No, no; he needed no help. Did I ever hear from Wyncote, and how was
William? I made sure he had once again taken me for my cousin. I found
it was vain to insist upon my being his son. For a moment he would seem
puzzled, and would then call me Arthur. At last, when he became vexed,
and said angrily that I was behaving worse than Hugh, I recalled Dr.
Rush’s advice, and humouring his delusion, said, “Uncle, let me help
you.” Meanwhile he was fumbling nervously at the papers, tying and
untying the same bundle, which seemed to be chiefly old bills and
invoices.
“Here it is,” he went on. “Take it, and have a care that thou hast it
duly considered by James Wilson, or another as good. Then we will see.”
“What is it, uncle?” I returned.
He said it was the reconveyance of Wyncote to my grandfather; and with
entirely clear language, and no fault of thought that I could observe,
he stated that at need he would execute a proper title to Godfrey, the
present man.
I was struck dumb with astonishment and pity. Here was a man acting
within a world of delusion as to who I was, and with as much competence
as ever in his best days. I did not know what to say, nor even what to
do. At last I rose, and put the old yellow parchment in my coat pocket,
saying I was greatly obliged by his kindness.
Then, his business habits acting as was their wont, he said, “But it
will be proper for thee to give me a receipt.”
I said it was not needed, but he insisted; and at this I was puzzled.
I did not want the deed, still less did I want it to pass into Arthur’s
hands. I said, “Very good, sir,” and sitting down again, wrote a
receipt, and? calmly signing my own name, gave it to him. He did not
look at it, but folded and indorsed it, and threw it into the little red
leather trunk on the table.
I went away to my aunt’s without more delay, a much-astounded man. The
good lady was no less astonished. We read the deed over with care, but
its legal turns and its great length puzzled us both, and at last my
aunt said:
“Let me keep it, Hugh. It is a queer tangle. Just now we can do nothing,
and later we shall see. There will be needed some wiser legal head than
mine or yours, and what will come of it who can say? At all events, Mr.
Arthur has it not, and in your father’s condition he himself will hardly
be able to make a competent conveyance. Indeed, I think he will forget
the whole business. I presume Master Wynne is not likely to return in a
hurry.”
In the beginning of April General Arnold married our beautiful Margaret
Shippen, and took her to the new home, Mount Pleasant, above the shaded
waters of the quiet Schuylkill. Tea-parties and punch-drinking followed,
as was the custom.
Mr. Arnold, as my aunt called him, after a fashion learned in London,
and also common in the colonies, gave his bride Mount Pleasant as a
dowry, and none knew--not even the fair Margaret--that it was hopelessly
mortgaged. Hither came guests in scores for a week after the marriage
to drink tea with madam, the men taking punch upstairs with the groom,
while the women waited below, and had cakes and gossip, in which this
winter was rich enough to satisfy those of all parties.
It was a year of defeat, and again the weaker folk, like Joseph Warder
and some much better known,--I mention no names,--were talking of terms,
or, by their firesides with a jug of Hollands, were criticising our
leader, and asking why he did not move. Meanwhile the army was as ill
off as ever it had been since the camping at Valley Forge, while the air
here in the city was full of vague rumours of defection and what not. I
was of necessity caught in the vortex of gaiety which my chief loved and
did much to keep up. He liked to see his aides at his table, and used
them as a part of the excessive state we thought at this time most
unseemly.
I remember well an afternoon in April of this year, when, the spring
being early, all manner of green things were peeping forth, while I
walked to and fro in the hall at Mount Pleasant, that I might receive
those who called and excuse the absence of the host. I wandered out,
for as yet none came to call. The air was soft like summer, and, sweeter
than birds overhead or the fragrant arbutus on the upland slopes, came
Darthea in virgin white, and a great hat tied under her chin with long
breadths of blue ribbon. My aunt walked with her from her coach, and
close after them came a laughing throng of men and women, for the most
part of the governor’s set. There was bad news from the South, which
was by no means unwelcome to these people, if I might judge from their
comments. My aunt walked with them in silent wrath, and after I had met
them at the door, turned aside with me and bade me go with her on the
lawn, where the grass was already green.
“I have held my tongue,” she said. “These people have neither manners
nor hearts. I told Mr. Shippen as much. And where does your general get
all his money? It is vulgar, this waste. Look!” she said; “look there!
It is well to feed the poor after a wedding; I like the old custom;
but this is mere ostentation.” It was true; there was a crowd of the
neighbouring farm people about the detached kitchen, eager for the food
and rum which I saw given daily in absurd profusion. My Aunt Gainor
shook her head.
“It will turn out badly, Hugh. This comes of a woman marrying beneath
her. The man may be a good soldier,--oh, no doubt he is,--but he is not
a gentleman. You must get away, Hugh.” Indeed, I much desired to do so,
but until now had been detained, despite repeated applications to my
chief.
My aunt said no more, but went into the house, leaving me to await the
coming of the many guests, men and women, gentlemen of the Congress,
with officers in uniform, who flocked to this too hospitable mansion. I
had just heard from Jack, and the contrast shown by his account of the
want of arms, clothing, and food seemed to me most sad when I reflected
upon the extravagance and useless excess I had seen throughout the
winter now at an end. I did not wonder at my aunt’s anger. Her fears
were but the vague anticipations of a wise old woman who had seen the
world and used good eyes and a sagacious brain. How little did she or I
dream of the tragedy of dishonour into which the mad waste, the growing
debts, the bitterness of an insulted and ambitious spirit, were to lead
the host of this gay house!
As I turned in my walk I saw the general dismount, and went to meet him.
He said: “I shall want you at nine to-night at my quarters in town--an
errand of moment into the Jerseys. You must leave early to-morrow. Are
you well horsed?”
I said yes, and was, in fact, glad of any more active life. Before nine
that night I went to headquarters, and found a number of invitations to
dine or sup. It may amuse those for whom I write to know that nearly all
were writ on the white backs of playing-cards; but one from Madam Arnold
was printed. I sat down, facing the open doorway into the general’s
room, and began to write refusals, not knowing how long I might be
absent.
Presently looking up, I saw the general at his desk. I had not heard him
enter. Two candles were in front of him. He was sitting with his cheeks
resting on his hands and his elbows on the desk, facing me, and so deep
in thought that I did not think fit to interrupt him. His large, ruddy
features now were pale and sombre, and twice I saw him use his kerchief
to mop his brow as if it were moist from overheating.
At last he called me, and I went in. His forehead and the powdered hair
about it were in fact wet, like those of a man who is coming out of an
ague. Indeed, he looked so ill that I ventured to ask after his health.
He replied that he was well. That infamous court-martial business
annoyed him, and as to Mr. Reed, if there were any fight in the man, he
would have him out and get done with him--which seemed imprudent talk,
to say no more.
“Captain Wynne,” he went on, “early to-morrow you will ride through
Bristol to the ferry below Trenton. Cross and proceed with all haste to
South Amboy. At the Lamb Tavern you will meet an officer from Sir
Henry Clinton. Deliver to him this despatch in regard to exchange of
prisoners. He may or may not have a letter for you to bring back. In
this package are passes from me, and one from Sir Henry Clinton, in case
you meet with any Tory parties.”
“I shall be sure to meet them in west Jersey. Pardon me, sir, but would
it not be easier to pass through our own lines in the middle Jerseys?”
“You have your orders, Mr. Wynne,” he replied severely.