I
A busier man in the city of Philadelphia during the winter and spring
season of '78 than John Anderson, would have been hard to find. For
weeks he had applied himself with relentless energy to the work before
him; for months he had deprived himself of the customary rounds of
pleasure in the interests of the seemingly gigantic task allotted to
him; until at length, for the first time, he was enabled to appreciate
to some degree the results of his toil. It was now past Easter-tide and
the moments were hurrying faster and faster in their haste towards the
culmination of the conspiracy that was forming little by little in the
heart of the community like an abscess in the body of a sick man.
Progress had been made at New York although it was acknowledged that the
recruiting there had fallen far short of all expectations. Still it was
a much simpler matter to effect the formation of such a regiment where
the work could be carried on openly and under the protection of General
Clinton; and where no sympathizer of the colonists, however loyal, would
dare to enter a formal protest against the proceedings. It is quite true
that Catholics were divided there as elsewhere; for not every one lent
his spontaneous, complete, and energetic adhesion to the cause of
American independence. And who would dare condemn their restraint; when
the memory of the intolerable and bitter practices of the early
patriots was recalled? They could not forget; and what was more, many
did not want to forget.
It was found impossible to gather in the city, now held by the enemy, a
thousand or more men sufficient to compose a regiment. Hence it was
necessary to draw from the neighboring colonies. Anderson had come to
Philadelphia with this object in view and, as an aid to his work, had
established himself immediately in the graces of the military
authorities. Quietly, privately, secretly, he pursued his quest, seeking
out likely individuals whom he impressed into the service of His Majesty
with not so much as a scruple as to means, fair or foul. Blackmail he
employed freely and the pressure of unpaid debts reaped for him a
harvest of names.
The currency was then worthless and the cost of living enormous. He was
the odd individual who could boast of being free from debt, and the
common jail and the stocks in the market place at Second and High
Streets were tireless in meting out their punishments to the delinquent
debtors. Anderson took royal advantage of this state of affairs, either
by resolving the debt in favor of an enlistment in the company or by
effecting a threatened punishment on the part of the creditor unless his
wishes were complied with. Many recruits who otherwise would have
rejected flatly the base proposition, were secured by such means.
At length he had registered about an hundred names, drawn from all
classes of the city. The services of Father Farmer had been sought as
chaplain, but this worthy servant of God gently but firmly declined
because of the weight of age and "several other reasons." Colonel
Clifton was still in charge of the regiment but the other officers were
to be Roman Catholics and appointed by the colonels. A meeting for the
purpose of organization would be held in the Provincial Hall in the
course of a few weeks. Then the company would be shipped as soon as
possible to New York for incorporation in the regiment there.
Anderson found General Arnold a ready and effective instrument in the
perfection of the plot. Not only had the latter supplied him with all
manner of information, but his authority had been employed on more than
one occasion in the matter of impressment. Whatever motives actuated the
General were ascribed by Anderson solely to his profound dislike of
Catholics and all things Catholic. A further incentive to the success of
the project was furnished by the issuance of a pass by the Military
Governor enabling a vessel to leave the port of Philadelphia, where it
had been tied up, for New York, for the purpose of transporting to that
city the members of the recruited company. This was, of course, a
violation of the military code, but the affair was done so secretly that
it was known only to Anderson and the Governor. The remote preparations
were now completed. All was in readiness for the meeting of the
so-called volunteers.
Meanwhile, Marjorie had continued to be an object of interest to the
busy Anderson, and he had paid attention to her with a marked gallantry.
Through the late winter and early spring he had been a frequent visitor
at her home and had often escorted her in public to the theater and
dancing assemblies. He flattered himself that her confidence had early
been gained and much information helpful to his scheme had been
obtained. He had played his part well, although on one occasion, he had
almost revealed himself; nevertheless he was completely satisfied that
she not for a moment suspected the real purpose of his designs.
Now he felt obliged to hold one more conference with the Military
Governor, for it was required that he know definitely the time set for
the vessel's departure. That was the sole obstacle to his plans, for the
date of the assembly depended upon the day of the sailing of the
transport. Arnold would know of its readiness; its clearance was then a
matter of personal convenience.
And so, this fine afternoon in early May, he resolved to direct his
steps in the direction of Mount Pleasant where he would complete his
plans. It was a long walk but less attention would be aroused by his
going afoot, and so he started early. Little did he suspect, however,
that his every move was being observed and that a pair of eyes had
pursued him to the very park, watching him even as he ascended the great
stone steps of the mansion.
He lifted the brass knocker and gave two or three slight taps, and even
as he did so the blue eyes continued to observe him.
II
The dining-hall at Mount Pleasant was such as was befitting the noble
proportions of the mansion. It adjoined the hall in opposition to the
great drawing-room, its eastern side terminating in an ell extension
from the hall proper where a wide easy staircase with a balustrade of
gracefully turned spindles ascended to the second floor. It was lighted,
not only by the fire that burned in the reredos at the northern wall,
but also by eight cresset-lamps and as many candles set in huge silver
candelabra on the center table.
Anderson was hungry from his long walk and ate well. A great roast
goose reposing in a huge silver platter was brought in by the servants
and set before them. There were vegetables of every sort, jellies,
sweetmeats, floating islands, and a dessert of fruits, raisins and
almonds. Madeira was drunk freely by all without any apparent
disadvantage.
"And how were all at home?" asked Peggy when they were seated. The
conversation was on general topics--for the servants were coming in and
out with the food.
"I saw only your sister when I called with Marjorie. Mr. Shippen was
away and Mrs. Shippen had a cold, a very slight one I believe."
"She is susceptible to asthmatic attacks," observed the General.
"Quite!" replied Anderson.
"She bears up remarkably. I think she has never missed a function."
"Her will-power alone," replied Peggy. "She can surmount obstacles; she
has never lost an opportunity."
They lapsed into silence, occupying themselves with the delicious
repast. Sometimes they talked of this, that and the other quite freely
and easily--of the society news, of the presence of Miss Franks at the
wedding, of the splendor of it all. Indeed, there was nothing to
indicate more than a company of old-time friends.
"I am ready to take my charges along with me," announced Anderson at
length.
"Hush! Not so loud," cautioned Arnold. "Later,--in the park, we shall
treat of that."
Then the servants came again and removed the dishes. After another
goblet of Madeira they left the table, going immediately out of doors,
for it was now dusk.
"I can do no more with the recruiting. I have in round numbers, an
hundred," Anderson began when they had been seated in the cypress walk.
The moon was not yet half way to the zenith and lay a dull copper color
in the eastern sky, partially eclipsed by the chimney of the great
house. A solemn silence, terrifying and rife with mysterious sensations,
seemed to pervade the place. It was a setting well fitted to shroud deep
and dark designs. No one would dare to venture near.
"You have done well. Egad! I know of none who could have done better."
"Yet it was no easy task, I assure you. They thrill with the very spirit
of rebellion. Cadwalader will never forgive me, and will haunt me when
he dies."
"You got him?" Arnold asked.
"I did. But I had to take proceedings against him which portended the
stocks. I promised him a wheelbarrow to be pushed every day in the
resolution of his debt. Only when I had the jailer at hand did he
reconsider. The debt has been paid, and he has already signed."
"I am glad you got him. He's a Papist, isn't he?" inquired Peggy.
"He is, and a staunch one at that," replied her husband.
"Let's get down to business," interrupted Anderson. "How soon may your
vessel sail?"
"This week, or the early part of next," replied Arnold. "I drew the pass
three weeks ago. With the time for clearance and sailing allowed, she
should be ready now. You had better make an allowance of a week."
"How about the crew?"
"They can be depended upon. They are beholden to her owner. Have no
fears concerning them."
"How soon may she clear?"
He was persistent in this.
"In a few days. Tomorrow if pressed."
"I want to get through with this business as soon as I can and get out
of this town. It may get too hot for me. If I had that meeting off my
mind and the men on board bound for New York I would enjoy greater
repose."
"I thought you were never apprehensive," remarked Peggy. "With your
composure and gallantry the world would judge that cares set lightly
upon your head."
"Happy is he who can abandon everything with which his conscience is
burdened. I have enjoyed no peace of soul for years and I see an
untimely end."
"Be not so melancholy," observed Arnold. "My boy, the future and the
world lie before you."
"Like a yawning abyss," was the grave reply.
"Oh! spare us your terrible verdicts," cried Peggy with a smile.
"I believe that I should have crushed with my scorn the philosopher who
first uttered this terrible but profoundly true thought," said Anderson.
"'Prudence is the first thing to forsake the wretched!'"
"Have you been imprudent?" she asked.
"I did find a charm in my escapades. At first I tingled with fear, but I
gradually laid aside that cloak of suspicion which guards safety, and
stalked about naked. A despicable contempt arises from an unreserved
intimacy. We grow bolder with our efforts."
"What is success?" asked Peggy.
Their mood was heavy; their tone morose. A sadness had settled upon them
like the blanket of the night. Only the moon climbing into the heavens
radiated glory.
"Come! Away with those dismal topics!" exclaimed the General. "This is
the time for rejoicing."
"Can you rejoice?" inquired the visitor.
"I, too, should be happy, but I fear, alas, I am not. My people give me
no peace."
"Why not render your country a lasting service?"
"How?"
"By performing a heroic deed that will once for all put an end to this
unseemly conflict."
"Never! I have been shattered twice for my efforts. I am done with
active field duty."
"I do not think of that," Anderson assured him.
"Of what, then?"
"You know that the mother country had already offered conciliation. The
colonies shall have an American Parliament composed of two chambers; all
the members to be Americans by birth, and those of the upper chamber to
have the same title, the same rank, as those of the House of Lords in
England."
"What? A Marquis of Pennsylvania, a Duke of Massachusetts Bay?" he
laughed aloud at this.
"No less fitting than the Duke of Albemarle."
"Why do you mention him?" Arnold inquired immediately. A thought flashed
before his mind. Had Peggy and this man conversed on that point?
"He simply came into my mind. Why?"
"Oh! Nothing. Continue."
"As I was saying, all laws, and especially tax laws, shall be the work
of this legislature, with the signature of the Viceroy. They shall
enjoy in every relation the advantage of the best government. They
shall, if necessary, be supported by all the naval and military force of
England, without being exposed to the dangers or subjected to the taxes
from which such a military state is inseparable."
"But how? What can I do that I have not already done?"
"You have the courage, you have the ingenuity to render that important
service. Why allow your countrymen to shed more blood when the enemy is
willing to grant all you are fighting for? You can save them from
anarchy. You can save them from the factions of Congress."
"God knows how ardently I desire such a consummation," breathed the
Governor.
"I am confident that he would perform any act, however heroic or signal,
to benefit the cause of his country," remarked Peggy with deliberate
emphasis.
"Name it. What shall I do?" he asked.
"Act the part of General Monk in history," announced Anderson.
Arnold recoiled. He could not believe his ears. Then the awful truth
dawned upon him.
"Is this your work?" he turned to Peggy fiercely.
"On my honor, I never thought of it." His wife was frightened at his
sudden change of manner.
There was silence. The trio sat in thought, one awaiting the other to
speak the first word.
"Never," blurted Arnold. "Never, so long as I wear this uniform."
"And yet the world resounds with his praises, for he performed a
disinterested and humane act."
"A treacherous and cowardly act!"
"Listen, I shall confide in you. If you would but exert your influence
in favor of an amicable adjustment of the difficulties between the
colonies and the mother country, you might command ten thousand guineas
and the best post in the service of the government."
"Would that mean a peerage?" asked Peggy suddenly.
"Assuredly," was the reply.
She stood up and strutted in a pompous and stately manner before them;
then she turned and courtesied before her husband.
"Your Grace, the carriage waits without. The Duchess is already in
waiting," she announced with a sweeping gesture.
He scowled at her but did not answer.
"Clive saved the British Empire in India and you can save the colonies,"
insisted Anderson.
"Would not a proud position at court, the comfortable income of a royal
estate, the possession of a peerage on home soil more than reward a man
as was the case with General Monk?" challenged Peggy, with a flash of
sudden anger.
"And leave my country in its hour of need," he finished the sentence for
her.
"Your country!" she taunted. "What has your country done for you? The
empty honors you have gained were wrung from her. The battle scars you
bear with you were treated with ingratitude. You were deprived of your
due honors of command. Even now you are attacked and hounded from every
angle. Your country! Pooh! A scornful mistress!"
She sat down and folded her arms, looking fiercely into the dark.
It is strange how human nature could be touched by so small affairs.
The war of continents meant very little to her imagination. Certainly
the parallel was not perfect; but it seemed to her to fit.
He looked around slowly.
"You took me for what I am," he said to her. "I gave you prestige,
wealth, happiness. But I have promised my life to my country if she
requires it and I shall never withdraw that promise while I live. Better
the grave of the meanest citizen than the mausoleum of a traitor."
"But think of your country!" insisted Anderson.
"Anderson," was the reply, "I know the needs of the country and I know
deeply my own grievances. Suppose I yield to your suggestions and
Britain fails,"--he paused as if to measure the consequences. "I shall
be doomed. I shall be called a bigot. My children will hate me."
He seemed to waver. His earlier enthusiasm apparently diminished before
their attack.
"But," continued Anderson, "with your aid Britain cannot fail. And
remember how England rewards those who render her great and signal
services. Look at the majestic column at Blenheim Palace reared to the
memory of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. Contrast with it what
Peggy has just said, the ingratitude, the injustice, the meanness, with
which Congress has treated you."
"Must the end justify the means?" he mused. "Can you continue to urge me
to duplicate the treachery of Churchill, who can never be forgiven for
his treason? Whatever else he may have achieved, you must remember he
was first and last a traitor."
"He was doubly a traitor, if you are pleased to so stigmatize him. He
first betrayed his benefactor, James, to ally himself with the Prince
of Orange; and then, on the pretext of remorse, broke faith with
William; acted the part of a spy in his court and camp; offered to
corrupt his troops and lead them over to James; and still all was
forgotten in the real service which he rendered to his country, and his
name has gone into history----"
He was interrupted by a sharp sound, as if some one had stepped upon a
branch or a twig, causing it to snap beneath his feet. On the instant,
Anderson was upon his feet, his hand feeling instinctively for his
pistol.
"We are betrayed," he whispered. "There is a spy here."
All had arisen in silence and were peering into the blackness of the
night whence the sound apparently came. Anderson thought he saw a figure
emerge from behind a tree far off in the distance and he immediately
gave chase, opening fire as he did so. Several times he fired into the
dark space before him, for it was bristling with shade, notwithstanding
the obscure light of the moon. As he covered the wide area between him
and the river, the lithe form of a man emerged from the wooded area and
disappeared down the incline which led to the water. Nearing the bank he
heard distinctly the splash of the body and he fired again into the spot
whence the noise arose. The waters were still in commotion when he
reached them, but there was no one to be found; nothing save the gentle
undulation of the surface as it closed over its burden, and gradually
became placid under the soft stillness of the night. After several
minutes of intense vigilance, he slowly retraced his steps.
III
"The river has swallowed him," he exclaimed as he neared Arnold and
Peggy, who were standing quite motionless at the side of the settees.
"Who was it?" the General asked eagerly.
"I did not see him. He disappeared into the river. I heard the splash of
his dive and fired several times in its direction, but saw no one."
"Did he swim it?"
"No! I would have seen him. The water was unruffled except for the
disturbance caused by his dive. The poor devil must have sunk to the
bottom. Perhaps one of my shots took effect."
"I don't like this," muttered Arnold. "I would not have that
conversation overheard for the crown of England. An enemy was near. I
hope to God he is in the bottom of the river."
"Still, I may have hit him. I was no more than fifty yards away."
"I shall have the bed dragged in the morning. I could not rest without
finding him. His identity must be learned."
Leaving the settees, they set off in the direction of the house,
entering by the rear door. The servants were already in alarm over the
shooting and were standing in a group behind the threshold motionless
with awe. Peggy paused to assure them of their safety, narrating briefly
the cause of the disturbance, together with the probable fate of the
spy. She rejoined her husband and his guest in the drawing-room.
"I wonder who the intruder was?" Arnold muttered. There was a look of
worry and anxiety on his face. His fingers nervously locked and
interlocked, and the next moment grasped his chin and rubbed his cheek.
He put his foot upon the stool and took it down again. Then he sat
forward in his chair.
"Reed is behind this," he ejaculated. "You will find out that I am
right. Reed has done this, or has sent one of his lieutenants. Damn him!
He has hounded me."
"I may have been tracked. Perhaps it was I who was sought. My late
movements might have created suspicion, and it is possible that I was
shadowed here."
"No, Anderson. No! It was not you they were seeking. It is I, I tell
you. Reed has been watching me like a sharpshooter from the day I
arrived. He has been the author of the rumors which you have heard about
town, and he would risk his life to be enabled to establish a serious
charge against me. I am sure of it. Reed is behind this; Reed and the
City Council."
"It was a nimble form----"
"Did you say you thought you hit him?" he asked nervously, seeking some
source of comfort and assurance.
"As I live, I hit him," Anderson promised him. "Else I would have
discovered him in the act of swimming. He is in the bottom of the
river."
"That's good, damn him. Oh! If it were but Reed himself! He haunts me."
"He would not haunt you did you but remove yourself from here,"
volunteered Peggy.
"I know it. I know it," he repeated. "But how can I?"
"I suggested one avenue to you," proposed Anderson.
"Which?"
He awaited the answer.
"Via England."
His face glared with a livid red. He brought his fist high above his
head.
"By heavens!" he roared. "I won't hear that again. I won't listen to it,
I tell you. I'm afraid to do it. I cannot do it. I cannot."
He shook his head as he slowly repeated the words.
"Pardon me," Anderson pleaded, "I intended no harm. I apologize most
sincerely for my impertinence. It will not happen again, I assure you."
"That will do. Drop it at that."
"The vessel will be ready next week? The meeting, then, can take place a
week from Thursday."
"Undoubtedly."
"You will assure me of your interest?"
He was on the point of going. Though he had conquered, still, he did not
know that he had conquered. He believed, as he turned and faced his
friend for the last time in Mount Pleasant, that his mind was fully made
up and that he had decided for all time in favor of the cause, at the
sacrifice of himself.
"I shall do what I can," Arnold whispered, "but no more."
He parted from them at the threshold.