“Oh, confound your thinkings! It is action now. Let the bigwigs think.”
I could not tell a man I then knew but slightly how immense was my
reluctance to make this complete break with the creed of my father,
and to absolutely disobey him, as I knew I must do if I followed my
inclinations; nor did I incline to speak of such other difficulties as
still kept me undecided. I said at last that if I took up arms it would
be with Macpherson or Cowperthwaite’s Quakers.
“Why not?” he said. “But, by George! man, do something! There are, I
hear, many Friends among the Cowperthwaite Blues. Do they give orders
with ‘thou’ and ‘thee,’ I wonder?”
I laughed, and hurried away. The town was already in a state of vast
excitement, women in tears, and men stopping even those they did not
know to ask for news. I ran all the way to my aunt’s, eager to tell it.
In the hall I stood a minute to get my breath, and reflect. I knew full
well, as I recognised various voices, that my intelligence would mean
tears for some, and joy for others.
My long-taught Quaker self-control often served me as well as the
practised calm I observed to be the expression assumed by the best-bred
officers of the army on occasions that caused visible emotion in others.
I went in quietly, seeing a well-amused party of dames and younger folk,
with, over against the chimneypiece, the great Benjamin Franklin, now in
the full prime of varied usefulness, a benevolent face, and above it the
great dome of head, which had to me even then a certain grandeur. He was
talking eagerly with Mistress Wynne--two striking figures.
Mr. Galloway was in chat with his kinsman, Mr. Chew. The younger women,
in a group, were making themselves merry with my friend Jack, who was
a bit awkward in a fine suit I had plagued him into buying. And what a
beauty he was, as he stood, half pleased with the teasing, blushing now
and then, and fencing prettily in talk, as I knew by the laughter! At
the tables the elder women were gambling and intent on their little
gains and losses, while the vast play of a nobler game was going on in
the greater world of men.
To my surprise, I saw among the guests an English lieutenant. I say “to
my surprise,” for the other officers had gone of their own accord, or
had been ordered to leave by the Committee of Safety. This one, and
another, were, as I learned afterward, on their way through the town to
join General Gage. There was evidently some dispute as to the cards. I
heard high-pitched voices, and “spadille,” “basto,” “matador”--all the
queer words of quadrille, their favoured game.
The lieutenant was bending over Mrs. Perguson’s chair. He was a fellow I
had seen before and never liked, a vulgar-featured man, too fat for his
years, which may have been some twenty-eight. He played the best hand
of all of them, and, as my aunt declared, that was quite enough; for the
rest she could keep any man in order. I held back in the gloom of the
hall, looking at their busy gaiety, and wondering what they would say to
my news.
As I went in I heard Woodville, the lieutenant, say, “The king--play the
king, Mrs. Ferguson.”
“No advice!” cried Mrs. Galloway.
“But I am betting,” said he. “The king forever! We have won, madam. The
king is always in luck.”