CHAPTER IX
I
It was not until the following Wednesday night that John Anderson was ready to pay his respects to Mistress Marjorie.
He had worked on the miniature since Saturday, and had regarded his finished product with eminent satisfaction. He had drawn her as she appeared to him on the night of the reception in the pose which he had best remembered her during the interval when she sat out the dance with him; her head turned partly towards him, revealing her small oval face surmounted by a wealth of brown hair, powdered to a gray; her small nose with just a suggestion of a dilatation lending to the face an expression of strength that the rest of the countenance only gave color to; the mouth, firmly set, its lines curving upward, as it should be, to harmonize with her disposition; the eyes, a soft brown, full of candor and sincerity, delicately shadowed by slender and arched eyebrows on a smooth forehead.
Marjorie could not conceal her enthusiasm as he handed it to her. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she arose hurriedly and went to the window to benefit by the less obscure light.
"Is – am I as pretty as that?" she exclaimed from her vantage point, without lifting her eyes from the portrait.
"Only more so," responded Anderson. "My memory poorly served me."
"Lud!" she remarked, holding it at arms length from her, "'Tis vastly flattering. I scarce recognize myself."
She returned to her chair.
"I swear on my honor, that it fails to do you full justice."
She continued to study it, paying but little heed to his remark. It was a water-colored portrait done on ivory of the most delicate workmanship and design, set in a fine gold case, delicately engraved, the whole presenting an appearance of beauty, richly colored. She turned it over and saw the letters J.A.M.A. interlaced over the triplet:
"Hours fly; flowers die;
New days, new ways,
Pass by. Love stays."
"It is very pretty," was her only comment.
"Hast no one told thee how well thou might appear in a ball gown?"
"I ne'er gave thought to such."
"Nor what an impression thou wouldst make at court?"
"Hast thou seen court beauties?"
She resolved to learn more about him.
"Aye! Oft have I been in their company."
"At St. James?"
"No. Much as I would have been pleased to. I know only Versailles."
So she thought he must be a French nobleman, who like Lafayette had incurred the royal displeasure by running away from court to fit out a vessel at his own expense in the hope of furthering the cause of the Colonists. The great impulse given to the hopes of the disheartened population by the chivalrous exploit of the latter, the sensation produced both by his departure from Europe and by his appearance in this country, might behold a glorious repetition in the person of this unknown visitor.
Her interest accordingly grew apace.
"It was magnanimous of His Majesty to take our cause to his heart. We can never fail in our gratitude."
"It is only natural for man to resist oppression. It has been written that it is only the meek who should possess the land."
"An ideal which is often badly shattered by the selfish ambitions and perverse passions of godless men."
"You are a Catholic?" he asked suddenly.
"I am proud of it."
"And your fellow patriots are of the same form of worship?"
"A goodly proportion of them."
"How many might you assume?"
"I scarce know. We have no method of compiling our numbers, not even our total population."
"Surely there must be a great percentage, if one considers the influx from France and England, not to mention Ireland, whence many fled from persecution."
"I once heard Father Farmer say that there must be over seven thousand Catholics in Pennsylvania, while Maryland has about fifteen thousand. Whatever there remain are much scattered, except of course New York with its thousand."
"I never dreamt they were so numerous! So great is the spirit of intolerance, that the wonder is that a single Catholic would remain in the Colonies."
"I know it. Formerly Maryland and Pennsylvania were the two only colonies where Catholics were allowed to reside, and even there were excluded from any civil or military office. And the time has not yet arrived for complete religious freedom, though the arrival of the French fleet with its Catholic army and Catholic chaplains will make a favorable impression upon our less enlightened oppressors."
"It seems strange that you should throw in your lot with a people who prove so intolerant."
"Father Farmer, our pastor, says that no influence must ever be used except for the national cause, for we must be quickened by the hope of better days. He pleads with his people to remain faithful and promises the undivided sympathy of his fellow priests with their kinsmen in the struggle. For these reasons I hardly think that many Catholics will desert our cause."
"Yet you must know that it was England that bestowed the most liberal grants to the inhabitants of the Northwest territory."
"You mean the Quebec Act?" she asked.
"Yes. And you know that Canada would be allied with you, heart and soul, were it not for the intolerant spirit of your fellow colonists."
"Perhaps it would."
"Now, would it not be better – "
"Do you mean to suggest to me that we turn traitor?" she interrupted, turning full upon him, her eyes flashing with intense feeling.
"No … pardon … I meant no offense… The fact is I was only remarking on the sad plight of our co-religionists."
"I fail to perceive how ill we fare. Our compatriots render us honor, and as Father Farmer says, 'we may cherish the hope of better days, which are inevitable.' You must know that one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence is a Catholic; and that the army and navy boast of a considerable quota."
"We are not ungenerous of our service, it seems."
"Rather are we proud of our efforts. We are proud of the fact that there has been found among us not one false to his country. We point with pride to him who was privileged to first read the Declaration of Independence to the public. We are proud of the composition of Washington's 'Life Guard'; and we are proud of our mutual friend, whom, perhaps, you know," and she glanced at him with a merry twinkle, "Captain Meagher, Washington's aide-de-camp."
And so they talked. Marjorie became completely absorbed in her subject, once her religion became the topic, and she almost forgot her game in regard to her visitor. She desired to appear to the best advantage, however, for which purpose she talked freely, in the hope of extracting from him some information concerning himself and his intents. Still, however, there was another extreme which, though apparently less dangerous, she must be careful to avoid. The imaginations of men are in a great measure under the control of their feelings and it was absolutely necessary for her to refrain from imparting too much information lest it might deflect from its purpose the very object she was seeking to obtain.
There was a subtle influence about him, an adroitness of speech, a precision of movement which, unless sufficiently safeguarded against, was insidious. He had the most wonderful way of getting one's confidence, not only by reason of his genial and affable disposition, but also by his apparent and deliberate sincerity. And while it was true that she had determined upon a method which was originally intended to redound to her own advantage, she soon learned that she was playing with a boomerang which soon put her upon the defensive against the very strategy which she had herself directly planned.
He was not sincere in his protestations of admiration; that she perceived immediately. But she was resolved to let him think that she believed him in order that she might discover his true intents and purposes. Her knowledge of human nature was sufficient to enable her to conclude that one cannot unite the incompatible elements of truth and deception, the discernment of reality and the enjoyment of fiction for any great length of time. The reality is bound to appear.
For this reason she was not disposed to dismiss him at once but rather to allow him to call and see her frequently, if need be, until she had been thoroughly satisfied as to his true character. Nevertheless she sensed, at this very moment, that she was playing with a skillful adversary, one thoroughly versed in the game of diplomacy, against whom she would be called upon to employ every manner of weapon at her command. She realized the weight of the foe, and thought she understood his tactics. So she accepted the challenge.
"You are interested in Captain Meagher?" he asked serenely.
There was a pause. Marjorie looked slightly perturbed.
"Well," she confessed, "there is this much about him. I chanced to know the details of the offense with which he has been charged and I am naturally interested to learn the result of his trial."
"He may be found guilty," he quietly announced.
"Why do you say that?"
"The evidence was wholly against him."
"And there was no testimony to the effect that Colonel Forrest was somewhat intoxicated, or that he spoke disparaging words against the Captain's co-religionists, or that he attacked the character of the Commander-in-chief?"
"There was to some extent, but it did not seem to make any impression."
"I presume that you know the reason."
Her eyes gleamed a little.
"Why?"
There was a pause.
"The verdict has not been given. I shall be pleased to inform you of it at the earliest opportunity."
"Thank you. I shall be delighted. But let's not talk about it any more," she added. "Let's leave it."
Mr. Anderson smiled.
II
It was perhaps an hour after dawn that Stephen awoke for about the third or fourth time that night; for the conflict still surged within him and would give him no peace. And, as he lay there, awake in an instant, staring into the brightness of the morn, once more weighing the mysterious disclosures of the evening, swayed by the desire for action at one moment, overcome with sadness at the next, the thought of the impending verdict of his trial occurred at him and made him rise very hurriedly.
He was an early arrival at Headquarters. There had been several matters disposed of during the preceding day and the verdicts would be announced together. The room where the court was being held was already stirring with commotion; his judge-advocate was there, as was Colonel Forrest, Mr. Anderson, several members of the General's staff, and Mr. Allison, who had sought entry to learn the decision. Suddenly a dull solemn silence settled over all as the members of the court filed slowly into the room.
They took their places with their usual dignity, and began to dispose of the several cases in their turn. When that of Captain Meagher was reached Stephen was ordered to appear before the court to hear his sentence.
He took his place before them with perfect calmness. He observed that not one of them ventured to meet his eye as he awaited their utterance.
They found that he was not justified in making the attack upon a superior officer, notwithstanding the alleged cause for provocation, and that he was imprudent in his action, yet because of his good character, as testified to by his superior officers, because of the mitigating circumstances which had been brought to light by the testimony of the witnesses during the course of the trial and because the act had been committed without malice or criminal intent, he was found not guilty of any violation of the Articles of War, but imprudent in his action, for which cause he had been sentenced to receive a reprimand from the Military Governor.
Stephen spoke not a word to any one as he made his way back to his seat. Why could they not have given him a clear verdict? Either he was guilty or he was not guilty. He could not be misled by the sugary phrases in which the vote of censure had been couched. The court had been against him from the start.
At any rate, he thought, the reprimand would be only a matter of form. Its execution lay wholly with him who was to administer it. The court could not, by law, indicate its severity, nor its lenity, nor indeed add anything in regard to its execution, save to direct that it should be administered by the commander who convened the court. And while it was undoubtedly the general intention of the court-martial to impose a mild punishment, yet the quality of the reprimand was left entirely to the discretion of the authority commissioned to utter it.
When Stephen appeared before the Military Governor at the termination of the business of the day, he was seized with a great fury, one of those angers which, for a while, poison the air without obscuring the mind. There was an unkind look on the face of the Governor, which he did not like and which indicated to him that all would not be pleasant. He bowed his head in answer to his name.
"Captain Meagher," the Governor began. "You have been found guilty by the Regimental Court-Martial of an action which was highly imprudent. You have been led perhaps by an infatuate zeal in behalf of those, whom you term your co-religionists, to the committal of an offense upon the person of your superior officer. It is because of this fact that I find it my sad duty to reprimand you severely for your misguided ardor and to admonish you, together with the other members of your sect, of whom an unfair representation is already found in the halls of our Congress and in the ranks of our forces, lest similar outbreaks occur again. Did you but know that this eye only lately saw the members of that same Congress at Mass for the soul of a Roman Catholic in purgatory, and participating in the rites of a Church against whose anti-Christian corruptions your pious ancestors would have witnessed with their blood? The army must not witness similar outbreaks of religious zeal in the future."
He finished. Stephen left the room without a word, turned on his heel and made his way down the street.
III
Nature is a great restorer when she pours into the gaping wounds of the jaded system the oil and wine of repose. Divine grace administers the same narcotic to the soul crushed by torture and anguish. It is then that tears are dried, and that afflictions and crosses become sweet.
Desolation, a very lonely desolation, and a deep sense of helplessness filled the soul of Stephen as he retraced his steps from the court room. His life seemed a great burden to him, his hopes swallowed up in his bereavement. If he could but remove his mind from his travail of disappointments and bitterness, if his soul could only soar aloft in prayer to the realms of bliss and repose, he might endure this bitter humiliation. He felt the great need of prayer, humble, submissive prayer. Oh! If he could only pray!
He was invisibly directed into the little doorway of St. Joseph's. His feeling was like that of the storm tossed mariner as he securely steers for the beacon light. The church was nearly empty, save for a bare half-dozen people who occupied seats at various intervals. They were alone in their contemplation, as Catholics are wont to be, before their God, without beads or prayer-book, intent only upon the Divine Person concealed within the tabernacle walls, and announced by the flickering red flame in the little lamp before the altar. Here he felt himself removed from the world and its affairs, as if enclosed in a strange parenthesis, set off from all other considerations. And straightway, his soul was carried off into a calm, pure, lofty region of consolation and repose.
To the human soul, prayer is like the beams of light which seem to connect sun and earth. It raises the soul aloft and transports it to another and a better world. There basking in the light of the divine presence it is strengthened to meet the impending conflict. Nothing escapes the all-seeing eye of God. He only waits for the prayer of his children eager to grant their requests. Nothing is denied to faith and love. Neither can measure be set to the divine bounty.
"Miserere mei, Deus; secundum magnam misericordiam tuam." – "Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy."
Stephen buried his face in his hands, in an agony of conflict.
The tone of the Military Governor's reprimand had left no room for speculation as to his true intents and purposes. Whatever rebuke had been administered to him was intended for the Catholic population, otherwise there was no earthly reason for holding up to reprobation the conduct of the body governing the republic. The mere fact that the Governor despised the Congress was an unworthy as well as an insufficient motive for the base attack.
The humiliated soldier felt incapable of bearing the insult without murmuring, yet he chose to accept it with perfect resignation and submission. For a time he had fought against it. But in the church he felt seized by an invisible force. On a sudden this invisible tension seemed to dissolve like a gray mist, hovering over a lake, and began to give place to a solemn and tender sweetness.
"Miserere mei Deus."
He sought refuge in the arms of God, crying aloud to Him for His mercy. He would give his soul up to prayer and commit his troubled spirit into the hands of his intercessors before the throne of Heaven.
"Accept my punishments for the soul who is about to be released."
To the souls in Purgatory, then, he poured forth the bitterness of his heart, offering in their behalf through the intercession of the Virgin Mary, the cross which had been imposed upon him. The injustice of his trial which he knew, or thought he knew, had been tempered by the spirit of intolerance, was brought home to him now in full vigor by the severity of his reprimand. He did not deserve it, no – he could not force himself to believe that he did. Still he accepted it generously though painfully, in behalf of the sufferings of his friends.
He besought them to pray for him, that he might the more worthily endure his cross. He prayed for his tormentors that they might be not held culpable for their error. He entrusted himself entirely into the hands of his departed ones and renewed with a greater fervor his act of consecration.
"I beseech Thee, O my God, to accept and confirm this offering for Thy honor and the salvation of my soul. Amen."
He arose from his pew, made a genuflection before the Blessed Sacrament, pronouncing as he did, "My Lord and My God," crossed himself with the holy water, and left the church.
IV
In the meantime an event of rare importance had occurred in the garden of the Shippen home. There, in the recesses of the tulips sheltered behind the clustering hydrangeas, Peggy accepted the fervent suit of the Military Governor and gave him her promise to become his bride. A few days later the world was informed of the betrothal and nodded its head in astonishment, and opening its lips, sought relief in many words.
The wheels of destiny began to turn.
PART TWO
CHAPTER I
I
It was a hot October day.
A torrid wave generated somewhere in the far west, and aided by the prevailing trade winds had swept relentlessly across the country, reaching the city at a most unusual time. It had not come unheralded, however, for the sun of yesterday had gone down a blazing red, illuminating the sky like rays from a mighty furnace, and tinging the evening landscape with the reddish and purplish hues of an Indian summer. And what a blanket of humidity accompanied it! Like a cloak it settled down upon the land, making breathing laborious and driving every living creature out of doors.
Jim Cadwalader and his wife sat on the lawn, if the patch of brown grass to the side of their little house could be termed a lawn, and awaited the close of the day. Three huge elms, motionless in the still sunshine and, like all motionless things, adding to the stillness, afforded a canopy against the burning rays of the sun. What mattered it that the cool shaded air was infested with mosquitoes and house-flies or that the coarse grass was uneven and unkempt, from the low mounds which ran all over it or, from the profusion of leaves which had here and there fluttered down from the great trees. For it must be confessed that neither Jim nor his wife had found the time for the proper care of the premises, or if perchance, they had found the time the inclination itself had been wanting.
"Sumthins got t' turn up in sum way 'r other b'fore long. I ain't seen the sight o' work here in nigh two year."
"Guess you won't see it fur a while," responded the wife, from her straight-backed chair, her arms folded, her body erect.
"Like as not a man 'd starve t' death in these here times, with nuthin' t' do."
Jim sat with his elbows resting upon his yellow buckskin breeches, his rough stubby fingers interlocked, his small fiery eyes piercing the distance beyond the fields.
"If this business o' war was through with, things 'd git right agin."
"But it ain't goin' t' be over, let me tell you that."
They became silent.
Sad as was their plight, it was no sadder than the plight of many of their class. The horrors of a protracted war had visited with equal severity the dwelling places of the rich and the poor. It was not a question of the provision of the sinews of war; tax had been enacted of all classes alike. But it did seem as if the angel of poverty had tarried the longer at the doorposts of the less opulent and had, in proportion to their indigence, inflicted the greater suffering and privation. Figuratively speaking, this was the state of affairs with Jim's house.
Everything that could stimulate, and everything that could gratify the propensities of a middle-aged couple, the blessings of health, the daily round of occupation, the joys of life and the hopes of at length obtaining possession of a little home, all these and the contentment of living, had at once been swept away from Jim Cadwalader and his wife by the calamities of war. They had lived as many had lived who have no different excuse to plead for their penury. The wages of their day's labor had been their sole means of support, and when this source of income had vanished, nothing was left. In the low and dingy rooms which they called their home there were no articles of adornment and many necessary for use were wanting. Sand sprinkled on the floor did duty as a carpet. There was no glass upon their table; no china on the cupboard; no prints on the wall. Matches were a treasure and coal was never seen. Over a fire of broken boxes and barrels, lighted with sparks from the flint, was cooked a rude meal to be served in pewter dishes. Fresh meat was rarely tasted – at most but once a week, and then paid for at a higher price than their scanty means could justly allow.
"The way things 're goin' a pair o' boots 'll soon cost a man 'most six hundr' dollars. I heard a man say who 's good at figurin' out these things, that it now takes forty dollar bills t' make a dollar o' coin. We can't stand that much longer."
"Unless a great blow is struck soon," observed Nancy.
"But it won't be struck. Washington's watchin' Clinton from Morristown. The Americans are now on the offensive an' Clinton 's busy holdin' New York. The French 're here an' who knows but they may do somethin'. 'Twas too bad they missed Howe's army when it left here."
"Were they here?"
"They were at the capes when the chase was over. Lord Howe's ships had gone."
Again there was silence.
"I guess Washington can't do much without an army. He has only a handful an' I heard that the volunteers won't stay. Three thousan' o' them left t' other day. Can't win a war that way. If they'd only listen to Barry they'd have a navy now, an' if they want to catch Clinton in New York they'll need a navy."
"Is the Captain home?"
"I saw him t' other day. He is goin' t' Boston t' command the Raleigh, a thirty-two gunner. But one's no good. He needs a fleet."
"Thank God! The French have come. Peace is here now."
"It's money we need more'n soldiers. We can git an army right here if we could only pay 'em. No one 'll fight fur nuthin'. They're starvin' as much as us."
The fact that the hopes of this American couple had suffered a partial collapse, must be attributed rather to the internal state of affairs than to the military situation. While it is true that no great military objective had been gained as a result of the three years of fighting, yet the odds at the present moment were decidedly on the American side. Still the country was without anything fit to be called a general government. The Articles of Confederation, which were intended to establish a league of friendship between the thirteen states, had not yet been adopted. The Continental Congress, continuing to decline in reputation and capacity, provoked a feeling of utter weariness and intense depression. The energies and resources of the people were without organization.
Resources they had. There was also a vigorous and an animated spirit of patriotism, but there were no means of concentrating and utilizing these assets. It was the general administrative paralysis rather than any real poverty that tried the souls of the colonists. They heartily approved of the war; Washington now held a higher place in their hearts than he had ever held before; peace seemed a certainty the longer the war endured. But they were weary of the struggle and handicapped by the internal condition of affairs.
Jim and his wife typified the members of the poorer class, the class upon whom the war had descended with all its horror and cruelty and desolation. Whatever scanty possessions they had, cows, corn, wheat or flour, had been seized by the foraging parties of the opposing forces, while their horse and wagon had been impressed into the service of the British, at the time of the evacuation of the city, to cart away the stores and provisions. A means of occupation had been denied Jim during the period of stagnation and what mere existence could now be eked out depended solely in the tillage of the land upon which he dwelled. Nevertheless the Cadwaladers maintained their outward cheer and apparent optimism throughout it all but still they yearned inwardly for the day when strife would be no more.
"I can't see as t' how we're goin' to git off eny better when this here whole thin's over. We're fightin' fur independence, but the peopul don't want to change their guver'ment; Washington 'll be king when this is over."
Jim was ruminating aloud, stripping with his thumb nail the bark from a small branch which he had picked from the ground.
"'Twas the Quebec Act th' done it. It was supposed to reëstablish Popery in Canada, and did by right. But th' Americans, and mostly those in New England who are the worst kind of Dissenters and Whigs got skeered because they thought the Church o' England or the Church o' Rome 'd be the next thing established in the Colonies. That's what brought on the war."
"We all don't believe that. Some do; but I don't."
"You don't?" he asked, without lifting his eyes to look at her. "Well you kin. Wasn't the first thing they did up in New England to rush t' Canada t' capture the country or else t' form an alliance with it? And didn't our own Arnold try t' git revenge on it fur not sidin' in with him by plunderin' th' homes of th' peopul up there and sendin' the goods back to Ticonderoga?"
She made no reply, but continued to peer into the distance.
"And didn't our Congress send a petition to King George t' have 'm repeal the limits o' Quebec and to the peopul t' tell 'm the English Guver'ment 'is not authorized to establish a religion fraught with sanguary 'r impius tenets'? I know 'cause I read it."
"It makes no diff'rence now. It's over."
"Well it shows the kind o' peopul here. They're so afreed o' the Pope."
She waved her hand in a manner of greeting.
"Who's that?" asked Jim.
"Marjorie."
He turned sideways looking over his shoulder.
Then he stood up.
II
That there was more than a grain of truth in the assertion of Jim Cadwalader that the war for Independence had, like the great rivers of the country, many sources, cannot be gainsaid. There were oppressive tax laws as well as restrictions on popular rights. There were odious navigation acts together with a host of iniquitous, tyrannical measures which were destined to arouse the ire of any people however loyal. But there were religious prejudices which were likewise a moving cause of the revolt, a moving force upon the minds of the people at large. And these were utilized and systematized most effectively by the active malcontents and leaders of the strife.
The vast majority of the population of the Colonies were Dissenters, subjects of the crown who disagreed with it in matters of religious belief and who had emigrated thither to secure a haven where they might worship their God according to the dictates of their own conscience rather than at the dictates of a body politic. The Puritans had sought refuge in Massachusetts and Connecticut where the white spires of their meeting houses, projecting above the angles of the New England hills, became indicative of Congregationalism. Roger Williams and the Baptists found a harbor in Rhode Island. William Penn brought the Quaker colony to Pennsylvania. Captain Thomas Webb lent active measures to the establishment of Methodism in New York and in Maryland, while the colony of Virginia afforded protection to the adherents of the Established Church. The country was in the main Protestant, save for the vestiges of Catholicity left by the Franciscan and Jesuit Missionary Fathers, who penetrated the boundless wastes in an heroic endeavor to plant the seeds of their faith in the rich and fertile soil of the new and unexplored continent.
Consequently with the passage of the Quebec Act in 1774 a wave of indignation and passionate apprehension swept the country from the American Patriots of Boston to the English settlements on the west. That large and influential members of the Protestant religion were being assailed and threatened with oppression and that the fear of Popery, recently reëstablished in Canada, became an incentive for armed resistance, proved to be motives of great concern. They even reminded King George of these calamities and emphatically declared themselves Protestants, faithful to the principles of 1688, faithful to the ideals of the "Glorious Revolution" against James II, faithful to the House of Hanover, then seated on the throne.