Barclugh took his meals regularly at the Boar’s Head Tavern, and
lived industriously attending to his plot, and to his speculations in
privateering.
He was busy organizing his bank, the capital of which was mostly
subscribed and whose charter was drawn and placed before the Council
of Pennsylvania for legal authority to do business. The corporation
was to be known as the Bank of North America; Thomas Milling was to
be its first President. Every detail was copied as closely after the
corporation of the Bank of England as possible; that was Barclugh’s
plan.
If Barclugh had confined himself to his plot with Arnold and to
his plans in financiering, he would have been better off. But the
allurements of commerce had also attracted his attention.
Ships of all descriptions were in the stream, awaiting a berth to
load or unload. Some were at the wharves of Milling & FitzMaurice,
loading or unloading merchandise and munitions of war. Privateers and
merchantmen, brigs and barques, full-rigged ships and sloops,--all
were a kaleidoscope of the cosmopolitan elements of Philadelphia.
The Malay, the Portuguese, the Negro, the Indian, the Caucasian, the
Creole, were all bartering and seeking adventure on the seas. They were
in a harbor where war now offered all of the prizes and all of the
calamities of life. The calamities claimed the greater share in the
final results.
Among all this motley crew lurked disease, lust, and greed. The leaders
of the enterprises reeked in greed, the hirelings exceeded in lust, but
disease had no favorites.
Diseases were cosmopolitan like the people. Cholera from the Orient,
_peste_ from the West Indies, scurvy from the Antipodes, fevers from
the ships and the camps of armies kept the city in continuous mourning.
Though disease played the heavy role in this drama of life, still it
acted its part when least expected.
Barclugh desired to buy a ship of Milling and FitzMaurice, and send her
out to the West Indies with a cargo of flour, and return with rum and
sugar. The profits would be large. He now had much money at command and
no use for it. He thought that a few dollars turned over for a profit
would not come amiss when he began his career after the Colonies were
turned over to the mother country.
There was a ship, the Sea Nymph, lying in the Delaware, a prize
belonging to Milling & FitzMaurice which had been bound from Havana to
London, laden with rum and molasses; but her crew was attacked with the
_peste_ and inside of a week two thirds of her men were stricken with
the disease.
In this critical condition the Independence, privateer of Milling &
FitzMaurice, ran upon the Sea Nymph, and she struck with no resistance.
Enough of the crew of the Independence who were immune to the disease
were put aboard to take her into Philadelphia. The Sea Nymph was a new
and handsome ship. She was lying in the stream waiting for her turn to
discharge cargo, when Barclugh learned about her, and, although advised
of the perils of the dreaded _peste_, he offered to buy her. Barclugh’s
impatience to be doing business prevailed against his friends’
judgment, and he went aboard of her to inspect the ship.
His weakened physical condition put him under susceptible conditions
to take the disease, and in ten days thereafter, Roderick Barclugh was
stricken with the _peste_.
However, before this event, matters had culminated fast in Barclugh’s
affairs. The tenth day of July, 1780, had arrived, and communication
had been opened up between Barclugh and Andre at New York. By means of
a few hundred pounds sterling, Barclugh had arranged to have letters
addressed to John Anderson, Esq., New York, delivered to a boat from
the Albatross, that landed at the Swede’s fishing hut on the Little Egg
River. In return the fisherman brought a sealed package addressed to
Mr. Gustavus, Philadelphia. Gustavus was the name of the Swede.
This line of communication was maintained at regular
intervals,--whenever a load of fish came from Little Egg Harbor inlet,
a sealed letter was delivered to Barclugh and an answer returned.
When Roderick Barclugh fell ill, he awoke in the early morning with
terrible pains in his back and loins. He found that he was unable
to arise, suffering intensely with a fever and pains in his joints.
His man-servant went as usual to the door of Mr. Barclugh’s sleeping
apartment but he did not find him astir, and as he listened, he heard
slight groans. When he gently opened the door, there was Barclugh,
helpless, breathing heavily, his eyes bulging. The only thing to do was
to bring Doctor Biddle.
When Dr. Biddle arrived, a hurried examination of pulse, eyes and
tongue soon convinced his experienced eye that the patient had the most
dreaded of diseases in the seaport of Philadelphia,--the _peste_. By
this time the sick man was unconscious, and the Doctor turned to the
servant and said:
“I am sorry to inform you, but this gentleman has the _peste_. Who
has charge of his affairs? We shall have to procure him nurses and
medicines.”
As though a thunderbolt had come out of a clear sky, James, the
servant, stood speechless and perfectly colorless at this announcement.
At last he regained his self-possession and said:
“I will notify Mr. Milling; he knows Mr. Barclugh best. But I can not
stay here and nurse him myself. My wife and children would die of
fright.”
“But,” remarked the Doctor, “you have been exposed.”
“All right! all right! Doctor, but you see there’s a mighty difference
betwixt the nursing of it and the staying away from it. Let these rich
men who can afford to die, be having the risks. I will go and tell Mr.
Milling.”
With that he put on his hat and ran to the office of Milling &
FitzMaurice, and without any ceremony rushed into the presence of Mr.
Milling, simply announcing:
“Mr. Barclugh, my master, has the _peste_.”
James then rushed out of the office of the merchant prince, and up
Front street, telling every person that he met:
“My master, Mr. Barclugh, has the _peste_.”
Thus, inside of an hour, the whole town was put in a fever of
excitement. Soon the number of cases was reported as a score; rumor had
it that every one had been exposed.
At the office of Milling & FitzMaurice, a hasty consultation was held
between the partners. The conditions under which the ship, Sea Nymph,
had come into port, and how Mr. Barclugh had inspected her and had
arranged to buy her, were discussed. The cargo of the Sea Nymph was in
their warehouse, and no one could foretell the consequences.
During this discussion of their own affairs, Milling & FitzMaurice did
not think of Barclugh. The Doctor waited and waited for some one to
come, but no one came to his relief. The accountant, Mr. Hopewell, had
heard the news on his way to the office, then had gone home to consult
with his wife.
At last the Doctor became worried, and leaving his patient alone, he
went to the office of Milling & FitzMaurice.
As he entered the accounting room, he walked quietly up to Mr. Milling
and said:
“Sir, I sent Mr. Barclugh’s servant to tell you that that gentleman had
the _peste_, and that he must have nurses and attention for he is a
very sick man.”
“Oh, the man did not ask us for nurses,” contended Mr. Milling. “He
simply told us that Mr. Barclugh was sick with the _peste_, and we had
no idea that our services were needed for a mission of that kind.”
“There is no time to talk, gentlemen. Mr. Barclugh lies unconscious
with fever, and I do not know to whom he can appeal in his distress but
your house. Good day, gentlemen, I must be with my patient.”
As soon as the Doctor had left, Mr. Milling looked at Robert
FitzMaurice as he said:
“Robert, what shall we do about this? I can not tie myself up for three
weeks and be exposed to this fever, and neither can you. Our affairs
can spare neither you nor me. Is there not some poor devil whom we can
get to nurse him? Barclugh has plenty of money with us.”
“Yes,” responded FitzMaurice. “There is Barton, he needs the money,
and he owes us; he ought to go and do this; he could then square our
account.”
Barton was one of the men in the warehouse of the firm and had a young
wife and four children. When the offer was made to him in the office
of his employers, he answered:
“Gentlemen, my life and my family are just as dear to me as either
of yours. I would not risk my life in that service for all of your
combined wealth. My life is exactly as dear to me as to any prince or
potentate.”
Mr. Milling looked at Robert FitzMaurice with a dissatisfied air, as he
followed Barton’s footsteps and closed the door behind him, while he
said:
“I believe Barclugh will be in pretty bad shape, before we can get any
one to nurse him.”
In the meantime, however, the news of the fever began to travel outside
of Philadelphia. Express messengers went on horseback to the north and
to the south, and on the way to Germantown, the news of Barclugh’s
fever reached Dorminghurst.
Dr. Greydon at once notified his wife and daughter. In less than
half an hour his carriage was ready, and he had left, prepared with
delicacies and medicines to succor a fellow being. There was no
calculation of consequences on his part.
Mollie asked her father if she might accompany him, but he explained
that she could be of little assistance, so she stood on the portico,
and watched her father’s carriage until it had reached the road through
the avenue of hemlocks.
But no sooner had her father’s carriage vanished through the trees,
than she ran with all of her might to the lodge of Segwuna.
With eyes full of despair, she ran up to Segwuna, and exclaimed:
“Segwuna! Segwuna! I have just learned that Mr. Barclugh has been
stricken with the _peste_, and father has started to go to him.
“Oh! Segwuna! what shall I do? What shall I do? I am fearful that
something will happen to him, and father would not let me go to help
nurse him,” as she burst into a fit of heart-rending sobs and buried
her head on Segwuna’s breast.
“Do not weep, my sweetheart. If you cannot go, Segwuna can go. I will
go and take the medicine that will save him. Do not fear, my dear.
“Segwuna will nurse him back to you. Be calm and let me get ready. It
will not take me long to reach his side.”
Segwuna went to her mother and gave her a few directions; in a few
minutes she was ready with a bundle of herbs, and with light step, and
the light of a guardian angel shining out of her beautiful eyes, she
and Mollie took the winding path down to the Wingohocking, then through
the avenue of hemlocks to the highway that led to Philadelphia.
Mollie stopped at the huge gate at the roadside and kissed Segwuna
thrice, as she bade her Godspeed, and prayed silently:
“That the sick one would have the protection of Divine Providence in
his affliction, and that God would bless the efforts of her friend,
Segwuna, to lead the sick one out of the ‘valley of the shadow of
death,’ and bring him nearer to his God and His Son, Jesus Christ.”
“God bless you,” was the parting salutation to Segwuna as Mollie stood
and watched the Indian maiden go lightly on her mission of mercy.
She watched her until Segwuna was a mere speck in the roadway, and then
turned silently to go to her bed-chamber to pray for the man, whom she
felt was dear to her, yet she could not tell why.