CHAPTER II
I
"It won't do, I tell you. And the sooner he realizes this the more satisfactory will it become for all concerned."
"Sh-h-h," answered Mrs. Allison in a seemingly heedless manner. She was seated by the side window in her old rocker, intent only on her three needles and the ball of black yarn. "Judge not, that you may not be judged!" she reminded him.
"He is too imprudent. Only today he contemptuously dismissed the Colonel and the secretary; later he requested them to dine with him. We don't like it, I tell you."
As a matter of fact, there was no more staunch defender or constant advocate of the cause of the Colonists than Matthew Allison himself; and when the proclamation of the new Military Governor ordering the closing of the shops and the suspension of business in general until the question of ownership was established, had been issued, he was among the first of the citizens to comply with it. True, his sole source of income had been temporarily suspended. But what matter? It meant order and prevented the wares from falling into the hands of the enemy. His small shop had enabled himself together with his wife and daughter to eke out a comfortable existence. Their cozy home while unmistakably plain and unadorned with the finer appointments indicative of opulence, nevertheless was not without charm and cheeriness. It was delightful in simplicity and neat arrangement.
Allison had welcomed the entry of General Arnold into the city as a hero coming into his own, but he was not slow in perceiving that the temperament of the man rendered him an unhappy choice for the performance of the onerous duties which the successful administration of the office required. Readily and with genuine satisfaction did he yield to the initial mandate of the Governor; but when the scent of luxury from this same Governor's house, the finest mansion in the city and the identical one lately occupied by the British commander, was diffused throughout the city causing murmurs of criticism and dissension, Matthew Allison forgot for the moment his oath of fealty and gave expression to pain and dissatisfaction.
"Why allow yourself to be disturbed at his manner of living?" asked his wife, picking up the conversation at the point where he had left it.
"And you and I and the vast majority of us sacrificing our all. Why they tell me that his quarters abound in luxury to a degree never excelled by Howe himself."
"Well!" was the simple reply.
"And the Massachusetts Regiment has been appointed his guard of honor; and that two armed soldiers have been stationed at the doorposts."
Allison spoke with evident passion, the ardor of which pervaded his entire being.
"And yet I dare say you would be the first to disapprove of the other extreme," admonished Mrs. Allison in her soft and gentle way. "Under martial law you know, there must be no relaxation of discipline, notwithstanding the fact that the Americans once more control the city."
"Laxity or no laxity, it is extravagant for him to be housed in the finest mansion in the city with a retinue of servants and attendants only excelled by Sir William Howe; to be surrounded by a military guard of selective choice; to maintain a coach and four with footmen and servants, all equipped with livery of the most exclusive design; to live in the greatest splendor, notwithstanding the avowed republican simplicity of the country as well as the distressed condition of our affairs and finances. Who is paying for this extravagance? We, of course. We are being taxed and supertaxed for this profligate waste while our shops are closed to all future trade. These are not alone my opinions; they are the expressions of the men about town. This was the sole topic of conversation today at the Coffee House."
For where else would the news of the day be found if not on the street corners or at the Coffee House? This latter institution, like its London prototype, was the chief organ through which the public opinion of the metropolis continually asserted itself. Its convenience lay in its adaptability for the making of appointments at any hour of the day, or for the passing of an evening socially for a very small charge. It had its characters who became as famous as the institution itself, its orators to whose eloquence the crowd listened with admiration, its medical men who might be consulted on any malady merely for the asking, its poets and humorists who in winter occupied the chairs of learning nearest the stove and in summer held the choice places on the balcony, and who discoursed fables and politics with renewed embellishment upon the advent of every newcomer. The atmosphere always reeked with the fumes of tobacco. Nowhere else was smoking more constant than at the Coffee House. And why any one would leave his own home and fireside to sit amid such eternal fog, was a mystery to every good housewife. But every man of the upper or the middle class went daily to the Coffee House to learn and discuss the news of the day.
"I suppose Jim Cadwalader waxed warm today on the subject and gave you inspiration," submitted Mrs. Allison. "Why do you not suspend your judgment for a while until you learn more about the Governor, – at any rate give him the benefit of a doubt until you have some facts," mildly replied Mrs. Allison with that gentle manner and meekness of temper which was characteristic of her.
"Facts!" said he, "I am telling you that these are facts. The Colonel saw this, I tell you, for he dined with him. And I want to tell you this," he announced pointing towards her, "he hates the Catholics and is strongly opposed to any alliance with a Catholic country."
"Never mind, my dear. We cannot suffer for that."
"I know, but it may concern us sooner or later. Our fathers endured severe tortures at the hands of a bigoted Government, and if the new republic gives promise of such unhappy tidings, we may as well leave the earth."
"I would not take any undue alarm," quietly answered Mrs. Allison as her deft fingers sped on with the knitting. "General Washington is broad-minded enough to appreciate our loyalty and our spirit of self-sacrifice. And besides the new French Alliance will prevent any of the intolerance which made itself manifest in the person of King George. With a Catholic ally, the government cannot very well denounce the Catholics as you will discover from the repealing of several of the laws which rendered life more or less obnoxious in some of the colonies. And I think, too, that we have given more than our share to the cause. With so much to our credit, no public official, whatever his natural inclination, can afford to visit his bigotry on us. I would not worry about General Arnold. He will not molest us, I am sure."
"I don't think that he pleases me anyway."
"And why?" she paused to ask. "Because he maintains too expensive a livery, or has surrounded himself by too many attendants?"
"No. I dislike the man. I do not like his traits."
"It is unkind of you to say that. Who enjoys a greater reputation for skill or bravery or personal courage than he? What would have become of Gates, or our army, or the French Alliance were he not at Saratoga, and there too without a command, you must remember."
"I know all that, but he is too blunt, too headstrong, too proud, too – "
Marjorie's figure at the door interrupted him.
II
Although Mistress Allison was not twenty, she maintained the composure of a married woman, sedate and reserved like the matrons of this period. Her dress was neat and well chosen, a chintz cotton gown, of a very pretty blue stamp, blue silk quilt and a spotted figured apron. The vivacity of her manner and the winsomeness of her behavior were prepossessing, and she was beautiful to look upon: her complexion as dazzling white as snow in sunshine; except her cheeks, which were a bright red; and her lips, of a still deeper crimson. Her small oval face was surmounted by a wealth of dark brown hair, craped up with two rolls on each side and topped with a small cap of beautiful gauze and rich lace, – a style most becoming to a girl of her age. Health, activity, decision were written full upon her, whether in the small foot which planted itself on the ground, firm but flexible, or in the bearing of her body, agile or lofty.
She was the only child of Mr. Allison and a much admired member of the city's middle class. And while it is true that a certain equality in class and social refinement was an attribute of the American people which found great favor in the eyes of the older world inhabitants, it is equally true that this equality was more seeming than real. This was due to a great extent to the distinction established by the wealth and the liberties enjoyed by the various classes of people. It was said, and not without a semblance of truth, that the inhabitants of Philadelphia were rated according to their fortunes. The first class was known as the carriage folk, who proclaimed, almost without exception, their pretended descent from the ancient English families by their coats of arms imprinted upon their carriage doors. The second class was composed of the merchants, lawyers, and business men of the city; and the third class, were those who exercised the mechanical arts. These felt their social inferiority and never hoped for any association with the upper classes. The Allisons were of the middle rank, and were looked upon as its most respected members.
Plain, simple-living folk, they made no pretense to display. Neither did they affect aristocracy. Their manner of living was as comfortable as their modest means would allow. It was a common habit for the people of this class to indulge in luxury far beyond their resources and no small amount of this love of ostentation was attributed to the daughters of the families. In this respect Marjorie offended not in the least. Whether assisting her father in the shop during the busy hours, or presiding at the Coffee House, or helping her mother with the affairs of the household, she was equally at home. Neither the brilliance of the social function, nor the pleasures of the dance roused unusual desires in her. Indeed she seldom participated in such entertainments, unless on the invitation and in company with the Shippen family with whom she was on the most intimate terms of friendship. The gay winter season of the British occupation of the city produced no change in her manner or attire. The dazzling spectacle of the Mischienza found her secluded in her home, more from her own desire than from her pretended deference to the wishes of her mother.
Her happiness was in her homelife. This was the center of her affection as well as of her tenderest solicitude. Here she busied herself daily, either in the care of the house, and the preparation of the meals, which were by no means sumptuous owing to the scarcity of all foodstuffs, or at the wheel where she made shirtings and the sheetings for the army. A touch of her hand here and there, to this chair, slightly out of place, to this cup or that plate in the china-chest, to the miniature on the wall, leaning slightly to one side, or the whisk of her sweeping-brush through the silver-sand on the floor, transformed a disorderly aspect into one of neatness and taste. It was here that she spent her days, enduring their unvarying monotony, with sweet and unbroken contentment.
As she hurriedly entered the house, she arrested the attention of her father and put a period to the conversation.
"Oh, Father, have you heard?"
"What news now, child!"
"Washington has engaged the British."
"And how fared?"
"They were compelled to withdraw."
"Thank God."
"Where, Marjorie, did you come by this good news?" inquired the mother.
"At the State House. A courier arrived from Monmouth with the tidings," answered Marjorie, still nervous to narrate the story, and forgetting to remove her hat.
"When did this happen?" asked her father, impatiently.
"It seems that General Washington started in pursuit of Clinton as soon as he had evacuated the city. He had decided that an attack must be made as soon as possible. When the British reached Allentown, they found the American army gaining the front and so they turned towards Monmouth. Near the Court House the British were outflanked and the Americans gained the superior ground and so the battle was won. Then General Lee ordered a retreat."
"A retreat?" exploded Mr. Allison. "What for?"
"I do not know, but that was the report. Lee retreated when Washington arrived on the scene," continued Marjorie.
"And then?"
"He rallied the troops to another front and began the attack anew, driving the British back a considerable distance. Nightfall ended the battle, and when day broke, Clinton had withdrawn."
"And Lee ordered a retreat!" exclaimed Mr. Allison. "A damned poltroon!"
"All say the same. The crowd was furious upon hearing the message, although some thought it too incredible. The joy of victory, however, made them forget the disgraceful part."
"My faith in him has never faltered," quietly observed Mrs. Allison, as she prepared to resume the knitting from which she had ceased on the sudden entry of Marjorie.
"And his pretended friends must now croak forth his praises," rejoined her husband.
"There were shouts and cheers," continued Marjorie, "as the news was being announced. Each newcomer would add another detail to the story with beaming delight. All said that the retreat from the city and the defeat of the British augured a speedy termination of the war. The country is wholly united again under General Washington."
"And what will become of Lee?" asked the father.
"The traitor!" snapped Marjorie. "They ought to court-martial him. The crowd greeted his name with hisses when the details began to impress themselves upon them. I dare say, he has few friends in the city tonight, expect perhaps among the Tories. He is a disgrace to the uniform he wears."
"Undoubtedly, the losses were heavy."
"No one seemed to know. The minor details of the engagement are still unknown. They will come later. The consoling feature is that the enemy were compelled to withdraw, which would indicate that they were worsted. The remnants, I suppose, will concentrate at New York. There will occur the next great battle."
"God grant that it will soon be over," exclaimed Mrs. Allison.
"And now, daughter, have you more news?" asked her father.
"Oh, yes! General Arnold is going to give a ball at the City Tavern on the Fourth of July to the officers of the French Army. It will be under the auspices of the American officers of Washington's command and in honor of the loyal ladies who had withheld from the Mischienza. And I have been invited to attend."
"I should think that we have had enough of social life here during the past winter," quietly announced the father.
"Well," replied Marjorie, "this affair is to exclude all who participated in the English Army festivities. Only Americans will be present."
"How did you come by this report?" asked her mother.
"Peggy Shippen. I stopped there for a short time. They told me of the proposed invitation and that I was included."
"How came they by the news?"
"I suppose General Arnold told them."
"Is he acquainted with them? I wonder – "
"Yes. They were presented to him, and he has already honored them with his visit."
"I don't like this," said Mr. Allison, "and you can be assured that there will be little restriction as to the company who will comprise this assemblage. The Governor will take sides with the wealthy, be their sympathies what they may. Well, if he establish the precedent, I dare say, none will be so determined as to oppose him. Do you wish to go, daughter?"
"I think I might enjoy it. The French soldiers are so gallant, I might find much pleasure there."
"Very well, you shall attend," said her father.
III
And so it was decided that Marjorie would be present at the Governor's Ball. As custom did not require mothers to accompany their daughters to such functions, but allowed them to go unattended, Mrs. Allison preferred to remain at home. To what splendor and gayety the affair would lend itself was a matter of much speculation. This was the Governor's first event, and no one was aware of his prowess on the ballroom floor.
Once the list of invitations had become public, it was understood quite generally that no distinction was made between those that had, and those that had not, attended the Mischienza. Whether the number would be surprisingly small, or whether the affair would fail of success without the Mischienza ladies, could not be foretold. Indeed such speculations were idle, since no discrimination had been made. There were a number of young French Officers in the town and one or two of General Washington's aides had remained because of the pressure of immediate business after the British evacuation. These of course would attend. All the other available young men belonged to the families who had held a more or less neutral position in the war, and who had not offered their services to the patriots nor yielded allegiance to the foe. As these neutrals were among the most prominent people of the city, their presence would, of course, be altogether desirable.
Marjorie was invited through the efforts of Peggy Shippen, who had proposed her name to His Excellency on the occasion of his visit to her house. She would be included in their party and would be assigned a partner befitting her company. Because of the prominence of the Shippens, it was thought that the gallant young French Officers, would be assigned to them. Marjorie rejoiced at this although the Shippen girls evinced no such sentiment. Whether it was because the French alliance was distasteful to them or because their Tory leanings took precedence, they preferred other guests for partners. But as the matter was to be decided by lot, their likings were not consulted.
Ere long the city was agog with speculation respecting the coming ball. The battle of Monmouth was accorded a second place. The disdain of the middle class, who had been embittered against such demonstrations by the profligacy displayed during the days of the British occupation, soon began to make itself felt. That it was the first official or formal function of the new republic mattered little. A precedent was about to be established. There was to be a continuation of the shameful extravagance which they had been compelled to witness during the winter and which they feared they would be forced to maintain for another protracted period. Living was high, extremely high, and the value of the paper currency had depreciated to almost nothing. Indeed it was said that a certain barber in the town had papered his entire shop with the bills and that a dog had been led up and down the streets, smeared with tar, and adorned cap-a-pie with paper money. To feed and clothe the army was expense enough without being compelled to pay for the splendors of a military ball. Small wonder that the coming event aroused no ordinary speculation.
Nevertheless preparations went on with growing vigor and magnificence, and not the least interested was Marjorie. The event was now awaited with painful anxiety. Even the war for a moment was relegated to a place of minor import.
CHAPTER III
I
An imposing spectacle greeted Marjorie's eyes as she made her way in company with the Shippen girls into the ballroom of the City Tavern. The hall was superb, of a charming style of architecture, well furnished and lighted, and brilliantly decorated with a profusion of American and French flags arranged in festoons and trianguloids and drapings throughout its entire length and breadth, its atmosphere vocal with the strains of martial music. Everywhere were women dressed with elegance and taste. The Tory ladies, gowned in the height of fashion, were to Marjorie a revelation at once amazing and impressive.
On a raised dais sat the Governor in his great chair. He was clothed in the regulation buff and blue uniform of a Major General of the Continental Army. On his shoulders he wore the epaulets and about his waist the sword knots General Washington had presented to him the preceding May. He bore also upon his person the most eloquent of martial trophies, for his leg, wounded at Quebec and Saratoga, rested heavily on a small cushion before him.
Marjorie who saw him for the first time, was attracted at once by his manly bearing and splendid physique. His frame was large, his shoulders broad, his body inclined to be fleshy. His very presence, however, was magnetic, still his manner was plain and without affectation. He looked the picture of dignity and power as he received the guests in their turn and greeted each with a pointed and pleasant remark.
"Isn't he a handsome figure?" whispered Peggy to Marjorie as they made their way slowly to the dais.
Marjorie acquiesced in the judgment. He was still young, hardly more than thirty-five, his weather-beaten face darkened to bronze from exposure. His features were large and clean cut with the power of decision written full upon them. A firm and forcible chin, with heavy lines playing about his mouth; eyes, large and black, that seemed to take toll of everything that transpired about them, suggested a man of extravagant energy, of violent and determined tenacity in the face of opposition. No one could look upon his imposing figure without calling to mind his martial achievements – the exploits of Canada, of the Mohawk, of Bemis Heights.
"So this is your little friend," said he to Peggy, eyeing Marjorie as she made her presentation courtesy. He was now standing, though resting heavily on his cane with his left hand.
"Mistress Allison, this privilege is a happy one. I understand that you are a violent little patriot." He smiled as he gently took her hand.
"I am very pleased, Your Excellency. This is an occasion of rare delight to me."
"And are you so intensely loyal? Your friends love you for your devotion, although I sometimes think that they miss General Howe," and he smiled in the direction of Peggy as he turned to her with this remark.
"You know, General," Peggy was always ready with an artful reply, "I told you that I was neither the one nor the other; and that I wore black and white at the Mischienza, the colors now worn by our American soldiers in their cockades in token of the French and American Alliance."
"So you did. I had almost forgotten."
"And that there were some American gentlemen present, as well, although aged non-combatants," she continued with a subtle smile.
"For which reason," he responded, "you would, I suppose, have it assume a less exclusive appearance."
"Oh, no! I do not mean that. It was after all a very private affair, arranged solely in honor of General Howe."
"Were some of these young ladies at the Mischienza? And who were they that rewarded the gallant knights?" he asked.
"Well, the Chew girls, and my sisters, and Miss Franks. There was Miss White, and Miss Craig," she repeated the list one after the other as her eyes searched the company assembled in the hall. "And that girl in the corner, Miss Bond, and beyond her, her sister: then there was Miss Smith. Miss Bond I am told is engaged to one of your best Generals, Mr. John Robinson."
"We are accustomed to call Mr. Robinson, General Robinson in the army," he ventured with a smile.
She blushed slightly. "We call him Mr. Robinson in society, or sometimes Jack."
"And who might have been your gallant knight? May I ask?"
"The Honorable Captain Cathcart," was her proud reply.
"And who has the good fortune to be your knight for this occasion?" he questioned, seeking in their hands the billet of the evening.
"We do not know," Marjorie murmured. "We have not as yet met the Master of Ceremonies."
He looked about him, in search evidently of some one. "Colonel Wilkinson!" he called to a distinguished looking officer on his right, "have these fair ladies been assigned to partners?"
The Colonel advanced and presented them with their billets, which were numbered and which bore the name of the partner that was to accompany them during the entire evening. Peggy opened hers and found the name of Colonel Jean Boudinot, a young French Officer. Marjorie saw written upon hers a name unknown to her, "Captain Stephen Meagher, aide-de-camp."
"Captain Meagher!" exclaimed the Governor. "He is one of General Washington's aides, detailed for the present in the city. Do you know him?"
"No," replied Marjorie timidly, "I do not, I am sorry to say. I have never had the privilege of meeting him."
"There he is now," said he, indicating with a gesture of the eyes a tall young officer who stood with his back toward them.
Marjorie looked in the direction indicated. A becomingly tall and erect figure, clad in a long blue coat met her gaze. Further scrutiny disclosed the details of a square cut coat, with skirts hooked back displaying a buff lining, and with lappets, cuff-linings and standing capes of like color. His bearing was overmastering as he stood at perfect ease, his hand resting gently on a small sword hanging at his side; his right wrist showed a delicate lace ruffle as he gestured to and fro in his conversation. As he slightly turned in her direction, she saw that he wore his hair drawn back from the face, with a gentle roll on each side, well powdered and tied in a cue behind. His features were pleasant to look upon, not large but finely chiseled and marked with expression. Marjorie thought what a handsome figure he made as he stood in earnest conversation, dominating the little group who surrounded him and followed his every move with interest and attention.
"Let me call him," suggested the Governor to Marjorie who at that moment stood with her eyes fixed on the Captain. "I am sure he will be pleased to learn the identity of his fair partner," he added facetiously.
"Oh! do," agreed Peggy. "It would afford pleasure to all of us to meet him."
The General whispered a word to an attendant who immediately set off in the direction of the unconcerned Captain. As the latter received the message he turned, looked in the direction of the dais and gazed steadily at the Governor and his company. His eyes met Marjorie's and she was sure that he saw her alone. The thought thrilled her through and through. He excused himself from the company of his circle, and as he directed his footsteps towards her, she noted his neat and close fitting buff waistcoat, and his immaculate linen revealing itself at the throat and ruffled wrists. Nor did she fail to observe that he wore a buff cockade on his left breast and gilt epaulets upon his shoulders.
"Captain Meagher," announced General Arnold. "I have the honor of presenting you to your partner for the evening, Mistress Allison."
Marjorie courtesied gracefully to his courtly acknowledgment.
"And the Misses Shippen, the belles of the Mischienza!"
Stephen bowed profoundly.
"I was just remarking, Captain, that General Washington has honored you with a special mission, and that you have run away from your duties tonight to mingle with the social life of the city."
"Or rather, Your Excellency, to acquaint myself with their society," Stephen replied good-naturedly.
"Then you do not relax, even for an evening," inquired Peggy, with a coquettish turn of the head.
"It is the duty of a soldier never to relax." Stephen's reply was more naïve than usual.
"And yet one's hours are shortened by pleasure and action," continued Peggy.
"As a recreation it is far sweeter than as a business. It soon exhausts us, however, and it is the greatest incentive to evil."
"But you dance?" interrupted the General.
"Oh, yes! Your Excellency," replied Stephen, "after a fashion."
"Well, your partner is longing for the music. Come, let ye assemble."
And as the dance was announced, the first one being dedicated to "The Success of the Campaign," Stephen and Marjorie moved off and took their places. Peggy and her sisters were soon attended and followed. They were soon lost in the swirl of excitement among the throng.
II
"And you live alone with your father and mother?"
Marjorie and her partner were sitting in a distant corner whither they had wandered at the conclusion of the dance. Stephen began to find himself taking an unusual interest in this girl and was inquiring concernedly about her home life.
"Yes, Father's time is much consumed with his attention to the shop. Mother and I find plenty to occupy us about the house. Then I relieve Father at times, and so divide my hours between them," quietly answered Marjorie.
"You have not as yet told me your name," Stephen reminded her.
"Marjorie," was the timid reply.
"Marjorie!" Then, taking advantage of her averted look, he stole secret glances at her small round face, her lips, firmly set but curving upwards, her rose-pink cheeks. Presently, his eye rested on her finger-ring, a cameo with what looked like an ectypal miniature of the "Ecce Homo." Was this girl of his faith?
"Marjorie Allison," he repeated again. "Do you know that sounds like a Catholic name?"
"It is," Marjorie replied proudly. "Our family have been Catholics for generations."
"Mine have, too," Stephen gladly volunteered the information. "Irish Catholics with a history behind them."
"Is your home here?" asked Marjorie.
"Here in this country, yes," admitted her escort. "But I live in New York and it was there I volunteered at the outbreak of the war, and saw my first service in the New York campaign."
"And are your parents there, too?" inquired the girl.
And then he told her that his father and mother and only sister lived there and that when the war broke out he determined to enlist in company with a number of his friends, the younger men of the neighborhood. How he took part in the campaign about New York and his "contribution to our defeat," as he styled it. Of the severe winter at Valley Forge and his appointment by Washington to his staff. She listened with keen interest but remained silent until the end.
"And now you are in the city on detailed duty?"