As neither Marcel nor I was assigned to any duty for the remainder of
the day, we thought to while away a portion of the time by strolling
about Philadelphia.
"We need not make spies of ourselves," said Marcel; "but I know no
military law against the gratification of our own personal curiosity."
Guided by such worthy motives, we spent some time that was to our
amusement and perhaps to our profit also. Barring the presence of the
soldiery, Philadelphia showed few evidences that war was encamped upon
its threshold. I have seldom witnessed a scene of such bustle and
animation, and even of gayety too, as the good Quaker City presented. A
stranger would have thought there was no war, and that this was merely a
great garrison town.
The presence of fifteen or twenty thousand soldiers was good for trade,
and gold clinked with much freedom and merriment. Though wagon-trains of
provisions were taken sometimes by the Americans, yet many others came
safely into Philadelphia, and the profits were so large that the worthy
Pennsylvania farmers could not resist the temptation to take the risks,
though most of them would have preferred to sell to the patriots, had
the latter possessed something better than Continental paper to offer
them.
"The British boast much of their bayonets," said Marcel; "but they fight
better with their gold."
"And we have neither," said I.
"Which merely means," said Marcel, "not that we shall not win, but that
we will be longer in the winning."
Our conversation was diverted from this topic by my observance of a
peculiar circumstance. Often I would see four or five men, gathered at a
street corner or in front of a doorway, talking with an appearance of
great earnestness. Whenever Marcel and I, who were in full uniform, and
thus were known to be British officers as far as we could be seen,
approached, they would lower their tone or cease to talk. This had not
happened on any day before, and was not what we would have expected from
citizens who had grown used to the presence of the British army. I asked
Marcel to take note of it.
"Something unusual that they do not wish to tell us of has happened," he
said. "I propose that we find out what it is."
"How?" I said.
"I know no better way than to ask," he replied. "Suppose we seize the
very next opportunity, and interrogate our Quaker friends concerning the
cause of their strange and mysterious behavior."
Presently we saw four men engaged in one of these discussions. Three
appeared to be citizens of Philadelphia, or at least we so judged from
the smartness of their dress; the fourth had the heavy, unkempt look of
a countryman. We approached; on the instant they became silent, and
there was a look of embarrassment upon their faces.
"Friends," said Marcel, in his courtly manner, "we wish not to interrupt
your most pleasant discourse, but we would ask what news of importance
you have, if there be no harm in the telling of it."
"It rained last night," said the countryman, "and it is good for the
spring planting."
"Yet one might have news more interesting, though not perhaps more
important, than that," replied Marcel; "for it has rained before, and
the crops have been planted and reaped likewise before."
"Even so," said the countryman, "but its importance increases when there
are twenty thousand red-coats in Philadelphia to be fed."
"But is that the whole burden of your news?" asked Marcel. "We have seen
others talk together as you four talk together, and we do not think it
accords with nature for all Philadelphia to be agog because it rained
the night before."
"Some heads hold strange opinions," said the countryman, curtly; "but
why should I be held to account for them?"
So saying, he walked off with his companions.
"You can't draw blood from a turnip," said Marcel, "nor the truth from a
man who has decided not to tell it."
"Not since the torture-chamber was abolished," I said, "and I would even
guess that this countryman is no very warm friend to the British, from
the insolent tone that he adopted towards us."
"And I would guess also that his news, whatever it may be, is something
that will not be to the taste of the British, or he would tell it to
us," said Marcel.
But we were not daunted by one repulse, and we decided to try elsewhere.
From another little group to which we addressed ourselves we received
treatment perhaps not quite so discourteous, but as unproductive of the
desired result. All this we took as further proof that there was in
reality something of importance afoot. At last we went into a little
eating-house where strong liquors also were sold.
"Perhaps if we moisten their throats for them," said Marcel, "they may
become less secretive. It is a cure I have rarely known to fail."
There were eight or ten men in this place, some citizens of the town and
some countrymen.
"What news?" I asked of one who leaned against the counter. "There seems
to be a stir about the town, and we ask its cause."
"You are British officers," he replied. "The British hold this town. You
should know more than we."
"But this town has a population of such high intelligence," I said,
thinking to flatter him, "that it learns many things before we do."
"If you admit that," he said, "then I can tell you something."
"Ah! what is it?" I asked, showing eagerness.
"Perhaps you may not like to hear it," he said, "but Sir William Howe
was nearly carried off last night by Wildfoot."
Then all of them laughed in sneering fashion.
"I was afraid you would not like my news," said the man, pretending of a
sudden to be very humble; "but you would not be satisfied until I told
it, and so I had to tell it."
"We must even try elsewhere," said Marcel.
Marcel was a jester, but, like most other jesters, he did not like a
jest put upon himself. So we left the eating-house, and as we went out
we saw the man Waters coming towards us. As I have often said, I did not
like this fellow, and moreover I feared we had reason to dread him, but
I thought he could tell us what we wished to know, as he had such a
prying temper.
He saluted us with much politeness, and stopped when I beckoned to him.
The men in the eating-house had all come to the door.
"Good-morning, Waters," I said. "Can you tell us what interests the
people of this city so much, the news that we have been seeking in vain
to learn? Here are gentlemen who have something that they would cherish
and keep to themselves like a lady's favor."
"It would scarce be proper for me, who am but an orderly, to announce
weighty matters to your honors," said the man, with a most aggravating
look of humility. The loungers who had come to the door laughed.
"We will overlook that," said Marcel, who kept his temper marvellously
well. "But tell us, is not the town really in a stir as it seems to be?"
"It is, your honors," said Waters, "and it has cause for it."
The loungers laughed again; but I did not mind it now, as I was eager to
hear what Waters had to say.
"Let us have this mighty secret," I said.
"I fear your honors will not like it," replied Waters.
"Never mind about that," I said, impatiently. "I do not believe that it
amounts to anything at all."
"It is only that the King of France has joined the Americans and
declared war on the English," said Waters.
For a moment I could scarce restrain a shout of joy. There had been talk
for some time about a French alliance, but we had been disappointed so
often that we had given up hope of it. Now the news had come with the
suddenness of a thunder-clap. I believe that Marcel felt as I did, but
it was of high importance that we should keep our countenances.
"Whence did you get such a report as that?" I asked, affecting to treat
it with contempt and unbelief.
"From the people of the city," replied Waters.
"Where did they get it?" asked Marcel.
"I think it was brought in from the American army," replied the man,
"and if your honor will pardon me for saying it, there is no doubt
whatever about its truth."
"King George will now have two enemies to fight instead of one, and he
has not whipped the first," said one of the loungers.
"Fear not that his armies will not be equal to the emergency," said I,
thinking it needful to preserve my character as a British officer.
"Then they will have to do something more than feast and dance in this
city," said the bold fellow. The others murmured their approval and
applause, and Marcel and I, bidding them to beware how they talked
treason, strolled on.
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news," said Waters, humbly.
"King Louis and the Americans are responsible for the news, not you,"
said Marcel. "Still, we thank you for narrating it to us."
His tone was that of curt dismissal, and Waters, accepting it, left us.
Marcel and I looked at each other, and Marcel said:--
"If we were able, half-armed, untrained, and unaided, to take one
British army at Saratoga, what ought we not to do now with King Louis's
regulars to help us, and King Louis's arsenals to arm us?"
"The alliance suggests many things," I said, "and one in particular to
you and me."
"What is that?" asked Marcel.
"That we leave Philadelphia at once, or at least as soon as we can find
an opportunity," I replied, "and rejoin our army. This should portend
great events, perhaps a decisive campaign, and if that be true we ought
to share it with our comrades."
"Without denying the truth of what you say," replied Marcel, "we
nevertheless cannot leave the city to-day, so we might as well enjoy the
leisure the gods have allotted to us. The counting-house of our rich
patriot, old John Desmond, is on this street. Perhaps he has not heard
the news, and if we were the first to tell it to him he might forgive
our apparent British character, though I fear it would be but small
recommendation to his handsome Tory daughter."
We entered the counting-house, where Mr. Desmond still contrived to earn
fair profits despite the British occupation. Our British uniforms
procured for us a certain amount of respect and deference from the
clerks and attendants, but the stern old man, who would not bend to Sir
William Howe himself, only glowered at us when we came into his
presence.
"I fear I can give you but little time to-day, gentlemen," he said, with
asperity, "though I acknowledge the honor of your visit."
"We are not in search of a loan," said Marcel, lightly, "but came merely
to ask you if you had any further particulars of the great news which
must be so pleasing to you, though I admit that it is less welcome to
us."
"The news? the great news? I have no news, either great or small," said
Mr. Desmond, not departing from his curt and stiff manner.
"Haven't you heard it?" said Marcel, with affected surprise. "All the
people in the city are talking about it, and we poor Britons expect to
begin hard service again immediately."
"Your meaning is still strange to me," said Mr. Desmond.
"It's the French alliance that I mean," said Marcel. "We have received
positive news this morning that King Louis of France and Mr. Washington
of America, in virtue of a formal treaty to that effect, propose to
chastise our master, poor King George."
I had watched Mr. Desmond's face closely, that I might see how he took
the news. But not a feature changed. Perhaps he was sorry that he had
yielded to his feelings at the recent banquet, and was now undergoing
penance. But, whatever the cause, he asked merely, in a quiet voice,--
"Then you know that the King of France has espoused the American cause
and will help General Washington with his armies and fleets?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Marcel.
"Then this will be interesting news for my daughter, though she will not
like it," he said. He opened the door of an inner room, called, and Miss
Desmond came forth.
She looked inquiringly at us, and then spoke with much courtesy. We
returned the compliments of the day in a manner that we thought
befitting highborn Britons and conquerors in the presence of sympathetic
beauty. I took pride to myself too, because my affair with Belfort had
ended as she wished. It seemed to give me a claim upon her. But I
observed with some chagrin that neither our manners nor our appearance
seemed to make much impression upon Miss Desmond.
"Daughter," said Mr. Desmond, in the same expressionless tone that he
had used throughout the interview, "these young gentlemen have been
kind enough to bring us the news that France and the colonies have
signed a formal treaty of alliance for offensive and defensive purposes.
The information reached Philadelphia but this morning. I thought it
would interest you."
I watched her face closely, as I had watched that of her father,
expecting to see joy on the father's, sorrow on the daughter's. But they
could not have been freer from the appearance of emotion if they had
planned it all before.
"This will complicate the struggle, I should think," she said, dryly,
"and it will increase your chances, Captain Montague and Lieutenant
Melville, to win the epaulets of a colonel."
"We had expected," I said, "that Miss Desmond, a sincere friend of our
cause, would express sorrow at this coalition which is like to prove so
dangerous to us."
"My respect to my father, who does not believe as I do, forbids it," she
said. "But I think the king's troops and his officers, all of them, will
be equal to every emergency."
We bowed to the compliment, and, there being no further excuse for
lingering, departed, patriot father and Tory daughter alike thanking us
for our consideration in bringing them the news.
"The lady is very beautiful," said Marcel, when we had left the
counting-house, "but she sits in the shadow of the North Pole."
"Self-restraint," I said, "is a good quality in woman as well as in
man."
"I see," said Marcel. "It is not very hard to forgive treason when the
traitor is a woman and beautiful."
"I do not know what you mean," I said, with frigidity.
"It does not matter," he replied. "I know."