A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia - Amanda Minnie Douglas (freda ebook reader TXT) 📗

she had the sweet unconsciousness of a flower that had yet to open, and she did not want it rudely forced.

Rachel's desire and disappointment must have soured her greatly, she thought. In spite of her training in resignation, human nature seemed as strong in her as in any woman of the world who maneuvered for a lover. Yet Madam Wetherill was truly glad Andrew had escaped the snare.

And now the country was in great disquiet again. Arnold's treason and its sad outcome in the death of the handsome and accomplished Major Andre fell like a thunderbolt on the town where he had been the leader of the gay life under Howe. Many women wept over his sad end. Washington had been doubtful of Arnold's integrity for some time, but thought giving him the command at West Point would surely attach him to his country's fortunes. Washington being called to a conference with the French officers at Hartford, Arnold chose this opportunity to surrender West Point and its dependencies, after some show of resistance, into the hands of the British for a certain sum of money.

But Arnold had roused suspicions in the heart of more than one brave soldier; among them Andrew Henry, who had been promoted to a lieutenancy for brave conduct and foresight.

Clinton was to sail up the river. Andre went up the Hudson in the sloop of war _Vulture_, which anchored off Teller's Point. Fearing they knew not what, the Continentals dragged an old six-pound cannon to the end of Teller's Point. That galled the _Vulture_ and drove her from her anchorage, so that she drifted down the river. Andre, therefore, was compelled to make his way by land. Being arrested at Haverstraw, the commander unwisely allowed him to send a letter to Arnold, who at once fled down the river in a barge and met the _Vulture_, leaving behind his wife, the beautiful Philadelphian, Margaret Shippen, and their infant son, and thus the chief traitor escaped.

England had spent a vast amount of treasure and thousands of lives in battles, hardships, and disease, and had not conquered the revolutionists. She had now involved herself in war with both France and Spain. Holland, too, was secretly negotiating a treaty with the United Colonies.

While the town was in consternation over these events, late in November Mrs. Washington, then on her way to join her husband, stopped a brief while with President Reed of the Congress. Again the soldiers were in great distress, needing everything and winter coming on. The ladies had formed a society for work, and were making clothing and gathering what funds they could.

"Mrs. Washington is to come," said Polly Wharton, dropping in at Arch Street, full of eagerness. "The Marquis de Lafayette has given five hundred dollars in his wife's name, and the Countess de Luzerne gives one hundred. When we count it up in our depreciated money it sounds much greater," and Polly laughed with a gay nod. "Mrs. Washington has begged to contribute also. It is said the commander in chief was almost heart-broken about that handsome young Andre, and would have saved him if he could. And Margaret Shippen comes home next to a deserted wife, at all events deserted in her most trying hour. Of course, Primrose, you will join us. You can do something more useful than embroider roses on a petticoat, or needlework a stomacher."

"Indeed I can. Patty has seen to it that I shall know something besides strumming on the spinet and reading French verse. But the French are our very good friends."

"And I am crazy to see Mrs. Washington. There is devotion for you!"

"If thou wert a commander's wife thou wouldst be doing the same thing, Polly. 'For,' she said in the beginning, 'George is right; he is always right. And though I foresee dark days and many discouragements, my heart will always be with him and the country.' If we had more such patriots instead of pleasure-loving women!" And Madam Wetherill sighed, though her face was in a glow of enthusiasm.

"But there are many brave women who give up husbands and sons. And though my mother consented about Allin, it wrung her heart sorely. We have not heard in so long. That is the hardest. But we seem to get word easily of the gay doings in New York. And so thou wilt not go, Primrose?"

"Indeed, I will not. What pleasure would it be to me to dance and be gay with my country's enemies? I shall make shirts and knit socks."

"Yes, Primrose is old enough, but she somehow clings to childhood," said Madam. "We have spoiled her with much indulgence."

"Indeed, I am not spoiled. And if the British should take away all we had, dear aunt, I would work for thee. I do know many things."

"Dear heart!" and Madam Wetherill kissed her.

There was much interest to see Mrs. Washington, though some of the ladies had met her on a previous visit. Madam Wetherill had been among those brave enough to ally herself with the cause by calling then, and Mrs. Washington gracefully remembered it.

"And this is the little girl, grown to womanhood almost," she said, as Primrose courtesied to her. "You are not a Friend, I see by your attire; but the name suggested someone----"

"But my father was, madam, and well known in the town. And I have a brave Quaker cousin who joined the army at Valley Forge, Andrew Henry."

"Yes, I think that is the name. Did he not bring some supplies while we were in so much want, and come near to getting in trouble? You must be proud of him indeed, for he was among those who suspected Arnold's treachery, and were so on the alert that they set some of his plans at naught, for which we can never be thankful enough. Henry, that is the name! A tall fine young fellow with a martial bearing, one of the fighting Quakers, and Philadelphia hath done nobly in raising such men. The General never forgets good service, and he is marked for promotion."

Primrose courtesied again, her eyes shining with lustrousness that was near to tears.

"I should almost have danced up and down and clapped my hands, or else fallen at her feet and kissed her pretty hands if she had said that about Allin," declared Polly afterward. "Oh, it was soul-stirring, and the belles stood envying you, but some of them have blown hot and blown cold, and were ready to dance with Whig and Tory alike. And I wanted to say that you were too patriotic to go up to New York and be merry with your brother. Then I bethought me he was on the wrong side. Such a splendid fellow, too, Primrose; skating like the wind, and such a dancer, and with so many endearing ways. Child, how can you resist him?"

"I cannot be a turncoat for the dearest love."

"Andrew Henry should have been your brother. He looks more like that grand old portrait of your father than his own son does," declared Polly, and some inexplicable feeling sent the scarlet waves to the fair face of Primrose.

Busy enough the women were, and on many of the shirts was the name of the maker. Primrose begged that Patty's name might be put on their dozen, and Janice Kent consented hers should be used.

"For Primrose is such an odd, fanciful name, and it seems as if it belonged just to my own self and my dear mother," the child said, and Madam Wetherill respected the delicacy.

Mrs. Bache, Franklin's daughter, wrote to Washington that there were twenty-five hundred shirts, the result of nimble and patriotic fingers; and, she added, "we wish them to be worn with as much pleasure as they were made."

Philemon Nevitt was indeed angry at his sister's refusal, but as he was in no sense her guardian, he could not compel her. Some weeks elapsed before he wrote again. It was a hard, cold winter, and if full of discouragements for the Continentals was not especially inspiriting for the British.

There had been something of a revolt among the Philadelphia troops at Morristown, who thought, having served their three years' enlistment, they should be allowed to return to their homes. Sir Henry Clinton, mistaking the spirit of the trouble, at once offered to take them under the protection of the British government, clothe and feed them and require no service of them, unless it was voluntarily proffered.

"See, comrades," exclaimed one of the leaders; "we have been taken for traitors! Let us show General Clinton that the American Army can furnish but one Arnold, and that America has no truer patriots than we. But if we fight, we should not be compelled to starve on the field, nor have our wives and children starving at home."

This protest aroused Congress. Taxes were imposed and submitted to cheerfully, and Robert Morris, an ardent patriot, with Thomas Mifflin, labored to bring about a better state of finances, and the Bank of Pennsylvania was due to the ability and munificence of the former.

And though, as Thomas Reed admitted, "the bulk of the people were weary of war," and the different parties in the city were almost at swords' points, they had all joined in fierce denunciation of Arnold's treason. His handsome estate was confiscated, not so much for its value, as it was deeply in debt, but as an example of the detestation in which the citizens held his crime. His wife pleaded to stay in her father's house with her young son, but the executive council decided that she must leave the State at once.

The mob made a two-faced effigy, which was dragged in a cart through the streets, a band of rough music playing the Rogue's March. Afterward it was hanged and burned, and no Tory voice was raised in his behalf, though universal sympathy was expressed for the unfortunate young Andre.

Philemon Henry was intensely bitter about it. "But you have not all the traitors," he wrote. "My heart has been rent by the defection of some of our bravest men, and most trusted; and one who has seemed almost a brother to me, as we played together in boyhood, and have kept step in many things. I had cherished a curious hope that he might disarm thy girlish bitterness, Primrose, and that sometime his true worth would be apparent to you. And from the first, though he never confessed any further than that he envied me my pretty little sister, I knew he was more than common interested. These things are best left to work themselves out, and you were both young, so I held my peace. Six months ago Sir Gilbert Vane, the uncle, died, and, as title and estates were entailed, Vane Priory came to him. At first he was minded to return, and I wish now that I had bundled him off. Then he had queer, dispirited fits about the cause we were serving. I regret we have not been more in earnest and not so much given to pleasure. The city has been very gay, but I think many of the women whose feet twinkled merrily in the dance talked treason with rosy lips in the pauses.

"I was angry when I read your letter and tossed it over to him, wishing that I had been your guardian and had some right to order your life. He held it a long while, then he rose and began to pace the floor.

"'I tell you, Phil,' he said with strange earnestness, 'we are on the wrong side. Nothing can ever conquer these