CHAPTER IV
I
Week after week sped by, summer ripened into fall, and fall faded into winter. All was monotony: the bleak winter season, the shorter days, the longer evenings, the city settling down into a period of seclusion and social inaction. There would be little of gayety this year. No foreign visitors would be entertained by the townsfolk. There would be no Mischienza to look forward to. It would be a lonely winter for the fashionable element, with no solemn functions, with no weekly dancing assemblies, with no amateur theatricals to rehearse. Indeed were it not for the approaching marriage of Peggy Shippen to the Military Governor, Philadelphia would languish for want of zest and excitement.
The wedding took place at the home of the bride on Fourth Street. The élite of the city, for the most part Tories, were in attendance. Mrs. Anne Willing Morris, Mrs. Bingham – all the leaders were there. So were Marjorie, John Anderson, Stephen, the Chews and Miss Franks from New York. The reception was brilliant, eclipsing anything of its kind in the history of the social life of the city, for Mrs. Shippen had vowed that the affair would establish her definitely and for all time the leader of the fashionable set of the town.
The center of attraction was of course Peggy; and she carried herself well, enduring the trying ordeal with grace and composure. And if one were to judge by the number and the quality of the gifts which loaded down one whole room, or by the throng which filled the house to overflowing, or by the motley crowd which surged without, impatient for one last look at the bride as she stepped into the splendid coach, a more popular couple was never united in matrimony. It was a great day for all concerned, and none was more happy nor more radiant than Peggy as she sat back in the coach and looked into the face of her husband and sighed with that contentment and complacency which one experiences in the possession of a priceless gem.
Their homecoming, after the brief honeymoon, was delightful. No longer would they live in the great slate roof house on Second Street at the corner of Norris Alley, but in the more elegant old country seat in Fairmount, on the Schuylkill, – Mount Pleasant. Since Arnold had purchased this great estate and settled it immediately upon his bride, subject of course to the mortgage, its furnishings and its appointments were of her own choice and taste.
It rose majestically before them on a bluff overlooking the river, a courtly pile of colonial Georgian architecture whose balustraded and hipped roof seemed to rear itself above the neighboring woodland, so as to command a magnificent broad view of the Schuylkill River and valley for miles around.
"There! See, General! Isn't it heavenly?"
She could not conceal her joy. Arnold looked and smiled graciously with evident satisfaction at the quiet homelike aspect of the place.
Peggy was on the stone landing almost as soon as she emerged from the coach, – eager to peep inside, anxious to sit at last in her own home. Although she had already seen all that there was to see, and had spent many days previous to the marriage in arranging and planning the interior so as to have all in readiness for their return on this day, still she seemed to manifest a newer and a livelier joy, so pleasant and so perfect did all appeal.
"Oh, General! Isn't this just delicious?" And she threw her arms around his neck to give him a generous hug.
"Are you happy now?" he questioned.
"Perfectly. Come let us sit and enjoy it."
She went to the big chair and began to rock energetically; but only for a minute, for she spied in the corner of the room the great sofa, and with a sudden movement threw herself on that. She was like a small boy with a host of toys about him, anxious to play with all at the same time, and trying to give to each the same undivided attention. The massive candelabra on the table attracted her, so she turned her attention to that, fixing one of its candles as she neared it. Finally, a small water color of her father, which hung on the wall a little to one side, appealed to her as needing adjustment. She paused to regard the profile as she straightened it.
The General observed her from the large chair into which he had flung himself to rest after the journey, following her with his eyes as she flitted about the great drawing-room. For the moment there was no object in that space to determine the angle of his vision, save Peggy, no other objective reality to convey any trace of an image to his imagination but that of his wife. She was the center, the sum-total of all his thoughts, the vivid and appreciable good that regulated his emotions, that controlled his impulses. And the confident assurance that she was happy, reflected from her very countenance, emphasized by her every gesture as she hurried here and there about the room in joyous contemplation of the divers objects that delighted her fancy, reanimated him with a rapture of ecstasy which he thought for the moment impossible to corporeal beings. The mere pleasure of beholding her supremely happy was for him a source of whole-souled bliss, illimitable and ineffable.
"Would you care to dine now?" she asked of him as she approached his chair and leaned for support on its arms. "I'll ask Cynthia to make ready."
"Yes, if you will. That last stage of the trip was exhausting."
And so these two with all the world in their possession, in each other's company, partook of their first meal together in their own dining-room, in their own private home.
II
"'Thou hast it now, – king, Cawdor, Glamis, all – '" remarked Arnold to his wife as they made their way from the dining-room into the spacious hallway that ran through the house.
"Yet it was not foully played," replied Peggy. "The tourney was fair."
"I had thought of losing you."
"Did you but read my heart aright at our first meeting, you might have consoled yourself otherwise."
"It was the fear of my letter; the apprehension of its producing a contrary effect that furnished my misgiving. I trembled over the consent of your parents."
"Dost know, too, that my mother favored the match from the start? In truth she gave me every encouragement, perhaps awakened my soul to the flame."
"No matter. We are in the morning of our bliss; its sun is about to remain fixed. Wish for a cloudless sky."
They were now in the great drawing-room which ran the full depth of the building, with windows looking both east and west. In the middle of the great side wall lodged a full-throated fireplace above which rose imposingly an elaborately wrought overmantel, whose central panel was devoid of any ornamentation. The door frames with their heavily molded pediments, the cornices, pilasters, doortrims and woodwork rich in elaboration of detail were all distinctive Georgian, tempered, however, with much dignified restraint and consummate good taste.
"We can thank the privateer for this. Still it was a fair profit and wisely expended, wiser to my mind than the methods of Robert Morris. At any rate it is the more satisfactory."
"He has made excellent profits."
"Nevertheless, he has lost as many as an hundred and fifty vessels. These have affected his earnings greatly. Were he not so generous to an ungrateful people, a great part of his loss might now have been retrieved."
"I have heard it said, too, that he alone has provided the sinews of the revolt," said Peggy.
"Unquestionably. On one occasion, at a time of great want, I remember one of his vessels arrived with a cargo of stores and clothing, whose whole contents were given to Washington without any remuneration whatsoever. And you, yourself, remember that during the winter at Valley Forge, just about the time Howe was evacuating the city, when there were no cartridges in the army but those in the men's boxes, it was he who rose to the emergency by giving all the lead ballast of his favorite privateer. He has made money, but he has lost a vast amount. I made money, too, just before I bought this house. And I have lost money."
"And have been cheated of more."
"Yes. Cheated. More generosity from my people! I paid the sailors their share of the prize money of the British sloop that they as members of the crew had captured, that is, with the help of two other privateers which came to their assistance. The court allowed the claims of the rival vessels but denied mine. I had counted upon that money but found myself suddenly deprived of it. Now they are charging me with having illegally bought up the lawsuit."
He was seated now and lay back in his chair with his disabled limb propped upon a stool before him.
"They continue to say horrid things about you. I wish you were done with them," Peggy remarked.
He removed his finely powdered periwig and ran his heavy fingers through his dark hair.
"I treat such aspersions with the contempt their pettiness deserves. I am still Military Governor of Philadelphia and as such am beholden to no one save Washington. The people have given me nothing and I have nothing to return save bitter memories."
"I wish we were away from here!" she sighed.
"Margaret!" He never called her Peggy. He disliked it. "Are you not happy in this home which I have provided for you?"
His eyes opened full.
"It isn't that," she replied, "I am afraid of Reed."
"Reed? He is powerless. He is president of the City Council which under English law is, in time of peace, the superior governing body of the people. But this is war, and he must take second place. I despise him."
Peggy looked up inquiringly.
"Suppose that the worst should happen?" she said.
"But – how – what can happen?" he repeated.
"Some great calamity."
"How – what do you mean?" he asked.
"If you should be removed, say, or transferred to some less important post?"
A thought flashed into his mind.
"Further humiliated?"
"Yes. What then?"
"Why, – I don't know. I had thought of no possible contingency. I wished for a command in the Navy and wrote to Washington to that effect; but nothing came of it. I suppose my increasing interest in domestic affairs in the city, as well as my attentions to you, caused me to discontinue the application. Then again, I thought I was fitted for the kind of life led by my friend Schuyler in New York and had hoped to obtain a grant of land in the West where I might lead a retired life as a good citizen."
"I would die in such a place. The Indians would massacre us. Imagine me hunting buffalo in Ohio!"
Her face wore a sardonic smile. It was plain to be seen that she was in a flippant mood.
"Have you given the matter a thought? Tell me," he questioned.
"No! I could not begin to think."
"Are you not happy?"
"Happiness springs not from a large fortune, and is often obtained when often unexpected. It is neither within us nor without us and only evident to us by the deliverance from evil."
He glanced sharply. There was fire in his eye.
"I know of what you are thinking. You are disturbed by these persistent rumors about me."
She gave a little laugh, a chuckle, in a hopeless manner.
"Yes, I am. Go on." She answered mechanically and fell back in her chair.
"You need not be disturbed. They are groundless, I tell you. Simply engendered by spite. And I blame partly the Papist Whigs. Damn 'em."
"It isn't that alone."
"That is some of it. The origin of the hostility to me was the closing of the shops for a week under an order direct from Washington himself, and a resolution of the Congress. Yet I was blamed. The next incident pounced upon by them was my use of the government wagons in moving stores. As you know I had this done to revictual and supply the army. But I permitted the empty wagons to bring back stores from the direction of New York and was charged with being in communication with the enemy."
"Which would be more praiseworthy."
He paid no attention to her remark but continued:
"I was honest in supposing the goods to be bonafide household goods belonging to non-combatants. As a matter of fact some of the decorations at our wedding were obtained in this manner. What followed? A public complaint."
"I know."
"Then that scheming interloper Matlack! You know of him?"
"I think so."
"You've heard of his father, of course!"
"No."
"The Secretary to Reed, the President of the Council? Timothy Matlack? His social aspirations were somewhat curtailed by my interest in public affairs. He has borne me in mind and evidently intends my ruin."
"In that he differs not from many other so-called friends."
"I did all in my power to soothe his ruffled feelings in a long, considerate letter in answer to his note of grievance. Only later I learned that it was his son whose haughty nature had been offended."
"You were no party to the offense. In fact you knew naught of it until the episode had been concluded."
"True, but Franks had taken part in it, and Franks was my head aide-de-camp. It was trivial. He wanted a barber and sent young Matlack who was doing sentry duty at the door to fetch one. Naturally I defended his action in my letter of reply."
"I tell you, they do not want you here. Can't you sense that? Else these charges would never have been uttered. They are mere pretexts. They are weary of you and desire your resignation."
She talked rapidly, violently. Her face assumed a stern expression.
He did not reply but peered into the distance.
"The 'American Fabius', I suppose, is still watching General Clinton," Peggy continued.
"He has thrown a cordon about him at New York. With a sufficient force he might take him."
"Never! The Americans never were a match for His Majesty's well-trained troops. The longer the struggle endures the sooner this will be learned."
"Time is with us, dear. The mother country knows this."
She looked at him. It was astonishing to her that he could be so transparent and so unaware of it. Really he was not clever.
"Why do you say that?" she asked. "Every day our lot grows worse. The troops perish from misery; they are badly armed; scarcely clothed; they need bread and many of them are without arms. Our lands lie fallow. The education of a generation has been neglected, a loss that can never be repaired. Our youths have been dragged by the thousands from their occupations and harvested by the war; and those who return have lost their vigor or have been mutilated for life."
"You are partly right," he mused. "America lost the opportunity for reconciliation immediately after my victory at Saratoga. Since then, as you say, the land has become a waste of widows, beggars and orphans. Then came the French Alliance, a sacrifice of the great interests, as well as the religion of this country to the biased views of a proud, ancient, crafty and priest-ridden nation. I always thought this a defensive war until the French joined in the combination. Now I look with disfavor upon this peril to our dominion, this enemy of our faith."
Peggy became interested immediately. She sat straight up in her chair.
"You never spoke these thoughts to me before!" she exclaimed.
"I feared it. You are a Tory, at least at heart. And I knew that you would only encourage me in my manner of thought. God knows, I am unable to decide between my perplexities."
"You know how General Monk decided?"
"My God! He was a traitor!"
"He restored Charles," insisted Peggy.
"And sold his soul."
"For the Duchy of Albemarle."
"Good God! girl, don't talk thoughts like that, I – I – He has endured universal execration. It was an act of perfidy." He scowled fiercely. He was in a rage.
Peggy smiled. She did not press the subject, but allowed it to drop.
"My! How dark it has become!" she exclaimed.
She struck a light and touched the wicks of the candles.
III
Dizzy was the eminence to which General Arnold and his girl bride ascended! On a sudden they found themselves on the highest pinnacle – the one of military fame – with Gates, Lee, Wayne, Greene and many other distinguished generals at their feet, the other of social prestige the observed of all observers! For a time Arnold's caprices had been looked upon as only the flash and outbreak of that fiery mind which had directed his military genius. He attacked religion; yet in religious circles his name was mentioned with fondness. He lampooned Congress; yet he was condoned by the Whigs.
Then came the reaction. Society flew into a rage with its idol. He had been worshiped with an irrational idolatry. He was censured with an irrational fury. In the first place the position in which he was placed as Military Governor required the exercise of the utmost patience and tact. Neither of these qualities did he possess. The order to close the shops caused discontent. People became incensed at the sight of a dictator interfering with their private life. There was thrust upon them in his person the very type that they were striving to expel. His manner of action suddenly became obnoxious.
What was merely criticism in respect to his public life, became a violent passion respecting the affairs of his private life. There were many rumors of his intercourse with the Tory element. Brilliant functions were arranged, it was said, with the sole view of gaining their friendship and good will. He spent the major portion of his free time in their company, nay more, he had taken to wife the most notorious of their number. Small wonder was it that his sentiments on the question of the war were undergoing a marked alteration. The thirst of the political Whigs for vengeance was insatiable.
Then he had repaired to a mansion, the most elegant seat in Pennsylvania, where he entertained in a style and after a manner far in excess of his means. A coach and four he maintained with the greatest ostentation. His livery and appointments were extravagant and wholly unbecoming an officer of a country so poor and struggling. He drove to town in the company of his wife and paid every attention to the aristocratic leaders of the city. He disdained the lot of the common citizen. Even his head aide-de-camp had submitted a free man to the indignity of fetching a barber to shave him, an act countenanced by the General himself in a letter of reply to the boy's father.
His entertainments were frequent, altogether too frequent for the conservative instincts of the community. Upon the arrival of the French Ambassador M. Gerard, a grand banquet was tendered him, after which he was entertained with his entire suite for several days at Mount Pleasant. Foreigners were seldom absent from the mansion and members of Congress, the relatives of his wife, the titled gentry of Europe were treated with marked and lavish attention. The visit of General Washington was an event memorable for its display and magnificence, the ball alone at the City Tavern entailing a vast expenditure. With Madeira selling at eight hundred pounds a pipe and other things in proportion to the depreciation of the paper currency, the wonder was often expressed as to the source of so much munificence.
It was known that General Arnold was not a man of wealth. Whatever fortune he had amassed had been obtained mainly through the profits accrued from his privateering ventures. The great estate which he now possessed, had been bought only a few months previous to his marriage out of the profits of one of his vessels, just then returning to port. He was continually in debt, and ruin was imminent. Yet he was living at the rate of five thousand pounds a year. Whence then came the funds?
He had married a Tory wife, and presently it was discovered that among his bosom friends, his table companions, were to be found the enemies of America. Rumors began to whisper with nods and shrugs and shakings of the head that his wife was imparting profitable information to the enemy, and betimes the question was raised as to who was profiting most. What was more natural than that she who had been the toasted and lauded favorite of the British Officers when they were in possession of the city, should now be in communication with them in far-away New York! The seeds of suspicion and ill-will were sedulously sown – and the yield was bound to be luxuriant.
So the days rolled into weeks, and the weeks clustered into months, and the months fell into the procession of the seasons, and in the meantime, Arnold and his wife passed their time in conjugal felicity and regal splendor. Their affection was constant, tender and uninterrupted; and this alone afforded him consolation and happiness; for his countrymen were in a bad mood with him. His wife, his home, his estate now defined the extent of his ambition. The world had turned against him.