The Loyalist

by James Francis Barrett

  CHAPTER II

  I

  "Simply a written statement. A public utterance from you denouncing theCatholics would prove of incalculable value to us."

  John Anderson had been for an hour or more in the company of theMilitary Governor. Seemingly great progress had been made in therecruiting of the regiment, much of which had, of necessity, beeneffected in a secret manner, for now the city was under the dominationof the Continental forces. Anderson had made the most of his time andwas in a fair way to report progress for the past month.

  "Don't be a fool, Anderson. You know that it would be the height offolly for me to make any such statement. I can do no more than I amdoing. How many have you?"

  "Nearly an hundred."

  "There are several miserable Papists in Congress. If they could beprevailed upon to resign, it would create a considerable impression uponthe minds of the people."

  "I did see Carroll."

  "How did he receive you?"

  "He replied to me that he had entered zealously into the Revolution toobtain religious as well as civil liberty, and he hoped that God wouldgrant that this religious liberty would be preserved in these states tothe end of time."

  "Confound him! We cannot reach him, I suppose."

  "So it appears. He is intensely patriotic."

  "You have an hundred, you say? All common folk, I venture. We shouldhave several influential men."

  "But they cannot be reached. I know well the need of a person ofinfluence, which thought urged me to ask such a statement from you."

  He looked at him savagely.

  "Do you think I'm a fool?"

  "'The fool knows more in his own house than a wise man does inanother's.' I merely suggest, that is all."

  "My answer is,--absolutely, No!"

  There was silence.

  "I know that Roman Catholic influence is beginning to reveal itself inthe army. Washington is well disposed toward them and they are goodsoldiers. Time was when they were less conspicuous; but nowadays everyfool legislature is throwing public offices open to them and soon Francewill exercise the same control over these states as she now wieldsacross the seas."

  "Would you be in league with France?" asked Anderson with a waveringtremor in his voice.

  "God knows how I detest it! But I have sworn to defend the cause of mycountry and I call this shattered limb to witness how well I have spentmyself in her behalf. I once entertained the hope that our efforts wouldbe crowned with success, nevertheless I must confess that the moreprotracted grows the struggle, the more the conviction is forced upon methat our cause is mistaken, if not entirely wrong, and destined toperish miserably. Still, I shall not countenance open rebellion. I couldnot."

  "You will continue to advise me. I am little acquainted with the city,you know, and it would be difficult for me to avoid dangerous risks."

  Arnold thought for a minute, his features overcast by a scowl whichclosed his eyes to the merest chinks.

  "I shall do no more than I have already done. I cannot permit myself tobe entangled. There is too much at stake."

  He was playing a dangerous game, inspirited by no genuine love forcountry but by feelings of wounded pride. He was urged on, not throughany fears of personal safety but through misguided intimidations of aforeign alliance; not because of any genuine desire to aid or abet thecause of the enemy but to cast suspicion upon a certain unit within hisown ranks. To be deprived of active duty in the field was to his warmand impulsive nature an ignominious calamity. To learn subsequently ofthe appointment of Gates to the second in command, the one general whomhe despised and hated, was more than his irritable temperament couldstand. The American cause now appeared hopeless to him, nevertheless heentertained no thought of deserting it. He had performed his duty in itsbehalf, as his wounded limb often reminded him, and it was only fittingthat he, who alone had destroyed a whole army of the enemy, should berewarded with due consideration. Congress had ever been unfriendly tohim and he had resented their action, or their failure to take properaction, most bitterly. Throughout it all his personal feelings hadguided to a large extent his faculty of judgment, and for that reason heviewed with mistrust and suspicion every intent and purpose, howevernoble or exalted.

  He had been violently opposed to the alliance with France from thestart. It was notorious that he abhorred Catholics and all thingsCatholic. To take sides with a Catholic and despotic power which hadbeen a deadly foe to the colonists ten or twenty years before, duringthe days of the French and Indian wars, was to his mind a measure atonce unpatriotic and indiscreet. In this also, he had been actuated byhis personal feelings more than by the study of the times. For heloathed Popery and the thousand and one machinations and atrocitieswhich he was accustomed to link with the name.

  The idea of forming a regiment of Catholic soldiers interested him notin the numerical strength which might be afforded the enemy but in thedefection which would be caused to the American side. His scheme lay inthe hope that the Catholic members of Congress would be tempted toresign. In that event he would obtain evident satisfaction not alone inthe weakness to which the governing body would be exposed but also inthe ill repute to which American Catholics and their protestations ofloyalty would fall.

  Arnold deep down in his own heart knew that his motives were notunmixed. He could not accuse himself of being outrageously mercenary,yet he was ashamed to be forced to acknowledge even to himself that thedesire of gain was present to his mind. His debts were enormous. Heentertained in a manner and after a style far in excess of his modestallowance. His dinners were the most sumptuous in the town; his stablethe finest; his dress the richest. And no wonder that his play, histable, his balls, his concerts, his banquets had soon exhausted hisfortune. Congress owed him money, his speculations proved unfortunate,his privateering ventures met with disaster. With debts accumulating andcreditors giving him no peace he turned to the gap which he saw openingbefore him. This was an opportunity not to be despised.

  "About that little matter--how soon might I be favored?" the Governorasked, rising from his chair and limping with his cane across the room.

  "You refer to the matter of reimbursements?" Anderson askednonchalantly.

  "I do."

  He gazed from the window with his back turned to his visitor.

  "I shall draw an order for you at once."

  "You shall do nothing of the kind."

  He looked fiercely at him.

  "You are playing a clever game, are you not? But you have to cope nowwith a clever adversary."

  He walked deliberately before him, and continued:

  "Anderson," he said, "I want to tell you I know who you are and for whatpurpose you have been sent here. I know too by whom you have been sent.I knew it before you were here twenty-four hours and I want to tell younow before we continue that we may as well understand each other in athorough manner. If you desire my assistance you must pay me well forit. And it must be in legal tender."

  "Of course--but--but--the truth is that I am in no way prepared to makeany offer now. I can communicate with you in a few days, or a week."

  "Don't come here. You must not be seen here again. Send it to me orbetter still meet me."

  "Can you trust the Shippens?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Why not there?"

  "You mean to confer with me there?"

  "If it is safe, as you say, where would be more suitable?"

  "True. But I must have some money as soon as possible. The nation isbankrupt and my pay is long overdue. I cannot, however, persuade thecreditors any longer. I must have money."

  "You shall have it. At Shippen's then."

  He rose and walked directly to the door.

  "Next week."

  He shut the door after him and hurried along the corridor. As he turnedhe came face to face with a countenance entirely familiar to him butmomentarily lost to his consciousness by its sudden and unexpectedappearance. In a second, however, he had recovered himself.

  "Cap
tain! I am pleased indeed."

  He put out his hand.

  Stephen thought for a moment. Then he grasped it.

  "Mr. Anderson. What good fortune is this?"

  "Complimentary. Simply paying my respects for kindness rendered."

  "Have a care lest your zeal overwhelm you."

  Anderson colored at the allusion.

  "Thank you. I shall exercise all moderation."

  Stephen watched him as he moved away, deliberating hurriedly on theadvisability of starting after him. Whatever his mission or his purpose,he would not learn in this house certainly, nor from him nor from Arnoldfor that matter. If he was intent on securing information concerningthis man he must do it in a surreptitious manner. There was no othermethod of dealing with him, he thought, and in view of suchcircumstances he deemed it perfectly legitimate to follow him at a safedistance.

  The more he thought over it the more readily did he resolve to takeaction to the end that he might see more of him. Whatever mischief wasafoot, and he had no more than a mere suspicion that there was mischiefafoot, must reveal itself sooner or later. His object in all probabilityhad already been accomplished, nevertheless his errand, if he wasengaged on an errand, might be disclosed. He would follow him if for noother purpose than to learn of his destination.

  Second Street was now astir with a lively procession. There, every daywhen business was over, when the bank was closed, when the exchange wasdeserted, crowds of seekers came to enjoy the air and to display theirrich garments. There might be found the gentlemen of fashion and ofmeans, with their great three-cornered cocked hats, resting majesticallyupon their profusely powdered hair done up in cues, their light coloredcoats, with their diminutive capes and long backs, their stripedstockings, pointed shoes, and lead-laden cuffs, paying homage to thefair ladies of the town. These, too, were gorgeous in their brocades andtaffetas, luxuriantly displayed over cumbrous hoops, tower-built hats,adorned with tall feathers, high wooden heels and fine satin petticoats.It was an imposing picture to behold these gayly dressed damsels gravelyreturn the salutations of their gallant admirers and courtesy almost tothe ground before them.

  Stephen searched deliberately for his man throughout the length of thecrowded thoroughfare, standing the while on the topmost step of theGovernor's Mansion--that great old-fashioned structure resembling inmany details a fortification, with its two wings like bastions extendingto the rear, its spacious yard enclosed with a high wall and ornamentedwith two great rows of lofty pine trees. It was the most stately housewithin the confines of the city and, with Christ Church, helped to makeSecond Street one of the aristocratic thoroughfares of the town.

  It was with difficulty that Stephen discerned Anderson walking brisklyin the direction of Market Street. He set off immediately, taking careto keep at a safe distance behind him. He met several acquaintances, towhom he doffed his hat and returned their afternoon greeting, while hepursued his quest with lively interest and attention. Market Street wasreached, and here he was obliged to pause near a shop window lest hemight overtake Anderson, who had halted to exchange pleasantries with ayoung and attractive couple. On they went again deliberately andpersistently until at length it began to dawn upon Stephen that theywere headed for the Germantown road, and for Allison's house.

  What strange relation was arising between Marjorie and that man?Anderson was paying marked attention to her, he began to muse tohimself, too much attention perhaps, for one whose whole existence wasclouded with a veil of mystery. Undoubtedly he was meeting with someencouragement, if not reciprocation (perish the thought!), for he waspersistent in his attention. Yet this man was not without charm. Therewas something fascinating about him which even Stephen must confess wascompelling. What if she had been captivated by him, by his engagingpersonal qualities, by his prepossessing appearance, by his habit ofgentle speech, by his dignity and his ease of manner! His irritation wasjustifiable.

  There was little doubt now as to Anderson's destination. Plainly he wasbent on one purpose. The more he walked, the more evident this became.Stephen would be assured, however, and pursued his way until he had seenwith his own eyes his man turn into Allison's house. And not until thendid he halt. Turning deliberately he began to retrace his steps.

  II

  "This looks like the kind of book. Has it the 'Largo'?"

  Anderson sat on the music-stool before the clavichord turning over thepages of a volume that rested on the rack.

  "Perhaps. I scarce think I know what it is. I have never heard it."

  Marjorie was nearby. She had been musing over the keys, letting herfingers wander where they would, when he had called. He would notdisturb her for all the world, nevertheless he did yield to herentreaties to take her place on the stool.

  "You have never heard Handel? The 'Largo' or the greatest of alloratorios, his 'Messiah'?"

  "Never!"

  He did not reply to this. Instead he broke into the opening chords, thesweetly solemn, majestic harmony of the 'Largo'. He played it entirelyfrom memory, very slowly, very softly at first, until the measurednotes, swelling into volume, filled the room in a loud arpeggio.

  "That is beautiful," she exclaimed with enthusiasm, "I should have said'exquisite'. May I learn it?"

  "Surely there must be a copy in the city. I shall consider it a favor toprocure one for you."

  "I should be delighted, I am sure."

  He played it again. She regarded him from above. It was astonishing tonote the perfect ease and grace with which he performed. The erectcarriage, the fine cut of the head, the delicately carved featuresbecame the objects of her attention in their inverse order, and therichly endowed talents, with which he was so signally accomplished,furnished objects of special consideration to her reflective soul. Hewas exceedingly fascinating and a dangerous object to pit against theheart of any woman. Still Marjorie was shrewd enough to peer beneath hissuperficial qualities, allowing herself to become absorbed in apenetrating study of the man, his character, his peculiarities;--soabsorbed, in fact, that the door behind her opened and closed withoutattracting her attention.

  "I must obtain that copy," she announced as she turned towards herchair.

  "Why, Father!" she exclaimed. "When did you come? Mr. Anderson, Father.You already know him."

  "Well met, my boy. You are somewhat of a musician. I was listening."

  "Just enough for my own amusement," laughed the younger man. "I know afew notes."

  "Be not quick to believe him, Father. He plays beautifully."

  Mr. Allison sat down.

  "Accomplishments are useful ornaments. Nowadays a man succeeds best whocan best impress. People want to see one's gifts."

  "The greatest of talents often lie buried. Prosperity thrives onpretense."

  "True. I'm beginning to think that way myself, the way things 'regoing."

  "With the war?" he asked.

  "With everything. I think Congress will fail to realize its boasts, andArnold is a huge pretender, and----"

  "He has lost favor with the people."

  "Lost it? He never had it from the day he arrived. People do not likethat sort of thing."

  Anderson watched him intently and Marjorie watched Anderson.

  "He may resign for a command in the army. I have heard it said that hedislikes his office."

  "Would to God he did! Or else go over to the other side."

  Anderson's head turned--the least little fraction--so that Marjoriecould see the flash light up his eyes.

  "He could not desert the cause now without becoming a traitor."

  A pause followed.

  "Men of lofty patriotism often disagree in the manner of politicalaction. We have many Loyalists among us."

  "Yet they are not patriots."

  "No! They are not, viewed from our standpoint. But every colony has adifferent motive in the war. Now that some have obtained their rights,they are satisfied with the situation. I don't know but that we would beas well off if the present state of affairs were allowed
to stand."

  "What do the Catholics of the Colonies think?"

  This was a bold question, yet he ventured to ask it.

  "We would fare as well with England as with some of our own," answeredMarjorie decisively.

  Anderson looked at her for a minute.

  "Never!" replied Mr. Allison with emphasis.

  "See how Canada fared," insisted Marjorie.

  "Tush!"

  Anderson listened attentively. Here was a division of opinion within thesame family; the father intensely loyal, the daughter somewhat inclinedto analysis. A new light was thrown upon her from this very instantwhich afforded him a very evident satisfaction, a very definite andconscious enjoyment as well. To have discovered this mind of apparentcandor and unaffected breadth was of supreme import to him at thiscritical moment. And he felt assured that he had met with a character ofmore than ordinary self-determination which might, if tuned properly,display a capacity for prodigious possibilities, for in human nature hewell knew the chord of self-interest to be ever responsive to adequateand opportune appeal.

  Marjorie might unconsciously prove advantageous to him. It was essentialfor the maturing of his plans to obtain Catholic cooperation. She was adevout adherent and had been, insofar as he had been able to discover,an ardent Whig. True, he had but few occasions to study her,nevertheless today had furnished him with an inkling which gave hergreater breadth in his eyes than he was before conscious of. The remarkjust made might indicate that she favored foreign rule in the interestof religious toleration, yet such a declaration was by no meansdecisive. Still he would labor to this end in the hope that she mightultimately see her way clear to cooperate with him in his designs.

  "We are losing vast numbers through the Alliance," volunteered Anderson.

  "I suppose so," admitted Mr. Allison. "Many of the colonists cannotendure the thought of begging assistance from a great Roman Catholicpower. They fear, perhaps, that France will use the opportunity toinflict on us the worst form of colonialism and destroy the Protestantreligion."

  "But it isn't the Protestants who are deserting," persisted Anderson."The Catholics are not unmindful of the hostile spirit displayed by thecolonists in the early days. They, too, are casting different lots."

  "Not we. Every one of us is a Whig. Some have faltered, but we do notwant them."

  "And yet the reports from New York seem to indicate that the recruitingthere is meeting with success."

  "The Catholic regiment? I'll wager that it never will exist except onpaper. There are no Tories, no falterers, no final deserters among theAmerican Catholics."

  "What efforts are being made in Philadelphia?" asked Marjorie.

  "None--that I know of," was the grave reply. "I did hear, however, thatan opportunity would be given those who are desirous of enlisting in NewYork."

  Marjorie sat and watched him.

  "I heard Father Farmer was invited to become its chaplain," observed Mr.Allison.

  "Did he?"

  "He did not. He told me himself that he wrote a kind letter with a sternrefusal."

  And so they talked; talked into the best part of an hour, now of thecity's activities, now of the Governor, now of the success of thecampaign, until Anderson felt that he had long overstayed his leave.

  "I am sorry to leave your company." Then to Marjorie, "At Shippen'stomorrow?"

  "Yes. Will you come for me? If you won't I daresay I shall meet youthere."

  "Of course I shall come. Please await me."

  III

  That there was a state of pure sensation and of gay existence forMarjorie in the presence of this man, she knew very well; and while shefelt that she did not care for him, nevertheless she was conscious of acertain subtle influence about him which she was powerless to define. Ithas been said that not all who know their mind know their own heart; forthe heart often perceives and reasons in a manner wholly peculiar toitself. Marjorie was aware of this and the utmost effort was required ofher to respond solely to the less alluring promptings of her firm will.

  She would allow him to see her again that she might learn more about himand his strange origin. Stephen had suggested to her the merestsuspicion concerning him. There was the possibility that the germ ofthis suspicion might develop,--and in her very presence. The contingencywas certainly equal to the adventure.

  It was not required that she pay a formal call on Peggy. Already hadthat been done, immediately after the announcement of the engagement,when she had come to offer congratulations to the prospective bride uponher enviable and happy fortune. The note, which again had come into herpossession upon Stephen's return of it, whose contents were stillunknown to her, she had restored to Peggy, together with a fullexplanation of its loss and its subsequent discovery. One phase of itshistory, however, she had purposely overlooked. It might have provedembarrassing for her to relate how it chanced to fall into the hands ofStephen. And inasmuch as he had made no comment upon its return, she wassatisfied that the incident was unworthy of the mention.

  Anderson called promptly on the hour and found her waiting. They leftthe house at once and by mutual agreement walked the entire distance.This was preferable, for there was no apparent haste to reach theirdestination, and for the present no greater desire throbbed within themthan the company of their own selves. For they talked continually ofthemselves and for that reason could never weary of each other'scompany.

  The country about them was superb. The fields stood straight in greenand gold on every side of the silvery road. Beside them as they passed,great trees reared themselves aloft from the greensward, which dividedthe road from the footpath, and rustled in the breeze, allowing theafternoon sunshine to reveal itself in patches and glimpses; and the airbetween was a sea of subdued light, resonant with the liquid notes ofthe robin and the whistle of the quail, intruders upon the uniformtranquillity of the hot Sunday afternoon.

  "Does it not strike you that there are but few persons with whom it ispossible to converse seriously?"

  "Seriously?" asked Marjorie. "What do you call seriously?"

  "In an intelligent manner, together with perfect ease and attention."

  "I suppose that this is true on account of the great want of sincerityamong men."

  "That, as well as the impatient desire we possess of intruding our ownthoughts upon our hearer with little or no desire of listening to thosewhich he himself may want to express."

  "We are sincere with no one but ourselves, don't you think? The merefact of the entrance of a second person means that we must try toimpress him. You have said that prosperity thrives on pretense."

  "And I repeat it. But with friends all guile and dissimulation ceases.We often praise the merits of our neighbor in the hope that he in turnwill praise us. Only a few have the humility and the whole-heartedsimplicity to listen well and to answer well. Sincerity to my mind isoften a snare to gain the confidence of others."

  There was depth to his reasoning, Marjorie thought, which wasriddle-like as well. It was amazing to her how well he could talk on anygiven topic, naturally, easily, seriously, as the case might be. Henever seemed to assume the mastery of any conversation, nor to talk withan air of authority on any subject, for he was alive to all topics andentered into them with the same apparent cleverness and animatedinterest.

  He stopped suddenly and exerted a gentle though firm pressure on herarm, obliging her to halt her steps. Surprised, she turned and looked athim.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  There was no response. Instead, she looked in the direction of his gaze.Then she saw.

  A large black snake lay in graceful curves across their path severalrods ahead. Its head was somewhat elevated and rigid. Before itfluttered a small chickadee in a sort of strange, though powerlessfascination, its wings partly open in a trembling manner, its chirpnoisy and incessant, its movement rapid and nervous, as it partlyadvanced, partly retreated before its enchanter. Nearer and nearer itcame, with a great scurrying of the feet and wings, towards themotionless h
ead of the serpent. Until Anderson, picking a stone from theroadside, threw a well-aimed shot which bounded over the head of thesnake, causing it to turn immediately and crawl into the recesses of thedeep underbrush of the adjoining field. The bird, freed from the sourceof its sinister charm, flew out of sight into safety.

  "Thank God!" Marjorie breathed. "I was greatly frightened."

  "Nothing would have saved that bird," was the reply. "It already waspowerless."

  Marjorie did not answer to this, but became very quiet and pensive. Theywalked on in silence.

  Nearing the home of Peggy, they beheld General Arnold seated before themon the spacious veranda in the company of his betrothed. Here wasintrusion with a vengeance, Marjorie thought, but the beaming face andthe welcoming expression soon dispelled her fears.

  "Miss Shippen," Anderson said, as he advanced immediately toward her toseize her hand, "allow me to offer my tender though tardycongratulations. It was with the greatest joy that I listened to thehappy announcement."

  "You are most kind, Mr. Anderson, and I thank you for it," was the softresponse.

  "And you, General," said Marjorie. "Let me congratulate you upon yourexcellent choice."

  "Rather upon my good fortune," the Governor replied with a generoussmile.

  Peggy blushed at the compliment.

  "How long before we may be enabled to offer similar greetings to you?"he asked of Mr. Anderson, who was assisting Marjorie into a chair by theside of Peggy.

  "Oh! Love rules his own kingdom and I am an alien."

  He drew himself near to the Governor and the conversation turnednaturally and generally to the delicious evening. The very atmospherethrilled with romance.