The Loyalist

It was found impossible to gather in the city, now held by the enemy, a thousand or more men sufficient to compose a regiment. Hence it was necessary to draw from the neighboring colonies. Anderson had come to Philadelphia with this object in view and, as an aid to his work, had established himself immediately in the graces of the military authorities. Quietly, privately, secretly, he pursued his quest, seeking out likely individuals whom he impressed into the service of His Majesty with not so much as a scruple as to means, fair or foul. Blackmail he employed freely and the pressure of unpaid debts reaped for him a harvest of names.

The currency was then worthless and the cost of living enormous. He was the odd individual who could boast of being free from debt, and the common jail and the stocks in the market place at Second and High Streets were tireless in meting out their punishments to the delinquent debtors. Anderson took royal advantage of this state of affairs, either by resolving the debt in favor of an enlistment in the company or by effecting a threatened punishment on the part of the creditor unless his wishes were complied with. Many recruits who otherwise would have rejected flatly the base proposition, were secured by such means.

At length he had registered about an hundred names, drawn from all classes of the city. The services of Father Farmer had been sought as chaplain, but this worthy servant of God gently but firmly declined because of the weight of age and "several other reasons." Colonel Clifton was still in charge of the regiment but the other officers were to be Roman Catholics and appointed by the colonels. A meeting for the purpose of organization would be held in the Provincial Hall in the course of a few weeks. Then the company would be shipped as soon as possible to New York for incorporation in the regiment there.

Anderson found General Arnold a ready and effective instrument in the perfection of the plot. Not only had the latter supplied him with all manner of information, but his authority had been employed on more than one occasion in the matter of impressment. Whatever motives actuated the General were ascribed by Anderson solely to his profound dislike of Catholics and all things Catholic. A further incentive to the success of the project was furnished by the issuance of a pass by the Military Governor enabling a vessel to leave the port of Philadelphia, where it had been tied up, for New York, for the purpose of transporting to that city the members of the recruited company. This was, of course, a violation of the military code, but the affair was done so secretly that it was known only to Anderson and the Governor. The remote preparations were now completed. All was in readiness for the meeting of the so-called volunteers.

Meanwhile, Marjorie had continued to be an object of interest to the busy Anderson, and he had paid attention to her with a marked gallantry. Through the late winter and early spring he had been a frequent visitor at her home and had often escorted her in public to the theater and dancing assemblies. He flattered himself that her confidence had early been gained and much information helpful to his scheme had been obtained. He had played his part well, although on one occasion, he had almost revealed himself; nevertheless he was completely satisfied that she not for a moment suspected the real purpose of his designs.

Now he felt obliged to hold one more conference with the Military Governor, for it was required that he know definitely the time set for the vessel's departure. That was the sole obstacle to his plans, for the date of the assembly depended upon the day of the sailing of the transport. Arnold would know of its readiness; its clearance was then a matter of personal convenience.

And so, this fine afternoon in early May, he resolved to direct his steps in the direction of Mount Pleasant where he would complete his plans. It was a long walk but less attention would be aroused by his going afoot, and so he started early. Little did he suspect, however, that his every move was being observed and that a pair of eyes had pursued him to the very park, watching him even as he ascended the great stone steps of the mansion.

He lifted the brass knocker and gave two or three slight taps, and even as he did so the blue eyes continued to observe him.

The dining-hall at Mount Pleasant was such as was befitting the noble proportions of the mansion. It adjoined the hall in opposition to the great drawing-room, its eastern side terminating in an ell extension from the hall proper where a wide easy staircase with a balustrade of gracefully turned spindles ascended to the second floor. It was lighted, not only by the fire that burned in the reredos at the northern wall, but also by eight cresset-lamps and as many candles set in huge silver candelabra on the center table.

Anderson was hungry from his long walk and ate well. A great roast goose reposing in a huge silver platter was brought in by the servants and set before them. There were vegetables of every sort, jellies, sweetmeats, floating islands, and a dessert of fruits, raisins and almonds. Madeira was drunk freely by all without any apparent disadvantage.

"And how were all at home?" asked Peggy when they were seated. The conversation was on general topics – for the servants were coming in and out with the food.

"I saw only your sister when I called with Marjorie. Mr. Shippen was away and Mrs. Shippen had a cold, a very slight one I believe."

"She is susceptible to asthmatic attacks," observed the General.

"Quite!" replied Anderson.

"She bears up remarkably. I think she has never missed a function."

"Her will-power alone," replied Peggy. "She can surmount obstacles; she has never lost an opportunity."

They lapsed into silence, occupying themselves with the delicious repast. Sometimes they talked of this, that and the other quite freely and easily – of the society news, of the presence of Miss Franks at the wedding, of the splendor of it all. Indeed, there was nothing to indicate more than a company of old-time friends.

"I am ready to take my charges along with me," announced Anderson at length.

"Hush! Not so loud," cautioned Arnold. "Later, – in the park, we shall treat of that."

Then the servants came again and removed the dishes. After another goblet of Madeira they left the table, going immediately out of doors, for it was now dusk.

"I can do no more with the recruiting. I have in round numbers, an hundred," Anderson began when they had been seated in the cypress walk. The moon was not yet half way to the zenith and lay a dull copper color in the eastern sky, partially eclipsed by the chimney of the great house. A solemn silence, terrifying and rife with mysterious sensations, seemed to pervade the place. It was a setting well fitted to shroud deep and dark designs. No one would dare to venture near.

"You have done well. Egad! I know of none who could have done better."

"Yet it was no easy task, I assure you. They thrill with the very spirit of rebellion. Cadwalader will never forgive me, and will haunt me when he dies."

"You got him?" Arnold asked.

"I did. But I had to take proceedings against him which portended the stocks. I promised him a wheelbarrow to be pushed every day in the resolution of his debt. Only when I had the jailer at hand did he reconsider. The debt has been paid, and he has already signed."

"I am glad you got him. He's a Papist, isn't he?" inquired Peggy.

"He is, and a staunch one at that," replied her husband.

"Let's get down to business," interrupted Anderson. "How soon may your vessel sail?"

"This week, or the early part of next," replied Arnold. "I drew the pass three weeks ago. With the time for clearance and sailing allowed, she should be ready now. You had better make an allowance of a week."

"How about the crew?"

"They can be depended upon. They are beholden to her owner. Have no fears concerning them."

"How soon may she clear?"

He was persistent in this.

"In a few days. Tomorrow if pressed."

"I want to get through with this business as soon as I can and get out of this town. It may get too hot for me. If I had that meeting off my mind and the men on board bound for New York I would enjoy greater repose."

"I thought you were never apprehensive," remarked Peggy. "With your composure and gallantry the world would judge that cares set lightly upon your head."

"Happy is he who can abandon everything with which his conscience is burdened. I have enjoyed no peace of soul for years and I see an untimely end."

"Be not so melancholy," observed Arnold. "My boy, the future and the world lie before you."

"Like a yawning abyss," was the grave reply.

"Oh! spare us your terrible verdicts," cried Peggy with a smile.

"I believe that I should have crushed with my scorn the philosopher who first uttered this terrible but profoundly true thought," said Anderson. "'Prudence is the first thing to forsake the wretched!'"

"Have you been imprudent?" she asked.

"I did find a charm in my escapades. At first I tingled with fear, but I gradually laid aside that cloak of suspicion which guards safety, and stalked about naked. A despicable contempt arises from an unreserved intimacy. We grow bolder with our efforts."

"What is success?" asked Peggy.

Their mood was heavy; their tone morose. A sadness had settled upon them like the blanket of the night. Only the moon climbing into the heavens radiated glory.

"Come! Away with those dismal topics!" exclaimed the General. "This is the time for rejoicing."

"Can you rejoice?" inquired the visitor.

"I, too, should be happy, but I fear, alas, I am not. My people give me no peace."

"Why not render your country a lasting service?"

"How?"

"By performing a heroic deed that will once for all put an end to this unseemly conflict."

"Never! I have been shattered twice for my efforts. I am done with active field duty."

"I do not think of that," Anderson assured him.

"Of what, then?"

"You know that the mother country had already offered conciliation. The colonies shall have an American Parliament composed of two chambers; all the members to be Americans by birth, and those of the upper chamber to have the same title, the same rank, as those of the House of Lords in England."

"What? A Marquis of Pennsylvania, a Duke of Massachusetts Bay?" he laughed aloud at this.

"No less fitting than the Duke of Albemarle."

"Why do you mention him?" Arnold inquired immediately. A thought flashed before his mind. Had Peggy and this man conversed on that point?

"He simply came into my mind. Why?"

"Oh! Nothing. Continue."

"As I was saying, all laws, and especially tax laws, shall be the work of this legislature, with the signature of the Viceroy. They shall enjoy in every relation the advantage of the best government. They shall, if necessary, be supported by all the naval and military force of England, without being exposed to the dangers or subjected to the taxes from which such a military state is inseparable."

"But how? What can I do that I have not already done?"

"You have the courage, you have the ingenuity to render that important service. Why allow your countrymen to shed more blood when the enemy is willing to grant all you are fighting for? You can save them from anarchy. You can save them from the factions of Congress."

"God knows how ardently I desire such a consummation," breathed the Governor.

"I am confident that he would perform any act, however heroic or signal, to benefit the cause of his country," remarked Peggy with deliberate emphasis.

"Name it. What shall I do?" he asked.

"Act the part of General Monk in history," announced Anderson.

Arnold recoiled. He could not believe his ears. Then the awful truth dawned upon him.

"Is this your work?" he turned to Peggy fiercely.

"On my honor, I never thought of it." His wife was frightened at his sudden change of manner.

There was silence. The trio sat in thought, one awaiting the other to speak the first word.

"Never," blurted Arnold. "Never, so long as I wear this uniform."

"And yet the world resounds with his praises, for he performed a disinterested and humane act."

"A treacherous and cowardly act!"

"Listen, I shall confide in you. If you would but exert your influence in favor of an amicable adjustment of the difficulties between the colonies and the mother country, you might command ten thousand guineas and the best post in the service of the government."

"Would that mean a peerage?" asked Peggy suddenly.

"Assuredly," was the reply.

She stood up and strutted in a pompous and stately manner before them; then she turned and courtesied before her husband.

"Your Grace, the carriage waits without. The Duchess is already in waiting," she announced with a sweeping gesture.

He scowled at her but did not answer.

"Clive saved the British Empire in India and you can save the colonies," insisted Anderson.

"Would not a proud position at court, the comfortable income of a royal estate, the possession of a peerage on home soil more than reward a man as was the case with General Monk?" challenged Peggy, with a flash of sudden anger.

"And leave my country in its hour of need," he finished the sentence for her.

"Your country!" she taunted. "What has your country done for you? The empty honors you have gained were wrung from her. The battle scars you bear with you were treated with ingratitude. You were deprived of your due honors of command. Even now you are attacked and hounded from every angle. Your country! Pooh! A scornful mistress!"

She sat down and folded her arms, looking fiercely into the dark.

It is strange how human nature could be touched by so small affairs. The war of continents meant very little to her imagination. Certainly the parallel was not perfect; but it seemed to her to fit.

He looked around slowly.

"You took me for what I am," he said to her. "I gave you prestige, wealth, happiness. But I have promised my life to my country if she requires it and I shall never withdraw that promise while I live. Better the grave of the meanest citizen than the mausoleum of a traitor."

"But think of your country!" insisted Anderson.

"Anderson," was the reply, "I know the needs of the country and I know deeply my own grievances. Suppose I yield to your suggestions and Britain fails," – he paused as if to measure the consequences. "I shall be doomed. I shall be called a bigot. My children will hate me."

He seemed to waver. His earlier enthusiasm apparently diminished before their attack.

"But," continued Anderson, "with your aid Britain cannot fail. And remember how England rewards those who render her great and signal services. Look at the majestic column at Blenheim Palace reared to the memory of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. Contrast with it what Peggy has just said, the ingratitude, the injustice, the meanness, with which Congress has treated you."

"Must the end justify the means?" he mused. "Can you continue to urge me to duplicate the treachery of Churchill, who can never be forgiven for his treason? Whatever else he may have achieved, you must remember he was first and last a traitor."

"He was doubly a traitor, if you are pleased to so stigmatize him. He first betrayed his benefactor, James, to ally himself with the Prince of Orange; and then, on the pretext of remorse, broke faith with William; acted the part of a spy in his court and camp; offered to corrupt his troops and lead them over to James; and still all was forgotten in the real service which he rendered to his country, and his name has gone into history – "

He was interrupted by a sharp sound, as if some one had stepped upon a branch or a twig, causing it to snap beneath his feet. On the instant, Anderson was upon his feet, his hand feeling instinctively for his pistol.

"We are betrayed," he whispered. "There is a spy here."

All had arisen in silence and were peering into the blackness of the night whence the sound apparently came. Anderson thought he saw a figure emerge from behind a tree far off in the distance and he immediately gave chase, opening fire as he did so. Several times he fired into the dark space before him, for it was bristling with shade, notwithstanding the obscure light of the moon. As he covered the wide area between him and the river, the lithe form of a man emerged from the wooded area and disappeared down the incline which led to the water. Nearing the bank he heard distinctly the splash of the body and he fired again into the spot whence the noise arose. The waters were still in commotion when he reached them, but there was no one to be found; nothing save the gentle undulation of the surface as it closed over its burden, and gradually became placid under the soft stillness of the night. After several minutes of intense vigilance, he slowly retraced his steps.

"The river has swallowed him," he exclaimed as he neared Arnold and Peggy, who were standing quite motionless at the side of the settees.

"Who was it?" the General asked eagerly.

"I did not see him. He disappeared into the river. I heard the splash of his dive and fired several times in its direction, but saw no one."

"Did he swim it?"

"No! I would have seen him. The water was unruffled except for the disturbance caused by his dive. The poor devil must have sunk to the bottom. Perhaps one of my shots took effect."

"I don't like this," muttered Arnold. "I would not have that conversation overheard for the crown of England. An enemy was near. I hope to God he is in the bottom of the river."

"Still, I may have hit him. I was no more than fifty yards away."

"I shall have the bed dragged in the morning. I could not rest without finding him. His identity must be learned."

Leaving the settees, they set off in the direction of the house, entering by the rear door. The servants were already in alarm over the shooting and were standing in a group behind the threshold motionless with awe. Peggy paused to assure them of their safety, narrating briefly the cause of the disturbance, together with the probable fate of the spy. She rejoined her husband and his guest in the drawing-room.

"I wonder who the intruder was?" Arnold muttered. There was a look of worry and anxiety on his face. His fingers nervously locked and interlocked, and the next moment grasped his chin and rubbed his cheek. He put his foot upon the stool and took it down again. Then he sat forward in his chair.

"Reed is behind this," he ejaculated. "You will find out that I am right. Reed has done this, or has sent one of his lieutenants. Damn him! He has hounded me."

"I may have been tracked. Perhaps it was I who was sought. My late movements might have created suspicion, and it is possible that I was shadowed here."

"No, Anderson. No! It was not you they were seeking. It is I, I tell you. Reed has been watching me like a sharpshooter from the day I arrived. He has been the author of the rumors which you have heard about town, and he would risk his life to be enabled to establish a serious charge against me. I am sure of it. Reed is behind this; Reed and the City Council."

"It was a nimble form – "

"Did you say you thought you hit him?" he asked nervously, seeking some source of comfort and assurance.

"As I live, I hit him," Anderson promised him. "Else I would have discovered him in the act of swimming. He is in the bottom of the river."

"That's good, damn him. Oh! If it were but Reed himself! He haunts me."

"He would not haunt you did you but remove yourself from here," volunteered Peggy.

"I know it. I know it," he repeated. "But how can I?"

"I suggested one avenue to you," proposed Anderson.

"Which?"

He awaited the answer.

"Via England."

His face glared with a livid red. He brought his fist high above his head.

"By heavens!" he roared. "I won't hear that again. I won't listen to it, I tell you. I'm afraid to do it. I cannot do it. I cannot."

He shook his head as he slowly repeated the words.

"Pardon me," Anderson pleaded, "I intended no harm. I apologize most sincerely for my impertinence. It will not happen again, I assure you."

"That will do. Drop it at that."

"The vessel will be ready next week? The meeting, then, can take place a week from Thursday."

"Undoubtedly."

"You will assure me of your interest?"

He was on the point of going. Though he had conquered, still, he did not know that he had conquered. He believed, as he turned and faced his friend for the last time in Mount Pleasant, that his mind was fully made up and that he had decided for all time in favor of the cause, at the sacrifice of himself.

"I shall do what I can," Arnold whispered, "but no more."

He parted from them at the threshold.