Barclugh started on his long and perilous ride to Washington’s
headquarters at Fishkill; thence to New York.
He was oblivious to all that passed him on the road. He travelled
on, and on, to the ferry at Trenton, conscious of nothing but his
own thoughts. The more that he willed to divorce the image of Mollie
Greydon from his mind, the more his soul rebelled. He at last reasoned
that another existence than his own had entered his life, and he could
not explain the cause. But should he only let his thoughts dwell
unrestricted on his business, at least he might be able to dismiss her,
as he had many times the existence of the gay infatuations of his life
in Paris.
However, her beauty of face, her form and her carriage not only
enthralled him, but he dwelt upon the character that he found in the
kindly twinkle of her deep hazel eyes; her understanding of the great
principles of human liberty; her patriotism; her devotion to the
soldiery of her native land. All were grand conceptions to dwell upon.
In her there was no first consideration of self, like the frivolous
woman of fashion. She knew that a mission in life was the proper
destiny for one to follow; and in the trying needs of her country she
knew that clothes and food for the Continentals needed her best and
undivided effort.
She knew that every dozen of eggs, every fowl, every blanket, every
pair of woolen socks, every yard of homespun, spoke volumes to the
patient, ill-fed, and ill-clothed Continental who was serving for the
principles of the Declaration,--serving with no pay and expecting
none. She was happy in the pursuit of her humble mission; she had no
grievance with which to worry others. Her mission was to render some
one happy with her deeds; consequently her life was full of elements
that daily exemplified the sweetness of her existence to others.
The natural tendency of a commonplace intellect would be to sternly
rebuke others who expressed opinions opposed to his own ambitions;
but the philosophy of human nature carried Barclugh into deeper
considerations. He had his particular objects to accomplish and had his
plans matured to effect them; therefore, he kept quiet about his own
principles and tried to learn every detail about the opinions of the
opposition. Thus he would be prepared to use the weak points of his
adversary to his own advantage.
He thought he knew that Colonial gentlemen were much like their
Anglo-Saxon ancestry, honest, fearless and loyal to their convictions;
but if, after a protracted struggle, they found their cause defeated
and their case hopeless, they would submit. Their love of peace and
tranquillity would overcome their feelings about independence. They
would be satisfied with the forms of liberty without the substance. He
reasoned that history repeats itself among his countrymen. When the
Normans conquered the Anglo-Saxon, his submission to the regime of
William the Conqueror was complete. He reasoned that a decisive stroke
of the English arms would reconcile the Colonists to the helplessness
of their cause.
These convictions led him more seriously than ever to conclude that the
dominant party at the end of the war would have the allegiance of the
whole country. Therefore Roderick Barclugh was more resolute than ever
to seize West Point by means of gold and afterwards ally himself and
his fortunes to the virtues and zeal of Mollie Greydon.
He travelled on the main turnpike that led northward from Philadelphia,
along the Delaware, until he reached Bristol, which commands a
beautiful view of the river. He stopped at an inn kept by a Mr.
Benezet, and announced himself thus:
“My name is Pierre La Fitte. I am a merchant from Philadelphia, and
travelling to Boston. Have no news, am tired and hungry. Have you
provender for my horse and dinner for me?”
The landlord looked up in astonishment at the brusque preclusion of
prying questions as to the business, destination and knowledge of a
stranger. Even the servants tiptoed when they came into the presence of
their august guest.
However, the dinner and lodging were most excellent, and the breakfast
was more than could be expected at a country inn, but when Barclugh
paid his bill in the morning the innkeeper had charged double prices
for his guest’s exclusiveness. As Barclugh got what he desired,--no
questions,--he did not mind the payment, but before he had been many
more days on this journey he learned that Colonial hospitality was
not always dealt out on a money basis, and he was exceedingly glad to
change his mannerisms.
The refreshing sleep at the Bristol inn was excellent to Barclugh, and
the next morning he started out with his spirits in high glee. The
enthusiasm of his nature was now working out the possibilities of his
mission, and he was calculating the possibilities of danger in his
journey, all of which acted upon him as a stimulant, while his horse
was cantering along the Delaware road, in the fresh morning air, toward
Trenton.
A ferry crosses the Delaware three miles below the town, and Barclugh
took it to the Jersey side and went to an inn at Trenton that had
a sign swinging on a high post, representing a beaver at work with
his teeth, gnawing down a large tree, underneath which was written,
“Perseverando.”
Barclugh was inclined to stop at the tavern to give his horse a rest
and to refresh himself while he would be feeling his ground about his
journey northward.
The hour was about ten o’clock in the morning, when the old men of the
town began to gather at the tavern for a gossip over the war news,
and to indulge in their daily allowance of rum in the tap-room. As
Barclugh dismounted and sauntered up the steps which led into the
public house, all eyes were turned upon the stranger. He seated himself
in an arm-chair at a round table. A large square room having a low
ceiling and settles standing at right angles to the fireplace met his
glance; the smoke was curling slowly from smouldering logs into the
chimney-space; a lazy, fat, round-faced Swede was lolling at the end of
the bar, and several casks of wine and liquor placed upon racks to the
left of the counter were labelled, “Rum,” “Madeira,” “Canary,” “Cherry
Bounce,” “Perry,” and “Cider.”
A brace of old cronies whose only cares now were to meet each other
in the tap-room daily and talk over the prowess among men in their
youthful days, and despair about the effeminate youth of the present;
and wonder what the world was coming to, were seated at a table and
gazed at the stranger.
“He, he, he!” chuckled old Samuel Whitesides, as Barclugh seated
himself and ordered a hot rum punch, for the morning air was chilly.
“I declare, those whippersnappers daown in Philadelphia are makin’ a
fool aout of Ben Arnold,--he’s got a mighty high snortin’ kind of a gal
that he’s hitched up to,--and I b’leave, brother Hopper, that he would
like to be out of the clutches of them money-grabbers. He’s too good a
fighter to be gallavantin’ around in silks and satins.”
“How queer! how queer!” squeaked out old Jonathan Hopper, as he leaned
over and poked his old companion in the ribs. “Say, Sam, if we were
young agin like Ben, we would not prefer to stay ’round with aour wife
in the city than to be chasing those redcoats from Dan to Beshabee,
partic’larly if we had been married less than a year, eh, Sam’l! Wall,
I guess not! He, he, he! Eh, Samuel?” as he poked old Sam in the ribs
again with his cane.
“Wa’al, Jonathan, when we were boys, thar was no time for this
high-fa-lutin’ keepin’ honey-moon, keepin’ honey-moon. What we had to
do was to git married and leave Betsy at home while we went to work
to git som’thin’ to keep body and soul together. But naow, even in
these war times, our Ginerals are snoopin’ araound in these high jinks
fashion, waitin’ on their leedies in taown.”
“Quite keerect, quite keerect, Sam’l, but I calcalate if you and I were
to live it over agin and had a chanc’t to git into all these doin’s
that the young sprouts now have, in the large taowns, I b’leeve we
would be as keen as ennybody for pleesure. For what’s the use of you,
you old rascal, skrewin’ yourself up into a pritty pass over the young
uns, for natur’ is natur’ and let natur’ take its course, Sam’l. But
how queer! how queer!” said old Jonathan as he again poked Samuel in
the ribs and took another sip out of the rum glass.
By the time the pint of rum was consumed by these relicts of the reign
of Queen Anne, they were generally ready to go up the road arm in arm,
each with a cane, just mellow enough to show the young sprouts that
nobody need show them how to step off with the dignity of an Indian.
However, on this day matters took a different turn.
Barclugh stepped up to the old gentlemen and inquired modestly:
“Gentlemen, may I ask you the best road to Princeton?”
“To be sure, sir,” replied old Samuel, as he turned toward Barclugh,
leaning forward with both hands on his walking-stick as he sat gazing
into Barclugh’s face:
“But have we the pleasure of the gentleman’s name and occupation?”
quizzed the old man.
Barclugh was not quite ready for the inquisitive familiarity of the
reply, but as he commenced with a question there was no alternative in
his case but to answer up cheerfully:
“My name is Pierre La Fitte; I am a merchant of Philadelphia on my way
to Fishkill Landing.”
“Humph, you got a pretty skittish ride before you, Mr. La Fitte, and I
b’leeve the longest road is the shortest for you. You just keep right
on to Princeton and then to Morristown Heights and when you git five
miles beyond Morristown you ask for my son-in-law, Benjamin Andrews,
and he will take good care of you and all you need to tell him is that
you met old Samuel Whitesides and it won’t cost you a farthing for your
keep.”
However, as this conversation was proceeding, old Jonathan kept his
eye closely on the stranger as he sat with his chin on both hands which
were resting on his cane before him.
[Illustration: “Have we the pleasure of the gentleman’s name and
occupation?” quizzed the old man.]
Barclugh noticed that he was being scrutinized very sharply and he did
not relish his position, but he looked out at his horse and turned
to go with a parting bow to the two old men, while he thanked his
informant twice.
No sooner had the stranger mounted than the old men arose to watch him
disappear up the road.
“Sam’l,” said Hopper, “what d’ye think of that ’ere stranger? I b’leeve
he has no good around these parts. He had an uneasy and restless look
in his eye. He’s got some deep-laid business on his mind and I don’t
think that was his name that he told us. Mabbee he’s one of those
consarned British spies that we hear so much about these times.”
“Yes, yes, you got to git yourself all worked up naow, Jonathan, and
all on account of that gentleman addressing me to the hexclusion of
yourself. If you thought that he was a spy why didn’t you step up to
him and demand his passports? Now that he is gone you can concoct all
kinds of dreams about him; that’s cowardly, Jonathan, that’s cowardly.”
“Sam’l,” came the hot reply, “you and I have been boys and men
together, but when you impeach the bravery of an old soldier,--one who
has been at Crown Point and Ticonderogy, too! Why, sir, that is beyond
endurance, and before I shall be seen coming down this road again with
you, may bunions like onions grow out of my toes. I shall leave you,
sir, I shall leave you,” sputtered old Jonathan as he hobbled to his
feet, livid and glaring at Samuel with rage.
As he shuffled across the room with the aid of his cane, he made
for the door and straightway, as fast as his bunions would allow
him, striding up the road, he cut the air with his hands and cane,
muttering: “I’ll be damned first, I’ll be damned first.”
However, Jonathan had not gone very far before he met a young Indian
girl going in the opposite direction. She stopped and very quietly
asked:
“Sir, could you tell me if you have seen a gentleman on a black horse
go along the road this morning travelling for Fishkill to General
Washington’s headquarters? He was tall and dark and wore a velvet
waistcoat of dark blue.”
“Why, my girl, yes, that’s right. He was going to Fishkill. Certainly,
you just come with me, I’ll show you a man that knows all about him.
He was just talking with him. I b’leeve that ’ere man you ask for is a
rascal, and Samuel can’t turn my head abaout it neethur.”
“Yes, sir, I believe he has no good purposes in taking this journey. I
have seen him and General Arnold meet after midnight alone.”
“Look at that! look at that!” continued old Jonathan. “Mabbee Sam’l
won’t listen to that. You come along with me, my girl. I want you to
show that old wiseacre a thing or two. Come along with me, my girl.”
When they arrived at the door of the tap-room, the Indian girl
hesitated and paused at the doorway while Jonathan bolted up to Samuel
as though he were going to eat him up.
But Jonathan said in his most persuasive tones:
“Samuel, there’s a young lady here, that wants to ask you about that
gentleman on his way to Fishkill.”
“Certainly, certainly, Jonathan. I’ll do anything to please you,”
returned Samuel as he rose and went to the Indian girl, who stood at
the doorway of the tavern, as she asked:
“Has this gentleman told you where he was going?”
“Yes,” spoke up Samuel as he straightened to his full height to answer.
“He sid he was goin’ to Feeshkill.”
“I b’leeve he was lyin’,” interjected Jonathan, with a snap in his
voice. “I think he’s goin’ somewhere else and he wanted to put us off
his tracks. Now, what do you think, young lady?”
“It’s hard to tell, sir, but I saw him visit General Arnold.
“What name did he give you, sir?”
“He said: ‘My name is Pierre La Fitte, and I am a merchant of
Philadelphia on my way to Feeshkill,’” replied Samuel.
“Why, that’s not his real name,” returned Segwuna. “His name is
Roderick Barclugh.”
“Look at that, look at that,” said Jonathan, glaring at Samuel. “I knew
that you would be up to great bizness when you asked that rascal to
stop at Ben Andrews’. He may be a reg’lar cut-throat.”
“Now, look a’ here, Jonathan, I think that you’re a-pokin’ your nose
too far into my way of doin’ things, d’ye hear?” ejaculated Samuel, as
he pounded on the floor with his walking-stick, by way of emphasis.
Jonathan Hopper glared at Samuel as he strode off indignantly toward
the other part of the room, while Segwuna talked to Samuel Whitesides
about Barclugh.
Segwuna immediately took her departure on the road to Princeton as soon
as she learned that Barclugh had left for that direction.
The two old cronies agreed that the stranger was more mysterious after
they had learned that this Indian girl was following his footsteps.
For weeks afterward Uncle Sam and his friend Jonathan had an incident
of consequence to discuss in the queer occurrences of that morning at
the inn.