I knew that my honor was safe in Marcel's hands, and I followed Waters
to Sir William Howe, whom I found dictating to his secretary. He gave me
a little nod and said,--
"I have sent my aide, Vivian, away on other duty and I wish you to take
his place. You will find a chair there and you can wait."
I sat down, and he paid no further attention to me for a long time. Then
he relieved the secretary, who looked worn out, and put me in his place.
I write a fair round hand with a goose quill, and Sir William seemed
pleased with my work. The letters were on official business, mostly to
cabinet ministers in London, and to this day I often wonder if the
British archives still contain documents written by that most disloyal
rebel Robert Chester.
Evidently it was a busy day with Sir William Howe, as we wrote on hour
after hour, long past four o'clock, the time for arranging the duel,
though my work did not keep me from noticing more than once the luxury
of Sir William's quarters, and the abundant proof that this man was made
for a life of easy good-nature and not for stern war. How well the
British served us with most of their generals! I inferred that busy days
such as this were rare with Sir William Howe.
Orderlies came in with reports and went directly out again. The night
darkened through the windows at last, and supper was brought to us,
which I had the honor of sharing with Sir William.
It was full ten o'clock when he sat down in a chair and ceased to
dictate, while I opened and shut my cramped fingers to be sure that I
still had over them the power of motion.
"You are tired, Melville," said Sir William, "and you have honestly
earned your weariness."
"I hope that I have served you well, Sir William," I replied. I was
thoroughly sincere when I said this. God knows that I had cause only to
like Sir William Howe, and in truth I did like him. I thought of him as
a good man in the wrong place.
"Yes, you have done well," he said, "but I did not send for you merely
to help me in this work. I wished to break up the plans for that silly
duel that you and Lieutenant Belfort are trying to arrange. Do not
flush; none of your friends have betrayed you. I heard of it through a
proper channel. I could have arrested and punished you both, but I
preferred a milder method. I liked you from the first, Lieutenant
Melville, and I do not wish my young officers to kill one another. You
cannot serve either the king, me, or one another by sharpening your
swords on the bones of your comrades. No protestations, but understand
that I forbid this! Do I wish either you or Lieutenant Belfort to come
to me with British blood on his hands? Is it not bad enough when the
Englishmen of the Old World and the New are cutting one another's
throats?"
It was a time when silence became me, and in truth no answer was needed.
Sir William seemed to be excited. He walked hurriedly back and forth,
and apparently forgot the lowness of my rank when he continued,--
"I have been blamed by a numerous and powerful party in England because
I have not pushed the campaign more vigorously, because I have not used
more severity. I say this to you, a young man, because every one knows
it. A wasted country, burning towns, and slaughtered people do not look
so bad when they are thousands of miles away. But put yourself in my
place, in the place of the general-in-chief. Did I wish to kill the sons
and grandsons of Englishmen? Did I wish to waste this English domain,
greater than England herself? I hoped, when leaving England, that the
quarrel would be made up, that all Englishmen would remain brethren. My
brother and I made offers, and I still hoped, even after the battle of
Long Island and our capture of New York, that the rebels would come back
to us. But they have not, and those who remain loyal, like the rich of
this city and New York, do not seem to know the temper and resources of
their own countrymen who oppose us. How could I fight well with the
torch of peace in one hand and the torch of war in the other? There must
be either peace or war. A country cannot have both at the same time."
"It is certain," I said, "that if any other country possessed these
colonies it would not have treated them as well as England has done."
In making that assertion I was thoroughly sincere. While convinced that
we had ample cause for rebellion, I had always felt that the cause would
have been much greater had our mother nation been any other than
England. She ruled us mildly or rather let us rule ourselves until we
grew strong and proud, and then suddenly and against the wishes of many
of her best, sought to give us a master when we had never known one.
"It is true, or at least I hope so," said Sir William, "but that does
not end the war. How are we to achieve the conquest of a country six or
seven times as large as England, and inhabited by a people of our own
race and spirit? If we beat an army in one place, another appears
elsewhere; if we hold a city, it is merely an island in a sea of rebels,
and we cannot convert the whole thirteen colonies into one huge camp!"
As I have said before, Sir William seemed much agitated. I noticed a
letter with the royal seal lying upon the table, to which his eyes
frequently turned and which he took in his hand several times, though he
did not reopen it in my presence. I judged that its contents were
unpleasant to him, though I could not guess their nature. That and his
agitation would account for the extraordinary freedom with which he
spoke to me, a comparative stranger. And I was sincerely sorry for him,
knowing his unfitness for the task in which he had failed, and believing
too that he bore my countrymen no ill will. He continued his uneasy walk
for a few minutes, and then sitting down endeavoured to compose
himself.
"Do not repeat any of the things that I have said to you, Melville; see
that you do not," he said to me; but he added in a lower tone, as if to
himself, "But I know of no good reason why my opinions should not be
heard."
I assured him that nothing he had said would be repeated by me, and in
truth I had no thought of doing so, even before he gave his caution.
"Melville," he said, "you are tired and sleepy, and so am I. I shall not
send you to your quarters, but there is a lounge in the anteroom upon
which Vivian sleeps. You may take his place there to-night, and consider
yourself the commander of my guard. Merely see that the sentinels are on
duty at the door and have received proper instructions. Then you may go
to sleep."
I bade him good-night, found that all was right with the sentinels, and
lay down in my clothes on the lounge. I was worn out with the long work,
but I did not go to sleep. I was compelled to reflect upon the extreme
singularity of my position. I, Robert Chester, a lieutenant in the rebel
army and most loyal to the Congress, was on watch at the door of Sir
William Howe, the British commander-in-chief, as commander of his guard.
And moreover I meant to be faithful to my trust. Upon these points my
conscience gave me no twinge, but it urged with increasing force the
necessity of our speedy flight from Philadelphia. Our errand had been a
fruitless one. Honor called us away and danger hurried us on. Only the
duel with Belfort stood in the way of an attempt to escape. It is true
that Sir William Howe had forbidden the meeting, but I did not feel
that I could withdraw from it despite his command. I was too deeply
involved.
Shortly after I lay down I heard loud voices, and two men who gave the
countersign passed the sentinel and entered the room where I lay. I had
not put out the light, and I saw their faces distinctly. They were
Hessians, and colonels, as I judged by their uniform. Now I always hated
the sight of a Hessian, and when they told me that they wished to see
Sir William Howe on important business, I examined them long and
critically, from their flushed faces down to their great jackboots,
before I condescended to answer.
"Don't you hear us?" exclaimed the younger with an oath and in bad
English. "We wish to see Sir William Howe!"
"Yes, I hear you," I said, "but I do not know that Sir William wishes to
see you."
"He himself is to be the judge of that," replied the elder, "and do you
tell him that we are here."
Their faces were sure proof that both men had been drinking, but
evidently the potations of the younger had been the deeper. Otherwise
even a Hessian would scarcely have dared to be so violent in manner. I
told them that Sir William probably had retired, and on no account could
they disturb him. They insisted in angry tones, but I would have stood
by my refusal had not Sir William himself, who had heard the
altercation, appeared, fully dressed, at the door, and bade them enter.
I was about to retire, but Sir William signed to me to stay, and I sat
down in a chair near the window.
It was merely a matter concerning the Hessian troops,--a claim of the
colonels that they had received an over-share of danger and an
under-share of rations, while the British had been petted; and I would
not put down the narration of it here had it not produced an event that
advanced me still further in the good graces of Sir William.
Hessian soldiers in those days even ordinarily had but few manners, but
when in liquor none at all. They seemed to presume, too, upon the widely
reported fact that Sir William Howe was fast losing credit with his
government and might be supplanted at any time. They were accusing, even
violent in their claims; and the red flush appeared more than once upon
the swarthy skin of Sir William's face. I wondered how he could restrain
his anger, but he was essentially self-restrained, and though he was
their commander he did not reply to them in kind. At last the younger
man, Schwarzfelder was his name, denied outright and in an insulting
manner some statement made by Sir William, and I rose at once. Sir
William's eye met mine, and his look was in the affirmative. I took the
Hessian colonel, who in truth was staggering with drink, dragged him
through the anteroom, and threw him into the street. This brought his
comrade to his senses, and he apologized hastily both for himself and
Colonel Schwarzfelder.
"Deem yourself fortunate," said Sir William, sternly and with much
dignity, "that you and Colonel Schwarzfelder do not hear more of this.
I am yet the commander-in-chief of his Majesty's forces in America, and
I am not to be insulted by any of my subordinates, either here or
elsewhere. Go back, sir, to your quarters at once and take your drunken
comrade with you. Lieutenant Melville, I thank you again for your
services."
The officer retired in great confusion, and Sir William sent me back to
the anteroom. I left him sitting at his table, looking thoughtful and
gloomy.