After the dinner party at the FitzMaurice’s, the next morning was
ominous with sullen clouds in the Arnold homestead. The servants were
gliding from room to room in sober mien; conversations were carried on
in whispers. The Madam was served with breakfast in her room, and the
General had no appetite. The office of the Commandant of Philadelphia
was streaked with strata of dark blue vitriolic language.
The first caller was Sven Svenson, who approached the sentinel before
the General’s office door. The two fell into conversation.
“Haf Ganral Arnold been up?” asked Sven as he came near the sentinel,
with his hat in his hand.
“I reckon not, Sven, he was mighty weak-kneed when he came home last
night,” was the sentinel’s reply.
“Das varking maan haf to vark and vark for hees pay, and de Ganral eets
and dreenks ahl day ant ahl night. Hee talks so hard at mee I haf to
valk oudt ant svore I vas beat.”
“How much does the General owe you now, Sven?” asked the sentinel in an
undertone.
“Tan pound starling for goot oeystar vat Mistrees Arnold vants for hair
beeg koumpanee.”
“Ha, ha! Sven, you are in luck it’s not more,” blurted out the
honest-faced Virginian who was standing guard at the Commandant’s
office. “This Connecticut apothecary and horse-trader has succeeded to
a position where he can gratify his desires for extravagant living, but
if he keeps on in his present course, he will ruin our cause; but he
has a spouse who leads him a good race, Sven.”
“Yah, Mistrees Arnold vent to ahl dee baals and deenirs vid Major
Andre and dee Angleesh offeecirs as vas here een Pheeladalpheeia laast
veentir,” said the Swede.
“Hush, hush, Sven, here comes the General,” whispered the sentinel, as
he came to attention and saluted General Arnold who passed to his small
office building next his residence.
Arnold did not look at Sven, but a scowl came over his brow as he
passed into the little office room, slamming the door behind him.
Sven then approached the door very cautiously and rapped. An imperious
voice inside roared:
“Come in.”
The first greeting Sven got was:
“What the devil you want here? Haven’t I told you not to come around
here and bother me? I haven’t any money. So that settles it. Get right
out of here.”
“But, Ganral Arnold, I need some maaney to----”
“Money, money,” roared the Commander as he arose from his seat and
paced up and down the floor, never heeding the Swede. “Money! It is the
nightmare of my life. I went to that dinner to drown the thoughts of
the cursed stuff, but the only thing said by the nabobs was to get it,
and the need of it comes upon me at arising. By thunder! I shall get
it! I was never born to bear these pangs.
“Sven,” turning to the Swede, “go and tell Johnson, in the kitchen, to
bring me a hot rum and have one yourself.”
“Ahl right, Ganral,” replied Sven, as he rubbed his hands gleefully,
and made his retreat, glad to have a whole skin left.
The next caller was Captain Samuel Risk, of the Privateer Holker.
“Good morning, General. I’ve just come in with the snuggest kind of
a prize,--a West Indian brig loaded out for home with sugar, rum
and coffee for London merchants. She will net the firm of Milling &
FitzMaurice ten thousand pounds sterling, and I have a neat little
share besides.”
“What! ten thousand pounds sterling? Is it possible? Why, that firm of
Milling & FitzMaurice must be very prosperous. I wish I could get into
a little of that kind of business myself. My expenses of living are
very great, Captain, and I must make something by commerce.”
“Well, well, General, that is a very easy matter.”
“Why, Captain, are there any chances?”
“Chances? Bless your soul, plenty, sir, plenty sir,” said the Captain.
“All that we need are stern men, not too scrupulous and who can do a
thing in such a way that the right hand will not know what the left
hand does.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Arnold. “Why, sir, you know I used to be a trader
myself at one time,--a New England trader, sir. Before the war, sir, I
used to drive my team and sleigh by way of Lake George to Canada and
trade Yankee notions for horses. Then I would drive the horses overland
and take them on a brig to the West Indies and trade them there for
sugar, rum and molasses. So you see I am a trader, sir,--a New England
horse-trader.”
“Well, if you are a horse-trader, General, you will do. We have an
order from a merchant in New York for two thousand barrels of flour
and we need a passport for the proper individual to pass through our
lines to New York and return in order to effect the necessary business
arrangements. If the trade goes through successfully we can afford to
give you one third of the profits. We expect confidently to make about
$10,000 out of the transaction in gold, and your share, General, will
surely be $3000.”
“That’s merely a business transaction between private individuals and
it will harm no one. But, Captain, could you make any advances on the
profits, for I am very much in need of $1000 to-day and if it matters
not to you, I will ask you for this amount now?” eagerly questioned
Arnold.
“I would willingly make it $1000, General, only I have just $500 of
gold with me; but I can give you that,” as he counts out the gold on
the desk for General Arnold and keenly looks at him.
“Very well, Captain, that will help me out. It is settled,” said
Arnold, as he grasped the gold and put it into his pockets with avidity.
“But remember, simply give me the name of the individual and I will
furnish him with the passport through our lines, but do not let me know
anything about his business.”
“That’s well, General, for commerce knows no country,” were the
concluding remarks of Captain Risk as he bowed and started for the
door. “I will be here to-morrow for the document. Good day, sir.”
“Good day, sir, but bring the other $500 if possible; I need it,”
contended Arnold.
“If possible, General,” was the response, and the privateersman left
Arnold to go directly to the office of Roderick Barclugh.