My personal difficulties were not made more easy to bear by the course
of public events. Howe had taken New York. In November Fort Washington
fell. Jack, who was within its walls, got away, but was slightly
wounded. Our English general, Lee, had begun already to intrigue against
Mr. Washington, writing, as Dr. Rush confided to my aunt, that he, Lee,
ought to be made dictator. My aunt received the impression that the
doctor, who loved his country well, was becoming discontented with our
chief; but neither then nor later did she change her own opinion of the
reserved and courteous Virginian.
He soon justified her views of his capacity. On December I he broke down
the bridges in his rear over the Raritan, and marched through Jersey
with a dwindling army. At Princeton he had but three thousand men;
destroying every boat, he wisely put the broad Delaware between his army
and the enemy.
Lord Cornwallis halted at the river, waiting for it to freeze that he
might cross, and until this should happen went back with Howe to New
York. About December 15 of ‘76, General Lee was captured, and,
strange as it may now seem, no calamity yet come upon us created more
consternation. Meanwhile our own alarmed citizens began to bury their
silver plate. While the feeble were flying, and the doubtful were
ready to renew their oath to the king, the wary and resolute
commander-in-chief saw his chance.
To aid his courageous resolve came Sullivan and Gates from Lee’s late
command. “At sunset on Christmas day we crossed the Delaware,” writes
Jack. “My general was in a small boat, with Knox, and two boatmen. We
were ten hours in the ice, and marched nine miles, after crossing, in
a blinding storm of sleet. By God’s grace we took one thousand of those
blackguard Hessians, and, but for Cadwalader’s ill luck with the ice,
would have got Donop also. I had a finger froze, but no worse accident.
“I dare say you know we fell back beyond Assunpink Creek, below Trenton.
There we fought my lord marquis again with good fortune. Meanwhile he
weakened his force at Princeton, and, I fancy, thought we were in a
trap; but our general left fires burning, passed round the enemy’s left,
and, as we came near Princeton at sunrise, fell upon Colonel Mawhood on
his way to join Cornwallis. I was close to General Mercer when we saw
them, and had as usual a fit of the shakes, hang them! Luckily there was
small leisure to think.
“In the first onset, which was fierce, our brave general was mortally
wounded; and then, his Excellency coming up, we routed them finely. So
away went Cornwallis, with the trapped hot after the trappers. We have
the Jerseys and two thousand prisoners. I do not think even Miss Wynne
can imagine what courage it took for our general to turn as he did on an
army like that of Cornwallis’. Are you never coming?
“It is sad that the Southern officers look upon us and those of New
England as tradesfolk, and this makes constant trouble, especially among
the militia, who come and go much as they please. I have had no personal
difficulty, but there have been several duels, of which little is said.
“It is to be hoped that Congress will now order all enlistments to be
for the war, else we shall soon be in a mortal bad way. Hast heard of
Miss Peniston?”
This letter came soon after the smart little winter campaign in Jersey
had made us all so happy.
“It will last a good while yet,” said James Wilson. “And when are you
going, Hugh?” Indeed, I began at last to see a way opened, as we of
Friends say; for now, in the spring, our old clerk hobbled back to his
desk, and I knew that my father would no longer be left without friendly
and familiar help. But before he could assume his full duties August was
upon us-August of ‘77, a year for me most eventful. Darthea’s letters
to my aunt grew less and less frequent, and, as I thought, had an air
of sadness unusual in this gladsome creature. Once she spoke of Captain
Wynne as absent, and once that he, like Jack, had had a slight wound in
the storm of Fort Washington. Of politics she could say nothing, as her
letters had usually to pass our lines.
On July 31 Washington knew that Howe’s fleet was off the Delaware capes.
Meanwhile he had crossed that river into Pennsylvania, and hurried his
army across country, finally encamping on a Saturday at Nicetown, some
five miles from Philadelphia. I rode out that evening to meet Jack,
whose troop camped even nearer to town, and close to the tents of the
headquarters staff. The general lay for this night at Stenton, where our
Quaker friends, the Logans, lived. He was shown, I was told, the secret
stairway and the underground passage to the stable and beyond, and was
disposed to think it curious.
Jack, now a captain, in a new suit of blue and buff, looked brown and
hardy, and his figure had spread, but the locks were as yellow and the
cheeks as rosy as ever I knew them.
Dear Aunt Gainor made much of him that evening, and we talked late into
the night of battles and generals and what had gone with Lord Howe. I
went to bed discontented, feeling myself to be a very inconsiderable
person, and Jack rode away to camp. The next day being Sunday, the 24th
of August, his Excellency marched into town by Front street at the head
of the flower of his army, in all about eleven thousand. Fine men they
were, but many half clad and ill shod; fairly drilled too, but not as
they were later in the war. The town was wild with delight, and every
one glad save the Tories and the Quakers, many of whom remained all day
in their houses.
This march being made only to exhibit the army to friend and foe,
the troops moved out High street and by the middle ferry across the
Schuylkill, on their way toward the Delaware to meet Mr. Howe, who,
having landed at the head of Elk River, was now on his way toward
Philadelphia. His troops were slow, the roads bad and few, the ague in
great force and severe--or so we heard. I rode sadly with our people as
far as Darby, and then turned homeward a vexed and dispirited man. It
was, I think, on the 4th of August that our general, who had ridden on
in advance of his army, first met Marquis Lafayette.
My aunt, who spoke French with remarkable fluency and a calm disregard
of accent and inflections, was well pleased to entertain the
French gentleman, and at her house I had the happiness to make his
acquaintance, greatly, as it proved, to my future advantage. He was glad
to find any who spoke his own tongue well, and discussed our affairs
with me, horrified at the lack of decent uniforms and discipline, but,
like me, pleased with the tall, strong men he saw in our ranks. Later my
acquaintance with French was of much use to me; so little can a man tell
what value an accomplishment will have for him.
The marquis was very young, and somewhat free in stating his opinions.
At this time he thought Mr. Howe intended Charleston, and, like others,
was amazed at his folly in not going up the Delaware Bay to land his
troops. His strange strategy left Burgoyne to the fate in store for
him at Saratoga, where the latter general was to act a first part in
a tragic drama much finer than those he wrote, which were so greatly
praised by the fine ladies in London, and indeed by some better critics.
A letter of Jack’s came to hand during this week. In it he said my aunt
must leave, as he was sure we had not force enough to keep General Howe
out of Philadelphia. But the old lady said, “Not I, indeed!” and I think
no mortal power could have induced her to go away. She even declined to
bury her silver, as many had done. Not so the rest of the Whigs. Every
one fled who knew where to go, or who feared to be called to account;
and none would hear of defending the town, as should have been
attempted.
Jack’s letter went on to say that in Delaware the general had a
narrow escape. “He rode out,” says Jack, “with Marquis Lafayette on a
reconnaissance, attended by but two officers and an orderly. General
Sullivan had an officer follow with a half-troop; but the general,
fearing such numbers might attract attention, ordered them to wait
behind a thicket. Looking thence, they saw the general ride direct
toward a picket of the enemy, which from their vantage they could see,
but he could not. An English officer, perceiving him, seemed to give an
order to fire; but as the men raised their pieces he struck them up. As
he was about to give the order to fire, the general, being satisfied,
had turned his back to ride away. It is a curious tale, is it not? and
none can explain it.”
Long years after I myself met an English officer, a General Henderson,
in Canada, and on my telling him the incident, he said at once it was
he who was concerned, and that when the general turned to ride away he
could not make up his mind to shoot down a man who had turned his back.
He was amazed and pleased to know who it was he thus spared.
On the 11th of September, at evening, came the disaster of Brandywine,
and on the 26th Lord Cornwallis marched into our city, with two
batteries and the Sixteenth Dragoons and Grenadiers. They were received
quietly, and that evening my Cousin Arthur appeared at our house. My
father, who had been very inert of late, seemed to arouse himself, and
expressed quite forcibly his joy and relief at the coming of the troops.
He recounted his griefs, too: how that, refusing the militia tax, the
Committee of Safety had taken away his great tankard, and later two
tables, which was true enough. Then, to my amazement, my father declared
Arthur must stay with us, which he was nothing loath to do.
I was cool, as you may suppose, but it was difficult for man or woman
to resist Arthur Wynne when he meant to be pleasant; and so, putting my
dislike aside, I found myself chatting with him about the war and what
not. In fact, he was a guest, and what else could I do?
My aunt kept herself indoors and would none of the Galloways and Allens,
who had come back in swarms, nor even the neutrals, like Mr. Penn,
whom she much liked. The day after the town was occupied, Captain
Wynne appeared early in the morning, as we were discussing a matter of
business. He took it for granted, I presume, that my aunt would see him,
and went past the turbaned black boy despite his small remonstrances.
My aunt rose to the full of her great height, her nose in the air, and
letting fall a lapful of papers.
“To what,” she said, “have I the honour to owe a visit from Mr. Wynne?
Is my house an inn, that any officer of the king may enter whether I
will or not?”
Although he must have been surprised, he was perfectly at his ease.
Indeed, I envied him his self-possession.
“Madam,” he said, “I am charged with a letter from Miss Peniston.”
“You may put it on the table,” says Mistress Wynne. “My brother may
choose his society. I ask the same privilege. It will not consist of
gentlemen of your profession.”
Mr. Wynne’s face grew black under its dark skin. “Madam,” he said, “I
stay nowhere as an unwelcome guest. I thank you for past kindness, and
I humbly take my leave. I could have done you a service as to this
business of the quartering of officers, and you shall still have my good
offices for the sake of the many pleasant hours I have passed in your
house. As my Cousin Hugh says nothing, I am glad to think that he is of
a different opinion from that which you have put in words so agreeably.”
With this he went away, leaving my aunt red in the face, and speechless
with wrath.
I thought he had the best of it; but I merely said, “My dear aunt, you
should not have been so hard with him.” I did, indeed, think it both
unwise and needless.
“Stuff and nonsense!” says Miss Wynne, walking about as my father used
to do. “I do not trust him, and he has got that girl in his toils, poor
child! I wonder what lies he has told her. How does he hold her? I did
think that was past any man’s power; and she is unhappy too. When a
woman like Darthea begins to find a man out, she can’t help showing it,
and some are more frank on paper than in talk; that is her way. I am
afraid I made mischief once, for I told him long ago that I meant her
to marry you; and then I saw he did not like it, and I knew I had been
a goose. Whatever is the reason he hates you, Hugh? Oh yes, he does--he
does. Is it the woman? I will have no redcoats in my house.”
I got a chance to say--what I was sorry to have to say--how little need
there was for him to fear poor me, whom Darthea wished to have nothing
to do with, I thought.
“Her loves are like her moods, my dear Hugh; who knows how long they
will last? Until a woman is married she is not to be despaired of.”