I
"Come!" said Stephen in response to the soft knock upon his door panel.
"Just a minute."
He arose from his knees from the side of his bed. It was his custom to
pray in this posture both morning and night; in the morning to thank his
Lord for having brought him safely through the night and to offer Him
all his prayers and works and sufferings of the day. At night to implore
pardon for his shortcomings of the day and to commend himself into the
hands of his Creator. This morning, however, the noise of heavy
footsteps on the stairway had caused him to abbreviate somewhat his
devotional exercise.
"Come in!" he repeated as he slipped back the bolt and opened the door.
"Oh! Good morning! You're out early. How are you?"
He shook the hands of his early morning visitors warmly.
"Fine morning!" replied Mr. Allison. "Sorry to have disturbed you, but
Jim was around early and desired to see you."
"Sure! No disturbance at all, I assure you. I was on the point of
leaving for breakfast."
"Go right ahead. Please don't delay on our account. We can wait. Go
ahead," expostulated Mr. Allison.
"We want'd t' be sure an' git ye, thet wuz all," remarked Jim. "Eat
first. We'll be here when y' git back."
"Sit down and make yourselves comfortable," and he arranged several
chairs about the room. "I overslept, I fear. Last night taxed me."
"You did justice to yourself and to us last night. The splendid result
was your reward."
They were seated, Jim by the window, Mr. Allison at Stephen's desk. The
disorder of early morning was apparent in the room, the furniture
disarranged and all manner of clothing, bed covering, wearing apparel,
towels, piled or thrown carelessly about. No one seemed to mind it,
however, for no one paused to rearrange it.
"It wuz a big night. Tell us how did ye git along with 'em?" asked Jim.
"Much better than I had anticipated," Stephen replied. "I thought that
Anderson's talk had won them entirely, but when I asked for the floor, I
saw at once that many were with me. Had you instructed them?" This
question was directed towards Jim.
"I did. I saw a doz'n at least. You know they had no use fur th' thing
and were glad o' th' chance. I made a big secret out o' it, and they
watch'd fur my ol' clothes."
"I thought I felt their glances. They stuck true, you may be assured. I
knew, too, that I possessed a reserve blow in the affair of the _Isis_.
The mention of Arnold's name inflamed them."
"I am sorry to have missed that," Mr. Allison said.
"How did they avoid you?" Stephen asked.
"I don't know. I was never approached although I had been acquainted
with the rumors of the thing right along. I suppose they figured that I
would threaten them with exposure. They knew where I stood; and then
again they knew that they could threaten me with no debts. For some
reason or other they thought best to avoid me."
"I guess we killed it for good."
"Kill'd it?" exclaimed Jim. "It's deader 'n a six-day corpse. An'
there's great talk goin' on t'day on all th' corners. We're right wid
th' peepul y' kin bet, and they thought best to avoid me."
"Have you noticed any agitation?"
"There has been a little disturbance," Mr. Allison admitted, "but no
violence. It has been talk more than anything. Many are wondering who
you are and how you obtained your information. Others are considerably
taken back by the unveiling of Anderson. The greatest of respect is
being shown to us on the street, and congratulations are being offered
to us from all sides."
"I am glad the sentiment has changed. It now looks like the dawn of a
better day. We should be spurred on, however, to greater endeavor in the
manifestation of our loyalty, especially among the minority Tory
element."
Outside, the street was beginning to feel the impulse of life. Over
across, the buildings shone with the brightness of the morning sun which
was reflected mildly from the glassy windows. There was a silent
composure about it all, with no sound save the footfalls of the passing
horse or the rattle of the business wagon. Somewhere across the street
the man with the violin continued his fiddling.
"Does that keep up all day?"
"Almost! It is amusing to hear Griff swearing at him. The humorous part
of it is that he plays but one tune, 'Yankee Doodle.'"
"Can't ye steal it some night?" asked Jim, "an' bust it over 's head."
"I don't care," laughed Stephen, "he doesn't bother me."
The door opened and shut. Sergeant Griffin entered, saluted Stephen and
took the hands of the visitors.
"Well, what do you think of the boy?"
"I alwa's said he wuz a good boy."
"The fun hasn't begun yet," announced the Sergeant. "I have just learned
that the City Council has met, and is about to issue formal charges
against General Arnold."
Stephen whistled.
"They are glad of this opportunity," he announced quietly.
"Reed never took kindly to him, not from the first day," declared Mr.
Allison.
"Well, if Reed gits after 'm he'll make the fur fly. He's a bad man when
he gits goin'."
"Did you say they had met?" Stephen inquired.
"I understand they have. The affair of last night is being talked of
freely on the street. And they are talking about you, most of all, and
wonder if you had been sent by Washington to uncover this. One thing is
certain: Arnold is in disgrace and the sooner he gets out of here the
better it will be for him."
"The General likes 'im and p'rhaps 'll give 'im a transf'r."
"By the way!" interrupted Mr. Allison. "My girl wants to see you."
"See me?" Stephen quickly repeated, pointing to himself.
"She told me on leaving to tell you."
"Very well. Is it urgent?"
"No. I guess not. She didn't say it as if it were."
"Tell her for me, I shall go as soon as I can."
"What's th' next thin' t' do?" asked Jim.
"Matters will take care of themselves for awhile," Stephen replied.
"Anderson, I suppose, has left town together with Clifton and the
others. If the City Council has met to publish charges against Arnold,
there is nothing to do but await the result of these. The people, I
presume, are of one mind now and if they are not they will soon be
converted once the news of last night's affair has reached their ears."
"Are you going to remain here?" asked Mr. Allison.
"I am going to take some breakfast, first; then I shall busy myself with
a report. I may be busy for several days away from the city. In the
meantime I would advise that the whole affair be aired as much as
possible. There is nothing like supplying the public mind with food.
Meet me, Jim, at the Coffee House; or are you coming with me?"
"Guess I'll go. This man wants t' eat."
II
The City Council did meet, as rumor announced to Sergeant Griffin, and
immediately published charges against David Franks, the father of the
aide-de-camp of the Military Governor, charging him with being in
correspondence with his brother in London, who was holding the office of
Commissary for British prisoners. He was ordered to be placed under
immediate arrest. At the same time formal charges, partly of a military
nature, partly of a civil, were preferred against the Military Governor.
Copies of indictment were laid before Congress and before the Governors
of the states, who were asked to communicate them to their respective
legislatures.
The press became wildly excited. Great headlines announced the startling
news to the amazement of the country. For, it must be remembered,
Philadelphia was the center of government and colonial life, and the
eyes of the infant nation were turned continually in its direction.
General Arnold's name soon became a subject for conversation on every
side.
None took the news more to heart than the General himself, as he sat in
his great drawing-room with a copy of the evening news sheet before him.
Being of an imaginative, impulsive nature it was natural for him to
worry, but tonight there was the added feature of the revelation of his
guilt. Reed had pursued him relentlessly, and the public announcement of
his participation in the attempted formation of this detestable regiment
only furnished the President of the Council with the opening he had so
long desired. He re-read the charges preferred against him, his name
across the front in big bold type. In substance they were as follows:
First: That the Military Governor had issued a pass for a vessel
employed by the enemy, to come into port without the knowledge of the
State authorities or of the Commander-in-chief.
Second: That upon taking possession of the city he had closed the shops
and stores, preventing the public from purchasing, while at the same
time, "as was believed," he had made considerable purchases for his own
benefit.
Third: That he imposed menial offices upon the militia when called into
service.
Fourth: That in a dispute over the capture of a prize brought in by a
state privateer he had purchased the suit at a low and inadequate price.
Fifth: That he had devoted the wagons of the state to transporting the
private property of Tories.
Sixth: That, contrary to law, he had given a pass to an unworthy person
to go within the enemy's lines.
Seventh: That the Council had been met with a disrespectful refusal when
they asked him to explain the subject-matter of the Fifth charge.
Eighth: That the patriotic authorities, both civil and military, were
treated coldly and neglectfully, in a manner entirely different from his
line of conduct towards the adherents of the king.
A further account of the Council meeting was then given wherein it was
stated that a motion had been made to suspend General Arnold from all
command during the time the inquiry was being made into these
accusations, but it had been voted down. Congress was asked, the story
went on, to decide on the value of these charges and to refer them to
the proper tribunal, the necessary amount of evidence being promised at
the proper time.
"The fools!" he muttered. "They think that these can hold water."
He continued to read, and holding the paper at a distance from him,
gazed at it.
"What a shame! Every paper in the country will have this story before
the week is out. I'm disgraced."
He fell back in his chair with his head propped up by his elbow. In his
other hand, thrown across the arm of the chair, was held the paper. His
brows were contracted, his eyes closed, his face flushed in indication
of the tumult that surged within him. His mind was engaged in a long
process of thought which began with his memories of his early campaigns
and traced themselves down to the events of the present moment. There
was no decision, no constancy of resolution, no determination; just
worry, and apprehension, and solicitude, and the loud, rapid beatings of
his temple against his hand.
"Suspend me! I'll forestall them, damn 'em. I'll resign first."
He wondered where Anderson had gone or what fortune he had met with. The
morning brought the first report of the disruption of the meeting and of
the unknown person who had single-handed accomplished it. There must be
a traitor somewhere, for no one save Anderson and himself had been
initiated into the secret. Margaret knew, of course, but she could be
trusted. Perhaps after all the man had escaped that night. Perhaps it
was this very person who had created the furore at the meeting. Who was
he? How did he get in? Why were proper steps not taken to safeguard the
room against all possibilities of this nature? Bah! Anderson had bungled
the thing from the start. He was a boy sent on a man's errand.
The regiment was defunct. To speculate further on that subject would be
futile. It never had existed, as far as he could see, except on paper,
and there it remained, a mere potentiality. The single-handed disruption
of it proved how utterly deprived it was of cohesion and organization.
That one man, alone and in disguise, could have acquainted himself
thoroughly with the whole proceeding, could have found his way with no
attempt at interference into the meeting place, and with a few
well-chosen words could have moved an entire audience to espouse the
very contrary of their original purpose, indicated the stability and the
temper of the assembly. To coerce men is a useless endeavor. Even the
Almighty finds it well not to interfere with man's power of choice. They
might be led or enticed or cajoled; but to force them, or intimidate
them, or overwhelm them, is an idle and unavailing adventure.
Anderson had failed miserably and his conspiracy had perished with him.
Not a prominent Catholic had been reached in the first place; not a
member of the poorest class would now leave the city. The affair with
its awful disclosures only added strength to their position, for
whatever aspersions might have been cast upon their loyalty in the event
of the successful deportation of the company, were now turned like a
boomerang against the very ones who had engineered the scheme. The
community would respect the Catholics more for the future. They were to
profit by his undoing. They would be valued for the test that their
patriotism had stood.
There was another consideration, however, which wore a graver complexion
and tormented him beyond endurance. This was the solicitude for his own
safety. The people had hated him for years and had proceeded to invent
stories about him which might justify its anger. It had been a
satisfaction for him to reflect that, for the most part, these stories
had not been the causes, but rather the effects of public indignation.
But what answer could he make now, what apology could he offer for this
late transaction, this conspiracy at once so evident and palpable? As
far as the question of his guilt was concerned there would be little
conjecture about that. Ten or twenty accounts of the venture,
inconsistent with one another and with themselves, would be circulated
simultaneously. Of that he had no doubt. People would neither know nor
care about the evidence. It was enough that he had been implicated.
He would ask for a court-martial. That, of course. Through no other
tribunal could a just and a satisfactory decision be reached, and it was
paramount that another verdict besides that pronounced by public opinion
be obtained. Unquestionably, he would be acquitted. His past service,
his influence, his character would prove themselves determining factors
during his trial. Fully one-half of the charges were ridiculous and
would be thrown out of court as incontestable, and of the remainder only
one would find him technically culpable. Still it were better for a
court to decide upon these matters, and to that end he decided to
request a general court-martial.
III
"You have removed your uniform?" Peggy asked in surprise as she beheld
him entering the doorway of the drawing-room.
"Yes," was the solemn reply. "I am no longer a confederate of France."
He limped slowly across the room, leaning on his cane. He had laid aside
his buff and blue uniform, with the epaulets and sword knots, and was
clad in a suit of silken black. His hose and shoes were of the same
color, against which his blouse, cuffs and periwig were emphasized, a
pale white.
"But you are still a Major-General," she corrected.
"I was; but am no longer. I have resigned."
She started at the announcement. Obviously she had not anticipated this
move.
"You have resigned? When?"
"I wrote the letter a short time ago. I precluded their designs."
He sat in his great chair, and, reaching for his stool, placed his foot
upon it.
"But ... I ... I don't understand."
"I do perfectly. I shall be tried by court-martial, of course; they have
moved already to suspend me pending the course of my trial. I want to
anticipate any such possibility, that is all."
"But you will be reinstated?"
"I don't know,--nor care," he added.
"And what about us, our home, our life here," she asked with a marked
concern.
"Oh! That will go on. This is your house, remember, if it comes to the
worst; you are mistress here. This is your home."
"If it comes to the worst? To what?"
"Well, if I should be found guilty ... and ... sentenced."
"I should not stay here a minute," she cried, stamping her foot. "Not
one minute after the trial! In this town? With that element? Not for an
hour!"
"Well!" he exclaimed, making a gesture with both hands, together with a
slight shrug of the shoulders.
"Where is Anderson?" she asked quickly.
"In New York, I presume, ere this. I have not seen him."
"Fled?"
"The only proper thing. It's a great wonder to me that he escaped at
all. I should have expected him torn to pieces by that mob."
"A bungled piece of business. I imagined that he was assured of success.
A sorry spectacle to allow them to slip from his grasp so easily."
"Margaret, you do not understand a mob. They are as fickle as a
weather-cock. The least attraction sways them."
"Who did it? Have you yet learned?"
"No. A bedraggled loafer, gifted with more talk than occupation. He was
acquainted with the whole scheme from beginning to end, and worked upon
their feelings with evidences of treason. The sudden mention of my name
in connection with the plot threw cold water on the whole business. They
were on their feet in an instant."
"You are quite popular," was the taunt.
"Evidently. The pass inspired them. It would defeat any purpose, and
Anderson must have sensed it and taken his hurried departure. No one has
since heard or seen aught of him."
"He was a fool to drag you into this, and you were as great a fool to
allow it."
"Margaret, don't chide me in that manner. I did what I thought best. But
I'm through now with these cursed Catholics and with France."
"You are a free man now," she murmured.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that this court-martial relieves you of any further obligation
to the colonies," was the answer.
"But I may still be Second in command."
She paused to regard him. Did he continue to cherish ambitions of this
nature; or was he attempting to jest with her?
"You seem to forget Gates and the Congress," she said with manifest
derision.
"No. In spite of them."
She lost all patience.
"Listen! Don't flatter yourself any longer. Your cause is hopeless, as
hopeless as the cause for which the stupid colonists are contending. You
are now free to put an end to this strife. Go over to the enemy and
persuade Washington and the leaders of the revolt to discuss terms."
"Impossible!"
"What is impossible? Simply announce your defection; accept the terms of
His Majesty's government; and invite Adams, Franklin, Jefferson,
Hamilton and Washington to meet you. There is the assurance of all save
complete independence."
"I shall wait."
"For what? The court-martial will be against you from the start. Mark my
words. You will be found guilty, if not actually, at least technically.
They are determined upon revenge and they are going to have it. You saw
the paper?"
"I did."
"You read the list of charges?"
He did not answer. He had sunk into his chair and his hands were clasped
before him. He was engaged in a detailed series of thought.
"How many of them were artificial? Except for the first, that about the
pass, none are worth the reading, and the first never can be proved.
They have no evidence apart from the fanatical ravings of a drunken
Catholic. But wait! You shall be adjudged guilty in the end. See if I am
not correct."
"I have the right to question the composition of the court!"
"What matter! You know the people detest you. They have hated you from
the moment you set foot in this city. Every issue of the paper found
some new grievance against you. And when you married me the bomb was
exploded. You yourself know that it was the mere fact of your
participation in this scheme that quelled it. They loathe you, I tell
you. They hate you."
Silence reigned in the room as she finished. His eyes were closed and he
gave every appearance of having fallen into a deep sleep. His mind was
keenly alert, however, and digested every word she uttered. At length he
arose from his composure and limped to the window at the further end of
the room.
"I shall ask for a new command," he said quietly, "and we shall be
removed for all time from this accursed place. I shall do service
again."
"Better to await developments. Attend to your trial first. Plan for the
future later."
"I shall obey the wishes of the people."
"The people! A motley collection of fools! They have eyes and ears but
no more. They know everything and can do nothing."
"I don't know what to do. I...."
"I told you what to do," she interrupted his thought and finished it for
him. "I told you to join Anderson. I told you to go to New York and make
overtures to General Clinton. That's what you should do. Seek respect
and power and honor for your old age."
"That I shall not do. Washington loves me and my people will not desert
me to my enemies. The court-martial is the thing."
"As you say. But remember my prophecy."
He turned and again sought his chair. She arose to assist him into it.
"I wonder who that fellow could be! He knew it all."
"Did you not hear?"
"No. I have seen no one who could report to me. The details were
missing."
"Did you ever stop to think of the spy in the garden?"
"I did."
"That was the man, I am sure. You know his body has not been found, and
if I am not mistaken, it was present at that meeting hall."
"We shall learn of his identity. We shall learn."
"Too late! Too late!"
He again dozed off while she watched him. For several minutes they sat
in this manner until she stole out of the room and left him alone. Soon
he was wrapped in the arms of a gentle slumber. Some time later she
aroused him.