Washington.’
“‘I have already had the honour,’ he said, taking off his hat--a
scrolled beaver.
“‘He is our best soldier, and we are fortunate that he is with us,’ said
the doctor, as the colonel moved away.”
The doctor changed his mind later, and helped, I fear, to make the
trouble which came near to costing Conway his life. I have always been
a great admirer of fine men, and as the Virginia colonel moved like Saul
above the crowd, an erect, well-proportioned figure, he looked taller
than he really was, but, as my aunt had said, was not of the bigness of
my father.
“He has a good nose,” said my Aunt Gainor, perhaps conscious of her own
possessions in the way of a nasal organ, and liking to see it as notable
in another; “but how sedate he is! I find Mr. Peyton Randolph more
agreeable, and there is Mr. Robert Morris and John Dickinson.”
Then John Adams went by, deep in talk with Roger Sherman, whom I thought
shabbily dressed; and behind them Robert Livingston, whom my aunt knew.
Thus it was, as I am glad to remember, that I beheld these men who were
to be the makers of an empire. Perhaps no wiser group of people ever met
for a greater fate, and surely the hand of God was seen in the matter;
for what other colony--Canada, for example,--had such men to show?
There, meanwhile, was England, with its great nobles and free commons
and a splendid story of hard-won freedom, driving madly on its way of
folly and defeat.
Of what went on within the hall we heard little. A declaration of rights
was set forth, committees of correspondence appointed, and addresses
issued to the king and people of Great Britain. Congress broke up, and
the winter went by; Gage was superseded by Sir William Howe; Clinton and
Burgoyne were sent out, and ten thousand men were ordered to America to
aid the purposes of the king.
The cold season was soon upon us, and the eventful year of ‘75 came in
with a great fall of snow, but with no great change for me and those
I loved. A sullen rage possessed the colonies, and especially
Massachusetts, where the Regulation Acts were quietly disregarded. No
counsellors or jurymen would serve under the king’s commission. The old
muskets of the French and Indian wars were taken from the corners and
put in order. Men drilled, and women cast bullets.
Failing to corrupt Samuel Adams and Hancock, Gage resolved to arrest
them at Concord and to seize on the stores of powder and ball. “The
heads of traitors will soon decorate Temple Bar,” said a London gazette;
and so the march of events went on. In the early spring Dr. Franklin
came home in despair of accommodation; he saw nothing now to do but to
fight, and this he told us plainly. His very words were in my mind
on the night of April 23d of this year of ‘75, as I was slowly and
thoughtfully walking over the bridge where Walnut crossed the Dock
Creek, and where I stayed for a moment to strike flint and steel in
order to light my pipe. Of a sudden I heard a dull but increasing noise
to north, and then the strong voice of the bell in the state-house. It
was not ringing for fire. Somewhat puzzled, I walked swiftly to Second
street, where were men and women in groups. I stopped a man and asked
what had chanced. He said, “A battle! a battle! and General Gage
killed.” Couriers had reached the coffee-houses, but no one on the
street seemed to have more than this vague information; all were going
toward Chestnut street, where a meeting was to be held, as I learned,
and perhaps fuller news given out.
I pushed on, still hearing the brazen clamour of the bell. As I crossed
High street I came upon James Wilson and Mr. Graydon. They stopped me to
tell of the great tidings just come by swift post-riders of the fight
at Lexington. After giving me the full details, Wilson left us. Said
Graydon? very serious: “Mr. Wynne, how long are you to be in deciding?
Come and join Mr. Cadwalader’s troop. Few of us ride as well as you.”