LORD GORDON.
This night in Philadelphia, when the British, after having long held
possession of the city, had so far progressed in the evacuation that
only the officers were yet in town, was both a happy and an anxious one
to the inhabitants.
Those people who had remained true to the American cause rejoiced that
their friends would soon be in possession of the chosen capital of
the country, and were looking forward eagerly to the morrow when the
Continental forces should enter to take possession of their own once
more.
Hundreds of patriots confined in the prisons for no other crime than
that of loyalty to their country were waiting eagerly for the morning
when their cell-doors would be unlocked by friends, and they free at
last to render aid to that cause so near their hearts.
In the homes of the Tories all wore an anxious look; they had spent a
winter of gayety, while the representatives of the king held the city,
and probably fancied the spirit of freedom would be so thoroughly
crushed that Philadelphia would always be loyal to the English
government.
Now they knew that everything was to be changed, and, as in many
instances, having oppressed their neighbors who favored the struggle
for independence, feared that reprisals would be demanded. Hundreds of
Tories--delicately nurtured women, men accustomed to every luxury, and
children whose every desire had been gratified--were about to follow
the army on its march across New Jersey, or, as their means and the
possibility would permit, intended to travel by various conveyance to
New York.
These last were particularly sad because of the severing of all home
ties for an indefinite period--perhaps forever--and to those who were
anxious, as well as to those who were happy, slumber did not come on
this night.
The happiness and the grief were too great to permit of the
unconsciousness of sleep.
In Mrs. Ball's home, mother and son, reviewing again and again the
events with which the boy had been intimately connected, put off the
time for retiring yet a little longer at each stroke of the clock,
until Enoch finally said:
"It's no use, mother, I can't go to bed. I shouldn't sleep if I tried,
and on this night of all others it seems as if we might keep watch."
"For what purpose, my son?"
"I don't know. It appears to be a fact that the city will be entirely
evacuated by the enemy in the morning, and yet I can't prevent fears
that something may happen to change General Clinton's plans. At all
events, Greene will be here at least an hour before daylight, and it
is now nearly midnight, therefore why should we make any attempt at
sleeping?"
A knock at the door, loud, quick, and, if such could be, one might
almost say joyous, and Enoch answered it without hesitation, for he
fancied he knew who would demand admittance in such a fashion.
"Not in bed yet, good people?" and Greene seated himself near the
window.
"Enoch was just saying he could not sleep, and proposed that we sit up
until morning."
"I venture to say there will be no slumber in nineteen houses out of
every twenty in the city this night, and yet we who love the cause
should be able to sleep now, if ever."
"You do not appear to be doing much in that line," Enoch suggested with
a smile.
"Well, no, I am feeling too good just now to want to surrender
consciousness, even for the sake of a rest. Such an experience as this
doesn't come more than once in a person's lifetime, and he shouldn't
lose any of the pleasurable sensations. I'll join your vigil as if it
was New Year's eve, and we'll watch the British out and the Americans
in."
Until the time the spy had set to go to the river bank, the three
talked of the disappointments in the past and the hopes for the future,
and then Greene and Enoch left the house.
There were more signs of life on the street, even at this early hour,
than when they had entered the city the day previous.
The citizens who had been faithful to the cause during this long
occupation by the enemy were now coming out in full force to witness
his departure, and a happy, joyous throng it was.
"Will General Washington come to-day?" Enoch asked of his companion.
"No; General Arnold will take possession of the city with a small
force. We shan't see the commander-in-chief in town until something
decisive has been done, according to my way of thinking," answered
Greene.
"How long are we to stay here?"
"I shall start for Valley Forge when the last boatload of soldiers
puts out from the shore. You will stay until word comes from General
Dickinson."
"Do you intend to walk to the farm?"
"No; I shall have no trouble in borrowing a horse now that our friends
are not afraid of getting into trouble by doing such a service. Here is
a good place for us to witness the scene, and on this rising ground the
view cannot be shut off from us, however many may be around."
Greene had halted on the slight elevation of ground a short distance
from the Middle Ferry, and already could be seen in the stream
boatloads of soldiers putting out from the Philadelphia side of the
river, while from each of the landing-places the refugees--men, women
and children--were embarking such portable effects as they would be
permitted to carry on board the vessels lying at anchor.
The sun had not yet risen; but the adherents of King George were
hastening to depart from the soil of Pennsylvania, greatly to the
delight of those who had been so long oppressed.
Enoch had no desire to talk, and hardly heard what Greene said as he
made several attempts to enter into conversation. The boy's eyes were
fixed upon the panorama before him, and he thought of nothing save the
fact that the city was being freed from the enemy.
Until half-past nine he remained thus absorbed in the view, and then
a mighty shout went up from the assembled throng--a shout which was
echoed and re-echoed from one end of the city to the other.
The last boatload, among which was General Knyphausen, had pushed off
from the shore.
"It is done at last!" Enoch cried, seizing Greene by both hands.
"It is indeed, my boy, and we have been permitted to see it all! It
is such a sight as we'll hope never will be repeated on the Delaware
River. Now I must be off. You will either see me or receive some word
within the next twenty-four hours. Be ready to leave home without delay
when the summons comes, for I should be sadly disappointed if we had a
brush with Clinton's men and you were not in it."
"So should I. Don't forget me when you are with the army."
"Never fear anything like that. It wouldn't be possible while I was
where Seth and Jacob could see me. But come, I'm going very near
Drinker's Alley. Walk so far with me; step in for a moment and see if
Mrs. Graydon has any message to send her son, for you will meet him
shortly, and then, after General Arnold and his men arrive, go home and
wait for me or my message."
Enoch had not broken his fast, but was hardly aware that he needed
food, so great was his joy.
He acted upon Greene's suggestion, and ten minutes later saw the spy
ride out of the city at full speed, bound first for the farmhouse,
where he would exchange his horse for a fresh one, and then to Valley
Forge with the glad tidings.
On this occasion Enoch did not skulk around to the rear of the house
when visiting Mrs. Graydon; but walked boldly to the front door,
where he knocked with an air of one who is free to do as he chooses,
startling Seth's mother not a little, when, his summons being answered
by her servant, he rushed in upon her with the cry:
"The city is evacuated! The British are gone, and we shall never see
them here again unless they come as prisoners!"
"Has the army left the city?" Mrs. Graydon asked as if in surprise.
"Why, yes; didn't you know they were going?"
"Certainly, I knew the evacuation was for to-day; but it can't be they
have really gone?"
"Indeed they have! Greene and I watched the last boatload put off
from this side. There isn't a single redcoat in town, and before noon
General Arnold will be here with a portion of the Continental army. Our
own flag is floating over the city once more!"
Mrs. Graydon looked so thoroughly perplexed that just for a moment
Enoch asked himself if it could be possible she was in sympathy with
the enemy, and she, noting the look of perplexity on his face, said
with a smile:
"You are wondering why I don't rejoice in the good news you have
brought, Enoch; but the truth is that I fear there must be some mistake
about it, for Lord Gordon hasn't yet come downstairs."
"Lord Gordon still here!" Enoch cried, now in turn becoming perplexed.
"Certainly. He very seldom rises early, and last night gave no
orders to be called. I supposed that the army wouldn't go away before
afternoon."
"But they have gone, and it isn't likely they are to remain at
Gloucester Point any longer than is necessary. Why, Mrs. Graydon,
if Lord Gordon is here an hour from now he will be made prisoner by
our troops, and after all he has done for us that would seem like a
terrible misfortune."
"Indeed it would, Enoch."
"I am going to waken him regardless of whether he left any orders
or not; but what bothers me is, how we can get him over to the
Jersey side, for the English took possession of all the boats on the
river-front, and I don't think there's a single craft to be found."
"Even though you waken him before our people come I fear for his
safety, Enoch. The British have so oppressed those who were faithful
to the cause that if it is known a member of their army is left behind
something serious may be done."
"It is no use to stand here talking. He must get out of town, and that
mighty quick! Where's his room?"
"The one directly over this."
Enoch did not hesitate; darting upstairs at full speed he burst into
the chamber without ceremony, and Lord Cosmo Gordon, springing up in
bed, his eyes heavy with slumber, demanded sharply:
"Who are you, sir? What do you want here?"
"I am only Enoch Ball, Lord Gordon. You remember me? You remember when
Jacob Ludwick and I talked with you about Seth?"
"Oh, it is you, is it?" the officer said as he sank back upon the
pillows. "You appear to be an energetic lad; but I can't say I have any
great admiration for your manners."
"But, Lord Gordon, do you know that the Britishers have left the city,
and that in a very short time our forces will be here?"
"The army gone?" and Lord Gordon sprang out of bed very suddenly. "Why,
what time is it?"
"Past ten o'clock."
"And I have been allowed to sleep while my command has gone over! This
promises to be serious, my boy!"
"Serious, sir? I should say it was! After all that has happened I would
rather a good bit of ill-fortune came to me than that you should be
taken prisoner."
"I should die of mortification if it was known that I, a British
officer, lay in bed while my troops marched out of town and left me to
be captured. Lad, you believe I did you a service once?"
"Indeed you did, sir, and one I can never repay."
"You can repay it now, and with interest," Lord Gordon said as he began
hurriedly to dress. "I must cross the river at once, and depend upon
you to get me a boat."
"That is more easily said than done, sir. Your army has taken
possession of every craft on this side; but I'll get one if I have to
swim for it. What troubles me is that I may not succeed in time."
"The American forces are near the city?"
"Greene said General Arnold would arrive before noon."
"I'll go with you. We'll both search for a boat. Where is my servant?"
"I don't know, sir, unless he's with the army."
"That can't be, my boy. He wouldn't have left me, for--Oh, here you
are, Richard," the officer added as a sleepy-looking man entered
the chamber. "You neglected to awaken me, and I am in a most serious
predicament."
"You gave no orders, my lord."
"You should have had wit enough to know that I intended to march with
the army."
"But I have just wakened, my lord."
"And you don't have the appearance of one who has fully accomplished
that yet. Get my things together as quickly as possible, and go down to
the river. We shall start from the Middle Ferry."
"But, Lord Gordon, if you set out alone it must be from some place less
public than that," Enoch said decidedly. "Remember that our people
are freed from restraint now, and the temptation of having a British
officer in their power might be so great that, if they didn't do real
harm, they would at least prevent your leaving."
"You are right, my lad. I'll grant that you have a better head than I
in this matter, and follow your directions."
"Then will you please stay here till I come back?"
"Yes, unless you are gone too long."
"But you must stay, no matter how long I am gone. I promise faithfully
you shall be set across the river some time to-day, or night, if you
will remain out of sight; but once you are seen I am afraid the work
cannot be done."
"Do as you will, my lad. I agree to follow your instructions. If you
succeed in your purpose you will repay me tenfold for the slight favor
I did your friend."
"I only hope I shall come somewhere near squaring matters; but in
one case a life was saved, and in this it is only a question of your
avoiding imprisonment."
"To be made a prisoner under these circumstances would be worse than
death. Go, my lad, go quickly!"
Enoch ran downstairs, and stopped with his hand on the latch of the
door to say to Mrs. Graydon:
"Won't you please keep the house locked, and make some excuse for not
letting anybody in? The time has come when we can repay Lord Gordon for
the assistance he rendered Seth, and you must do your share by keeping
him out of sight."
"No person shall enter without first battering down the door," Mrs.
Graydon replied with an air of determination, and Enoch darted out of
the house, running up the alley at full speed.
Half an hour later he returned, breathless, but triumphant.
Lord Gordon, looking desperately anxious, met him at the door.
"I've got a skiff," he said as soon as it was possible for him to
speak. "She's in the creek below Third Street. I can take you there
without the chance of meeting many people; but we shall be obliged to
walk fast, and you must pay no attention to whatever may be said."
"Don't fear I'll do anything to prevent the success of your efforts,
my boy. My rejoining the army at the earliest possible moment is such
a vital matter that nothing short of force would delay me."
The servant was summoned, and came down the staircase as if still
partially under the influence of sleep, laden with baggage.
"Look alive, man, can't you?" Enoch cried angrily as he took a portion
of the burden from the fellow. "If nothing else will waken you,
remember that your life is absolutely in danger from the time we leave
this house until we are well out in the river."
These words had the desired effect, and the three, each carrying a
portion of the luggage, left the house.
Enoch chose a most circuitous route, and although his lordship was
jeered at many times during the short journey, nothing occurred to
cause delay.
"She isn't a very fine craft," Enoch said when they reached the bank
of the creek and he pulled out from the landing-stage a flat-bottomed
boat; "but she'll take you over to the Jersey side, and I reckon that's
all you want."
"Those who will show themselves to be such idiots as I have should be
forced to swim for it," Lord Gordon said grimly, "and the situation
now, compared with what it was half an hour ago, seems so bright that
I wouldn't exchange your punt for one of the swiftest galleys of the
fleet, except that I might arrive at the opposite shore more quickly."
There was only one pair of oars, and seating himself amidships, with
Richard in the bow and Lord Gordon in the stern, Enoch plied these
vigorously, as indeed was necessary in order to stem the flood-tide,
which was now setting in strongly.
Nearly an hour was required in which to make the passage, and more than
once did the officer insist he should be allowed to do a portion of the
work; but Enoch would accept of no assistance.
"I should be only too glad to row you twenty miles, and all that
distance against the tide, Lord Gordon, for then when I saw Seth I
could say to him that we had been able to be of some service."
"You do not fully realize, my boy, how much assistance you have
rendered me. I am under the deepest obligations, and that which I did
in your service seems as nothing compared with this, for you have saved
my honor. It is not my intention to offend you by offering payment; but
I should be under yet greater obligations if you will allow me to give
you some souvenir of this morning's work."
"You mean you want to make me a present?"
"Yes, Enoch, I want to leave with you something that you will remember
me by--something which when you look at it you can say 'This was given
me by a man to whom I rendered a greater service than if I had saved
his life.'"
"I will take it, sir, and when I look at it will say to myself that it
was given me by a gentleman who saved the life of my friend."
"Very neatly turned, my lad. You have a power of flattery which would
win your way in a court."
"I wish I had the power that would win me my way in the Continental
army."
"Are you intending to enlist?"
"Yes, sir. I do not want to say it boastingly; but yet I am proud
because the little which I did last week caused General Washington
himself to thank me, and to say that I should attach myself to his
staff until I was really made a soldier."
"Indeed, my lad? You must have rendered some signal service. Since you
no longer fear me as an enemy, for I am not formidable now that I am
the only member of the English army this side of New Jersey, perhaps
you will tell me what you did which won for you so great an honor."
Enoch, passing lightly over the incidents in which he figured
prominently, told the story of his having been recognized by the Quaker
and of subsequently hearing Clinton's order read.
Lord Gordon laughed heartily at the boy's account of his freeing
himself from the Quaker's grasp; but grew grave as the story was
finished.
"With such boys as you, Enoch, to recruit the American army, it is
little wonder that we fail to whip you into submission. I am glad to
know you, my lad, and would say the same even if you had not rendered
me so great a service. I venture to predict you will win your way in
the army, for surely no boy ever made a better beginning. I hope we
shan't meet on the battlefield; but if we do of course each must strive
for the mastery, and I am confident you will do your best to overcome
me. Here is what I want you to accept," and Lord Gordon unfastened from
his watch a heavy chain.
"That is far too valuable, sir. I had rather have something more
trifling."
"And I prefer to give this. Don't refuse to take it, Enoch, for you
will be doing me another favor by wearing it."
It was necessary Enoch should cease rowing sufficiently long to put
the costly gift in his pocket, and then he bent himself sturdily to the
oars once more, remaining silent several moments before he said:
"I thank you, Lord Gordon, for the chain; but I thank you more for your
kind words. If all the Britishers had been like you I don't think this
war would have lasted so long."
"And if all the Americans had been as generous-hearted and brave as
you, Enoch Ball, your independence would have been gained immediately
after it was declared."
Then the boat's bow grated on the sand of the Jersey shore.
His lordship's servant gathered up the belongings and proceeded with
all haste toward the moving column which could be seen in the distance,
and Lord Gordon, pressing Enoch's hand, said solemnly:
"May God love and guard you, my boy!"[E]
Footnote:
[E] This escape of Lord Cosmo Gordon occurred actually as
described, and the gift of the chain was made to the boy who assisted
him.