We made a fine cavalcade when we rode through the streets of
Philadelphia. As we had stopped at the outposts in order to comply with
the usual formalities, a rumor of our adventures preceded us, and, since
it is not the habit of rumor to diminish the importance of things, it
made notable heroes of Marcel and me. Some part of it came to our ears
as we proceeded, and we found that between us we had slain at least
eight rebels and had pursued a hundred others a matter of not less than
ten miles.
"I fear, captain," said Marcel to Blake, "that we have achieved such a
reputation for valorous conduct that we will never be able to prove the
tenth part of it."
"Trust me, gentlemen, for thinking better of you than that," replied
Captain Blake, who seemed to have taken a fine fancy for us. "I doubt
not that both of you will be winning honors on bloody battlefields."
"If so," said Marcel, "we trust that General Blake will be there to see
it."
Captain Blake, who, like most men, was not inaccessible to flattery,
seemed charmed at the high promotion Marcel had conferred so readily
upon him, and certain was I that we would have a fast friend in him.
"I am going to take you immediately to Sir William himself," said the
captain, "as you have letters of introduction to him, and I doubt not
that he will place you on his own personal staff, where you will secure
fine opportunities for conspicuous service."
"I would like to see service first at a well-loaded table," whispered
Marcel to me. "I was hungry before I reached Philadelphia, and the sight
of all these smug and comfortable people in the streets sharpens the
pangs of famine."
And in truth the people we saw were a well-fed lot, with fat cheeks and
double chins, very unlike our own lean and hungry fellows, who had to
fight on empty stomachs.
We arrived in a short time at the quarters of Sir William Howe, a
two-story brick house that had once been a private residence, and I was
somewhat astonished at the luxury and display I witnessed there. There
were as many articles for ease and adornment as ever I had seen in the
mansions of our most wealthy citizens, and seeing it all I did not
wonder why this general should have been called "The Sluggard." It
contrasted strongly with the simplicity of our own commander-in-chief's
hut, and I, who had not slept under a roof in a year, felt oppressed, as
if the air were too heavy for my lungs. But it was not so with Marcel,
who loved his ease and basked in rich colors.
"We have made a happy change, Chester," he said to me as we waited for
Sir William. "This in truth looks to be a most comfortable place, and if
we do not find much enjoyment here it will be because we are men of
small resources."
I was thinking of the great risks we were incurring, and made no answer.
He did not notice it. He sighed in the most contented fashion, and said
it was the first moment of real enjoyment he had experienced in six
months. But his lazy pleasure was soon interrupted by the entrance of
Sir William Howe himself. The British commander was a swart, thick man,
whose plump face and figure indicated a love of good eating. His
expression was indolent, and on the whole good-natured. He received us
with kindness. It was evident that some one had blown our trumpet for us
already: I guessed that it was Blake.
"I am delighted to see you, gentlemen," he said. "It was in truth a
daring deed to ride from New York to Philadelphia, as the rebels infest
the country between. It is fortunate that Lieutenant Melville escaped
with so slight a wound. I should like to hear more about your
adventures, gentlemen."
Then Marcel with an air of great modesty told a most remarkable story of
our encounter, how we had driven the rebels back once, and had knocked
two of them off their horses, but at last under stress of numbers were
compelled to retreat. I took careful note of everything he said, because
if the time came for me to tell the tale alone, as most like it would,
mine must not vary from Marcel's in any particular. Sir William seemed
to be much pleased with the story.
"That will bear retelling," he said. "I must have you two, Captain
Montague and Lieutenant Melville, at our dinner to-morrow. I am to have
a company here composed of my most distinguished officers and of some of
our loyal friends of Philadelphia. I shall be glad for you to come,
gentlemen; and do you look your best, for there will be beauty at the
banquet."
Of course we accepted the invitation with great alacrity, but a shade
came over Marcel's face. The general observed it with keen eye.
"What is it that you find displeasing, Captain Montague?" he asked.
Marcel hesitated, and seemed to be in a state of perplexity.
"I fear it would anger you, general, if I were to name the cause," he
replied.
"Speak out! Tell me what it is. Would you rather not come? If so, have
no hesitation in declaring it," said Sir William.
But the general did not appear at all pleased at the possibility of his
invitation to dinner being declined by a junior officer. At which I did
not wonder, for it would have savored much of disparagement, not to say
impertinence.
"It is not that, general," replied Marcel, making a most graceful
genuflection. "We have already derived acute pleasure in anticipation
from the banquet to which you have so graciously invited us. But,
general, it is the truth that we have great need of one now. General, it
pains me to have to say it in your presence, but we are starving. We
have not eaten for a day. Perhaps we could have contained ourselves, if
you had not spoken of a feast, but that was too much for our endurance."
The general burst into a fit of great and hearty laughter. Marcel's sly
impertinence, for such it was, seemed to please him.
"Starving, eh?" he exclaimed. "Then I must see that my heroes who fought
the rebels so well do not perish of hunger. Britain has not yet come to
such a pass that she must deny food to her soldiers. Vivian will care
for you."
He called an aide of about our own age and bade him take us to the
officers' mess and give us the best that was to be found. This Vivian
was a talkative and agreeable young personage. We had to tell our entire
story again to him, which perhaps was not a bad thing, as it was a kind
of rehearsal and served to fasten the matter in our minds. I was
narrator this time, and I am confident that I followed Marcel's story so
well that if the two tales had been written out a reader could have
found no difference in them. It is so easy to lie sometimes.
"You are caught between luncheon and dinner," said Vivian, "but I think
the cook can knock up enough for you to stay the pangs of starvation."
"I trust he may," said Marcel, devoutly, "or else he will be responsible
for our deaths, and that would be too heavy a weight for a regimental
cook to bear."
It was evident that the cook had faced such emergencies before, as he
was nobly equal to it, and we did not restrain the expression of our
gratitude when we were seated at a table in the mess-room, with an
imposing meat pie, an abundance of bread and vegetables, and a flagon of
wine before us.
"We can do better than this when we are warned," said Vivian.
"This is ample and most comforting," I replied; and that was about the
first true thing said by either Marcel or me since we had entered
Philadelphia.
There was in this mess-room the same touch of luxury and adornment,
though more restrained, that we had noticed at the headquarters of the
general. It was evident that his Britannic Majesty's officers lived well
in the good city of Philadelphia.
"Oh, why did we not come sooner?" exclaimed Marcel, with a double
meaning that I alone understood.
"The rebels seem to have hurried you along fast enough," said Vivian,
with a laugh.
"We hope to reverse the case soon," replied Marcel, "and become the
pursuers ourselves. Meanwhile I take great comfort in demolishing this
pie."
The news of our adventure had been spread very generally about
headquarters, as several officers came in while we ate. They were rather
a friendly lot, and some of them I liked. Blake, our first British
friend, was among them.
"I wonder the rebels had the courage to pursue you," said a very callow
youth named Graves.
"Don't the rebels fight well?" asked Marcel.
"Oh, no, not at all," returned Graves, superciliously. "They take to
flight at the first glimpse of a British uniform."
"Then why don't you go out and show yourself, Graves?" asked Vivian;
"for they say that bands of the rebels do come alarmingly close to
Philadelphia."
There was a general laugh, and Graves turned almost as red as his coat.
"There is no doubt," said an older officer, named Catron, "as to our
ability to crush these rebels if we could get them into a corner. But
they are most cursedly sly."
"However," said I, for I was determined to defend my countrymen despite
our situation, "the rebels are the weaker, and it is the business of the
weaker party to avoid being pushed into a corner. And according to all
the accounts that have come to England, they seem to show much skill in
this particular."
"It is true," replied Catron, "but I must persist in calling it most
unhandsome behavior on their part. They don't give us a chance to win
any laurels, and they won't let us go home. We are kept in a condition
of waiting and uncertainty which is the most unpleasant of all things."
"Well, all that will speedily come to an end," said Marcel, "for my
friend Melville has arrived, and I tell you in strict confidence,
gentlemen, that Melville is the fiercest warrior since Marlborough. I
doubt not that the rebels, having heard of his arrival, are even now
fleeing into the wilderness across the Alleghany Mountains, that they
may forever be beyond the reach of his mighty arm."
The laugh went around again, and this time at my expense.
"Perhaps, if the discourteous rebels had known that I was one of the
gentlemen whom they were pursuing," I said, "it might have saved my
friend Captain Montague much exasperation of spirit and the loss of a
most elegant military cloak that he brought from England with him. I
assure you, gentlemen, that when we were compelled to take to flight the
captain's beautiful cloak trailed out behind him like a streamer, and
finally, a puff of wind catching it, left his shoulders entirely. I
doubt not that some ragged rebel is now wearing it as a trophy. Ah,
captain, it was a most beautiful cloak to lose, was it not?"
"And it was with that very cloak upon my shoulders," said Marcel,
falling into the spirit of the matter, "that I expected to make conquest
of some of these provincial maidens of whom report speaks in such
glowing terms. Alas, what shall I do?"
"Oh, it will be easy enough to get it back," said a young officer, whose
name, as I afterwards learned, was Reginald Belfort. "These rebels are a
poor lot. They cannot stand before us."
Belfort was young and handsome, but his face expressed arrogance and
superciliousness. I liked him but little.
"I know not much of the rebels from personal observation," I replied,
not relishing his sneer, "but General Burgoyne would hardly have said
that at Saratoga."
"No," commented Vivian, "for it would be somewhat severe upon General
Burgoyne to be captured with all his veterans by such a poor lot of men
as Belfort says the rebels are."
"You must not forget," said Catron, good-humoredly, "that Belfort thinks
the rebels are inferior in blood. Belfort, as you know, gentlemen, has a
lineage that dates back to the Conquest. He claims that these rebels are
the descendants of peasants and out-casts, and therefore should admit
their inborn and permanent inferiority."
"And such they are," said Belfort, still sneering. "They should be ruled
by the gentlemen of England, and ruled by them they will be."
"What were the Normans themselves in the beginning," I asked, "but
Scandinavian pirates and peasants? The ancestors of these rebels may
have been peasants, but at any rate they were not pirates."
Belfort flushed, and for a moment could not answer. He knew that I had
spoken the truth, as any one who reads history knows also.
"We have come to a fine pass," he said at length, "when a man who has
just escaped by the speed of his horse from the rebels sets himself up
as their defender."
"That may be," I replied, for I was still somewhat angry; "but I do not
think it worth our while to depreciate men who have already taken an
entire army of ours, and keep all our other forces cooped up in two or
three large towns."
"Melville does not want to diminish the glory of the victories that we
are to achieve," said Marcel, lightly. "The more valiant and the more
worthy the foe, the greater one's glory to triumph over him."
"That is a very just observation," said Vivian, who seemed anxious to
avoid a quarrel, "and I propose that the quality of the rebels and the
amount of resistance they will offer to our conquering armies be left to
the future. Such warlike questions will keep. Milder subjects better
become the present."
"Then would not the dinner that the general is to give to-morrow be a
fit topic?" asked young Graves.
"Our new friends are to be there," said Vivian. "You are lucky chaps,
Montague, you and Melville, to be invited, so soon after your arrival,
to one of Sir William's entertainments. There is not a better diner in
America, or Europe either, than the commander-in-chief."
"The banquet is to be blessed by beauty too," said Graves. "Our fair
ally and her renegade father are to be there. Oh, but Sir William keeps
a sharp eye on the old scoundrel, and well he deserves to be watched
thus."
"I beg to avow ignorance of whom you mean," I said, my curiosity
aroused. "You must remember that Montague and I have arrived but within
the day and know not the great personages of Philadelphia."
"By 'old renegade' we mean John Desmond, merchant and money-lender of
this city, who it is said has more wealth than any other man in all this
rich colony, ay, even enough to set up a mighty estate in England, if he
so chose," replied Vivian; "and by 'our fair ally' we mean his daughter
Mary, as fine and fair a woman as these two eyes ever gazed upon. The
old Desmond leans to the rebels, and 'tis said would help them with his
money if he dared, while the daughter is all for us, as she should be,
being a born subject of our liege King George, God bless him. And 'tis
reported that it might go hard with the old rebel, but some of his sins
are forgiven him for the sake of his loyal and lovely daughter."
I had not heard of the daughter before, but the name of the father was
known to me. Secret assistance of money had reached our camp sometimes,
and it was said that this John Desmond had sent it. Repute had it that
he was a man of great mind and brain, who would have come in person to
join us had not his rich properties in Philadelphia demanded his care
and attention; and I could well believe that his situation was of a very
precarious nature, despite his daughter's fidelity to the king.
"I am curious to see both the rebel and his loyal daughter," said
Marcel, unconsciously speaking my own thoughts also.
"You may yield to the charms of the daughter," replied Vivian, "but I
warn you that if you seek to retort her conquests upon her you will have
antagonists, and our friend Belfort here would not be the least among
them."
Belfort frowned as if he did not relish the allusion, but it was a jolly
young company of officers, and his frowns did not prevent them from
having but small mercy upon him.
"I am told," said Catron, "that the young lady looks very high, and it
will not be an easy task to win her. I think, Belfort, that the uniform
of a colonel would be an exceeding betterment to your chances. And even
if you should achieve success with the lady, I know not how the
glowering old Desmond will look upon you."
"It seems to me, gentlemen," said Belfort, a trifle warmly, "that you
are over personal in your discussions."
"Then in truth it is a most serious matter with you, eh, Belfort?"
exclaimed Vivian.
"Nevertheless the field is open to any of us who choose to enter, and I
suspect that some of us do choose," said Catron. "Belfort must not
expect to win a battle unopposed."
I saw that Belfort liked the discussion less and less, and that he did
not fancy rivalry. Many of the British officers in America, with worldly
wisdom, were already seeking alliances with our Colonial heiresses. I
had no doubt that Belfort had such designs in his mind, and I took a
dislike to him for it.
Our appetites had now been dulled, and Vivian, seeing it, suggested that
perhaps we might like to seek repose, adding that we would not be
assigned to any regular service for a day or two. We accepted the
invitation to rest, as we were in truth tired. Evening was at hand and
it had been a long day, filled with many adventures. The officers wished
us a hearty good-night and slumber undisturbed by dreams of pursuing
rebels, and then left us.
"I must return to Sir William," said Vivian, as he left, "but Waters
will take you to your quarters.--Here, Waters, see that Captain Montague
and Lieutenant Melville are made comfortable."
Waters, a large, red-headed man in the dress of a British orderly, who
had just entered, stepped forward.
"Waters is American," said Vivian, "but no Englishman is more loyal to
the king than he. He is a good soldier and a good fellow. In fact, he
has been so useful to us in various ways that he is in some sort a
privileged character, and often comes and goes pretty nearly according
to his own liking. So you may know that he is esteemed by us all."
When Vivian had gone, Waters led the way to our quarters. Presently this
red-headed man said to us, "The rebels are very numerous about the city,
are they not, and make travelling a matter of much danger?"
"Why should you think them numerous?" haughtily asked Marcel, who was a
great stickler for the formalities, and thought the man presumptuous in
speaking unbidden to his superiors.
"I meant no harm, sir," replied Waters, humbly. "I heard that they
pursued you and your friend there almost into the city itself."
"Well, at any rate," said Marcel, shortly, "they did not overtake us;
and if you will kindly conduct us to our quarters we will undertake to
get along without any further questions from you about the rebels."
"Of a certainty, sir," replied Waters. "I see that your honor pays small
heed to the rebels."
This savored of fresh impertinence, but neither Marcel nor I replied.
When we had reached the room and Waters was adjusting it for us, I saw
him regarding Marcel with a pair of remarkably keen and intelligent
eyes. It was a more comprehensive gaze than that of an ordinary
attendant prompted by curiosity, and there was something in it that
struck me with alarm. Presently his gaze shifted from Marcel and fell
upon me, but the eyes, meeting mine, passed on. A moment or two later,
Waters, having finished his task, bowed to us and left the room, walking
with a light, noiseless step, although he was a large, heavy man.
Sometimes little things stir one overmuch, and it was so with this
incident. The man had aroused my apprehensions to a strange degree, and
I showed my alarm in my face, for Marcel, turning to me, exclaimed,--
"Why, what ails you? What are you scared about?"
Then I explained how I had noticed the suspicious and inquiring gaze of
the man Waters. This made Marcel look serious also.
"Of a truth the man was over-bold in his manner," he said, "and it may
be he believes I am no more Captain Montague than you are Lieutenant
Melville. He is an American, I believe Vivian said?"
"Yes, one of the Tories."
"They are the worst of all."
But presently we took a more cheerful view of the matter. We reasoned
that, situated as we were, the slightest sort of an incident was likely
to breed suspicion in our minds.
"At any rate," said Marcel, "I shall not be unhappy just after having
eaten the first substantial and plentiful meal that I have had in a
year. That red-headed Tory shall not rest upon my mind."
"Nor upon mine," I said.
"That being the case," continued Marcel, "we'd better go to sleep."
Which we did.