IN WHICH APPEARS THE HORSE OF DESTINY AND THE JUDAS OF WASHINGTON'S ARMY
In Boston harbor, Jack learned of the evacuation of Philadelphia by the
British and was transferred to a Yankee ship putting out to sea on its
way to that city. There he found the romantic Arnold, crippled by his
wounds, living in the fine mansion erected by William Penn. He had
married a young daughter of one of the rich Tory families, for his
second wife, and was in command of the city. Colonel Irons, having
delivered the letters to the Treasurer of the United States, reported
at Arnold's office. It was near midday and the General had not
arrived. The young man sat down to wait and soon the great soldier
drove up with his splendid coach and pair. His young wife sat beside
him. He had little time for talk. He was on his way to breakfast.
Jack presented his compliments and the good tidings which he had
brought from the Old Country. Arnold listened as if he were hearing
the price of codfish and hams.
The young man was shocked by the coolness of the Commandant. The
former felt as if a pail of icy water had been thrown upon him, when
Arnold answered:
"Now that they have money I hope that they will pay their debt to me."
This kind of talk Jack had not heard before. He resented it but
answered calmly: "A war and an army is a great extravagance for a young
nation that has not yet learned the imperial art of gathering taxes.
Many of us are going unpaid but if we get liberty it will be worth all
it costs."
"That sounds well but there are some of us who are also in need of
justice," Arnold answered as he turned away.
"General, you who have not been dismayed by force will never, I am
sure, surrender to discouragement," said Jack.
The fiery Arnold turned suddenly and lifting his cane in a threatening
manner said in a loud voice:
"Would you reprimand me--you damned upstart?"
"General, you may strike me, if you will, but I can not help saying
that we young men must look to you older ones for a good example."
Very calmly and politely the young man spoke these words. He towered
above the man Arnold in spirit and stature. The latter did not commit
the folly of striking him but with a look of scorn ordered him to leave
the office.
Jack obeyed the order and went at once to call upon his old friend,
Governor Reed. He told the Governor of his falling out with the
Major-General.
"Arnold is a sordid, selfish man and a source of great danger to our
cause," said the Governor. "He is vain and loves display and is living
far beyond his means. To maintain his extravagance he has resorted to
privateering and speculation, and none of it has been successful. He
is deeply involved in debt. It is charged that he has used his
military authority for private gain. He was tried by a court-martial
but escaped with only a reprimand from the Commander-in-Chief. He is
thick with the Tories. He is the type of man who would sell his master
for thirty pieces of silver."
"This is alarming," said Jack.
"My boy an ill wind is blowing on us," the Governor went on. "We have
all too many Arnolds in our midst. Our currency has depreciated until
forty shillings will not buy what one would have bought before the war.
The profit makers are rolling in luxury and the poor army starves. The
honest and patriotic are impoverished while those who practise fraud
and Toryism are getting rich."
Depressed by this report of conditions in America Jack set out for
Washington's headquarters on the Hudson. Never had the posture of
American affairs looked so hopeless. The Governor had sold him a young
mare with a white star in her forehead and a short, white stocking on
her left fore-leg, known in good time as the horse of destiny.
"She was a well turned, high spirited creature with good plumes, a
noble eye and a beautiful head and neck," Jack wrote long after the day
he parted with her. "I have never ridden a more distinguished animal.
She was in every way worthy of the task ahead of her."
When he had crossed the King's Ferry the mare went lame. A little
beyond the crossing he met a man on a big, roan gelding. Jack stopped
him to get information about the roads in the north.
"That's a good-looking mare," the man remarked.
"And she is better than she looks," Jack answered. "But she has thrown
a shoe and gone lame."
"I'll trade even and give you a sound horse," the man proposed.
"What is your name and where do you live?" Jack inquired.
"My name is Paulding and I live at Tarrytown in the neutral territory."
"I hope that you like horses."
"You can judge of that by the look of this one. You will observe that
he is well fed and groomed."
"And your own look is that of a good master," said Jack, as he examined
the teeth and legs of the gelding. "Pardon me for asking. I have
grown fond of the mare. She must have a good master."
"I accepted his offer not knowing that a third party was looking on and
laying a deeper plan than either of us were able to penetrate," Jack
used to say of that deal.
He approached the little house in which the Commander-in-Chief was
quartered with a feeling of dread, fearing the effect of late
developments on his spirit.
The young man wrote to Margaret in care of Franklin this account of the
day which followed his return to camp:
"Thank God! I saw on the face of our Commander the same old look of
unshaken confidence. I knew that he could see his way and what a sense
of comfort came of that knowledge! More than we can tell we are
indebted to the calm and masterful face of Washington. It holds up the
heart of the army in all discouragements. His faith is established.
He is not afraid of evil tidings. This great, god-like personality of
his has put me on my feet again. I was in need of it, for a different
kind of man, of the name of Arnold, had nearly floored me."
"'Sit down here and tell me all about Franklin,' he said with a smile.
"I told him what was going on in Paris and especially of the work of
our great minister to the court of Louis XVI.
"He heard me with deep interest and when I had finished arose and gave
me his hand saying:
"'Colonel, again you have won my gratitude. We must keep our courage.'
"I told him of my unhappy meeting with Arnold.
"'The man has his faults--he is very human, but he has been a good
soldier,' Washington answered.
"The thought came to me that the love of liberty had lifted many of us
above the human plane of sordid striving.
"Solomon came into camp that evening. He was so glad to see me that he
could only wring my hand and utter exclamations.
"'How is the gal?' he asked presently.
"I told him of our meeting in Passy and of my fear that we should not
meet again.
"'It seems as if the Lord were not yet willing to let us marry,' I said.
"'Course not,' he answered. 'When yer boat is in the rapids it's no
time fer to go ashore an' pick apples. I cocalate the Lord is usin' ye
fer to show the Ol' World what's inside o' us Americans.'
"Margaret, I wonder if the Lord really wished to show you and others
the passion which is in the heart of Washington and his army. On the
way to my ship I was like one making bloody footprints in the snow.
How many of them I have seen! And now is the time to tell you that
Doctor Franklin has written a letter informing me how deeply our part
in the little pageant had impressed Mr. Hartley and the court people of
France and that he had secured another loan.
"Solomon is a man of faith. He never falters.
"He said to me: 'Don't worry. That gal has got a backbone. She ain't
no rye straw. She's a-goin' to think it over.'
"Neither spoke for a time. We sat by an open fire in front of his tent
as the night fell. Solomon was filling his pipe. He swallowed and his
right eye began to take aim. I knew that some highly important theme
would presently open the door of his intellect and come out.
"'Jack, I been over to Albany,' he said. 'Had a long visit with
Mirandy. They ain't no likelier womern in Ameriky. I'll bet a pint o'
powder an' a fish hook on that. Ye kin look fer 'em till yer eyes run
but ye'll be obleeged to give up.'
"He lighted his pipe and smoked a few whiffs and added: 'Knit seventy
pair o' socks fer my regiment this fall.'
"'Have you asked her to marry you?' I inquired.
"'No. 'Tain't likely she'd have me,' he answered. 'She's had troubles
enough. I wouldn't ask no womern to marry me till the war is fit out.
I'm liable to git all shot up any day. I did think I'd ask her but I
didn't. Got kind o' skeered an' skittish when we sot down together,
an' come to think it all over, 'twouldn't 'a' been right.'
"'You're wrong, Solomon,' I answered. 'You ought to have a home of
your own and a wife to make you fond of it. How is the Little Cricket?'
"'Cunnin'est little shaver that ever lived,' said he. 'I got him a
teeny waggin an' drawed him down to the big medder an' back. He had a
string hitched on to my waist an' he pulled an' hauled an' hollered
whoa an' git ap till he were erbout as hoarse as a bull frog. When we
got back he wanted to go all over me with a curry comb an' braid my
mane.'
"The old scout roared with laughter as he thought of the child's play
in which he had had a part. He told me of my own people and next to
their good health it pleased me to learn that my father had given all
his horses--save two--to Washington. That is what all our good men are
doing. So you will see how it is that we are able to go on with this
war against the great British empire.
"That night the idea came to me that I would seek an opportunity to
return to France in the hope of finding you in Paris. I applied for a
short furlough to give me a chance to go home and see the family.
There I found a singular and disheartening situation. My father's
modest fortune is now a part of the ruin of war. Soon after the
beginning of hostilities he had loaned his money to men who had gone
into the business of furnishing supplies to the army. He had loaned
them dollars worth a hundred cents. They are paying their debts to him
in dollars worth less than five cents. Many, and Washington among
them, have suffered in a like manner. My father has little left but
his land, two horses, a yoke of oxen and a pair of slaves. So I am too
poor to give you a home in any degree worthy of you.
"Dear old Solomon has proposed to make me his heir, but now that he has
met the likely womern I must not depend upon him. So I have tried to
make you know the truth about me as well as I do. If your heart is
equal to the discouragement I have heaped upon it I offer you this poor
comfort. When the war is over I can borrow a thousand pounds to keep a
roof over our heads and a fowl in the pot and pudding in the twifflers
while I am clearing the way to success. The prospect is not inviting,
I fear, but if, happily, it should appeal to you, I suggest that you
join your father in New York at the first opportunity so that we may
begin our life together as soon as the war ends. And now, whatever
comes, I would wish you to keep these thoughts of me: I have loved you,
but there are things which I have valued above my own happiness. If I
can not have you I shall have always the memory of the hours we have
spent together and of the great hope that was mine.
"While I was at home the people of our neighborhood set out at daylight
one morning for a pigeon party. We had our breakfast on an island.
Then the ladies sat down to knit and sew, while the men went fishing.
In the afternoon we gathered berries and returned at dusk with filled
pails and many fish. So our people go to the great storehouse of
Nature and help themselves."