11 fllfrglff a I re tk I limM (i) IW HUGH WYNNE 
Volume II : HUGH WYNNE t 
? Free Quaker: Sometime 
$ Brevet Lieutenant-Colonel 4 
J on the Staff of His Excel- $ 
J lency General Washington J 
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J S. WEIR MITCHELL, M.D. * 
L L. D. Harvard and Edinburgh 
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J PUBLISHED BY THE CENTURY CO. J 
♦ NEW YORK : M DCCC XC-IX ❖ Copyright, 1896, 1899, by 
The Century Co. 
THE DE VINNE PRESS. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
"IS IT YES OR NO, DARTHEA?" Frontispiece 
Drawn by Howard Pyle. Photogravure. 
FACING PAGE 
CLIVEDEN 2 
Drawn by Harry Fenn after a photograph by Gutekunst. En- 
graved by C. Schwarzenburg. 
PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN 6 
From a sketch by Major Montressor of the British army. The 
original is in the Harvard Library. 
A N. W. VIEW OF THE STATE HOUSE IN PHILA- 
DELPHIA, TAKEN 1778 8 
Drawn by C. W. Peale. From the " Columbian Magazine." 
IN THE PRISON 16 
Drawn by Howard Pyle. Photogravure. 
THE JAIL, PHILADELPHIA 28 
Engraved by J. P. Malcom. From a contemporary English mag- 
azine. 
VALLEY FORGE-SHOWING THE ORIGINAL FORGE 46 
Drawn by Strickland. Engraved by Tiebeut. 
THE BETTERING-HOUSE (OR ALMSHOUSE) 56 
From Birch's "Views of Philadelphia." 
OLD PLAY-BILL 58 
From original in the Library Company of Philadelphia. 
V vi 
FACING PAGE 
GENERAL HOWE'S PROCLAMATION 60 
From original in the Library Company of Philadelphia. 
MAJOR ANDRE'S SKETCH OF HIMSELF IN THE 
MISCHIANZA 66 
The frontispiece, in water-color, of Andre's narrative of the Mis- 
chianza, the original manuscript of which (written for Miss 
Peggy Chew) is in the possession of a member of the Chew 
family. The sketch shows Lieutenant William Lewis Andre, 
who acted as his brother's squire. 
"HERE, ANDRfi! A SPY!" 70 
Drawn by Howard Pyle. Photogravure. 
DR. BENJAMIN RUSH 94 
From Hering's "National Portrait Gallery." 
MARGARET SHIPPEN 112 
From a sketch by Major Andre, showing the head-dress designed 
by him for Miss Shippen in the Misehianza. 
Drawn by David McN. Stauffer from the original. 
THE ARNOLD MANSION, FAIRMOUNT PARK 124 
Present view. From a photograph by William H. Rau. 
BENEDICT ARNOLD 132 
Drawn from life by Du Simitier. Engraved in Paris by B. L. 
Prevost. 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 136 
Engraved by T. Johnson from the painting by Trumbull (1792); 
now owned by the New York Chamber of Commerce. 
LANDING OF MAJOR ANDR15, NEAR HAVERSTRAW. 142 
From a pen-and-ink sketch made by Andr6, and found on his table 
the day of the execution. 
THE VISIT TO ANDRfi 148 
Drawn by Howard Pyle. Photogravure. 
MAJOR ANDRfi'S LAST LETTER TO GENERAL 
WASHINGTON 150 
Photographed from the original in the State Department at 
Washington. 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
vii 
FACING PAGE 
WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS AT TAPPAN 156 
Present view. From a photograph by Charles Theodore Carruth. 
MAJOR JOHN ANDRfi 160 
Pen-portrait drawn by himself the morning of the day before his 
execution. Original in the possession of Yale University. 
ARNOLD AND HIS WIFE 164 
Drawn by Howard Pyle. Photogravure. 
PRESENT VIEW OF WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS 
AT MORRISTOWN, N.J 166 
From a photograph by H. Ensminger, Morristown. 
MOUNT VERNON 184 
Published in 1798 by I. Stockdale, Piccadilly, London. 
THE DUEL 198 
Drawn by Howard Pyle. Photogravure. 
THE NELSON HOUSE, YORKTOWN 204 
Drawn by Joseph Pennell. 
PEGGY CHEW 228 
Mrs. John Eager Howard. From a painting by R. E. Pine. 
MARKET SQUARE AND CHURCH, GERMANTOWN.... 246 
From Watson's "Annals of Philadelphia." 
INTERIOR OF CHRIST CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA .... 260 
Present view. From a photograph by William H. Rau. HUGH WYNNE 
Vol. II. HUGH WYNNE 
I 
N" this night of the 2d of October, Jack 
told me we should move next morning 
or the day after. He had seen General 
Wayne on an errand for our colonel. 
"A strong talker, the general; but as 
ready to fight as to talk." In fact, ammunition was 
issued, and before dawn on the 4th the myriad noises 
of an army breaking camp aroused me. It was a 
gray morning over-head, and cool. When we fell 
into line to march, Jack called me out of the ranks. 
" There will be a fight, Hugh. Mr. Howe has sent 
troops into Jersey, and weakened his hold on the 
village, or so it is thought. In fact, you know that, 
for it was you that fetched the news. If-I should 
get killed-you will tell your aunt-not to forget me 
-and Darthea too. And my father-my father, 
Hugh-I have written to him and to Miss Wynne- 
in case of accident." The day before a fight Jack 
was always going to be killed. I do not think I ever 
thought I should be hit. I had, later in the war, a 
constant impression that, if I were, it would be in the 
stomach, and this idea I much disliked. I fell to 
thinking of Darthea and Jack, wondering a little, 
1 HUGH WYNNE: 
until the drum and fife struck up, and at the word 
we stepped out. 
I have no intention to describe more of the fight 
at Germantown than I saw, and that was but little. 
It seemed to me confusion worse confounded, and 
I did not wonder that Graydon had once written 
me from the North that we were in a "scuffle for 
liberty." The old village was then a long, broken 
line of small, gray stone houses, set in gardens on 
each side of the highway, with here and there a 
larger mansion, like the Chew House, Cliveden, and 
that of the Wisters. 
The ascent from the city is gradual. At Mount 
Airy it is more abrupt, and yet more steep at Chest- 
nut Hill, where my aunt's house, on the right, looks 
down on broken forests, through which the centre 
marched by the Perkiomen road. The fight on our 
right wing I knew nothing of for many a day. 
As we tramped on our march of many miles, the 
fog which the east wind brought us grew thicker, 
but there was less dust. Soon after dusk of morn- 
ing we came out of the woods, and moved up the 
ascent of Chestnut Hill, where I wondered to find 
no defences. There were scarce any houses here- 
abouts, and between the hill and the descent to Mount 
Airy our own regiment diverged to the left, off the 
road. There were hardly any fences to trouble us, 
and where the lines were broken by gardens or 
hedges, we went by and remade the line, which was 
extended more to left as we moved away from the 
highway. 
2 CLIVEDEN. FREE QUAKER 
At last we were halted. I was thinking of the glad 
days I had spent hereabouts when we heard to right 
the rattle of muskets. McLane had driven in the 
advanced picket of the enemy. Then the right of 
our own force fell on some British light infantry, 
and, swinging the left on the right as a pivot, our 
own flanking regiment faced their guns, so that we 
were in part back on the main road. The sun came 
out for a little, but the fog thickened, and it was lost. 
I saw Jack look at me, and noticed how flushed he 
was, and that his face was twitching. So heavy was 
the fog that, as we saw the guns, we were almost on 
them. To see fifty feet ahead was impossible. I saw 
two red flashes as the muskets rang out. There were 
wild cries, quick orders: 11 Fire ! fire ! " And with a 
great shout we ran forward, I hearing Jack cry, 
" The bayonet! the bayonet! " I saw in the smoke 
and fog men fall to right and left, and in a moment 
was after Jack, who stood between the guns, fencing 
with two big grenadiers. I clubbed one of them with 
my butt, and Jack disposed of the second. 
Meanwhile the English line had broken, and men 
who had fallen hurt or were standing were crying 
for quarter. I saw none given. It was horrible. Our 
men were paying a sad debt, contracted on the 20th 
of September, when Gray surprised Wayne at Paoli, 
and there were no wounded left and few prisoners. 
It was a frightful scene, and when the officers suc- 
ceeded to stop the slaughter, the account had been 
mercilessly settled, and there was scarce a living 
enemy in sight. Hastily reforming, we went on 
3 HUGH WYNNE: 
again, more to left of the main road, through tents, 
scattered baggage, dying horses, and misty red 
splotches where the scarlet uniforms lay thick on the 
wet grass. As we pushed on, the fog broke a little, 
and a confused mass of redcoats was seen, some 
running, and some following tumultuously their colo. 
nel, Musgrave, into the solid stone house of Clive- 
den, while the larger number fled down the road and 
over the fields. 
Meanwhile Sullivan's people came up. Two cannon 
set across the road-they were but four-pounders- 
opened with small effect on the stone house. The 
fire from the windows was fierce and fatal. Men 
dropped here and there, until Jack called to us to 
lie down. We were at this time behind the mansion. 
As we lay, I saw Jack walking to and fro, and at last 
coolly lighting a pipe. Our company lay to the left 
a little, and away from the rest of the regiment. I 
called to Jack: 
"Let us rush it, Jack, and batter down the back 
door." 
Jack, as I rose, called out to me, with a fierce oath, 
to keep still and obey orders. I dropped, and as I 
did so saw an officer with a white flag shot down as 
he went forward to ask a surrender. 
Then we were ordered to march, leaving a regiment 
to continue the siege; a half-hour had been lost. We 
went at a run quite two miles down the slope, now 
on, now off the main street, with red gleams now and 
then seen through this strangeness of fog. The Brit- 
ish were flying, broken and scattered, over the fields. 
4 FREE QUAKER 
I heard " Halt! " as we swung parallel with the 
road at the market-place, where the Grenadiers made 
a gallant stand, as was known by the more orderly 
platoon firing. Then we, too, broke out in great 
blaze, and after, what with fog and smoke, a fight in 
a cellar were as good. 
The next minute our people came down the high- 
way, and, between the two fires, the English again 
gave way. I heard, "Forward! We have 'em! " Some 
near me hesitated, and I saw Jack run by me crying, 
" The bayonet, men ! After me ! " I saw no more 
of Jack for many a day. We were in the wide market- 
place-a mob of furious men, blind with fog and 
smoke, stabbing, clubbing, striking, as chance served. 
My great personal strength helped me well. Twice 
I cleared a space, until my musket broke. I fell 
twice, once with a hard crack on the head from the 
butt of a musket. As some English went over me, 
I stabbed at them madly, and got a bayonet thrust 
in my left arm. I was up in a moment, and for a 
little while, quite unarmed, was in the middle of a 
confused mass of men raging and swearing like mani- 
acs. Suddenly there was no one to be seen near me; 
the noise of muskets, the roar of cannonry, red flashes 
in the fog in front-that was all, as I stood panting 
and dazed. Next I heard wild cries back of me, and 
the crash of musketry. Stephens's division, coming 
up behind us, began to fire, mistaking us, in the in- 
fernal darkness, for an enemy. Our people broke 
under it, and, passing me, ran, beaten; for the panic 
spread in the very moment of victory. 
5 HUGH WYNNE: 
I turned, not understanding, stumbled over a dead 
man, and suddenly felt as if a stone had struck my 
left leg above the knee. I fell instantly, and for a 
time-I do not know how long-lost consciousness. 
It could have been but a few moments. 
When I came to myself, I got up, confused and 
giddy, and began to walk, but with painful difficulty, 
stumbling over dead or wounded men. Our people 
were gone, and I saw no one for a little, till I heard 
the quick tramp of feet and saw through the fog the 
red line of a marching regiment almost upon me. I 
made an effort to fall to one side of the street, but 
dropped again, and once more knew nothing. I 
think they went over me. When evening came, I 
found myself lying with others on the sidewalk in 
front of the Wister house. How I was taken thither 
I know as little as any. I was stiff, sore, and bloody, 
but soon able to look about me. I found a bandage 
around my leg, and felt in no great pain unless I 
tried to move. Men in red coats came and went, but 
none heeded my cry for water, until an old servant- 
woman, who during the fight had refused to leave 
the house, brought me a drink. I knew her well. I 
tried to tell her who I was, but my parched tongue 
failed me, and a rough corporal hade her begone. 
My watch, a good silver one, was stolen, but my 
money-belt was safe. 
Beside me were many other wounded, one man 
hideous with his jaw broken; he seemed to me dying. 
By and by soldiers fetched others. Then a detach- 
ment of Virginians went past, in their fringed skin 
6 /■T of Me \V 
* Wrtps.e/C' 
wBaTTJ,F.'/&ERMA,m I'rl xj 
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x*Ba (uere 
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PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN. 
From a sketch by Major Montressor of the British army. FREE QUAKER 
shirts, prisoners, black with smoke, dirty and sullen. 
Surgeons' aids came and went in and out, and soon 
the sidewalk was crowded with the wounded. At last 
they carried a dying general into the house. I asked 
his name, but no one answered me. It was the brig- 
adier Agnew, now lying at rest in the lower burial- 
ground by Fisher's Lane. 
An officer came and counted us like sheep. About 
nine a row of carts stopped,-country waggons seized 
for the purpose,-and, with small tenderness, we 
were told to get in, or at need lifted in. I was put, 
with eight others, in a great Conestoga wain without 
a cover. Soon a detachment of horse arrived, and 
thus guarded, we were carted away like logs. 
The road was never good, but now it was full of 
holes and cut up by the wheels of artillery. I shall 
never forget the misery of that ride. I set my teeth 
and resolved to utter no groan. Before us and be- 
hind us were many loads of wounded men, chiefly 
such as seemed fit to travel. There were nine of us. 
One was dead before we reached town. As we jolted 
on, and the great wain rocked, I heard the crack 
of the drivers' whips, and far and near, in the dark- 
ness or near beside me, curses, prayers, mad screams 
of pain, or men imploring water. 
When near to Nicetown, came on a cold, heavy 
rain which chilled us to shivering. I let my hand- 
kerchief get soaked, and sucked it. Then I wet it 
again-the rain a torrent-and gave it into the hand 
of him who was next me. He could not use his arm, 
nor could I turn to aid him, nor did he answer me. 
7 HUGH WYNNE 
At times we waited on the way, so that it was one 
in the morning when we found ourselves in Chestnut 
street in front of the State-House. It was still dis- 
mally raining. We were told to get out, and with 
help I did so, a hue of soldiers standing on each side; 
but no one else near, and it was too dark to see if 
any whom I knew were to be seen. When they pulled 
out the man next to me, his head fell, and it was 
clear that he was dead. He was laid on the sidewalk, 
and we were helped or made to crawl upstairs to the 
long room in the second story. 
Here some surgeons' mates came and saw to us 
quite patiently. Soldiers fetched bread and water. 
I asked a pleasant kind of youth, a surgeon's aid, 
to let my aunt know of my condition. He said he 
would, and, without the least doubt that he would 
keep his word, I managed to get into a position of 
partial ease, and, sure of early relief, lay awaiting 
the sleep which came at last when I was weary with 
listening to the groans of less patient men. The 
young surgeon never troubled himself with the de- 
livery of my message. May the Lord reward him! 
8 --- - **■ ' -■ 'r7- c- 
\ i N.W VI KW OF THE STATE IIOVSK IX PHILADELPHIA ZZ/jP n 
FIE mad screams of a man in an agony 
of pain awoke me on this Sunday, Octo- 
ber 5, at daybreak. The room was a 
sorry sight. Some had died in the night, 
and were soon carried out for burial. I 
lay still, in no great pain, and reflected on the swift 
succession of events of the past week. I had had 
bad luck, but soon, of course, my aunt or father 
would know of my misfortune. As I waited for what 
might come, I tried to recall the events of the battle. 
I found it almost impossible to gather them into 
consecutive clearness, and often since I have won- 
dered to hear men profess to deliver a lucid history 
of what went on in some desperate struggle of war. 
I do not believe it to be possible. 
Being always of a sanguine turn of mind, I 
waited, full of comforting hope. About five, after 
some scant diet, we were told to get up and go down- 
stairs. It was still dark because of the continuous 
rain and overcast skies. I refused to walk, and was 
lifted by two men and put in a waggon. A few early 
idlers were around the door to see us come out. I 
looked eagerly for a face I knew, but saw none. Our 
ride was short. We went down Sixth street, and 
9 HUGH WYNNE: 
drew up at the Walnut street front of the prison, 
called, while the British held the town, the Provost. 
It was unfinished, a part being temporarily roofed 
over with boards. At the back was a large yard 
with high walls. Some, but not all, of the windows 
in the upper story had transverse slats to keep those 
within from seeing out. On the Sixth street side 
were none of these guards, and here the windows 
overlooked the potter's field, which now we call Wash- 
ington Square. 
As I managed, with some rough help, to get up the 
steps, a few early risen people paused to look on. 
Others came from the tumble-down houses on the 
north side of Walnut street, but again I was unfortu- 
nate, and saw none I knew. 
My heart fell within me as I looked up at the gray 
stone walls and grated windows. The door soon 
closed behind a hundred of us, not a few being of 
the less severely wounded. Often in passing I had 
thought, with a boy's horror, of this gloomy place, 
and tried to imagine how I should feel in such a 
cage. I was to learn full well. 
With fifteen others, I was shut up in a room about 
twenty-two feet square, on the Sixth street side and 
in the second story. I was, but for a Virginia 
captain, the only wounded man among these, the 
rest being stout country fellows, ruddy and strong, 
except one lean little man, a clerk, as I learned later, 
and of the commissary department. 
As I had again refused to walk upstairs, I was 
carried, and not rudely laid down by two soldiers in 
10 FREE QUAKER 
a corner of the bare room, now to be for many a 
day our prison. The rest sat down here and there 
in dull silence, now and then looking at the door 
as if there hope was to be expected to enter. I 
called the Virginia captain, after an hour had gone 
by, and asked him to lift and ease my hurt leg. 
He was quick to help, and tender. In a few min- 
utes we came to know each other, and thus began 
a friendly relation which has endured to this present 
time. 
For a day or two soldiers were employed as turn- 
keys, but then a lot of rough fellows took their 
places, and we began to feel the change. I may say 
the like of our diet. For a week it was better than 
our pot-luck in camp. We had rye bread, tea with- 
out sugar, and horribly tough beef; but within two 
weeks the diet fell to bread and water, with now 
and then salt or fresh beef, and potatoes or beans, 
but neither rum nor tea. A surgeon dressed my 
wounds for a month, and then I saw him no more. 
He was a surly fellow, and would do for me nothing 
else, and was usually half intoxicated. The arm was 
soon well, but the leg wound got full of maggots 
when it was no longer cared for, and only when, in 
January, I pulled out a bit of bone did it heal. 
Once a day, sometimes in the morning, more often 
in the afternoon, we were let out in the yard for an 
hour, watched by sentries, and these also we heard 
outside under our windows. Observing how quickly 
the big country louts lost flesh and colour, I set my- 
self to seeing how I could keep my health. I talked 
11 HUGH WYNNE: 
with my unlucky fellow-prisoners, ate the food even 
when it was as vile as it soon became, and when in 
the yard walked up and down making acquaintances 
as soon as I was able, while most of the rest sat 
about moping. I felt sure that before long some one 
would hear of me and bring relief. None came. 
The scoundrel in charge was a Captain Cunning- 
ham. He had risen from the ranks. A great, florid, 
burly, drunken brute, not less than sixty years old. 
This fellow no doubt sold our rations, for in Decem- 
ber we once passed three days on rye bread and 
water, and of the former not much • one day we had 
no food. 
He kicked and beat his victims at times when 
drunk, and when I proposed to him to make ten 
pounds by letting my aunt know where I was, he 
struck me with a heavy iron key he carried, and cut 
open my head, as a great scar testifies to this day. 
In late December the cold became intense, and we 
were given a blanket apiece to cover us as we lay 
on the straw. We suffered the more from weather 
because it chanced that, in October, the frigate 
" Augusta " blew up in the harbour, and broke half 
the panes of glass. In December the snow came in 
on us, and was at times thick on the floor. Once or 
twice a week we had a little fire-wood, and contrived 
then to cook the beans, which were rarely brought 
us more than half boiled. 
We did our best, the captain and I, to encourage our 
more unhappy companions, who, I think, felt more 
than we the horrors of this prisoned life. We told 
12 FREE QUAKER 
stories, got up games, and I induced the men to go 
a-fishing, as we called it; that is, to let down their 
ragged hats through the broken window-panes by 
cords torn from the edges of our blankets. Now and 
then the peor folks near by filled these nets with stale 
bread or potatoes; but one day, after long ill luck, 
a hat was of a sudden felt to be heavy, and was 
declared a mighty catch, and hauled up with care. 
When it was found to be full of stones, a strange 
misery appeared on the faces of these eager, half- 
starved wretches. The little clerk said, "We asked 
bread, and they gave us a stone," and of a sudden, 
broke out into hideous exuberance of blasphemy, 
like one in a minute distraught. It was believed 
Cunningham had been he who was guilty of this 
cruel jest; but as to this I have no assurance. Our 
efforts to cultivate patience, and even gay endurance, 
by degrees gave way, as we became feeble in body, 
and the men too hungry to be comforted by a joke. 
At last the men ceased to laugh or smile, or even 
to talk, and sat in corners close to one another for 
the saving of body warmth, silent and inert. 
A stout butcher, of the Maryland line, went mad, 
and swore roundly he was George the king. It was 
hard, indeed, to resist the sense of despair which 
seemed at last to possess all alike; for to starvation 
and cold were added such filth and vileness as men 
of decent habits felt more than those accustomed 
to be careless as to cleanliness. 
The Virginian, one Richard Delaney, soon got over 
a slight hurt he had, and but for him I should not 
13 HUGH WYNNE: 
be alive to-day. The place swarmed with rats, and 
he and I set to work capturing them, filling their 
holes as they came out at evening, and chasing them 
until we caught them. They kept well in the intense 
cold, and when we were given fire-wood, we cooked 
and ate them greedily. 
Meanwhile death was busy among the starving 
hundreds thus huddled together. We saw every day 
hasty burials in the potter's field. I wrote twice, 
with charred wood, on the half of a handker- 
chief, and threw it out of the window, but no good 
came of this; I suppose the sentries were too vigi- 
lant. 
A turnkey took one of my guineas, promising to 
let my aunt hear of me. I saw him no more. As 
to Cunningham, he was either too drunk to care, or 
expected to make more out of our rations than by a 
bribe, and probably did not credit the wild promises 
of a ragged prisoner. At all events, no good came 
of our many efforts and devices, which were more 
numerous than I have patience to relate. From the 
beginning my mind was full of schemes for escaping, 
and these I confided to Delaney. They served, at 
least, to keep hope fat, as he said. 
Early in December I began to have dysentery, and 
could eat no more, or rarely; but for Delaney I should 
have died. He told me, about this time, that the men 
meant to kill Cunningham and make a mad effort to 
overcome the guard and escape. It seemed to me the 
wildest folly, but they were grown quite desperate 
and resolute for something-all but the butcher, who 
14 FREE QUAKER 
sang obscene songs or doleful hymns, and sat dejected 
in a corner. 
The day after I saw the little commissary clerk 
talking in the yard to Cunningham, and that even- 
ing this rascal appeared with two soldiers and 
carried off four of the dozen left in our room; 
for within a week several had died of the typhus, 
which now raged among us. The next morning the 
clerk was found dead, strangled, as I believe, in the 
night, but by whom we never knew. 
I got over the dysentery more speedily than was 
common, but it was quickly followed by a burning 
fever. For how long I know not I lay on the floor 
in the straw, miserably rolling from side to side. 
The last impression I recall was of my swearing 
wildly at Delaney because he would insist on putting 
under me his own blanket. Then I lost conscious- 
ness of my pain and unrest, and knew no more for 
many days. I came to a knowledge of myself to find 
Delaney again caring for me, and was of a sudden 
aware how delicious was the milk he was pouring down 
my throat. What else Delaney did for me I know not, 
except that he found and cared for my money, and 
bribed the turnkey with part of it to bring me milk 
daily for some two weeks. But that we had hid the 
guineas for a while in the ashes of the fireplace, I should 
have lost this chance and have died; for one day Cun- 
nin gham made us all strip, and searched us thoroughly. 
About the end of January, Delaney, seeing me 
bettered and able to sit up a little, told me this 
strange story. While I was ill and unconscious, an 
15 HUGH WYNNE: 
officer had come to inspect the prison. Cunningham 
was very obsequious to this gentleman, and on De- 
laney's seizing the chance to complain, said it was a 
pack of lies, and how could he help the dysentery 
and typhus ? All jails had them, even in England, 
which was too true. 
" I went on," said Delaney, " to say that it was an 
outrage to confine officers and men together, and 
that Mr. Wynne and myself should be put on parole. 
The inspector seemed startled at this, and said/ Who ?' 
I had no mind to let a lie stand in your way, and I 
repeated, 'Captain Wynne/ pointing to you, who 
were raving and wild enough. He came over and 
stood just here, looking down on you for so long that 
I thought he must be sorry for us. Then he said, in 
a queer way, and very deliberately, 'Will he get 
well? He ought to be better looked after.' Cun- 
ningham said it was useless, because the surgeon had 
said you would be over yonder (pointing to the pot- 
ter's field) in a day or two." Which, in fact, was his 
cheerful prediction. It was safe to say it of any who 
fell ill in the jail. 
" This officer appeared puzzled or undecided. He 
went out and came back alone, and leaned over you, 
asking me to pull the blanket from your face. I 
did so, as he seemed afraid to touch it. You, my 
dear Wynne, were saying ' Dorothea ' over and over; 
but who is Dorothea the Lord knows, or you. The 
officer at last, after standing awhile, said, ' it was a 
pity, but it was of no use; you would die.' As for 
me, I told him that we were officers starving, and 
16 FREE QUAKER 
were entitled to better treatment. He said he would 
see to it; and that is all. He went away, and we are 
still here; but if ever-" 
I broke in on Delaney's threat with, "Who was 
the man?" 
II Cunningham consigned me to a more comfortable 
climate than this when I asked him, and the turnkey 
did not know." 
11 What did he look like ? " said I. 
11 He was tall, very dark, and had a scar over the 
left eye." 
"Indeed? Did he have a way of standing with 
half-shut eyes, and his mouth a little open ? " 
"Certainly. Why, Wynne, you must know the 
man." 
" I do-I do. He is my cousin." 
"I congratulate you." And so saying, he went 
away to the door to receive our rations, of which 
now every one except ourselves stole whatever he 
could lay hands on. 
It did seem to me, as I lay still, in much distress 
of body, and thought over that which I now heard 
for the first time, that no man could be so cruel as 
Arthur had shown himself. Time had gone by, and 
he had done nothing. If, as appeared likely, he was 
sure I was almost m the act of death, it seemed yet 
worse; for how could I, a dying man, hurt any one ? 
If for any cause he feared me, here was an end of it. 
It seemed to me both stupid and villainous. He had 
warned me that I had everything to dread from his 
enmity if I persisted in writing to Darthea. As- 
17 HUGH WYNNE: 
suredly he had been as good as his word. He was 
unwilling to risk any worldly advantages by giving 
me a gentleman's satisfaction, and could coldly let 
me die far from the love of those dear to me, in not 
much better state than a pig perishing in a sty. Nay; 
the pig were better off, having known no better 
things. 
I thought much as I lay there, having been near 
to death, and therefore seriously inclined, how im- 
possible it must ever be for me to hate a man enough 
to do as Arthur had done. As the days went on, the 
hope which each week brought but hatched a new 
despair; and still I mended day by day; and for this 
there was a singular cause. I kept thinking of the 
hour when my cousin and I should meet; and as I 
fed this animal appetite I won fresh desire to live, 
the motive serving as a means toward health of body. 
Concerning what had caused Arthur to lift no 
finger of help, I tried to think no more. If it were 
because of Darthea, why should he so fear me ? I 
wished he had more reason. He must have learned 
later that I was still alive, and that I was, when he 
saw me, in no state to recognise him. It looked worse 
and worse as I thought about it, until at last Delaney, 
hearing me talk of nothing else, told me I would go 
mad like the butcher if I let myself dwell longer 
upon it. Thus wisely counselled, I set it aside. 
It was now the beginning of February; I was 
greatly improved, and fast gaining strength, but had 
lost, as I guessed, nearly three stone. There were but 
six of us left, the butcher dying last on his rotten 
18 FREE QUAKER 
straw in awful anguish of terror and despair. 
Delaney and I consoled each other all this dreary 
winter, and we did all men could do for the more 
unfortunate ones, whose sicknesses and deaths made 
this hell of distress almost unbearable. 
The diet was at times better, and then again, as a 
drunkard's caprice willed, there might be no food for 
a day. If we were ourselves wretched and starved, 
we were at least a source of comfort and food to 
those minor beings to whom we furnished both board 
and bed. 
I do not mean to tell over the often-heard story 
of a prison; what we did to while away the hours; 
how we taxed our memories until the reading, long 
forgotten, came back in morsels, and could be put 
together for new pleasure of it. 
There was one little man who had been a broken- 
down clergyman, and had entered the army. His 
chief trouble was that he could get no rum, and of 
this he talked whenever we would listen. He had, 
like several sots I have known, a remarkable memory, 
and was thus a great resource to us, as he could re- 
peat whole plays, and a wonderful amount of the 
Bible. As it was hard to arouse him, and get him 
to use his power to recall what he had read, in an evil 
hour we bribed him with some choice bits of our 
noble diet. After this the price would rise at times, 
and he became greedy. His mind gave way by de- 
grees, but he still kept his memory, being also more 
and more eager to be paid for his power to interest 
or amuse us. 
19 HUGH WYNNE: 
When at last he grew melancholy and sleepless, 
and walked about all night, it was a real addition to 
our many evils. He declared that he must soon die, 
and I heard him one night earnestly beseeching God, 
in language of great force and eloquence, to forgive 
him. In the morning he was dead, having strangled 
himself resolutely with a strip of blanket and a bro- 
ken rung of a stool, with which he had twisted the 
cord. It must have taken such obstinate courage as 
no one could have believed him to possess. He had 
no capacity to attach men, and I do not think we 
grieved for him as much as for the loss of what was 
truly a library, and not to be replaced. 
On the 3d of February I awakened with a fresh 
and happy thought in my mind. My good friend 
the late lamented Dr. Franklin, used to say that in 
sleep the mind creates thoughts for the day to hatch. 
I am rather of opinion that sleep so feeds and rests 
the brain that when first we awaken our power to 
think is at its best. At all events, on that day I 
suddenly saw a way to let the sweet outside world 
know I was alive. 
At first I used to think of a chaplain as a resource, 
but I never saw one. The surgeon came no more 
when I grew better. Being now able to move about 
a little, I had noticed in the yard at times, but only 
of late, a fat Romanist priest, who was allowed to 
bring soup or other diet to certain prisoners. I soon 
learned that, because Cunningham was of the Church 
of Rome, those who were of his own faith were fa- 
voured. Indeed, now and then a part of my lessen- 
20 FREE QUAKER 
ing guineas obtained from these men a share of the 
supplies which the priest, and, I may add, certain 
gray-clad sisters, also brought; but this was rare. 
That day in the yard I drew near to the priest, 
but saw Cunningham looking on, and so I waited 
with the patience of a prisoned man. It was quite 
two weeks before my chance came. The yard being 
small, was literally full of half-clad, whole-starved 
men, who shivered and huddled together where the 
sunlight fell. Many reeled with weakness; most were 
thin past belief, their drawn skin the colour of a de- 
cayed lemon. From this sad crowd came a strange 
odour, like to cheese, and yet not like that. Even to 
remember it is most horrible. Passing near to a stout 
old Sister of Charity, I said quietly: 
"I have friends who would help me. For God's 
love, see Miss Wynne in Arch street, across from the 
Meeting." 
11 I will do your errand," she said. 
11 Others have said so, sister, and have lied to me." 
"1 will do it," she said. " And if she is away ? " 
I thought of my father. He seemed my natural 
resource, but my cousin would be there. A final 
hope there was. I was foolish enough to say, "If 
she is not in town, then Miss Darthea Peniston, near 
by. If you fail me, I shall curse you while I live." 
" I will not fail you. Why should you poor pris- 
oners be so ill used ? Trust me." 
I turned away satisfied, remembering that when 
I left Darthea was about to return. If she came to 
know, that would be enough. I had faith in her 
21 HUGH WYNNE: 
friendship and in her; and-if ever I saw her again 
-should I tell her what now I knew of Arthur 
Wynne ? I learned many lessons in this awful place, 
and among them caution. I would wait and see. 
Both Delaney and I strongly desired an exchange, 
and not merely a parole. We imagined exchanges 
to be frequent. My own dilemma, Delaney pointed 
out, was that I was not in the army, although I had 
been of it. And so we speculated of things not yet 
come about, and what we would do when they did 
come. 
The next day went by, and the morning after, it 
being now February 19, we were all in the yard. A 
turnkey came and bade me follow him. I went, as 
you may imagine, with an eager heart, on the way, 
as I hoped, out of this death in life. As I questioned 
the man, he said there was an order for a lady to 
see me. 
Now at this time my hair was a foot long, and no 
way to shear it. We had taken the blankets of the 
dead, and made us coats by tearing holes through 
which to thrust our arms. Then, as we lacked for 
buttons, or string for points, we could do no more 
than wrap these strange gowns about us so as to 
cover our rags. 
My costume troubled me little. I went to the foul- 
smelling room, now empty, and waited until the man 
came back. As he opened the door, I saw the good 
Sister of Charity in the hall, and then-who but Dar- 
thea? She was in a long cloak and great muff, and 
held in her hand a winter mask. 
22 FREE QUAKER 
Seeing me in this blue blanket, all unshorn, and 
with what beard I had covering my face, when all 
men but Hessians shaved clean, I wonder not, I say, 
that, seeing this gaunt scarecrow, she fell back, say- 
ing there was some mistake. 
I cried out, " Darthea! Darthea! Do not leave 
me. It is I! It is I, Hugh Wynne." 
II My God! " she cried, u it is Hugh ! It is! it is! " 
At this she caught my lean yellow hand, and went 
on to say, " Why were we never told ? Your Aunt 
Wynne is away. Since we thought you dead, she has 
ordered mourning, and is gone to her farm, and leaves 
the servants to feed those quartered on her. But you 
are not dead, thank God! thank God! I was but 
a day come from New York, and was at home when 
the dear old sister came and told me. I made her 
sit down while I called my aunt. Then Arthur came, 
and I told him. He was greatly shocked to hear it. 
He reminded me that some while before he had 
told me that he had seen a man who looked like you in 
the jail, and was about to die; and now could it-could 
it have been you ? He is for duty at the forts to-day, 
but to-morrow he will get you a parole. He supposed 
a day made no matter; at all events, he must delay 
that long. I never saw him so troubled." 
"Well he might be," thought I. I merely said, 
" Indeed ? " But I must have looked my doubt, for 
she added quickly: 
" Who could know you, Mr. Wynne ? " 
I stood all this while clutching at my blanket to 
cover my filth and rags, and she, young and tender, 
23 HUGH WYNNE: 
now all tears, now flashing a smile in between, like 
the pretty lightning of this storm of gentle pity. 
" And what fetched you here to this awful place ? " 
I said. " God knows how welcome you are, but-" 
" Oh," she cried, " when Arthur went, I said I 
would wait, but I could not. My aunt was in a rage, 
but I would go with the dear sister; and then I found 
Sir William, and Mr. Montresor was there; and you 
will be helped, and an end put to this wickedness. 
But the parole Arthur will ask for-that is better." 
" Darthea," I said hoarsely, my voice breaking, 111 
have been here since early in October. I have been 
starved, frozen, maltreated a hundred ways, but I can 
never take a parole. My friend Delaney and I are 
agreed on this. As to exchanges, I have no rank, 
and I may be a year inactive. I will take my chance 
here." I think death had been preferable to a parole 
obtained for me by Arthur Wynne. No; I was not 
made of my father-rock to do this and then to want 
to kill the man. I could not do that. I put it on 
the parole. Delaney and I had agreed, and on this 
I stood firm. 
She implored me to change my mind. " How ob- 
stinate you are! " she cried. " Do you never change ? 
Oh, you are dreadfully changed! Do not die; you 
must not." She was strange in her excitement. 
Then I thought to ask to have Delaney in, and 
to bid him tell that vile and wicked story; but it 
seemed no place nor time to hurt her who had so 
helped me, daring to do what few young women had 
ever dared even to think of. As I hesitated, I was 
24 FREE QUAKER 
struck with a thought which was like a physical pain. 
It put myself and the other wretched business quite 
out of my head. 
" 0 Darthea! " I cried, " you should never have 
come here. Go at once. Do not stay a minute. This 
is a house poisoned. Seven died of fever in this room. 
Write me what else is to say, but go; and let me have 
some plain clothes from home, and linen and a razor 
and scissors and, above all," and I smiled, "soap. 
But go! go! Why were you let to come ? " 
" I will go when I have done. Why did I come ? 
Because I am your friend, and this is the way I read 
friendship. Oh, I shall hear of it too. But let him 
take care; I would do it again. And as to the parole, 
he shall get it for you to-morrow, if you like it or not. 
I will write to you, and the rest you shall have; and 
now good-by. I am to be at home for Mr. Montre- 
sor in a half-hour. This is but a bit of payment for 
the ugly little girl, who is very honest, sir, I do as- 
sure you." 
"Do go," I cried. "And, oh, Darthea, if this is 
your friendship, what would be your love ! " 
" Fie! fie! Hush! " she said, and was gone. 
In two hours came a note, and I learned, for I had 
asked to hear of the war, that Washington was not 
dead. We had been told that he was. I heard, too, 
of Burgoyne's surrender, news now near to five 
months old, of Count Donop's defeat and death, of 
the fall of our forts on the Delaware, of Lord Corn- 
wallis gone to England, of failures to effect exchanges. 
Then she went on to write: " Your father was, strange 
25 HUGH WYNNE: 
to say, roused out of a sort of lethargy by the news 
of your death. Jack managed to get a letter to your 
aunt to say you were missing, and Arthur had search 
made for you; but many nameless ones were buried 
in haste, and he could not find your name on the lists 
of prisoners." None had been made to my knowledge. 
"We all thought you dead. Your aunt is in mourn- 
ing, but only of late, thinking it could not be that 
you were lost to her. It is well, as you do not like 
your cousin, that you should know how kind he has 
been, and what a comfort to your father. Indeed,- 
and now it will amuse you,-he told Arthur, you 
being dead, he had still a son, and would consider 
Arthur as his heir. All this ought to make you think 
better of Arthur, whom, I do believe, you have no 
reason to dislike. I beg of you to think otherwise 
of him; my friends must be his. And have I not 
proved I am a friend ? I fear I cannot at once get 
news of you to Mistress Wynne, who has gone to 
live at the Hill Farm." And so, with other kind 
words, she ended, and I, putting the note in a safe 
place, sat on my straw, and laughed to think of Ar- 
thur's filial care and present disappointment. 
In a few hours came the turnkey, quite captured 
by Darthea, and no doubt the richer for a good fee. 
He fetched a portmantle just come, and an order to 
put me in a room alone. I left Delaney with sorrow, 
but hoped for some way to help him. In an hour I 
was clean for the first time in five months, neatly 
shaven, my hair somehow cut, and I in sweet linen 
and a good, plain gray suit, and a beaver to match. 
26 FREE QUAKER 
Then I sat down to think, the mere hope of escape 
making me weak, and what came of it you shall hear. 
The next day I was ordered forth with a few 
others, and, luckily, late in the afternoon. I covered 
my fine clothes with the blanket and went out. In 
the yard, just before our time was up, I saw the sis- 
ter, to my delight, and perceived too, with joy, that 
the prisoners did not recognise me, decently shaven 
as I was. Only one thing held me back or made me 
doubt that I was now close to liberty: I was so feeble 
that at times I staggered in walking. I knew, how- 
ever, that when my new clothes became familiar in 
the jail my chance of escape would be over. I must 
take the present opportunity, and trust to luck. 
My scheme I had clearly thought out. I meant, 
when in the yard, to drop the blanket cover, and 
coolly follow the sister, trusting to my being taken, 
in my new garments, for a visitor. It was simple, 
and like enough to succeed if my strength held out. 
It was now dusk, and a dark, overclouded day. A 
bell was rung, this being the signal for the gang of 
prisoners to go to their rooms. Falling back a little, 
I cast aside the blanket, and then following the rest, 
was at once in the hall, dimly lit with lanterns. It 
was some eighty feet long. Here I kept behind the 
group, and went boldly after the stout sister. No one 
seemed disposed to suspect the well-dressed gentle- 
man in gray. I went by the turnkey, keeping my 
face the other way. I was now some fifteen feet 
from the great barred outer door. The two sentries 
stepped back to let the sister go by. Meanwhile the 
27 HUGH WYNNE: 
gate-keeper, with his back to me, was busy with his 
keys. He unlocked the door and pulled it open. A 
greater lantern hung over it. I was aghast to see 
the wretch, Cunningham, just about to enter. He 
was sure to detect me. I hesitated, but the lookout 
into space and liberty was enough for me. The beast 
fell back to let the sister pass out. I dashed by the 
guards, upset the good woman, and, just outside of 
the doorway, struck Cunningham in the face-a blow 
that had in it all the gathered hate of five months of 
brutal treatment. He fell back, stumbling on the 
broad upper step. I caught him a second full in the 
neck, as I followed. With an oath, he rolled back 
down the high steps, as I, leaping over him, ran 
across Walnut street. One of the outside guards 
fired wildly, but might as well have killed some 
passer-by as me. 
Opposite were the low houses afterward removed 
to enlarge Independence Square. I darted through 
the open door of a cobbler's shop, and out at the back 
into a small yard, and over palings into the open 
space. It was quite dark, as the day was overcast. 
I ran behind the houses to Fifth street. Here I 
jumped down the raised bank and turned northward. 
Beside me was a mechanic going home with his 
lantern, which, by military law, all had to carry after 
fall of night. He looked at me as if in doubt, and 
I took my chance, saying, 11 Take no notice. I am 
a prisoner run away from the jail." 
111'm your man," he said. " Take the lantern, and 
walk with me. I hear those devils." And indeed 
28 ■h.'T-tn rr. r " ■ 411 '- u 1 
' ''""" M 
Walnut Street. Prison, Independence Square. FREE QUAKER 
there was a great noise on Walnut street and in the 
square. Men were dimly seen running to and fro, 
and seizing any who had no lanterns. 
We went on to Chestnut street, and down to Sec- 
ond. I asked him here to go to Dock Creek with me. 
At my own home I offered him my last guinea, but 
he said No. I then told him my name, and desired 
he would some day, in better times, seek me out. 
And so the honest fellow left me. Many a year after 
he did come to me in debt and trouble, and, you may 
be sure, was set at ease for the rest of his life. 
Looking up, I saw light in the window, and within I 
could see Arthur and three other officers. The liquors 
and decanters were on a table, with bread and cheese, 
plain to be seen by hungry eyes. My father's bulky 
form was in his big Penn arm-chair, his head fallen 
forward. He was sound asleep. Colonel Tarleton had 
his feet on a low stool my mother used for her bas- 
ket of sewing material and the stockings she was so 
constantly darning. Harcourt and Colonel O'Hara 
were matching pennies, and my cousin was standing 
by the fire, speaking now and then, a glass in his 
hand. 
The dog asleep in the stable was no more considered 
than was my poor father by these insolent guests. 
An almost overmastering rage possessed me as I 
gazed through the panes; for no one had closed the 
shutters as was usually done at nightfall. I was 
hungry, cold, and weak, and these- ! I turned 
away, and went down the bank of Dock Creek to 
the boat-house. It was locked, and this made it likely 
29 HUGH WYNNE: 
my boat had escaped the strict search made by the 
British. No one being in sight, I went around the 
house to the stable at the farther end of the garden. 
As I came near I smelt the smoke of our old Tom's 
pipe, and then seeing him, I called softly, "Torn! 
Tom! " 
He jumped up, crying, " Save us, Master Hugh ! " 
and started to run. In a moment I had him by 
the arm, and quickly made him understand that I 
was alive, and needed food and help. As soon as 
he was recovered from his fright, he fetched me 
milk, bread, and a bottle of Hollands. After a 
greedy meal, he carried to the boat, at my order, 
the rest of the pint of spirits, oars, paddle, and 
boat-key. On the way it occurred to me to ask for 
Lucy. She had been seized by the Hessian, Von 
Heiser, and was in my aunt's stable. I had not 
asked about the mare without a purpose; I was in 
a state of intense mental clearness, with all my 
wits in order. In the few minutes that followed I 
told Tom not to let any one know of my coming, 
and then, pushing off, I dropped quietly down the 
creek. 
It was cold and very dark, and there was some ice 
afloat in small masses, amidst which my boat, turning 
with no guidance, moved on the full of the ebb tide 
toward the great river. For about two hundred 
yards I drifted, lying flat on my back. At the outlet 
of the creek was a sudden turn where the current 
almost fetched me ashore on the south bank. There 
from the slip nearly overhead, as the boat whirled 
30 FREE QUAKER 
around, I heard a sentinel call out, " Stop there, or 
I fire ! " I remained motionless, feeling sure that he 
would not risk an alarm by reason of a skiff gone 
adrift. As he called again the boat slewed around, 
and shot, stern first, far out into the great flood of 
the Delaware. Never had it seemed to me a dearer 
friend. I was free. Cautiously using the paddle 
without rising, I was soon in mid-river. Then I sat 
up, and, taking a great drink of the gin, I rowed up- 
stream in the darkness, finding less ice than I had 
thought probable. 
My plan now was to pull up to Burlington or 
Bristol; but I soon found the ice in greater masses, 
and I began to be puzzled. I turned toward Jersey, 
and hither and thither, and in a few minutes came 
upon fields of moving ice. It was clear that I must 
laud in the city, and take my chance of getting past 
the line of sentries. I pulled cautiously in at Arch 
street, and saw a sloop lying at a slip. Lying down, I 
used the paddle until at her side. Hearing no sound, 
I climbed up over her low rail, and made fast the 
boat. I could see that no one was on deck. A lighted 
lantern hung from a rope near the bow. I took it 
down, and boldly stepped on the slip. A sentry, 
seeing me come, said, "A cold night, captain." 
" Very," I rejoined, and went on up the slope. Chance 
had favoured me. In a few minutes I saw my aunt's 
house, shut up, but with a light over the transom of 
the hall door. I passed on, went up to Third street, 
around to the back of the premises, and over the 
palings into the long garden behind the dwelling, 
31 HUGH WYNNE: 
As I stood reflecting I heard Lucy neigh, and no 
voice of friend could have been sweeter. I smiled 
to think that I was a man in the position of a thief, 
but with a right to take whatsoever I might need. 
I began to suspect, too, that no one was in the house. 
Moving toward it with care, I found all the back 
doors open, or at least not fastened. A fire burned 
on the kitchen hearth, and, first making sure of the 
absence of the servants, I shot the bolt of the hall door, 
fastened the pin-bolts of the windows which looked 
on the front street, and went back to the kitchen with 
one overruling desire to be well warmed. I had been 
cold for four months. Making a roaring fire, I 
roasted myself for half an hour, turning like a duck 
on a spit. Heat and good bread and coffee I craved 
most. I found here enough of all, but no liquors; 
the gin I had finished, a good pint, and never felt it. 
Still feeling my weakness, and aware that I needed 
all my strength, I stayed yet a minute, deep in 
thought, and reluctant to leave the comfort of the 
hearth. At last I took a lantern and went upstairs. 
The china gods and beasts were all put away, the 
silver tankards and plate removed, the rugs gone. 
My good Whig aunt had done her best to make her 
despotic boarders no more comfortable than she 
could help. All was neglect, dust, and dirt; pipes 
and empty bottles lay about, and a smell of stale to- 
bacco smoke was in the air. Poor Aunt Gainor! 
Upstairs the general had moved into the room 
sacred to her spinster slumbers. The servants had 
taken holiday, it seemed, and the officers appeared 
32 FREE QUAKER 
to have "been indifferent, or absent all day; for this 
room was in a vile condition, with even the bed not 
yet made up, and the curtains torn. In this and the 
front chamber, used commonly as my aunt's own 
sitting-room, was a strange litter of maps, papers, 
and equipments, two swords, a brace of inlaid pistols, 
brass-plated, two Hessian hats, the trappings of a 
Brunswick chasseur, and a long military cloak -with 
a gold-braided regimental number under a large 
crown on each shoulder. A sense of amusement stole 
over me, although I was so tired I could have fallen 
with fatigue. I was feeling my weakness, and suffer- 
ing from what even to a man in health would have been 
great exertion. A full flask of rum lay on the table; 
I put it in my pocket, leaving the silver cover. Next 
I put on the long cloak, a tall Anhalter helmet, and 
a straight, gold-mounted sword. The pistols I took 
also, loading and priming them, and leaving only 
the box where they had lain. • 
It was now almost ten, and I could not hope to 
be long left in easy possession. Then I turned 
to the table. Much of the confused mass of papers 
was in German. I put in my pocket a beauti- 
fully drawn map of our own lines at Valley Forge. 
I gave it to Alexander Hamilton soon after the 
war. 
A small pipe-I think the Germans call meer- 
schaum-I could not despise, nor a great bundle of 
tobacco, which I thrust into the inside pouch of the 
cloak. 
Last I saw a sealed letter to Lieutenant-Colonel 
33 HUGH WYNNE: 
Ernst Ludwig Wilhelm von Specht, also one to Colo- 
nel Montresor. These were much to my purpose. 
Finally, as I heard the great clock on the stairway 
strike ten, I scribbled on a sheet of paper under Von 
Knyphausen's arms, "Captain Allan McLane presents 
his compliments to General von Knyphausen, and 
hopes he will do Captain McLane the honour to re- 
turn his visit.-February 20, 1778, 10 p. m." 
I laughed as I went downstairs, in that mood of 
merriment which was my one sign of excitement at 
the near approach of peril. A pause at the grateful 
fire, and a moment later I was saddling Lucy, look- 
ing well to girth and bit, and last buckling on the 
spurs of a Hessian officer. 
In a few minutes I was trotting up Fifth street. 
I knew only that the too extended lines had been 
drawn in close to the city, after the sharp lesson at 
Germantown; but I did not know how complete were 
the forts and abatis crossing from the Delaware to 
the Schuylkill, to the north of Callowhill street. I 
meant to pass the lines somewhere, trusting to the 
legs of Lucy, who well understood the change of 
riders, and seemed in excellent condition. 
I turned off into the fields to the westward at 
Vine street, riding carefully; and soon, as I moved 
to north, saw that fences, fruit-trees, and the scat- 
tered remnant of the wood were gone. Stumbling 
through mud and over stumps, I began to see before 
me one of Montresor's blockhouses, and presently, for 
now the night was far too clear, the forms of sentries on 
top. Dismounting, I moved aside a hundred yards, so 
34 FREE QUAKER 
that I passed unseen between two of these forts. But 
a good piece to the north of them I came on a strong 
stockade, and saw beyond it a hazy mass of what I 
took to be a monster tangle of dead trees, well fitted 
to delay a storming-party. Then I remembered my 
ride with Montresor0 I was caught. I stood still in 
the night, wondering what to do: behind me the hum 
and glow of the city, before me freedom and dark- 
ness. 
A man thinks quickly in an hour like that. I 
mounted, feeling the lift of my weak body an exer- 
tion, and rode back into Vine, and so to Front street. 
A hundred yards before me was a great camp-fire, 
to left of where the road to Germantown diverges. 
I saw figures about it passing to and fro. I felt 
for my pistols in the holsters of the saddle, and 
cocked the one on my right, loosened the long 
straight Hessian blade, and took the two letters in 
my bridle-hand. 
As I rode up I saw, for the fire was brightly blazing, 
that there were tents, pickets to left and right, men 
afoot, and horses not saddled. A sergeant came out 
into the road. " Halt! " he cried. In broken Eng- 
lish, I said I had a letter for Colonel Montresor, to 
be given in the morning when he would be out to 
inspect the lines, and one for Lieutenant-Colonel von 
Specht. The man took the letters. I meant to turn 
back, wheel, and go by at speed; but by evil luck a 
wind from the north blew open my cloak, and in the 
brilliant firelight he saw my gray clothes. 
" Holloa! " he cried. " What's the word ? You 
35 HUGH WYNNE: 
are not in uniform. Get off! " So saying, he caught 
the rein he had dropped, a man or two running to- 
ward us as he spoke. 
If I could, I would have spared the man: but it 
was his life or mine; I knew that. I fired square at 
his chest, the mare reared, the man fell with a cry. 
I let Lucy have both spurs. She leaped as a deer 
leaps, catching a fellow in the chest with her shoulder, 
and was off like a crazy thing. I looked ahead; the 
way was clear. A glance back showed me the road 
full of men. I heard shouts, orders, shot after shot. 
I was soon far beyond danger, and going at racing 
speed through the night; but I had scared up a plea- 
sant hornets' nest. The last picket was a quarter of 
a mile ahead, perhaps. I pulled up, and with diffi- 
culty made the mare walk. There were fires on both 
sides, and a lot of alert soldiers out in the road. I 
turned off into the fields behind a farm-house, glad 
of the absence of fences. The next moment I felt 
the mare gather herself with the half-pause every 
horseman knows so well. She had taken a ditch, 
and prettily too. 
Keeping off the highway, but in line with it, I 
went on slowly, leaning over in the saddle. After 
a mile, and much stumbling about, I ceased to hear 
noises back of me, and turned, approaching the road 
I had left. No one was in sight. Why I was not 
followed by the horse I know not. I wrapped my 
cloak about me, and rode on up the deserted high- 
way. I was free, and on neutral ground. All I had 
to fear was an encounter with one of the foraging 
36 FREE QUAKER 
parties which kept the country around in constant 
terror. I met no one. The sole unpleasant thought 
which haunted my cold night ride was the face of 
the poor devil I had shot. I put it aside. Prison 
life had at least taught me the habit of dismissing 
the torment of vain reflection on an irreparable past. 
I went by the old burying-ground of Germantown, 
and the rare houses, going slowly on account of the 
road, which was full of deep holes, and so through 
the market-place where we made our last charge. 
At last I breasted the slippery rise of Chestnut 
Hill, and throwing my cloak over the mare, that I 
had taught to stand, went up to the door of my Aunt 
Gainor's house. 
I knocked long before I was heard. A window 
was opened above me, and a voice I loved called out 
to know what I wanted. I replied, " It is I, Hugh. 
Be quick! " A moment later I was in her dear old 
arms, the servants were called up, and my faithful 
Lucy was cared for. Then I fell on a settle, at the 
limit of my strength. I was put to bed, and glad I 
was to stay there for two days, and not even talk. 
Indeed, what with good diet and milk and spirits and 
clean sheets, I slept as I had not done for many a 
night. 
As soon as I was up and fit to converse, I was 
made to tell my story over and over. Meanwhile 
my aunt was desperately afraid lest we should be 
visited, as was not rare, by foragers or Tory par- 
tisans. I must go, and at once. Even war was to 
be preferred to this anxiety. But before I went she 
37 HUGH WYNNE: 
must tell me what she thought of this strange busi- 
ness of my cousin. I had been wise not to tell 
Darthea. A rascal like Arthur would trip himself 
up soon or late. Then she fell to thinking, and, 
bidding me cease for a little, sat with her head in her 
large hands, having her elbows on the table. 
"Hugh," she said at last, "he must have more 
cause to be jealous than we know. He has still more 
now. Is it only the woman? Can it be anything 
about the estate in Wales ? It must be; you remem- 
ber how he bed to us about it; but what is it ? " 
" He thinks I regret the loss of Wyncote, and that 
I would like to have it. I am afraid I found it plea- 
sant to say so, seeing that it annoyed him." 
" I wish he may have some such cause to hate you, 
and no other. But why ? Your grandfather made 
a legal conveyance of an unentailed property, got 
some ready money,-how much I never knew,-and 
came away. How can you interfere with Arthur? 
The Wynnes, I have heard, have Welsh memories 
for an insult. You struck him once." 
" The blow! " and I smiled. " Yes; the woman! 
Pray God it be that. The estate-he is welcome to 
it. I hardly think a Welsh home would bribe me to 
leave my own country. But I do not see, aunt, why 
you so often talk as if Wyncote were ours, and stolen 
from us. I do not want it, and why should I ? " 
" Is not that unreasonable, Hugh ? " she returned, 
with more quietness in the way of reply than was 
usual when she was arguing. " You are young now. 
The anger between England and ourselves makes all 
38 FREE QUAKER 
things in Great Britain seem hateful to you, to me, 
to all honest colonials; but this will not last. Peace 
will come one day or another, and when it does, to 
be Wynne of Wyncote-" 
"Good gracious, Aunt Gainor! let us set this 
aside. Arthur Wynne's lies have stirred us all to 
think there must be some reason for such a keen de- 
sire to mislead me, you, and my father-above all, 
my father. But it is my father's business, not mine; 
nor, if I may be excused, is it yours." 
"That is true, or would be if your father were 
well or interested. He is neither-neither; and there 
is something in the matter. I shall ask my brother." 
"You have done that before." 
"I have, but I got nothing. Now he is in such a 
state that he may be more free of speech. I think 
he could be got to tell me what neither he nor my 
own father liked to speak of." 
Upon this, I told my aunt that I did trust she 
would not take advantage of my father's weak mind 
to get that which, when of wholesome wits, he had 
seen fit to conceal. I did not like it. 
" Nonsense! " she cried, " nonsense! if you could 
have the old home-" 
" But how can I ? It is like promising fairy gold, 
and I don't want it. I should like to go there once 
and see it and my cousins, and come home to this 
country." 
I was, in fact, weary of the thing, and my aunt 
would have talked it over all day. She could not 
see why I was so set in my mind. She kept urging 
39 HUGH WYNNE: 
that something would turn up about it, and we should 
have to act; then I would change my mind. I hardly 
knew why that which once had been a delightful and 
mysterious bait now lured me not at all. What with 
the great war, and my own maturity, and Darthea, 
Wyncote had shrunken out of the world of my de- 
sires. It was too dreamy a bribe for one of my turn 
of mind. I would have given half Wales for an hour 
alone with Arthur Wynne. 
Then through my meditations I heard, "Well, mark 
my word, Master Absolute; there is some flaw in 
their title, and-and soon or late-" 
" Oh, please, aunt-" 
"Well, do not make up your mind. I am afraid 
of you when you make up your mind. You are as 
set in your ways as your father. Do you remember 
what Nicholas Wain said of him: 'When John 
Wynne puts down his foot, thou hast got to dig it 
up to move him ' ? " 
She was right; nor did I defend myself. I laughed, 
but was sad too, thinking of my poor old father, 
whom I could not see, and of how far he was now 
from being what his friend had described. 
I said as much. My aunt replied, "Yes, it is too 
true; but I think he is less unhappy, and so thinks 
Dr. Rush." 
After this our talk drifted away, and my aunt 
would once more hear of my note in McLane's name 
left for the Hessian general. " I hope yet to ask him 
of it," she cried, " and that dear Mr. Andre-I can 
see his face. It is the French blood makes him so 
40 FREE QUAKER 
gentle. Catch him for me in the war. I should like 
to have him on parole for a sixmonth." And at this 
she laughed, and heartily, as she did most things. 
When this talk occurred we were in a great front 
room in the second story. There was a deep bow- 
window to westward, and here my aunt liked to be 
at set of sun, and to look over what seemed to be a 
boundless forest; for the many scattered farms were 
hid away in their woodland shelters, so that from 
this vantage of height it looked as though the coun- 
try beyond might be one great solitude. Nearer 
were well-tilled farms, on which the snow still lay in 
melting drifts. 
As we sat, I was smoking the first tobacco I had 
had since I left the jail. This habit I learned long 
before, and after once falling a captive to that con- 
soler and counsellor, the pipe, I never gave it up. It 
is like others of the good gifts of God: when abused 
it loses its use, which seems a silly phrase, but does 
really mean more than it says. Jack hath somewhere 
writ that words have souls, and are always more than 
they look or say. I could wish mine to be so taken. 
And as to tobacco and good rum, Jack said-but I 
forget what it was-something neat and pretty and 
honest, that took a good grip of you. The tricks an 
old fellow's memory plays him are queer enough. I 
often recall the time and place of something clever 
a friend hath said long ago, but when I try to get it 
back, I have but a sense of its pleasantness, as of a 
flavour left in the mouth, while all the wise words 
of his saying are quite forgot. Dr. Rush thinks that 
41 HUGH WYNNE: 
we are often happy or morose without apparent cause, 
when the mind is but recalling the influence of some 
former joy or grief, but not that which created either. 
The great doctor had many hard sayings, and this 
was one. 
As I sat reflecting, I felt a sudden consciousness 
of the pleasure my tobacco gave, and then of how 
delightful it was to be, as it were, growing younger 
day by day, and of how, with return of strength, 
came a certain keenness of the senses as to odours, 
and as to what I ate or drank. It seemed to me a 
kind of reward for suffering endured with patience. 
My Aunt Gainor sat watching me with the pleasure 
good women have over one too weak to resist being 
coddled. When I had come to this happy condition 
of wanting a pipe, as I had jolted out of my pouch 
the tobacco I stole, she went off and brought the good 
weed out of the barn, where she had saved her last 
crop under what scant hay the Hessian foragers 
left her. I must smoke in her own library, a thing 
unheard of before; she loved to smell a good to- 
bacco. 
" O Aunt Gainor! " 
" But Jack! " she said. She did not like to see 
Jack with a pipe. He looked too like a nice girl, with 
his fair skin and his yellow hair. 
I smoked on in mighty peace of mind, and soon 
she began again, being rarely long silent, " I hope 
you and your cousin will never meet, Hugh." 
The suddenness of this overcame me, and I felt 
myself flush. 
42 FREE QUAKER 
" Ah! " she said, " I knew it. There is little love 
lost between you." 
" There are things a man cannot forgive." 
" Then may the good God keep you apart, my son." 
"I trust not," said I. "I can forgive an insult, 
even if I am Welsh and a Wynne; but oh, Aunt Gai- 
nor, those added weeks of misery, foulness, filth, and 
pain I owe to this man! I will kill him as I would 
kill any other vermin." Then I was ashamed, for to 
say such things before women was not my way. 
" I could kill him myself," said my aunt, savagely. 
"And now do have some more of this nice, good 
gruel," which set me to laughing. 
" Let him go," said I, " and the gruel too." 
"And that is what you must do, sir. You must 
go. I am all day in terror." 
And still I stayed on, pretty easy in mind; for my 
aunt had set a fellow on watch at Mount Airy, to let 
us know if any parties appeared, and we kept Lucy 
saddled. I sorely needed this rest and to be fed; for 
I was a mere shadow of my big self when I alighted 
at her door on that memorable 20th of February. 
The day before I left this delightful haven between 
jail and camp, came one of my aunt's women slaves 
with a letter she had brought from the city, and this 
was what it said: 
" Dear Mistress Wynne : At last I am honoured 
with the permission to write and tell you that Mr. 
Hugh Wynne is alive. It was cruel that the general 
would not earlier grant me so small a favour as to 
43 HUGH WYNNE: 
pass an open letter; but Arthur found much diffi- 
culty, by reason, I fear, of your well-known opinions. 
He was on the way to the jail when he heard of Mr. 
Hugh Wynne's having escaped, after dreadfully in- 
juring the poor man who took such good care of him 
all winter. How it came that he lay five months in 
this vile abode neither Arthur nor I can imagine, nor 
yet how he got out of the town. 
"Arthur tells me that insolent rebel, Allan McLane, 
broke into your house and stole the beautiful sword 
the Elector of Hesse gave to General von Knyphau- 
sen, and what more he took the Lord knows. Also 
he left an impudent letter. The general will hang 
him whenever he catches him; but there is a proverb: 
perhaps it is sometimes the fish that is the better 
fisherman. 
" I have a queer suspicion as to this matter, and 
as to the mare Lucy being stolen. I am so glad it 
is I that have the joy to tell you of Mr. Hugh Wynne's 
safety; and until he returns my visit, and forever 
after, I am, madam, 
"Your devoted, humble servant, 
" Darthea. 
"To Madm Wynne, 
"At the Hill Farm, 
"Chestnut Hill." 
My aunt said it was sweet and thoughtful of Dar- 
thea, and we had a fine laugh over the burglary of 
that bad man, McLane. The woman went back with 
two notes stitched into the lining of her gown; one 
was from my aunt, and one I wrote; and to this 
44 FREE QUAKER 
day Darthea alone knows what it said. God bless 
her! 
It was March 20 of '78 before I felt myself fully 
able to set out for camp. I had run no great risk. 
The country had been ravaged till it was hard to find 
a pig or a cow. Farmers were on small rations, and 
the foragers had quit looking for what did not exist. 
One dull morning I had the mare saddled, and got 
ready to leave. It was of a Friday I went away; my 
aunt as unwilling to have me set out as she had been 
eager to have me go the day before. My Quaker 
training left me clear of all such nonsense, and, 
kissing the dear lady, I left her in tears by the road- 
side. 
45 III 
T is a good eighteen-mile ride to Valley 
Forge over the crooked Perkiomen road, 
which was none the better for the break- 
ing up of the frost. I rode along with a 
light heart, but I was watchful, being so 
used to disastrous adventures. Happily, I met wTith 
no difficulties. 
A few miles from the bridge General Washington 
had built, I fell in with a party of horse. The officer 
in command seemed at first suspicious, but at last 
sent me on with two troopers. On the last Sunday 
of the month Friends were persistently in the habit 
of flocking into the city to General Meeting. They 
were not unwelcome, for they were apt to carry news 
of us, and neither we nor the enemy regarded them 
as neutrals. Our commander-in-chief, in an order 
of this day, declared " that the plans settled at these 
meetings are of the most pernicious tendency," and 
on this account directed General Lacy "that the 
parties of light horse be so disposed as to fall in with 
these people." 
It was one of these parties of horse I had encoun- 
tered. The officer sent me on with a guard, and thus, 
in the company of two troopers, I rode through a 
46 V_A1L.1L.1SY JFOJLGIE, 
VALLEY FORGE -SHOWING THE ORIGINAL FORGE. FREE QUAKER 
fairly wooded country to the much-worn road leading 
down to the river. Here my guards left me with the 
picket at the bridge. It was a half-hour before the 
officer here stationed was satisfied, and meanwhile I 
stared across the Schuylkill at the precipitous bluffs, 
and wondered where lay the army which had passed 
the winter back of them. A few men along the far 
shore, and on the hill beyond a little redoubt, were 
all the signs of life or of war and its precautions. 
The bridge, over which presently I rode, was of army 
waggons weighted with stone, and on top rails with 
rude scantling. On the high posts driven into the 
river-bed for stay of the bridge were burned the 
names of the favourite generals. Once over, I walked 
Lucy up a cleft in the shore cliff, and came out on 
the huts of General Varnum's brigade. The little 
world of an army came in view. I was on the first 
rise from the stream, a mile and a half to the south 
of the Valley Creek. To westward the land fell a lit- 
tle, and then rose to the higher slope of Mount Joy. 
To north the land again dropped, and rose beyond to 
the deep gulch of the Valley Creek. On its farther 
side the fires of a picket on Mount Misery were seen. 
Everywhere were regular rows of log huts, and on 
the first decline of every hill slope intrenchments, 
ditches, redoubts, and artillery. Far beyond, this 
group of hills fell gradually to the rolling plain. A 
mile away were the long outlying lines of Wayne, 
and the good fellows with whom I had charged at 
Germantown. 
Everywhere the forests were gone. Innumerable 
47 HUGH WYNNE: 
camp-fires and a city of log huts told for what uses 
they had fallen. On the uplands about me ragged 
men were drilling; far away I heard the cavalry 
bugles. A certain sense of elation and gaiety came 
over me. It lasted no long time, as I rode Lucy over 
the limestone hillocks and down to the lesser valley, 
which far away fell into the greater vale of Chester. 
The worst of the winter's trials were over, and yet 
I was horror-struck at the misery and rags of these 
poor fellows. No wonder men deserted, and officers 
were resigning in scores, desperate under the appeals 
of helpless wife and family in far-away homes. It 
was no better on the upland beyond. Everywhere 
were rude huts in rows, woeful-looking men at drill, 
dejected sentries, gaunt, hungry, ill clothed, with 
here and there a better-dressed officer to make the 
rest look all the worse. 
I thought of the grenadier British troops, fat and 
strong, in the city I had fled from, and marvelled to 
think of what kept them from sweeping this squalid 
mob away, as a housewife switches out the summer 
flies. Full of thought, I rode a mile through the 
melting drifts of snow, and came on Wayne's brigade, 
which held the lines looking in this direction. 
I was long about it; but at last a man pointed out 
a hut, and I went in. " Holloa, Jack! " I cried. 
" Hugh! Hugh! Where on earth are you from ? " 
And he flushed as he used to do, and gave me a great 
bear-hug, saying, " And you are not dead! not dead! 
Thank God!thank God!" 
Thus again we met, to my unspeakable joy. He 
48 FREE QUAKER 
was about as lean as I had been, but on the whole, 
thanks to his florid skin, looked well or better than 
the best of that half-fed army. How we talked, how 
we poured out our news that cold March afternoon, 
I shall not take space to tell; nor his great wonder 
at seeing me after all had believed me dead. 
After supper came a half-dozen officers, and I heard 
all the camp gossip, and was made heartily welcome. 
Everything was on the mend, they said. Steuben 
was drilling the men; Greene was the new and effi- 
cient quartermaster-general. Supplies were pour- 
ing in. Mrs. Washington and Lady Stirling had 
come. The French were sure to make a treaty with 
us. As they talked of their privations I learned, 
for the first time, of the full horrors of the winter 
camp at the forge in the valley. There was still 
enough wretchedness to show how far worse must 
have been the pitiable condition of the army during 
that winter of '77-78. I passed the next day at 
rest with Jack. I had had enough of the volunteer 
business, and determined, to Jack's regret, to take 
service with the horse. I was still unfit to march, 
and it seemed to me wise for this reason to stick to 
Lucy's good legs, at least until my own were in better 
order. 
I think Jack felt that he was under some necessity 
to take care of me, or from that affection he has ever 
shown desired to keep me near him. He only hoped 
I would not incline to join McLane's troop, and when 
I asked why, declaring that to be my utmost desire, 
he said it was a service of needless peril 
49 HUGH WYNNE: 
Upon this I laughed so that the hut shook, and 
poor Jack became quite disconcerted, and fell to 
making a variety of excuses. It is of this he says: 
" Hugh is come from death, and there is more to 
live for. For me, that am often unready and weak, 
here is again his ever just helpfulness. He is but 
a shadow of himself, and I cannot wonder that he is 
so bitter against the enemy, or that he desires, less 
on account of his bodily feebleness than from a wish 
to revenge his cruel treatment, to serve with the 
horse. They are never more quiet than gadflies. It 
is dangerous duty, and should it cost this dear life, 
how shall I ever face Mistress Wynne?" 
I myself had but one thought in my own mind 
this Sunday in March, as I rode through the east 
wind. It is my way, and always was, to have but a 
single idea in mind, and to go straight to my object 
the nearest way. He was right in his belief that it 
was my burning wish to pay the debts of my poor 
abused body. I knew not when we should move, 
and the dislike of tiresome drills under Steuben, with 
a restless, perhaps a wholesome, instinct to lead a 
more active life, conspired to make my hatred seem 
reasonable. 
I could see, as I rode along through the canton- 
ment and the long lines of huts, how well chosen was 
the valley camp. The Schuylkill flowing from the 
Blue Hills turned here to eastward, the current was 
deep, the banks were high and precipitous. To the 
west, in a deep gorge, the Valley Creek protected the 
camp. Running down from Mount Joy, a broad 
50 FREE QUAKER 
spur turned northward to the Schuylkill. Between 
this ridge and the river lay an angular table-land, 
falling to the valley beyond. Along this ridge, and 
high on Mount Joy, were the intrenchments laid out 
by Du Portail, and within them were the camps of 
rare tents and the rows of wooden huts. 
Riding north amid the stumps and the lessening 
drifts of snow, past the dark huts, and the files of 
ragged men in hue for morning service, I came down 
to the angle between the Valley Creek and the Schuyl- 
kill. The river was full, and ran a gray-brown flood. 
Where the trampled slope rose from the creek I 
came upon a small but solid house, built of gray 
and ruddy sandstones, a quaint, shell-curved pent- 
house above the open doorway. Here were horses 
held by orderlies, the blue and white of French uni- 
forms, buff-and-blue officers, and the guard of fifty 
light horse on a side road in the saddle, facing the 
house. I knew I had found the headquarters. Look- 
ing about, I saw, to my joy, Mr. Hamilton talking 
with some of our allies. I rode up, and as they 
turned, I said, "I am Mr. Hugh Wynne, Colonel 
Hamilton." 
" Good heavens, sir! You are not dead then, after 
all!" 
"No," I said, laughing; "I am alive, thank you. 
I have been in prison for months, and I am come 
now to ask for that commission in the light horse 
about which I must beg you to remind his Excel- 
lency." 
"No wonder," said he, "I did not recognise you. 
51 HUGH WYNNE: 
We are now going to morning service. I will see 
to it at once. We thought you dead. Indeed, his 
Excellency wrote to Mistress Wynne of you. The 
general has full powers at last, and you are sure of 
your commission. Now I must leave you." 
A few more needed words were said, and I drew 
aside to see the staff ride away. In a few minutes 
the young aide came back. 
"You may join McLane at once. You will have 
an acting commission until a more formal one reaches 
you. I suppose you have no news ? " 
" None," I said,11 except of how a British jail looks." 
" His Excellency desires your company at dinner 
to-day at six." 
I said I had no uniform. 
" Look at mine," he cried, laughing. "1 have only 
one suit, and the rest are hardly better off." 
I drew back and waited. In a few minutes the 
general came out, and mounting, sat still until all of 
the staff were in the saddle. 
He had changed greatly from the fresh, clear- 
skinned country gentleman I saw first in Philadel- 
phia. His face was more grave, his very ruddy skin 
less clear and more bronzed. I observed that his 
eyes were deep set, light blue in colour, and of un- 
usual size; his nose was rather heavy and large; the 
mouth resolute and firm, with full lips. His general 
expression was sedate and tranquil. In full, neat 
buff and blue, his hair powdered, the queue carefully 
tied, he sat very erect in the saddle, and looked to 
be a good horseman. 
52 FREE QUAKER 
This is all I remember at that time of this high- 
minded gentleman. I heard much of him then and 
later; and as what I heard or saw varies a good deal 
from the idea now held of him, I shall not refrain 
from saying how he seemed to us, who saw him in 
camp and field, or in the hour of rare leisure. But 
I shall do better, perhaps, just now to let my friend 
say what he seemed to be to his more observant and 
reflective mind. It was writ long after. 
"Abler pens than mine," says Jack, "have put on 
record the sorrowful glory of that dreadful camp- 
ground by Valley Forge. It is strongly charactered 
in those beseeching letters and despatches of the al- 
most heartbroken man, who poured out his grief in 
language which even to-day no man can read un- 
moved. To us he showed only a gravely tranquil 
face, which had in it something which reassured 
those starving and naked ones. Most wonderful is 
it, as I read what he wrote to inefficient, blundering 
men, to see how calmly he states our pitiful case, how 
entirely he controls a nature violent and passionate 
beyond that of most men. He was scarcely in the 
saddle as commander before the body which set him 
there was filled with dissatisfaction. 
"I think it well that we know so little of what 
went on within the walls of Congress. The silence 
of history has been friendly to many reputations. 
There need be no silence as to this man, nor any 
concealment, and there has been much. I would have 
men see him as we saw him in his anger, when no 
language was too strong; in his hour of serene 
53 HUGH WYNNE: 
kindliness, when Hamilton, the aide of twenty, was 
'my boy'; in this starving camp, with naked men 
shivering all night in their blankets by the fires, 
when 'he pitied those miseries he could neither relieve 
nor prevent.' Am I displeased to think that although 
he laughed rarely he liked Colonel Scammel's strong 
stories, and would be amused by a song such as no 
woman should hear ? 
" This serene, inflexible, decisive man, biding his 
hour, could be then the venturesome soldier, willing 
to put every fortune on a chance, risking himself 
with a courage that alarmed men for his life. Does 
any but a fool think that he could have been all these 
things and not have had in him the wild blood of 
passion ? He had a love for fine clothes and show. 
He was, I fear, at times extravagant, and, as I have 
heard, could not pay his doctor's bill, and would 
postpone that, and send him a horse and a little 
money to educate his godson, the good doctor's son. 
As to some of his letters, they contained jests not 
gross, but not quite fit for grave seigniors not virgini- 
bus puerisque. There is one to Lafayette I have been 
shown by the marquis. It is most amusing, but- 
oh, fie! Was he religious? I do not know. Men 
say so. He might have been, and yet have had his 
hours of ungoverned rage, or of other forms of hu- 
man weakness. Like a friend of mine, he was not 
given to speech concerning his creed." 
My J ack was right. Our general's worst foes were 
men who loved their country, but who knew not to 
comprehend this man. I well remember how I used 
54 FREE QUAKER 
to stop at the camp-fires and hear the men talk of 
him. Here was no lack of sturdy sense. The notion 
of Adams and Rush of appointing new major-generals 
every year much amused them, and the sharp logic 
of cold and empty bellies did not move them from 
the belief that their chief was the right man. How 
was it they could judge so well and these others so 
m? 
He had no tricks of the demagogue. He coveted 
no popularity. He knew not to seek favour by going 
freely among the men. The democratic feeling in 
our army was intense, and yet this reserved aristo- 
crat had to the end the love and confidence of every 
soldier in the ranks. 
55 IV 
SHALL pass lightly over the next two 
months. I saw Jack rarely, and McLane 
kept us busy with foraging parties and 
incessant skirmishes. Twice we rode dis- 
guised as British troopers into the very 
heart of the city, and at night as far down as Second 
street bridge, captured a Captain Sandford and car- 
ried him off in a mad ride through the pickets. The 
life suited maid Lucy and myself admirably. I grew 
well and strong, and, I may say, paid one of my debts 
when we stole in and caught a rascal named Varnum, 
one of our most cruel turnkeys. This hulking coward 
went out at a run through the lines, strapped behind 
a trooper, near to whom I rode pistol in hand. We 
got well peppered and lost a man. I heard Varnum 
cry out as we passed the outer picket, and supposed 
he was alarmed, as he had fair need to be. 
We pulled up a mile away, McLane, as usual, laugh- 
ing like a boy just out of a plundered apple-orchard. 
To my horror Varnum was dead, with a ball through 
his brain. His arms, which were around the trooper's 
waist, were stiffened, so that it was hard to unclasp 
them. This rigidness of some men killed in battle 
I have often seen. 
56 THE BETTERING.HOUSE (OR ALMSHOUSE). FREE QUAKER 
On Saturday, the IGth of May, Marquis Lafayette 
came to our huts and asked me to walk apart with 
him. We spoke French at his request, as he did not 
wish to be overheard, and talked English but ill. He 
said his Excellency desired to have fuller knowledge 
of the forts on the Neck and at the lower ferry, as 
well as some intelligence as to the upper lines north 
of the town. Mr. Hamilton thought me very fit for 
the affair, but the general-in-chief had said, in his 
kind way, that I had suffered too much to put my 
neck in a noose, and that I was too well known in 
the town, although it seemed to him a good choice. 
When the marquis had said his say I remained 
silent, until at last he added that I was free to refuse, 
and none would think the worse of me; it was not 
an order. 
I replied that I was only thinking how I should doit. 
He laughed, and declared he had won a guinea of 
Mr. Hamilton. 111 did bet on your face, Monsieur 
Vynne. I make you my compliments, and shall I 
say it is 4 Yes ' ? " 
44 Yes; and I shall go to-morrow, Sunday." And 
with this he went away. 
When I told McLane he said it was a pity, because 
the redcoats were to have a grand fandango on the 
18th, and he meant to amuse himself that evening, 
which he did to some purpose, as you shall hear. 
I spent the day in buying from a farmer a full 
Quaker dress, and stained my face that night a fine 
brownish tint with stale pokeberry juice. It was all 
the ink we had. 
57 HUGH WYNNE: 
Very early on the 17th I rode at dawn with a 
trooper to my aunt's house, and in the woods back 
of it changed my clothes for the Quaker rig and 
broad-brimmed hat. To my delight, my aunt did not 
know me when I said I wanted to buy her remaining 
cow. She was angry enough, until I began to laugh 
and told her to look at me. Of course she entreated 
me not to go, but seeing me resolved, bade me take 
the beast and be off. She would do without milk; 
as for me, I should be the cause of her death. 
I set out about six with poor Sukey, and was so 
bothered by the horrible road and by her desire to 
get back to her stall that it was near eleven in the 
morning before we got to town. As usual, food was 
welcome, and a trooper was sent with me to the 
commissary at the Bettering-house, where I was paid 
three pounds six after much sharp bargaining in 
good Quaker talk. A pass to return was given me, 
and with this in my pocket I walked away. 
I went through the woods and the Sunday quiet of 
the camps without trouble, saying I had lost my way, 
and innocently showing my pass to everybody. Back 
and to south of the works on Callowhill were the Hes- 
sians and the Fourth foot. The Seventh and Four- 
teenth British Grenadiers lay from Delaware 
Seventh to westward; the Yagers at Schuylkill Third 
street, or where that would be on Mr. Penn's plan; 
and so to Cohocsink Creek dragoons and foot. North 
of them were Colonel Montresor's nine blockhouses, 
connected by a heavy stockade and abatis, and in 
front of this chevaux-de-frise and the tangled mass 
of dead trees which had so beaten me when I escaped. 
58 For rhe BENEFIT of the WIDOWS and ORPHANS 
of the ARMY. 
On Monday 
Next, the Nineteenth Inflant, 
Will be Reprefented, at the Theatre in Southwark, 
A COMEDY Called 
NO ONE'S ENEMY 
BUT HIS OWN. 
AND 
The Deuce is in Him. 
The CHARACTERS by the Officers of the Army and Navy. 
Admittance to the Boxes and Pit. A Dollar each: 
Gallery, Half a Dollar. 
TICKETS to be had of lhe Printer; at the ColFee-houfe; 
at thcPennfylvaniaFarmer, New-Market; of Mr. Smith 
at his Office in Front-ftreer, below the Drawbridge, and 
a few Doors below Peter Suter, Halter at Mr. John 
Richmond's in Front ffrcet. between Chelnutand Wal- 
nut-ftreets, and at the Turk's Head tn Water-ffreer, 
between Race and Vine ftrects. 
As there is a fufficient Number of Tickets to be given 
out, to admit as many as the Houfe will hold, no Money 
can, on any Account, be taken at the Door. 
The Doors to be open at Six o'clock, and the Play to 
begin precifely at Seven. 
P t?l£ A D £ L P HI A. Printed bt JAMES HUMPHBETS, Jtno. FREE QUAKER 
The stockade and the brush and the tumbled fruit- 
trees were dry from long exposure, and were, I 
thought, well fitted to defy attack. 
I turned west again, and went out to the Schuyl- 
kill River, where at the upper ferry was now a bridge 
with another fort. Then I walked southward along 
the stream. The guards on the river-bank twice 
turned me back • but at last, taking to the woods, I 
got into the open farm country beyond South Street, 
and before dark climbed a dead pine and was able 
to see the fort near to Mr. James Hamilton's seat 
of the Woodlands, set high above the lower ferry, 
which was now well bridged. 
Pretty tired, I lay down awhile, and then strolled 
off into town to get a lodging. When past Walnut 
street I found the streets unusually full. I had of 
purpose chosen First-day for my errand, expecting 
to find our usual Sunday quiet, but the licence of an 
army had changed the ways of this decorous town. 
Every one had a lantern, which gave an odd look 
of festivity, and, to comply with the military rule, I 
bought me a lantern. Men were crying tickets for 
the play of the " Mock Doctor" on Tuesday, and for 
Saturday, "The Deuce is in Him! " Others sold places 
for the race on Wednesday, and also hawked almanacs 
and Tory broadsides. The stores on Second street 
were open and well lighted, and the coffee-house was 
full of redcoats carousing, while loose women tapped 
on the windows and gathered at the doors. All 
seemed merry and prosperous. Here and there a 
staid Quaker in drab walked up the busy street on 
his homeward way, undistracted by the merriment 
59 HUGH WYNNE: 
and noise of the thronged thoroughfare. A dozen red- 
coats went by to change the guards set at the doors 
of general officers. A negro paused on the sidewalk, 
crying, " Pepper-pot, smoking hot! " Another offered 
me the pleasant calamus-root, which in those days 
people liked to chew. A man in a red coat walked 
in the roadway ringing a bell and crying, "Lost 
child! " Sedan-chairs or chaises set down officers. 
The quiet, sedate city of Penn had lost its air of de- 
mure respectability, and I felt like one in a strange 
place. This sense of alien surroundings may have 
helped to put me off my guard; for, because of being 
a moment careless, I ran a needless risk. Over the 
way I saw two blacks holding lanterns so as to show 
a great bill pasted on a wall. I crossed to look at 
it. Above was a Latin motto, which I cannot now 
recall, but the body of it I remember well: 
" All Intrepid, able-bodied Heroes who are willing 
to serve against the Arbitrary Usurpations of a 
Tyranickal Congress can now, by enlisting, acquire 
the polite Accomplishments of a Soldier. 
" Such spirited Fellows will, besides their Pay, be 
rewarded at the End of the War with 
Fifty Acres 
of Land, 
To which every Heroe may retire and Enjoy His 
Lass and His Bottle." 
This so much amused me that I stood still to gaze; 
for below it was seen the name of an old schoolmate, 
60 Teucro duce nil DESPERANDOM. 
Firft Battalion of Pennsylvania LOYALISTS, 
commanded by His Excellency Sir William 
Howe, K B. 
ALL INTREPID ABLE-BODIED 
HEROES, 
WHO are willing to ferve His Majesty King 
GEORGE the Third, in Defence of their 
Country, Laws and Conftitution, againft the arbitrary 
Ufurpations of a tyrannical Congrefs, have now not 
only an Opportunity of manifefting their Spirit, by 
aflifting in reducing to Obedience their too-long de- 
luded Countrymen, but alfo of acquiring the polite 
Accoinplilhments of a Soldier, by ferving only two 
Years, or during the prefent Rebellion in America. 
Such fpirited Fellows, who are willing to engage, 
will be rewarded at the End of the War, belidcs their 
Laurels, with 50 Acres of Land, where every gallant 
Hero may retire, and enjoy his Bottle and Lals. 
Each Volunteer will receive, as a Bounty, Fivf 
Dollars, befidcs Arms, Cloathing and Accoutre 
ments, and every other Requisite proper to accommo- 
date a Gentleman Soldier, by applying to Lieutenant 
Colonel ALLEN, or at Captain Kearny's Ren- 
dezvous, at Patrick Tonry's, three Doors above 
Market-ftrcet, in Sccond-flreet. 
GENERAL HOWE'S PROCLAMATION. FREE QUAKER 
William Allen, now a lieutenant-colonel, in want of 
Tory recruits. 
I felt suddenly a rousing whack on the back, and 
turning in a rage, saw two drunken grenadiers. 
"Join the harmy, friend; make a cussed fine 
Quaker bombardier." 
I instantly cooled, for people began to stop, pleased 
at the fun of baiting a Quaker. The others cried, 
" Give us a drink, old Thee-and-Thou! " Some sol- 
diers paused, hoping for a ring and a fight. I was 
pushed about and hustled. I saw that at any mo- 
ment it might end ill. I had a mighty mind toward 
anytliing but non-resistance, but still, fearing to hit 
the fellows, I cried out meekly, " Thou art wrong, 
friends, to oppress a poor man." Just then I heard 
William Allen's voice back of me, crying, " Let that 
Quaker alone! " As he quickly exercised the author- 
ity of an officer, the gathering crowd dispersed, and 
the grenadiers staggered away. I was prompt 
enough to slip down High street, glad to be so well 
out of it. 
At the inn of the " Bag of Nails," on Front street, 
I found a number of Friends, quiet over their Hol- 
lands. I sat down in a dark corner, and would have 
had a well-earned bowl; but I was no sooner seated 
than in came a man with a small bell, and, walking 
among the guests, rang it, saying, " It is half after 
ten, and there will be no more liquor served. No 
more ! no more ! " 
I knew that it would be impossible to break this 
decree, and therefore contented myself with cold 
61 HUGH WYNNE: 
beef and cole-slaw. I went to bed, and thought 
over the oddity of my being helped by William Allen, 
and of how easily I might have been caught. 
In washing next morning I was off my guard, and 
got rid of the most of my pokeberry juice. I saw 
my folly too late, but there was no help for it. I 
resolved to keep my wide brim well down over my 
face, seeing in a mirror how too much like my own 
self I had become. 
I settled my score and went out, passing down the 
river-front. Here I counted and took careful note of 
the war-ships anchored all the way along the Dela- 
ware. At noon I bought an " Observer," and learned 
that Mr. Howe had lost a spaniel dog, and that 
there was to be a great festival that night in hon- 
our of Sir William Howe's departure for England. 
Would Darthea be there? I put aside the temp- 
tation to see that face again, and set about learn- 
ing what forts were on the neck of land to south, 
where the two rivers, coming together at an angle, 
make what we call the Neck. It was a wide lowland 
then, but partly diked and crossed by many ditches; a 
marshy country much like a bit of Holland, with here 
and there windmills to complete the resemblance. 
It was so open that, what with the caution required 
in approaching the block forts and the windabout 
ways the ditches made needful, it was late before I 
got the information I needed. About nine on this 
18th of May, and long after dusk, I came upon the 
lower fort, as to which the general was desirous of 
61 FREE QUAKER 
more complete knowledge. I walked around it, and 
was at last ordered off by the guards. 
My errand was now nearly done. My way north 
took me close to Walnut Grove, the old country-seat 
of my father's friend, Joseph Wharton, whom, on 
account of his haughty ways, the world's people 
wickedly called the Quaker duke. The noise of people 
come to see, and the faint strains of distant music, 
had for an hour reminded me, as I came nearer the 
gardens of Walnut Grove, that what McLane had 
called the great fandango in honour of Sir William 
Howe was in full activity. Here in the tall box alleys 
as a child I had many times played, and every foot of 
the ground was pleasingly familiar. 
The noise increased as I approached through the 
growing darkness; for near where the lane reached 
the Delaware was a small earthwork, the last of those 
I needed to visit. I tried after viewing it to cross the 
double rows of grenadiers which guarded this road, 
but was rudely repulsed, and thus had need to go 
back of their line and around the rear of the mansion. 
When opposite to the outhouses used for servants I 
paused in the great crowd of townsfolk who were 
applauding or sullenly listening to the music heard 
through the open windows. I had no great desire to 
linger, but as it was dark I feared no recognition, 
and stayed to listen to the fine band of the Hessians 
and the wild clash of their cymbals, which, before 
these Germans came, no one had heard in the colonies. 
My work was over. I had but to go far back of the 
63 HUGH WYNNE: 
house and make my way to camp by any one of the 
ferries. Unluckily the music so attracted me that I 
stayed on, and, step by step, quite at my ease, drew 
nearer to the mansion. 
The silly extravagance of the festival, with its after- 
noon display of draped galleys and saluting ships 
gay with flags, and its absurd mock show of a tour- 
nament in ridiculous costumes, I have no temptation 
to describe, nor did I see this part of it. It was 
meant to honour Sir William Howe, a man more 
liked than respected, and as a soldier beneath con- 
tempt. I had no right to have lingered, and my idle 
curiosity came near to have cost me dear. The house 
was precisely like Mount Pleasant, later General 
Arnold's home on the Schuylkill. In the centre of 
a large lawn stood a double mansion of stone, and a 
little to each side were seen outhouses for servants 
and kitchen use. The open space toward the water 
was extensive enough to admit of the farcical tilting 
of the afternoon. A great variety of evergreen trees 
and shrubs gave the house a more shaded look than 
the season would otherwise have afforded. Among 
these were countless lanterns illuminating the 
grounds, and from the windows on all sides a blaze 
of light was visible. Back of the house two roads 
ran off, one to west and one to north, and along these 
were waggons coming and going, servants, orderlies, 
and people with supplies. 
At this locality there was much confusion, and, 
picking up a pair of lanterns, I went unquestioned 
past the guard on the south side of Walnut Lane. 
64 FREE QUAKER 
Indeed, the sentries here and most of the orderlies 
were by this time well in liquor. Once within the 
grounds, which I knew well, I was perfectly at home. 
No one of the guests was without at the side or front. 
Now and then a servant passed through the alleys 
of clipped box to see to the lanterns. I was quite 
alone. In the shelter of a row of low hemlocks and 
box I stood on a garden-seat at the south side of the 
house, fifteen feet from a large bow-window, and, 
parting the branches, I commanded a full view of the 
dancing-room. I had no business here, and I knew 
it; I meant but to look and be gone. The May night 
was warm and even sultry, so that the sashes were 
all raised and the curtains drawn aside. I saw with 
ease a charming scene. 
The walls were covered with mirrors lent for the 
occasion, and the room I commanded was beautifully 
draped with flags and hangings. Young blacks stood 
at the doors, or came and went with refreshments. 
These servants were clad in blue and white, with red 
turbans and metal collars and bracelets. The six 
Knights of the Blended Roses, or some like silliness, 
had cast their queer raiments and were in uniform. 
Their six chosen ladies were still in party-coloured 
costumes, which were not to my taste. Most of the 
women-there were but some threescore, almost all 
Tories or Moderates-were in the gorgeous brocades 
and the wide hooped skirts of the day. The extrav- 
agance of the costumes struck me. The head-dresses, 
a foot above the head with aigrets and feathers and 
an excess of powder, seemed to me quite astonishing. 
65 HUGH WYNNE: 
I stood motionless, caught by the beauty of the 
moving picture before me. I have ever loved colour, 
and here was a feast of it hard to equal. There were 
red coats and gold epaulets, sashes and ribboned 
orders, the green and red of the chasseurs of Bruns- 
wick, blue navy uniforms, the gold lace and glitter 
of staff-officers, and in and out among them the 
clouds of floating muslin, gorgeous brocades, flash- 
ing silk petticoats, jewels, and streaming ribbons. 
The air was full of powder shaken from wig, queue, 
and head-dress; spurs clinked, stiff gown skirts 
rustled. The moving mass of colour, lovely faces, 
and manly forms bent and swayed in ordered move- 
ment as the music of the grenadier band seemed to 
move at will these puppets of its harmony. 
They were walking a minuet, and its tempered 
grace, which I have never ceased to admire, seemed 
to suit well the splendour of embroidered gowns and 
the brilliant glow of the scarlet coats. I began to 
note the faces and to see them plainly, being, as I 
have said, not fifteen feet away from the window. 
Sir William Howe was dancing with Miss Redman. 
I was struck, as others have been, with his likeness to 
Washington, but his face wanted the undisturbed 
serenity of our great chief's. I dare say he knew 
better than to accept as his honest right the fulsome 
homage of this parting festival. I thought indeed 
that he looked discontented. I caught glimpses of 
Colonel Tarleton bowing to Miss Bond. Then I saw 
Miss Franks sweeping a deep curtsey to Lord Cath- 
cart as he bowed. There were the fair Shippen 
66 MAJOR ANDRE'S SKETCH OF HIMSELF IN THE MISCHIANZA. FREE QUAKER 
women, the Chews, the provost's blonde daughter 
with Sir John Wrottesley, Mrs. Ferguson, my aunt's 
" Tory cat," in gay chat with Sir Charles Calder, Gal- 
loways, Allens-a pretty show of loyal dames, with 
-save the officers-few young men I knew. 
I started as Darthea moved across the window- 
space on the arm of Andre, while following them 
were Montresor and my cousin. I felt the blood go 
to my face as I saw them, and drew back, letting the 
parted branches come together. With this storm of 
love and hate came again the sudden reflection that 
I had no right to be here, and that I was off the track 
of duty. I stood a moment; the night was dark; 
lights gleamed far out on the river from the battle- 
ships. The strains of their bands fell and rose, 
faintly heard in the distance. 
I saw as it were before me with distinctness the 
camp on the windy hill, the half-starved, ragged men, 
the face of the great chief they loved. Once again 
I looked back on this contrasting scene of foolish 
luxury, and turned to go from where I felt I never 
should have been. Poor old Joseph Wharton! I 
smiled to think that, could he have known to what 
worldly use his quiet Quaker home had come, he 
would have rolled uneasy in his unnamed grave in 
the ground of the Arch Street Meeting. 
Turning, I gave a few moments of thought to my 
plans. Suddenly the music ceased, and, with laughter 
and pretty cries of expectation, gay gown and fan 
and hoop and the many-coloured uniforms trooped 
out from the doors, as I learned later, to see the HUGH WYNNE: 
fireworks, over which were to be set off for final 
flattery in fiery letters, 11 Tes Lauriers Sont Immortels." 
I hope he liked them, those unfading laurels ! The 
shrubbery was at once alive with joyous women and 
laughing men. 
I had not counted on this, and despite my disguise 
I felt that any moment might put me in deadly peril. 
The speedy fate of a spy I knew too well. 
They were all around me in a minute, moving to 
and fro, merry and chatting. I heard Andre say to 
Darthea, " It must please the general; a great success. 
I shall write it all to London. Ah, Miss Peniston! 
how to describe the ladies ! " 
"And their gowns! " cried Darthea, "their gowns! " 
"I am reduced to desperation," said Andre. "I 
must ask the women to describe one another; hey, 
Wynne ? " They were now standing apart from the 
rest, and I, hid by the bushes, was not five feet away. 
" A dangerous resource," returned Wynne. " The 
list of wounded vanities would be large. How like 
a brown fairy is Miss Franks! Who shall describe 
her ? No woman will dare." 
"You might ask Mr. Oliver de Lancey," said Miss 
Darthea. " She would be secure of a pretty picture." 
"And you," said Wynne-"who is to be your 
painter ? " 
" I shall beg for the place," cried Andre. 
" I think I shall take some rebel officer," said Dar- 
thea, saucily. " Think how fresh we should look to 
those love-starved gentlemen whom Sir William has 
brought to such abject submission." 
68 FREE QUAKER 
Andre laughed, but not very heartily. As to 
Wynne, he was silent. The captain went on to say 
how sad it was that just as the general was ready to 
sweep those colonials out of existence- 
" Why not say rebels, Andre ? " Wynne broke in. 
" Better not! better not! I never do. It only 
makes more bitter what is bad enough. But where 
are the fireworks ? " 
Meanwhile I was in dire perplexity, afraid to stir, 
hoping that they would move away. 
"There is a seat hereabouts," said my cousin. 
" You must be tired, Miss Peniston." 
" A little." 
" I will look," said Wynne. " This way." 
As I was in possession of the seat, I got down at 
once, but in two steps Arthur was beside me, and 
for an instant the full blaze from the window caught 
me square in the face. He was nearest, but Darthea 
was just behind him, and none other but Andre close 
at hand. 
" By heavens! " I heard, and my cousin had me by 
the collar. " Here, Andre! A spy! a spy! Quick! " 
I heard a cry from Darthea, and saw her reel 
against my cousin's shoulder. 
" Help ! help! I am-ill." 
Arthur turned, exclaiming, " Darthea! My God! " 
and thus distracted between her and me, let slack 
his hold. I tore away and ran around the house, 
upsetting an old officer, and so through the shrub-, 
bery and the servants, whom I hustled one way and 
another. I heard shouts of " Spy! " " Stop thief! " 
69 HUGH WYNNE: 
and the rattle of arms all around me. Several wag- 
gons blocked the roadway. I felt that I must be 
caught, and darted under a waggon body. I was 
close to the lines as I rose from beneath the waggon. 
At this instant cannonry thundered out to north, 
and a rocket rose in air. The grenadiers looked up 
in surprise. Seeing the momentary disorder of these 
men, who were standing at intervals of some six feet 
apart, I darted through them and into the crowd 
of spectators. I still heard shouts and orders, but 
pushed in among the people outside of the guard, 
hither and thither, using my legs and elbows to good 
purpose. Increasing rattle of musketry was heard 
in the distance, the ships beating to quarters, the 
cries and noises back of me louder and louder. I 
was now moving slowly in the crowd, and at last got 
clean away from it. 
What had happened I knew not, but it was most 
fortunate for me. When a few yards from the people 
I began to run, stumbling over the fields, into and 
through ditches, and because of this alarm was at 
last, I concluded, reasonably safe. 
I had run nearly a mile before I sat down to get 
my breath and cool off. Away to north a great flare 
of red fire lit up the sky. What it was I knew not, 
but sat awhile and gave myself leave to think. My 
cousin had instantly known me, but he had hesitated 
a moment. I knew the signs of indecision in his 
face too well to be misled. I had felt, as he seized 
me, that I was lost. I could not blame him; it was 
clearly his duty. But I do not think I should have 
70 FREE QUAKER 
willingly recognised him under like circumstances. 
My very hatred would have made me more than hes- 
itate. Still, who can say what he would do in the 
haste of such a brief moral conflict ? I could recall, 
as I sat still and reflected, the really savage joy in 
his face as he collared me. How deeply he must 
love her! He seemed, as it were, to go to pieces at 
her cry. Was she ill? Did her quick-coming sense 
of my danger make her faint? I had seen her 
unaccountably thus affected once before, as he who 
reads these pages may remember. Or was it a ready- 
witted ruse ? Ah, my sweet Darthea! I wanted to 
think it that. 
The blaze to northward was still growing brighter, 
and being now far out on the marshes south of the 
town, I made up my mind to use my pass at the 
nearer ferry, which we call Gray's, and this, too, as 
soon as possible, for fear that orders to stop a Qua- 
ker spy might cause me to regret delay. 
When I came to Montresor's bridge my thought 
went back to my former escape, and, avoiding all 
appearance of haste, I stayed to ask the sergeant in 
charge of the guard what the blaze meant. He said 
it was an alert. 
A few days after, McLane related to me with glee 
how with Clowe's dragoons and a hundred foot he 
had stolen up to the lines, every man having a pot 
of tar; how they had smeared the dry abatis and 
brush, and at a signal fired the whole mass of dried 
wood. He was followed into the fastnesses of the 
Wissahickon, and lost his ensign and a man or two 
71 HUGH WYNNE: 
near Barren Hill. The infantry scattered and hid 
in the woods, but McLane swam his horse across the 
Schuylkill, got the help of Morgan's rifles, and, re- 
turning, drove his pursuers up to their own intrench- 
ments. He said it was the best fun he had ever had, 
and he hoped the Tory ladies liked his fireworks. 
At all events, it saved my neck. 
As I walked through Gray's Lane I fell to reflect- 
ing upon Andre's behaviour, of which I have said 
nothing. I came to the conclusion that he could 
hardly have recognised me. This seemed likely 
enough, because we had not met often, and I too, 
apart from my disguise, had changed very greatly. 
And yet why had he not responded to an obvious 
call to duty ? He certainly was not very quick to 
act on Arthur's cry for help. But Darthea was on 
his arm, and only let it go when she fell heavily 
against my cousin. 
I had a fine story for Jack, and so, thinking with 
wonder of the whirl of adventure into which I had 
fallen ever since I left home, I hurried along. It is 
a singular fact, but true, that certain men never have 
unusual adventures. I am not one of these. Even 
in the most quiet times of peace I meet with odd 
incidents, and this has always been my lot. With 
this and other matters in my mind, resolving that 
never again would I permit any motive to lead me 
off the track of the hour's duty, I walked along. I 
had had a lesson. 
I sought my old master's house, and reached it in 
an hour. Here I found food and ready help, and 
72 FREE QUAKER 
before evening next day, May 19, was at the camp. 
I spent an hour in carefully writing out my report, 
and Jack, under my directions, being clever with the 
pencil, made plans of the forts and the enemy's de- 
fences, which I took to headquarters, and a copy of 
which I have inserted in these memoirs. I had every 
reason to believe that my report was satisfactory. 
I then went back to discourse with Jack over my 
adventures. You may see hanging framed in my 
library, and below General von Knyphausen's sword, 
a letter which an orderly brought to me the next 
day: 
" Sir : It would be an impropriety to mention in 
general orders a service such as you have rendered. 
To do so might subject you to greater peril, or to ill 
treatment were you to fall into the hands of the en- 
emy. I needed no fresh proof of your merit to bear 
it in remembrance. No one can feel more sensibly 
the value of your gallant conduct, or more rejoice 
for your escape. 
" I have the honour to be 
" Your obed' Hume Serv\ 
" Ge Washington. 
"To Lieut. Hugh Wynne, etc." 
This was writ in his own hand, as were many of 
his letters, even such as were of great length. The 
handwriting betrays no mark of haste, and seems 
penned with such exactness as all his correspondence 
shows. It may be that he composed slowly, and thus 
73 FREE QUAKER 
of need wrote with no greater speed than his thought 
permitted. I at least found it hard to explain how, 
in the midst of affairs, worried, interrupted, distracted, 
he does at no time show in his penmanship any sign 
of haste. 
When I handed this letter to Jack I could not 
speak for a moment, and yet I was never much the 
victim of emotion. My dear Jack said it was not 
enough. For my own part, a captain's commission 
would not have pleased me as well. I ran no risk 
which I did not bring upon myself by that which 
was outside of my duty; and as to this part of my 
adventure, I told no one but Jack, being much 
ashamed of the weakness which came so near to 
costing me not only my life, but-what would have 
been worse-the success of my errand. 
75 V 
HE warm spring weather, and General 
Greene's good management as quarter- 
master, brought us warmth and better 
diet. The Conestoga wains rolled in with 
grain and good rum. Droves of cattle 
appeared, and as the men were fed the drills pros- 
pered. Soldiers and officers began to amuse them- 
selves. A theatre was arranged in one of the bigger 
barns, and we-not I, but others-played " The Fair 
Penitent." Colonel Grange had a part, and made a 
fine die of it; but the next day, being taken with a 
pleurisy, came near to making a more real exit from 
life. I think it was he who invited Jack Warder to 
play Calista. Lady Kitty Stirling had said he would 
look the part well, with his fair locks and big inno- 
cent blue eyes, and she would lend him her best silk 
flowered gown and a fine lot of lace. Jack was in a 
rage, but the colonel, much amused, apologised, and 
so it blew over. His Excellency and Lady Washing- 
ton were to see the play, and the Ladies Stirling 
and Madam Greene were all much delighted. 
" The Recruiting Officer " we should have had later, 
but about the latter part of May we got news of 
the British as about to move out of my dear home 
76 FREE QUAKER 
city. After this was bruited about, no one cared to 
do anything but get ready to leave the winter huts 
and be after Sir Henry. In fact, long before this 
got out there was an air of hopeful expectation in 
the army, and the men began, like the officers, to 
amuse themselves. The camp-fires were gay, jokes 
seemed to revive in the warm air, and once more men 
laughed. It was pleasant, too, to see the soldiers at 
fives, or the wickets up and the cricket-balls of tightly 
rolled rag ribbons flying, or fellows at leap-frog, all 
much encouraged by reason of having better diet, 
and no need now to shrink their stomachs with green 
persimmons or to live without rum. As to McLane 
and our restless Wayne, they were about as quiet as 
disturbed wasps. The latter liked nothing better this 
spring than to get up an alert by running cannon 
down to the hills on the west of the Schuylkill, pitch- 
ing shot at the bridges, and then to be off and away be- 
fore the slow grenadiers could cross in force. Thus 
it was that never a week went by without adventures. 
Captain McLane let neither man nor horse live long 
at ease; but whatever he did was planned with the 
extreme of care and carried out with equal audacity. 
The army was most eager for the summer campaign. 
We had begun, as I have said, to suspect that Sir 
Henry Clinton, who had succeeded Howe, was about 
to move; but whither he meant to march, or his 
true object, our camp-fire councils could not guess 
as yet. 
Very early in the evening of June 17, I met Col- 
onel Hamilton riding in haste. " Come," he said; "I 
77 HUGH WYNNE: 
am to see Wayne and the marquis. Clinton is on 
the wing, as we have long expected. He will very 
likely have already crossed into the Jerseys. Will 
you have a place in the foot if his Excellency can get 
you a captaincy ? " 
I said "Yes" instantly. 
" You seem to know your own mind, Mr. Wynne. 
There will be more hard knocks and more glory." 
I thought so too, but I was now again in the full 
vigour of health, and an appointment in the foot 
would, as I hoped, bring me nearer to Jack. 
And now joy and excitement reigned throughout 
the camps. The news was true. On the 18th of June 
Sir Henry Clinton, having gotten ready by sending 
on in advance his guns and baggage, cleverly slipped 
across the Delaware, followed by every Tory who 
feared to remain; some three thousand, it was said. 
Long before dawn we of McLane's light horse 
were in the saddle. As we passed Chestnut Hill I 
fell out to tell my aunt the good news. I was scarce 
gone by before she began to make ready to follow 
us. As we pushed at speed through Germantown, 
it became sure that the evacuation had been fully 
accomplished. We raced down Front street at a rate 
which seemed reckless to me. McLane gave no or- 
ders, but galloped on ahead in his usual mad way. 
The townsfolk were wild with joy. Women stood 
in tears as we went by; men cheered us and the boys 
hurrahed. At Arch and Front streets, as we pulled up, 
I saw a poor little cornet come out of a house half 
bewildered and buttoning his red jacket. I pushed 
78 FREE QUAKER 
Lucy on to the sidewalk and caught him by the col- 
lar. He made a great fuss and had clearly overslept 
himself. I was hurriedly explaining, amid much 
laughter, when McLane called out, "A nice doll-baby ! 
Up with him! " And away he went, behind a 
trooper. At Third street bridge were two other offi- 
cers who must have been tipsy overnight and have 
slept too late. At last, with our horses half dead, 
we wralked them back to Front and High streets, 
and got off for a rest and a mug of beer at the coffee- 
house. Soon came a brigade of Virginians, and we 
marched away to camp on the common called Centre 
Square. 
The streets were full of huzzaing crowds. Our 
flags, long hid, were flying. Scared tradesmen were 
pulling down the king's arms they had set over their 
signs. The better Tory houses were closed, and few 
of this class were to be seen in the streets. 
Major-General Arnold followed after us. Unable, 
because of his wound, to accept a command in the 
field, he took up his abode as commandant of the 
city in Mr. Morris's great house at the northeast 
corner of Front and High streets. I saw this gallant 
soldier in May, at the time he joined the camp at the 
Forge, when he was handsomely cheered by the men. 
He was a man dark and yet ruddy, soldierly looking, 
with a large nose, and not unlike his Excellency as 
to the upper part of his face. He was still on crutches, 
being thin and worn from the effects of the hurt he 
received at Saratoga. 
As soon as possible I left the troop and rode away 
79 HUGH WYNNE: 
on Lucy down High street to Second and over the 
bridges to my home. 
I was no longer the mere lad I had left it. Com- 
mand of others, the leisure for thought in the camp, 
the sense that I had done my duty well, had made 
of me a resolute and decisive man. As I went 
around to the stables in the rear of the house it 
seemed to me as if I must in a minute see those blue 
eyes, and hear the pretty French phrases of tender 
love which in times of excitement used to rise to my 
mother's lips. It is thus as to some we love. We 
never come to feel concerning them that certainty 
of death which sets apart from us forever others who 
are gone. To this day a thought of her brings back 
that smiling face, and she lives for me the life of 
eternal remembrance. 
No one was in the stable when I unsaddled the 
tired mare. At the kitchen door the servants ran 
out with cries of joy. With a word I passed them, 
smelling my father's pipe in the hall, for it was even- 
ing, and supper was over. 
He rose, letting his pipe drop, as I ran to fall on 
his great chest, and pray him to pardon, once for all, 
what I had felt that it was my duty to do. I was 
stayed a moment as I saw him. He had lost flesh 
continually, and his massive build and unusual height 
showed now a gaunt and sombre man, with clothes 
too loose about him. I thought that his eyes were 
filling, but the habits of a life controlled him. 
He held to a chair with his left hand, and coldly 
put out the right to meet my eager grasp. I stood 
80 FREE QUAKER 
still, my instinct of tenderness checked. I could only 
repeat, " Father, father, I have come home." 
"Yes," he said, "thou hast come home. Sit 
down." 
I obeyed. Then he stooped to pick up his pipe, 
and raising his strong gray head, looked me over in 
perfect silence. 
" Am I not welcome," I cried, " in my mother's 
home ? Are we always to be kept apart ? I have 
done what, under God, seemed to me His will. Can- 
not you, who go your way so steadily, see that it is 
the right of your son to do the same? You have 
made it hard for me to do my duty. Think as seems 
best to you of what I do or shall do, but have for me 
the charity Christ teaches. I shall go again, father, 
and you may never see me more on earth. Let there 
be peace between us now. For my mother's sake, 
let us have peace. If I have cost you dear, believe 
me, I owe to you such sad hours as need never have 
been. My mother-she-" 
During this outburst he heard me with motionless 
attention, but at my last word he raised his hand. 
" I like not thy naming of thy mother. It has been 
to me ever a reproach that I saw not how far her 
indulgence was leading thee out of the ways of 
Friends. There are who by birthright are with us, 
but not of us-not of us." 
This strange speech startled me into fuller self- 
command. I remembered his strange dislike to hear 
her mentioned. As he spoke his fingers opened and 
shut on the arms of the chair in which he sat, and 
81 HUGH WYNNE: 
here and there on his large-featured face the muscles 
twitched. 
" I will not hear her named again," he added. " As 
for thee, my son, this is thy home. I will not drive 
thee out of it." 
" Drive me out! " I exclaimed. I was horror-struck. 
"And why not? Since thou wert a boy I have 
borne all things: drunkenness, debauchery, blood- 
guiltiness, rebellion against those whom God has set 
over us, and at last war, the murder of thy fellows." 
I was silent. What could I say? The words 
which came from my heart had failed to touch him. 
He had buried even the memory of my mother. I 
remembered Aunt Gainer's warnings as to his health, 
and set myself at once to hear and reply with gentle- 
ness. 
He went on as if he knew my thought: " I am 
no longer the man I was. I am deserted by my son 
when I am in greatest need of him. Had it not 
pleased God to send me for my stay, in this my lone- 
liness, thy Cousin Arthur, I should have been glad 
to rest from the labours of earth." 
" Arthur ! My cousin ! " 
" I said so. He has become to me as a son. It is 
not easy for one brought up among dissolute men to 
turn away and seek righteousness, but he hath heard 
as thou didst never hear, nor wouldst. He hath given 
up dice and cards, and hath asked of me books such as 
Besse's ' Sufferings' and George Fox's ' Testimony.'" 
This was said so simply and in such honest faith 
that I could not resist to smile. 
82 FREE QUAKER 
" I did not ask thee to believe me," said my father, 
sharply; "and if because a man is spiritually re- 
minded and hath stayed to consider his sin, it is for 
thee but cause of vain mirth, I will say no more. 
I have lost a son, and found one. I would it had 
been he whom I lost that is now found." 
I answered gravely, " Father, the man is a hypo- 
crite. He saw me dying a prisoner in jail, starved 
and in rags. He left me to die." 
" I have heard of this. He saw some one about to 
die. He thought he was like thee." 
" But he heard my name." 
" That cannot be. He said it was not thee. He 
said it! " 
" He lied; and why should he have ever mentioned 
the matter to thee-as indeed he did to others-ex- 
cept for precaution's sake, that if, as seemed unlike 
enough, I got well, he might have some excuse ? It 
seems to me a weak and foolish action, but none the 
less wicked." 
My father listened, but at times'with a look of 
being puzzled. " I do not think I follow thy argu- 
ment, Hugh," he said, " neither does thy judgment 
of the business seem favoured by that which I know 
of thy cousin." 
"Father, that man is my enemy. He hates me 
because-because Darthea is my friend, and but for 
her I should have rotted in the jail, with none to 
help me." 
" Thy grandfather lay in Shrewsbury Gate House 
a year for a better cause, and as for thy deliverance, 
83 HUGH WYNNE: 
I heard of it later. It did seem to Arthur that the 
young woman had done more modestly to have asked 
his help than to have been so forward." 
My father spoke with increase of the deliberate- 
ness at all times one of his peculiarities, which seemed 
to go well with the bigness of his build. This slow- 
ness in talk seemed now to be due in part to a slight 
trouble in finding the word he required. It gave me 
time to observe how involved was the action of his 
mind. The impression of his being indirect and less 
simple than of old was more marked as our talk went 
on than I can here convey by any possible record of 
what he said. I only succeeded in making him more 
obstinate in his belief, as was always the case when 
any opposed him. Yet I could not resist adding: 
"If, as you seem to think, Arthur is my friend, I 
would you could have seen his face when at that silly 
Mischianza he caught me in disguise." 
" Did he not do his duty after thy creed and his ? " 
" It was not that, father. Some men might have 
hesitated even as to the duty. Mr. Andre did not 
help him, and his debt to us was small. Had I been 
taken I should have swung as a spy on the gallows 
in Centre Square." 
" And yet," said my father, with emphatic slowness, 
" he would have done his duty as he saw it." 
" And profited by it also," said I, savagely. 
" There is neither charity nor yet common sense 
in thy words, Hugh. If thou art to abide here, see 
that thy ways conform to the sobriety and decency 
of Friends. I will have no cards nor hard drinking." 
84 FREE QUAKER 
"But good heavens! father, when have I ever 
done these things here, or indeed anywhere, for 
years ? " 
His fingers were again playing on the arms of Mr. 
Penn's great chair, and I made haste to put an end 
to this bewildering talk. 
" I will try," I said, " to live in such a way as shall 
not offend. Lucy is in the stable, and I will take my 
old room. My Aunt Gainor is to be in town to- 
morrow." 
" I shall be pleased to see her." 
"And how is the business, father?" I said. 
" There are no ships at sea, I hope. The privateers 
are busy, and if any goods be found that may have 
been for use of the king's people, we might have to 
regret a loss." 
" I might," he returned sharply. " I am still able 
to conduct my own ventures." 
" Of course, sir," I said hastily, wondering where 
I could find any subject which was free from power 
to annoy him. Then I rose, saying, "There is an 
early drill. I shall have to be on hand to receive 
General Arnold. I shall not be back to breakfast. 
Good-night." 
"Farewell," he said. And I went upstairs with 
more food for thought than was to my liking. I had 
hoped for a brief season of rest and peace, and here 
was whatever small place I held in my father's heart 
filled by my cousin. 
When, not long after, for mere comfort, I had occa- 
sion to speak to the great Dr. Rush of my father, he 
85 HUGH WYNNE: 
said that when the brain became enfeebled men were 
apt to assign to one man acts done by another, and 
that this did explain the latter part of my father's talk 
about cards and drinking. Also he said that with 
defect of memory came more or less incapacity to 
reason, since for that a man must be able to assemble 
past events and review them in his memory. Indeed, 
he added, certain failures of remembrance might 
even permit a good man to do apparent wrong, which 
seemed to me less clear. The good doctor helped me 
much, for I was confused and hurt, seeing no remedy 
in anything I could do or say. 
I lit the candles in my old room and looked about 
me. My cousin had, it appeared, taken up his abode 
in my own chamber, and this put me out singularly; 
I could hardly have said why. The room was in the 
utmost confusion. Only that morning Arthur Wynne 
had left it. Many of the lazier officers had overslept 
themselves, as I have said, and came near to being 
quite left behind. Lord Cosmo Gordon, in fact, made 
his escape in a skiff just before we entered. 
The bed was still not made up, which showed me 
how careless our slaves must have become. The floor 
was littered with torn paper, and in a drawer, forgot 
in Arthur's hurry, were many bills, paid and unpaid, 
some of which were odd enough; also many notes, 
tickets for the Mischianza, theatre-bills, portions of 
plays,-my cousin was an admirable actor in light 
parts,-and a note or two in Darthea's neat writing. 
I had no hesitation in putting them all on the hearth. 
There was nothing in me to make me take advan- 
86 FREE QUAKER 
tage of what I found. I kept the Mischianza tickets, 
and that was all. I have them yet. On the table 
were Fox's "Apology," "A Sweet Discourse to 
Friends," by William Penn, and the famous " Book 
of Sufferings." In the latter was thrust a small, thin 
betting-tablet, such as many gentlemen then carried. 
Here were some queer records of bets more curious 
than reputable. I recall but two: " Mr. Harcourt 
bets Mr. Wynne five pounds that Miss A. will wear 
red stockings at the play on May 12th. Won, A. 
Wynne. They were blue, and so was the lady." " A. 
W. bets Mr. von Speiser ten pounds that he will 
drink four quarts of Madeira before Mr. von S. can 
drink two; Major de Lancey to measure the wine. 
Lost, A. W. The Dutch pig was too much for me." 
Wondering what Darthea or my father would think 
of these follies, I tossed the books and the betting- 
tablet on the pile of bills on the hearth. I have since 
then been shown in London by General Burgoyne 
the betting-book at Brooks's Club. There are to be 
seen the records of still more singular bets, some 
quite abominable; but such were the manners of the 
day. My cousin, as to this, was like the rest. 
In a closet were cast-off garments and riding-boots. 
I sent for Tom, and bade him do with these as he 
liked; then I set fire to the papers on the hearth, 
ordered the room put in order, and after a pipe in 
the orchard went to bed. 
87 VI 
Y father was out when, the next day at 
noon, I found in the counting-house our 
old clerk, Thomas Mason. He, like my- 
self, had seen with distress my father's 
condition; but he told me, to my surprise, 
that he was still acute and competent in most matters 
of business. 
" Look at this, Mr. Hugh," he said, showing me 
careful entries in the day-book, in my father's hand, 
of nearly one thousand pounds lent to my Cousin 
Arthur. My father had spoken to Mason of an in- 
tention to alter his will. He never did alter it, but, 
believing me dead, tore it up and made no new one. 
None of our ships were at sea. Most of them had 
been sold as transports to the British quartermaster. 
My sole comfort at home was in the absence of Arthur 
Wynne, and in the fact that Darthea was in the city, 
as I learned from Mason. 
After this I went at once to see my aunt, but could 
give her only a few minutes, as I knew McLane 
would need my knowledge of the neighbourhood. 
In fact, I was busy for two days looking after the 
Tory bands who were plundering farms to west of 
the city. 
88 FREE QUAKER 
As soon as possible I went again to see my Aunt 
Gainor. The good old lady was lamenting her scanty 
toilet, and the dirt in which the Hessians had left 
her house. " I have drunk no tea since Lexington," 
she said,11 and I have bought no gowns. My gowns, 
sir, are on the backs of our poor soldiers. I am not 
fit to be seen beside that minx Darthea. And how 
is Jack? The Ferguson woman has been here. I 
hate her, but she has all the news. If one has no 
gowns, it is at least a comfort to hear gossip. I told 
her so, but Lord! the woman does not care a rap if 
you do but let her talk. She says Joseph Warder 
is smit with Darthea's aunt, and what a fine courtship 
that will be! Old Duche, our preacher, is gone away 
with Sir William; and now we have my beautiful 
young man, Mr. White, at Christ Church." 
So the dear lady rattled on, her great form mov- 
ing among her battered furniture, and her clear voice, 
not without fine tones, rising and falling, until at 
last she dropped into a chair, and would hear all my 
adventures. It was dangerous to wait long when 
my aunt invited replies, and before I had time to 
think she began anew to tell me that Darthea had 
come at once to see her, and of how respectful she 
was. At this I encouraged my aunt, which was 
rarely needed, and then heard further that Mrs. 
Peniston would remain in town, perhaps because of 
Friend Joseph Warder. 
Darthea had also spoken eagerly of Arthur. His 
people in Wales had written to her: Arthur's father 
and his brother, who was so ill. "I could not but 
89 HUGH WYNNE: 
thank her," said my aunt, " for that brave visit to the 
jail, as to which she might have written to me. I told 
her as much, but she said I was a Whig, and outside 
the lines, and she did not wish to get her aunt into 
trouble. 'Stuff!' said I; 'how came it Mr. Arthur 
never knew Hugh ? ' ' How could he ? You should 
have seen him,' says my little lady, ' and even after 
he was well. I did not know him, and how should 
Mr. Wynne?' 
" But," said my aunt, " I made such little additions 
to his tale as I dared, but not all I wanted to. I 
promise you they set my miss to thinking, for she 
got very red and said it was sheer nonsense. She 
would ask you herself. She had a pretty picture to 
show me of Wyncote, and the present man was to be 
made a baronet. Can a good girl be captured by 
such things ? But the man has some charm, Hugh. 
These black men"-so we called those of dark com- 
plexion-"are always dangerous, and this special 
devil has a tongue, and can use it well." 
I listened to my aunt, but said little. What chance 
had I to make Darthea credit me ? She had a girl's 
desire for the court and kings' houses and rank; 
or was this only one Darthea ? Could that other be 
made to listen to a plain lieutenant in a rebel army ? 
Perhaps I had better go back and get knocked on 
the head. Would she love me the better for proving 
Arthur a rascal ? 
I said as much to Aunt Gainor. At this she got 
UP> crying, " Good heavens! there is a Hessian cock- 
roach ! They are twice as big as they were. What 
90 FREE QUAKER 
a fool you are! The girl is beginning to be in doubt. 
I am sorry you have driven the man away. A pretty 
tale your mother had in French of her dear Midi, 
of the man who would have Love see, and pulled 
the kerchief off his eyes, whereon the boy's wings 
tumbled off, and he sat down and cried because he 
could no longer fly. When a scamp loves a good 
girl, let him thank the devil that love is blind." 
Here was Aunt Gainor sentimental, and clever too. 
I shook my head sadly, being, as a man should be, 
humble-minded as to women. She said next she 
would see my father at once, and I must come at 
eight and bring Mr. McLane. Darthea would be with 
her, and a friend or two. 
I went, but this time I did not bring my command- 
ing officer. Miss Peniston was late. In all her life 
she was never punctual, nor could she be. While 
we waited my aunt went on to tell me that Darthea 
wished me to know how glad Mr. Wynne was I had 
escaped at the Mischianza. An impulse of a soldier's 
duty had made him seize upon me, and he had been 
happy in the accident which aided my escape. I had 
done a brave thing to venture into the city, and she 
and Mr. Wynne felt strongly what a calamity my 
capture would have been. Darthea's friends were 
his friends. " And he is jealous too," says my lady, 
"of De Lancey, and Montresor-and-of Mr. Hugh 
Wynne." 
You must have known Mistress Wynne to com- 
prehend what scorn she put into poor Darthea's sad 
excuses, and her explanations of what could not be 
91 HUGH WYNNE: 
explained. I felt sorry for the little lady who was 
absent and was getting such small mercy. It was 
vain to try to stop my aunt. That no man and few 
women could do. I did at last contrive to learn that 
she had said no more of the visit of Arthur to the 
jail than that I did not seem satisfied. 
I had rather my aunt should have let my luckless 
love-affair alone. I had been in a way to tell her of 
it, but now I wanted no interference. I feared to 
talk even to Jack Warder of my dear Darthea. That 
he saw through me and her I have, after many years, 
come to know, as these pages must have shown. If 
to speak of her to this delicate-minded friend was 
not at this time to my taste, you may rest assured I 
liked not my aunt's queer way of treating the matter 
as she would have done a hand at piquet. She ended 
this wandering talk -with her usual shrewd bits of 
advice, asking me, as she stopped short in her walk, 
" Have you a little sense left ? " 
" I hope so." 
a Then get your head to help that idiot your heart. 
Leave Darthea to herself. Ride with Miss Chew or 
Miss Redman. Women are like children. Let them 
alone, and by and by they will sidle up to you for 
notice." 
When the town was in Sir William Howe's hands, 
my aunt had rejected all her Tory, and even her 
neutral, friends. But now that Sir Henry Clinton 
was flying across the Jerseys, harassed by militia, and 
our general was on the way to cross the Delaware 
after them, things were different. Her Tory friends 
92 FREE QUAKER 
might come to see her if they pleased. Most of these 
dames came gladly, liking my aunt, and having 
always had of her much generous kindness. Bessy 
Ferguson was cross, and Mistress Wynne had been 
forced to visit her first. What manner of peace was 
made I did not hear; but no one else was a match 
at piquet for my Aunt Gainor, and doubtless this 
helped to reconcile the lady. I grieve that no his- 
torian has recorded their interview. 
When I wrote of it to Jack, he was much delighted, 
and just before the fight at Monmouth wrote me a 
laughing letter, all about what my aunt and Mrs. 
Ferguson must have said on this occasion. As he 
knew no word of it, I could never see how he was 
able to imagine it. Once, later, when their war broke 
out anew, my aunt told me all about her former 
encounter; and so much like was it to what J ack had 
writ that I laughed outright. My aunt said there 
was nothing to grin at. But a one-sided laugh is 
ever the merrier. I could not always tell what Mis- 
tress Wynne would do, and never what she would 
say; but J ack could. He should have writ books, 
but he never did. 
I had heard my aunt's wail over her wardrobe, and 
was struck dumb at her appearance when, in the 
evening, I returned as she desired. The gods and 
the china dragons were out, and, the Hessian devils 
having been driven forth, the mansion had been 
swept and garnished, the rugs were down, and the 
floor was dangerously polished. 
My Aunt Gainor was in a brocade which she told 
93 HUGH WYNNE: 
me was flowered beautiful with colours very lively. 
I thought they were. As to the rest of her toilet, I 
am at a loss for words. The overskirt was lute- 
string silk, I was told. The hoops were vast; the 
dress cut square, with a "modesty-fence" of stiff 
lace. A huge high cap "with wings is the last 
thing," cried the lady, turning round to be seen, 
and well pleased at my admiration. She was an 
immense and an amazing figure. I did wonder, so 
big she was, where she meant to put the other women 
-and I said as much. 
" Here is one," she whispered, " who will like your 
uniform more than will the rest. Mr. Wynne of the 
army, my nephew, Miss Morris. And how is Mr. 
Grouverneur Morris ? " 
We fell to talking, but when others came and 
were presented or named by me to the Whig lady, 
my young woman said, " Are there none but Tories ? " 
And she was short, I thought, with Mrs. Ferguson, 
who came in high good humour and a gown of 
Venice silk. I saw Aunt Gainor glance at her gold- 
laced handkerchief. 
I was glad to see them all. Very soon the rooms 
were well filled, and here were Dr. Rush and Charles 
Thomson, the secretary of Congress, who stayed but 
a little while, leaving the great doctor to growl over 
the war with Miss Morris, and to tell her how ill read 
was our great chief, and how he could not spell, and 
had to have his letters writ for him to copy like a boy. 
Mr. Adams had said as much. I ventured to remark, 
having by this time come to understand our doctor, 
94 DR. BENJAMIN RUSH. FREE QUAKER 
that we knew better in camp, and that at least our 
chief understood the art of war. The doctor was 
not of this opinion, and considered General Gates 
the greater man. 
Then I left them to welcome Mrs. Chew and the 
lovely Margaret, and Miss Shippen, and last my Dar- 
thea with her aunt, who was as thin as a book-marker. 
" Aunt," I said slyly, " what is this ? Tories again ? " 
" Be quiet, child! You have pulled their teeth. 
You will see they are meek enough. The dog on top 
can always forgive, and I must have my cards. Be- 
have yourself! How handsome you are! Here they 
come." And now there was a cross-fire of welcomes 
and "We have missed you so much," and " How well 
you look! " and fine sweep of curtseys, very pretty 
and refreshing to a war-worn veteran. 
I bent to kiss Mrs. Shippen's hand. Mrs. Fer- 
guson tapped me on the arm with her fan, whispering 
I was grown past the kissing-age, at which I cried 
that would never be. I took Darthea's little hand 
with a formal word or two, and, biding my time, sat 
down to talk with the two Margarets, whom folks 
called Peggy, although both were like stately lilies, 
and the pet name had no kind of fitness. 
The ombre-tables were set out and ready, and it 
was all gay and merry, and as if there might never 
have been war, either civil or social. "It is all as 
meek as doves' milk," whispered Mistress Wynne over 
my shoulder. " Gossip and cards against the world 
for peacemakers, eh, Hugh?" Assuredly here was 
a beautiful truce, and all the world amiable. 
95 HUGH WYNNE: 
The powdered heads wagged; brocade and silk 
rustled; the counters rattled. Fans huge as sails set 
little breezes going; there was wise neutrality of 
speech, King Ombre being on the throne and every- 
body happy. 
Meanwhile I set my young women laughing with 
an account of how a Quaker looked in on them 
through the window at the redcoat ball, but of the 
incident in the garden I said nothing, nor was it 
known beyond those immediately concerned. The 
two Margarets were curious to hear what Mr. Wash- 
ington looked like, and one miss would know if Mr. 
Arnold was a dark man, hearing with the delight of 
girls how his Excellency gave dinners in camp and 
sat on one side, with Mr. Hamilton or Mr. Tilghman 
at the top, and for diet potatoes and salt herring, 
with beef when it was to be had, and neither plates 
nor spoons nor knives and forks for all, so that we 
had to borrow, and eat by turns. 
Miss Morris, just come to town with good Whig 
opinions, was uneasy in this society, and said, "We 
shall have enough of everything when we catch Sir 
Henry Clinton." In a minute there would have been 
more war had not my aunt risen, and the party 
turned to drink chocolate and eat cakes. 
After a world of little gossip they settled their 
debts and went away, all but Mrs. Peniston and her 
niece, my aunt declaring that she wanted the elder 
lady's advice about the proper mode to cool black- 
berry jam. For this sage purpose the shadow-like 
form of Darthea's aunt in gray silk went out under 
96 FREE QUAKER 
cover of my aunt's large figure, and Darthea and I 
were left alone. 
How pretty she was in fair white muslin with long 
gloves, a red rosebud in each sleeve, and only a trace 
of powder on her hair, smiling, and above all women 
graceful! She had seemed older when we met in 
the Provostry, and now to-day was slim and girl- 
like. I do not know where she got that trick of 
change, for in after-days, when in the fuller bloom 
of middle age, she still had a way of looking at times 
a gay and heedless young woman. She had now so 
innocent an air of being merely a sweet child that a 
kind of wonder possessed me, and I could not but look 
at her with a gaze perhaps too fixed to be mannerly. 
" Darthea," I said, as we sat down, " I owe my life 
to you twice -twice." 
"No, no! " she cried. " What could I do but go 
to the jail ? Miss Wynne was away." 
" You might have told my father," I said. Why 
had she not? 
" Mr. Wynne is grown older, and-I- There was 
no time to be lost, and Arthur was gone on duty for 
I know not what." She was seeing and answering 
what further might have seemed strange to me. 
"Aunt Peniston was in a rage, I assure you. My 
aunt in a rage, Mr. Wynne, is a tempest in a thimble. 
All in a minute it boils over and puts out the little 
fire, and there is an end of it, and she asks what 
ought to be done. But now I am penitent, and have 
been scolded by Arthur. I will never, never do it 
any more. My aunt was right, sir." 
97 HUGH WYNNE: 
"I think you gave me more than life, Darthea, 
that day. And did you think I would take the 
parole ? " 
"Never for a moment! " she cried, with flashing 
eyes. " I would have taken it, but I want my friends 
to be wiser and stronger than I. I-I was proud of 
you in your misery and ragged blanket." And with 
this the wonderful face went tender in a moment, 
and for my part I could only say, " Darthea! Dar- 
thea ! " 
She was quick to see and to fear, and to avoid that 
which was ever on my lips when with her, and which 
she seemed to bid to live, and then to fly from as if 
she had never tempted me. 
"Ah, you were a droll figure, and Arthur could 
not but laugh when I described this hero in a blanket. 
It was then he told me more fully what before he 
had wrote, how in the hurry of an inspection he saw 
many men dying, and one so like you that he asked 
who it was, and was given another name; but now 
he thought it must have been you, and that you had 
perhaps chosen, why he knew not, a name not your 
own, or you had been misnamed by the turnkey. It 
was little wonder where men were dying in scores 
and changed past recognition; it was no wonder, I 
say, he did not know you, Mr. Wynne. He was so 
sorry, for he says frankly that just because you and 
he are not very good friends-and why are you 
not?-he feels the worse about it. After he had 
scolded me well, and I made believe to cry, he said 
it was a noble and brave thing I had done, and he 
98 FREE QUAKER 
felt he should have been the one to do it had he 
known in season. He did really mean to get the 
parole, but then you ran away. And you do see, Mr. 
Wynne, that it was all a frightful mistake of Arthur's, 
and he is-he must be sorry ? " 
I would then and there have said to her that the 
man was a liar, and had meanly left me to die; but 
it was my word against his, and Delaney had long 
ago gotten out and been exchanged and gone South, 
whither I knew not. As of course she must trust 
the man she loved, if I were to say I did not be- 
lieve him we should quarrel, and I should see her 
no more. 
" My dear lady," I said, keeping myself well in hand, 
u the moral is that women should be sent to inspect 
the hungry, the ragged, the frozen, and the dying." 
I saw she did not relish my answer. Was she 
herself quite satisfied? Did she want to be forti- 
fied in her love and trust by me, who had suffered ? 
A shadow of a frown was on her brow for a moment, 
and then she said, " He will write to you. He prom- 
ised me he would write to you. And that dear old 
Sister of Charity! -you must go and thank her at the 
little convent beside St. Joseph's, in Willing's Alley. 
You upset her as you went out in that rude fashion. 
Any but a Quaker would have stayed to apologise. 
Mr. Wynne was pleased I went to the jail with the 
dear sister. I believe the man really thought I 
would have gone alone. And I would; I would! 
When he told me it was clever and modest to get the 
sweet old papist for company, I swept him a mighty 
99 HUGH WYNNE: 
curtsey and thanked him and puzzled him, which is 
what men are for." 
Sitting in the open bow-window above the garden, 
my Darthea had most of the talk, while, when I 
dared no longer stare at her changeful face, I looked 
past her at the June roses swaying in the open win- 
dow-space. 
"Yes," I laughed, "that is what men are for; but 
I have not done with you. I have also to thank you 
for my escape in the garden-you and Mr. Andre. 
He has a good memory, I fancy." 
" Oh, the fainting- yes," said Miss Peniston, lightly. 
" It was fortunate it came just then. And Mr. Wynne 
was glad enough of it later. He said it had saved 
him from the most horrible regret life could bring. 
If he had but had time to think-or had known-" 
" Known what ? " 
"No matter; I was in time to stop myself from 
saying a foolish thing. Let me give thanks for my 
escape. I have a restless tongue, and am apt to say 
what I do not mean; and I do faint at nothing." 
" It was very opportune, my dear Miss Peniston." 
"La! la! as aunt says, one would think I went 
faint on purpose, in place of its being the heat, and 
a providential accident, and very annoying too; not 
a woman anywhere near me." 
" It saved a worthless life," I said; " and but for it 
I should have had short shrift and the gallows on 
the Common." 
" Hush ! " she returned. " That is not pretty talk. 
Your cousin is unlucky, he says, to have had you fall 
100 FREE QUAKER 
in his way when it was impossible to escape from 
arresting you. He told me Mr. Andre assured him 
he could have done no other thing, and that it was 
vain to regret what was the inevitable duty of a 
soldier. I think Arthur was the most pleased of all 
when you got away. I must say you went very fast 
for so grave a Quaker." 
" And could you see ? " said I, slyly. 
"No, of course not. How should I, and I in a 
dead faint ? Mr. Andre told me next day he thought 
that dreadful rebel, Mr. McLane, saved your life 
when he was mean enough, just in the middle of that 
beautiful ball, to set fire to something. At first we 
took it for the fireworks. But tell me about Miss 
Gainer's girl-boy-our own dear Jack." 
" He can still blush to beat Miss Franks, and he 
still believes me to be a great man, and-but you do 
not want to hear about battles." 
"Do I not, indeed! I should like to see Mr. Jack 
in a battle; I cannot imagine him hurting a fly." 
" The last I saw, at Germantown, of Jack, he was 
raging in a furious mob of redcoats, with no hat, 
and that sword my aunt presented cutting and par- 
rying. I gave him up for lost, but he never got a 
scratch. I like him best in camp with starving, 
half-naked men. I have seen him give his last loaf 
away. You should hear Mr. Hamilton-that is his 
Excellency's aide-talk of Jack; how like a tender 
woman he was among men who were sick and starv- 
ing. Hamilton told me how once, when Jack said 
prayers beside a dying soldier and some fellow 
101 HUGH WYNNE: 
laughed,-men get hard in war,-our old Quaker 
friend Colonel Forest would have had the beast out 
and shot him, if the fool had not gone to Jack and 
said he was sorry. Every one loves the man, and 
no wonder." 
"He is fortunate in his friend, Mr. Wynne. Men 
do not often talk thus of one another. I have heard 
him say as much or more of you. Mistress Wynne 
says it is a love-affair. Are men's friendships or 
women's the best, I wonder?" I said that was a 
question beyond me, and went on to tell her that I 
should be in town but a few days, and must join my 
regiment as soon as General Arnold could do with- 
out us, which I believed would be within a week. 
She was as serious as need be now, asking intelli- 
gent questions as to the movements of the armies 
and the chances of peace. I had to show her why 
we lost the fight at Germantown, and then explain 
that but for the fog we should have won it, which 
now I doubt. 
Mr. Andre had told her that it was because of our 
long rifles that the enemy lost so many officers, picked 
off out of range of musket, and did I think this was 
true ? It seemed to her unfair and like murder. 
I thought she might be thinking of my cousin's 
chances, for here, after a pause, she rose suddenly 
and said it was late and that the strawberry jam must 
be cool, or the discussion over it hot, to keep Mrs. 
Peniston so long. My aunt would have had me stay 
for further talk, but I said I was tired, and went away 
home feeling that the day had been full enough for me. 
102 FREE QUAKER 
A little later, one afternoon in this June, I found 
my aunt seated so deep in thought that I asked her 
the cause. 
11 Presently," she said. " I have meant to tell you, 
but I have delayed; I have delayed. Now you must 
know." Here she rose and began to stride restlessly 
among the furniture, walking to and fro with appa- 
rent disregard of the china gods and Delft cows. She 
reminded me once more of my father in his better 
days. Her hands were clasped behind her, which is, 
I think, a rare attitude with women. Her large head, 
crowned with a great coil of gray hair which seemed 
to suit its massive build, was bent forward as if in 
thought. 
" What is it, Aunt Gainor ? " 
She did not pause in her walk or look up, and only 
motioned me to a seat, saying, " Sit down. I must 
think; I must think." 
It was unlike her. Generally, no matter how seri- 
ous the thing on her mind, she was apt to come at 
it through some trivial chat; but now her long ab- 
sence of speech troubled me. 
I sat at least ten minutes, and then, uneasy, said, 
" Aunt Gainor, is it Darthea ? " 
" No, you fool! " And she went on her wandering 
way among the crackled gods. "Now I will talk, 
Hugh, and do not interrupt me. You always do;" 
but, as Jack Warder says, no one ever did success- 
fully interrupt Miss Wynne except Miss Wynne. 
She sat down, crossed one leg over the other, as 
men do when alone with men, and went on, as I re- 
103 HUGH WYNNE: 
call it, to this effect, and quite in her ordinary man- 
ner : " When the British were still here, late in May 
I had a note through the Hues from Mr. Warder as 
to the confusion in my house, and some other matters. 
He got for me a pass to come in and attend to these 
things. I stayed three days with Mrs. Peniston and 
Darthea. While here the second day I was bid to 
sup at Parson Duche's, and though I hated the lot of 
them, I had had no news nor so much as a game of 
cards for an age, and so I went. Now don't grin 
at me. 
"When I was to leave no coach came, as I had 
ordered, and no chair, either. There was Mrs. Fer- 
guson had set up a chaise. She must offer me to be 
set down at home. I said my two legs were as good 
as her horses', and one of them-I mean of hers- 
has a fine spavin; as to Mrs. Mischief's own legs, they 
are so thin her garters will not stay above her ankles. 
"I walked from Third street over Society Hill, 
thinking to see your father, and to find a big stick 
for company across the bridges." 
She was given to going at night where she had 
need to go, with a great stick for privateersmen, the 
vagabond, drunken Hessians, and other street pirates. 
I can see her now, shod with goloe-shoes against mud 
or snow, with her manlike walk and independent air, 
quite too formidable to suggest attack. 
"I went in at the back way," she continued; "not 
a servant about but Tom, sound asleep at the kitchen 
fire. I went by him, and from the hall saw your 
father, also in deep slumber in his arm-chair. I got 
104 FREE QUAKER 
me a candle and went upstairs to look how things 
were. The house was in vile disorder, and dirty past 
belief. As to your own chamber, where that scamp 
Arthur slept, it was-well, no matter. 
" As I went downstairs and into the back dining- 
room I heard the latch of the hall door rattle. 1 Is 
it Arthur ? ' thought I; and of no mind to see him, I 
sat down and put out my candle, meaning to wait till 
he was come in, and then to slip out the back way. 
The next moment I heard Arthur's voice and your 
father's. Both doors into the front room were wide 
open, and down I sat quietly, with a good mind to 
hear. It is well I did. I suppose you would have 
marched in and said, 1 Take care how you talk; I am 
listening.' Very fine, sir. But this was an enemy. 
You he, cheat, spy, steal, and murder iu war. How 
was I worse than you ? " 
" But, dear Aunt Gainor-" 
11 Don't interrupt me, sir. I sat still as a mouse." 
My aunt as a mouse tickled my fancy. There may 
be such in my friend Mr. Swift's Brobdingnag. 
"I listened. Master Wynne is pleasant, and has 
had a trifle too much of Mr. Somebody's Madeira. 
He is affectionate, and your father sits up, and, as 
Dr. Rush tells me, is clear of head after his sleep, 
or at least for a time. 
"My gentleman says, 'I may have to leave you 
soon, my dear cousin. I want to talk to you a little. 
Is there any one in the back room ? ' As there is no 
one, he goes on, and asks his cousin to tell him about 
the title to Wyncote as he had promised. His brother 
105 HUGH WYNNE: 
was ill and uneasy, and it was all they had, and it 
was a poor thing after all. Your father roused up, 
and seemed to me to fully understand all that fol- 
lowed. He said how fond he was of Arthur, and 
how much he wished it was he who was to have the 
old place. Arthur replied that it was only in his 
father's interest he spoke. 
" Then they talked on, and the amount of it was 
pretty much this. How many lies Arthur got into the 
talk the Lord-or the devil-knows! This was 
what I gathered: Your grandfather Hugh, under 
stress of circumstances, as you know, was let out of 
Shrewsbury jail with some understanding that he was 
to sell his estate to his brother, who had no scruples 
as to tithes, and to go away to Pennsylvania. This 
I knew, but it seems that this brother William was 
a Wynne of the best, and, as is supposed, sold back 
the estate privately to Hugh for a trifle, so that at 
any time the elder brother could reclaim his home. 
What became of the second deed thus made was 
what Arthur wanted to know. 
"Your father must have it somewhere, Hugh. 
Now says Arthur, 'We are poor, cousin; the place 
is heavily encumbered; some coal has been found. 
It is desirable to sell parts of the estate; how hon- 
estly can my father make a title ? ' Your great-uncle 
William died, as we know, Hugh, and the next bro- 
ther's son, who was Owen and is Arthur's father, 
had a long minority. When he got the place, being 
come of age, some memoranda of the transaction 
turned up. It was not a rare one in older Round- 
106 FREE QUAKER 
head days. Nothing was done, and time ran on. Now 
the occupant is getting on in years, and as his sec- 
ond son Arthur is ordered hither on service, it was 
thought as well that he should make inquiry. The 
older squires had some vague tradition about it. It 
was become worth while, as I inferred, to clear the 
business, or at need to effect a compromise. Half 
of this I heard, and the rest I got by thinking it over. 
Am I plain, Hugh?" She was, as usual. "Your 
father surprised me. He spoke out in his old delib- 
erate way. He said the deed-some such deed-was 
among his father's papers; he had seen it long ago. 
He did not want the place. He was old and had 
enough, and it should be settled to Master Arthur's 
liking. 
" Your cousin then said some few words about you. 
I did not hear what, but your father at once broke 
out in a fierce voice, and cried, 1 It is too true ! ' Well, 
Hugh," she went on, " it is of no use to make things 
worse between you." 
"No," I said; "do not tell me. Was that all?" 
"Not quite. Master Arthur is to have the deed 
if ever it be found, and with your father's and your 
grandfather's methodical ways, that is pretty sure to 
happen." 
" I do not care much, Aunt Gainor, except that-" 
"I know," she cried; "anybody else might have 
it, but not Arthur." 
" Yes; unless Darthea-" 
" I understand, sir; and now I see it all. The elder 
brother will die. The father is old, the estate valu- 
107 HUGH WYNNE 
able, and this lying scamp with his winning ways 
will be master of Wyncote, and with a clear title if 
your father is able to bring it about. He can, Hugh, 
unless-" 
" What, aunt ? " 
" Unless you intervene on account of my brother's 
mental state." 
" That I will never do! Never! " 
" Then you will lose it." 
11 Yes; it must go. I care but little, aunt." 
" But I do, sir. You are Wynne of Wyncote." 
I smiled, and made no reply. 
" The man stayed awhile longer, but your father 
after that soon talked at random, and addressed 
Arthur as Mr. Montresor. I doubt if he remembered 
a word of it the day after. When he left and went 
upstairs your father fell into sleep again. I went 
away home alone, and the day after to the Hill Farm." 
" It is a strange story," I said. " And did he get 
the deed before the army left ? " 
My aunt thought not. 11 Mason says all the papers 
are at the counting-house, and that up to this time 
your father has made no special search. It was but 
two weeks or less before they left town." 
It was a simple way to trap an over-cunning man, 
and it much amused me, who did not take the deed 
and estate matter to heart as did my aunt. When 
she said, 11 We must find it," I could but say that it 
was my father's business, and could wait; so far, at 
least, as I was concerned, I would do nothing. Of 
course I told it all to Jack when next we met. 
108 VII 
N" Sunday, the 21st of June, while our 
chief was crossing into the Jerseys, I was 
hearing at Christ Church, for the first 
time, the words of prayer in which Wil- 
liam White commended Congress and our 
armies and their great leader to the protecting mercy 
of Almighty God. General Arnold was already busy 
with the great household and equipage which soon 
did so much to involve him in temptations growing 
out of his fondness for display. The militia were 
unwilling to act as a body-guard, or to stand sen- 
tries beside the great lamp-posts at his door. Nor 
did McLane and the rest of us fancy the social and 
guard duties which the general exacted; but we had 
to obey orders, and were likely, I feared, to remain 
long in this ungrateful service. 
On June 30 we heard of the glorious battle at 
Monmouth, and with surprise of General Lee's dis- 
grace. On the 3d of July came Jack with a bayonet- 
thrust in his right shoulder and a nasty cut over 
the left temple. He was able to be afoot, but was 
quite unfit for service. I heard from him of the 
splendid courage and judgment shown by his Excel- 
lency, and of the profane and terrible language he 
109 HUGH WYNNE: 
had used to that traitor Lee. Jack said: "I was in 
the midst of a lot of scared men, with a leader who 
wanted only to get away. And then the general 
rode up, and all was changed. I think, Hugh, he 
was like an angry god of war. I should have died 
of the things he said to Mr. Lee." 
When, long after this, in July, '79, his Excellency 
issued that severe order about swearing, how it was 
against all religion, decency, and order, Jack was 
much amused. Like the army in Flanders, our own 
army solaced their empty stomachs with much bad 
language. But, as Jack observed, " There is a time 
for everything; Mr. Lee did catch it hot." 
McLane soon left us, glad to get away. Had he 
stayed much longer there would have been one 
more sad moth in the pretty net into which fell all 
who were long in the company of our fatal Darthea. 
I too applied for active duty, but some influence, 
probably that of General Arnold, came in the way 
and kept me in the city. 
Very soon, to my pleasure, I received a letter 
from Mr. Hamilton, inclosing my commission as 
captain in the Third Regiment of the Pennsylvania 
line, and with it, not to my pleasure, an order to re- 
cruit in and near the city. Rather later the general 
asked me, as I was but little occupied, to act as an 
extra aide on his staff, a position which might have 
been my ruin, as I shall by and by relate. 
Jack's hurts turning out worse than was antici- 
pated, he was of no use in camp, and remained at home 
to be petted and fussed over by my Aunt Gainor. 
110 FREE QUAKER 
After a month or two he was able to go about with 
his arm in a sling, and to be greatly noticed by the 
Whig women. Very soon he was caught, like me, 
in a ceaseless round of all manner of gaieties. He 
shortly grew weary of it, and fell back on his books 
and the society of the many who loved him-above 
all, that of my aunt and Darthea. For me there was 
no escape, as my own dissipations were chiefly those 
of official duty, and in company with my chief. 
Congress was still in session, but from it were miss- 
ing Adams, Franklin, Henry, Jay, and Rutledge, who 
wrere elsewhere filling posts of importance. It had 
no fully recognised powers, and the want of more 
distinct union was beginning to be sadly felt. Had 
not the ruin of the Conway cabal and the profound 
trust of the people lifted Washington into a position 
of authority, the fears and predictions of men like 
my friend Wilson wrould have been fully justified. 
Intrigues, ruinous methods of finance, appointments 
given to untried foreign officers who were mere ad- 
venturers-all these and baser influences were work- 
ing toward the ruin of our cause. 
Our own city went wild that winter. The Tories 
were sharply dealt with at first, but, as many of 
them were favoured by the general in command, 
they soon came back in mischievous numbers. The 
more moderate neutrals opened their doors to all 
parties. The general began to be at ease in the 
homes of the proprietary set, and, buying the great 
house of Mount Pleasant, made court to the lovely 
Margaret Shippen, and was foremost in a display of 
111 HUGH WYNNE: 
excess and luxury such as annoyed and troubled 
those who saw him hand and glove with the Tory 
gentlemen, and extravagant beyond anything hith- 
erto seen in the quiet old city of Penn. 
At this time the Congress often sat with but a 
dozen members. It was no longer the dignified body 
of seventy-six. Officers came and went. Men like 
Robert Morris and Dr. Rush shook their heads. 
Clinton lay in New York, watched by Washington, 
and in the South there was disaster after disaster, 
while even our best men wearied of the war, and 
asked anxiously how it was to end. 
Recruiting in the face of such a state of things 
was slow indeed. I had little to do but wait on the 
general, read to my aunt, ride with her and Darthea, 
or shoot ducks with Jack when weather permitted; 
and so the long winter wore on. 
With Darthea I restrained my useless passion, and 
contented myself with knowing that we were day by 
day becoming closer friends. If Arthur wrote to her 
or not, I could not tell. She avoided mentioning 
him, and I asked no questions. 
I shall let Jack's diary tell-at this time it was 
very full-what chanced in midwinter. Alas, my 
dear Jack! 
" It has," he wrote, " been a season of foolish dis- 
sipation. While the army suffers for everything, 
these fools are dancing and gambling, and General 
A the worst of all, which seems a pity in so good 
a soldier. He is doing us a mighty harm. 
" To-day has been for me a sad one. I shall think 
112 MARGARET SHIPPEN. 
From a sketch by Major Andre, showing the head-dress designed by him 
for Miss Shippen in the Mischianza. FREE QUAKER 
ever of my folly with remorse. I set it down as a 
lesson to be read. We had a great sleighin g-frolic 
to Cliveden. There were all the Tories, and few 
else-the general driving Peggy Shippen, and I Dar- 
thea. Mistress Wynne would have none of it. ' We 
were no worse off under Howe,' she says; ' Mr. Arnold 
has no sense and no judgment.' It is true, I fear. 
Mrs. Peniston, half froze, went along in our old 
sleigh. We drove up to the stone steps of Cliveden 
about seven at night-a fine moonlight, so that the 
stone vases on the roof, crowned with their carved 
pineapples, stood out against the sky. The windows 
were all aglow, and neither doors nor shutters were 
as yet fully repaired. 
"We had a warm welcome, and stood about the 
ample fires while the ladies went merrily upstairs 
to leave their cloaks. I looked about me curi- 
ously, for there were dozens of bullet-marks on the 
plaster and the woodwork. It had been a gallant 
defence, and cleverly contrived. Soon came down 
the stairs a bevy of laughing girls to look, with 
hushed voices, at the blood-stains on the floor and the 
dents the muskets had made. They did think to 
tease me by praising Colonel Musgrave, who had 
commanded the British; but I, not to be outdone, 
declared him the bravest man alive. Darthea smiled, 
but said nothing, and for that I loved her better than 
ever. 
" Then we fell to chatting, and presently she said, 
'Madam Chew, Mr. Warder is to show me where the 
troops lay, and Mr. Wayne's brigade} and who will 
113 HUGH WYNNE: 
come too ? ' There were volunteers, but once outside 
they found it cold, and Darthea, saying, 'We shall 
be gone but a minute,' walked with me around the 
stone outbuilding to northwest. She was very 
thoughtful and quiet this night, looking as sweet as 
ever a woman could in a gray fur coat against the 
moon-lit drifts of snow. ' Over there,' I said,1 across 
the road, were our poor little four-pounders; and be- 
yond yonder wall our chief held a brief council of 
war; and just there in the garden lay my own men 
and Hugh, and some Maryland troops, among the 
box where we used to play hide-and-find.' 
" On this Darthea said, ' Let me see the place,' and 
we walked down the garden, a gentle excitement 
showing in her ways and talk; and I-ah me, that 
night! 
" ' I must see,' she said, 1 where the dead lie; near 
the garden wall, is it ? ' 
" 'Here,' said I-'ours and theirs.' 
" ' In the peace which is past understanding,' said 
Darthea. Then, deep in thought, she turned from 
the house and into the woods a little beyond, not 
saying a word. Indeed, not a sound was to be heard, 
except the creak and craunch of the dry snow under 
our feet. A few paces farther we came to the sum- 
mer-house, set on circular stone steps, and big enough 
to dine in. There she stood, saying, 'I cannot go 
back yet; oh, those still, still dead! Don't speak to 
me-not for a little while.' She stayed thus, looking 
up at the great white moon, while I stood by, and 
none other near. 
114 FREE QUAKER 
« ' I am better now, Jack, and you will not tell of 
how foolish I was-but-' 
" I said there was some sweet folly, if she liked 
so to call it, which was better than wisdom. And 
then how it was I know not, nor ever shall. I felt 
myself flush and tremble. It is my foolish way when 
in danger, being by nature timid, and forced to exer- 
cise rule over myself at such seasons. 
"She said, 'What is it, Jack?' for so she often 
called me when we were alone, although Hugh was 
Mr. Wynne. The ways of women are strange. 
" I could not help it, and yet I knew Hugh loved 
her. I knew also that she was surely to marry Mr. 
Arthur Wynne. I was wrong, but, God help us ' 
who is not wrong at times ? I said: ' Darthea, I love 
you. If it were to be Hugh I should never say so.' 
I cared nothing about the other man; he hates my 
Hugh. 
" ' Oh, Jack, Jack! you hurt me ! ' Never was any- 
thing so sweet and tender. Her great eyes-like 
Madam Wynne's that were-filled and ran over. 
'Oh, Jack! ' she cried, 'must I hurt you too, and is it 
my fault? Oh, my dear Jack, whom I love and 
honour, I can't love you this way. I can't-I can't. 
And I am sorry. I must marry Arthur Wynne; I 
have promised. You men think we women give our 
hearts lightly, and take them again, as if they were 
mere counters; and I am troubled, Jack, and no one 
knows it. I must not talk of that. I wish you would 
all go away. I can't marry you all.' And she began 
to be agitated, and to laugh in a way that seemed to 
115 HUGH WYNNE: 
me quite strange and out of place; but then I know 
little about women. 
"I could but say: 'Forgive me; I have hurt you 
whom I love. I will never do it more-never. But, 
dear Darthea, you will let me love you, because I can- 
not help it, and this will all be as if it had never been. 
To hurt you-to hurt you of all the world! I had 
no right to ask you.' 
" ' Don't,' she said, with a great sob, which seemed 
to break my heart. 
"'Darthea,' I said-'Darthea, do not marry that 
man! He is cruel; he is hard; he does not love you 
as my Hugh loves you.' 
" ' Sir,' she said, with such sudden dignity that I 
was overcome, and fell back a pace, ' I am promised; 
let that suffice. It is cold; let us go in. It is cold- 
it is cold! ' 
"I had never seen her like this. I said: 'Cer- 
tainly ; I should not have kept you. I was thought- 
less.' And as she said nothing in reply, I went after 
her, having said my say as I never intended, and 
more than was perhaps wise. At the door she turned 
about, and, facing me, said abruptly, with her dear 
face all of a flush: 'Do not let this trouble you. I 
am not good enough to make it worth while. I have 
been a foolish girl, discontented with our simple 
ways, wanting what I have not. I have cried for 
toys, and have got them, and now I don't care for 
them; but I have promised. Do you hear, sir ? I 
have promised-I have promised.' 
" She stayed for no answer, but went in. It seemed 
116 FREE QUAKER 
to me a singular speech, and to mean more than was 
said. The repeating of one phrase over and over 
appeared meant to reinforce a doubtful purpose. I 
think she cares little for Mr. Arthur Wynne, but 
who can say ? Darthea is full of surprises. 
" Can it be that she loves Hugh and knows it not, 
or that she has such a strong sense of honour that it 
is hard for her to break her word ? She does not be- 
lieve this man to be bad. That is sure. If ever I 
can make her see him as I see him, he will hold her 
not an hour. I shall disturb her life no more. Had 
she taken me to-day, I know not what would have 
come of it. I am not strong of will, like Hugh. 
God knows best. I will ask no more." 
I was an old man when I, Hugh Wynne, read 
these pages, and I am not ashamed to say they cost 
me some tears. 
So far as I remember, neither Jack nor Darthea 
betrayed by their manner what I learned naught of 
for so many years. Neither did my Aunt Gainor's 
shrewdness get any hint of what passed at Cliveden. 
I recall, however, that Jack became more and more 
eager to rejoin his regiment, and this he did some 
two weeks later. 
My father's condition was such as at times to 
alarm me, and at last I proposed to him to see Dr. 
Rush. To my surprise, he consented. I say to my 
surprise, for he had a vast distrust of doctors, and, 
to tell the truth, had never needed their help. The 
day after the doctor's visit I saw our great physician, 
whom now all the world has learned to revere, and 
ll7 HUGH WYNNE: 
who was ever more wise in matters of medicine than 
in matters of state. 
He told me that my father was beginning to have 
some failure of brain because of his arteries being 
older than the rest of him, which I did not quite com- 
prehend. He had, he said, losses of memory which 
were not constant. Especially was he affected with 
forgetfulness as to people, and for a time mistook 
them, so that for a while he had taken Dr. Rush for 
his old clerk Mason. The doctor said it was more 
common to lack remembrance of places. In my 
father's condition he might take one man for an- 
other, and to-morrow be as clear as to his acquain- 
tance as ever he had been; but that as to business, 
as was in such cases rare, his mind continued to be 
lucid, except at times, when his memory would sud- 
denly fail him for a few minutes. The doctor saw 
no remedy for his condition, and I mention it only 
because my father's varying peculiarities came in a 
measure to affect me and others in a way of which 
I shall have occasion to speak. 
My sense of his state did much to make me more 
tender and more able to endure the sad outbreaks of 
passion which Dr. Rush taught me were to be looked 
for. Nor was my aunt less troubled than I. Indeed, 
from this time she showed as regarded my father all 
of that gentleness which lay beneath the exterior 
roughness of her masculine nature. I observed that 
she looked after his house, paying him frequent 
visits, and in all ways was solicitous that he should 
be made comfortable. 
118 FREE QUAKER 
Near about the 1st of March-I am not quite 
sure of the date-I was asked in the absence of 
Major Clarkson, chief of the staff, to take his duties 
for a few days. I then saw how needlessly the general 
was creating enmities. His worst foe, Mr. Joseph 
Reed, had become in December president of the Coun- 
cil of State, and we-I say we-were thenceforward 
forever at outs with the body over which he presided. 
When at last, thoroughly disgusted, General Arnold 
was about to resign from the army, those unpleasant 
charges were made against him which came to little 
or nothing, but which embittered a life already 
harassed by disappointed ambition and want of 
means, and now also by the need to show a fair face to 
Mr. Shippen, whose daughter's hand he had asked. 
General Arnold's indifference as to privacy in his 
affairs amazed me, and I saw enough to make me 
both wonder and grieve. The friend of Schuyler and 
of Warren, the soldier whom Washington at one time 
absolutely trusted, attached me to him by his kind- 
ness and lavish generosity, and as an officer he had 
my unbounded admiration. Surely his place was in 
the field, and not at the dinner-tables of Tories, 
whose society, as I have said, he much affected. It 
was a sign of weakness that he overesteemed the 
homage of a merely gay and fashionable set, and 
took with avidity the dangerous flattery of the Tory 
dames. 
He was withal a somewhat coarse man, with a vast 
amount of vanity. It was a blow to his self-estimate 
when he was unjustly passed over in the promotions 
119 HUGH WYNNE 
to major-general. He felt it deeply, and was at no 
pains to hide his disgust. I did not wonder that the 
Shippens did all they could to break off this strange 
love-affair. They failed; for when a delicate-minded, 
sensitive, well-bred woman falls in love with a 
strong, coarse, passionate man, there is no more to 
be said except, " Take her." 
120 VIII 
S the spring came on my father's condi- 
tion seemed to me to grow worse. At 
times he had great gusts of passion or of 
tears, quite unlike himself; for a day he 
would think I was my cousin, and be 
more affectionate than I had ever seen him. Once 
or twice he talked in a confused way of our estate in 
Wales, and so, what with this and my annoyance 
over the irregularities at our headquarters, I had 
enough to trouble me. 
The office duties were, as I have said, not much to 
my taste, but I learned a good deal which was of 
future use to me. It was a dull life, and but once 
did I come upon anything worth narrating. This, in 
fact, seemed to me at the time of less moment than 
it grew to be thereafter. 
Neither I nor Major Clarkson, his chief of staff, 
had all of the general's confidence. Men came and 
went now and then with letters, or what not, of 
which naturally I learned nothing. One-a lean, 
small man, ill disguised as a Quaker-I saw twice. 
The last time he found the general absent. I offered 
to take charge of a letter he said he had, but he de- 
clined, saying he would return, and on this put it 
121 HUGH WYNNE: 
back in his pocket, or tried to; for he let it fall, and 
in quick haste secured it, although not before I 
thought I had recognised Arthur Wynne's peculiar 
handwriting. This astounded me, as you may ima- 
gine. But how could I dream of what it meant ? I 
concluded at last that I must have been mistaken, 
and I did not feel at liberty to ask the general. It 
was none of my business, after all. 
The fellow-I had always supposed him one of our 
spies-came again in an hour, and saw the general. 
I heard the man say, " From Mr. Anderson, sir," and 
then the door was closed, and the matter passed from 
my mind for many a day. 
Jack very soon after left us, and Darthea became 
more and more reserved, and unlike her merry, 
changeful self. 
On March 25, '79, I came in late in the afternoon 
and sat down to read. My father, seated at the table, 
was tying up or untying bundles of old papers. 
Looking up, he said abruptly, " Your cousin has been 
here to-day." It was said so naturally as for a mo- 
ment to surprise me. I made no reply. A few 
minutes later he looked up again. 
"Arthur, Arthur-" 
I turned from a book on tactics issued by Baron 
Steuben. " I am not Arthur, father." 
He took no notice of this, but went on to say that 
I ought to have come long ago. And what would I 
do with it ? 
I asked what he meant by it, and if I could help 
him with his papers. 
122 FREE QUAKER 
No, no; he needed no help. Did I ever hear from 
Wyncote, and how was William? I made sure he 
had once again taken me for my cousin. I found it 
was vain to insist upon my being his son. For a 
moment he would seem puzzled, and would then call 
me Arthur. At last, when he became vexed, and said 
angrily that I was behaving worse than Hugh, I re- 
called Dr. Rush's advice, and humouring his delusion, 
said, "Uncle, let me help you." Meanwhile he was 
fumbling nervously at the papers, tying and untying 
the same bundle, which seemed to be chiefly old bills 
and invoices. 
" Here it is," he went on. " Take it, and have a 
care that thou hast it duly considered by James Wil- 
son, or anothei* as good. Then we will see." 
"What is it, uncle?" I returned. 
He said it was the reconveyance of Wyncote to my 
grandfather; and with entirely clear language, and 
no fault of thought that I could observe, he stated 
that at need he would execute a proper title to God- 
frey, the present man. 
I was struck dumb with astonishment and pity. 
Here was a man acting within a world of delusion as 
to who I was, and with as much competence as ever 
in his best days. I did not know what to say, nor 
even what to do. At last I rose, and put the old 
yellow parchment in my coat pocket, saying I was 
greatly obliged by his kindness. 
Then, his business habits acting as was their wont, 
he said, " But it will be proper for thee to give me a 
receipt." 
123 HUGH WYNNE: 
I said it was not needed, but he insisted; and at 
this I was puzzled. I did not want the deed, still less 
did I want it to pass into Arthur's hands. I said, 
"Very good, sir," and sitting down again, wrote a 
receipt, and, calmly signing my own name, gave it 
to him. He did not look at it, but folded and in- 
dorsed it, and threw it into the little red leather 
trunk on the table. 
I went away to my aunt's without more delay, a 
much-astounded man. The good lady was no less 
astonished. We read the deed over with care, but 
its legal turns and its great length puzzled us both, 
and at last my aunt said: 
"Let me keep it, Hugh. It is a queer tangle. 
Just now we can do nothing, and later we shall see. 
There will be needed some wiser legal head than 
mine or yours, and what will come of it who can 
say ? At all events, Mr. Arthur has it not, and in 
your father's condition he himself will hardly be able 
to make a competent conveyance. Indeed, I think he 
will forget the whole business. I presume Master 
Wynne is not likely to return in a hurry." 
In the beginning of April General Arnold married 
our beautiful Margaret Shippen, and took her to the 
new home, Mount Pleasant, above the shaded waters 
of the quiet Schuylkill. Tea-parties and punch- 
drinking followed, as was the custom. 
Mr. Arnold, as my aunt called him, after a fashion 
learned in London, and also common in the colonies, 
gave his bride Mount Pleasant as a dowry, and none 
knew-not even the fair Margaret-that it was hope- 
124 THE ARNOLD MANSION, FAIRMOUNT PARK. FREE QUAKER 
lessly mortgaged. Hither came guests in scores for 
a week after the marriage to drink tea with madam, 
the men taking punch upstairs with the groom, while 
the women waited below, and had cakes and gossip, 
in which this winter was rich enough to satisfy those 
of all parties. 
It was a year of defeat, and again the weaker folk, 
like Joseph Warder and some much better known,-I 
mention no names,-were talking of terms, or, by 
their firesides with a jug of Hollands, were criticising 
our leader, and asking why he did not move. Mean- 
while the army was as ill off as ever it had been since 
the camping at Valley Forge, while the air here in 
the city was full of vague rumours of defection and 
what not. I was of necessity caught in the vortex of 
gaiety which my chief loved and did much to keep 
up. He liked to see his aides at his table, and used 
them as a part of the excessive state we thought at 
this time most unseemly. 
I remember well an afternoon in April of this 
year, when, the spring being early, all manner of 
green things were peeping forth, while I walked to 
and fro in the hall at Mount Pleasant, that I might 
receive those who called and excuse the absence of 
the host. I wandered out, for as yet none came to 
call. The air was soft like summer, and, sweeter 
than birds overhead or the fragrant arbutus on the 
upland slopes, came Darthea in virgin white, and a 
great hat tied under her chin with long breadths of 
blue ribbon. My aunt walked with her from her 
coach, and close after them came a laughing throng 
125 HUGH WYNNE: 
of men and women, for the most part of the gover- 
nor's set. There was bad news from the South, which 
was by no means unwelcome to these people, if I 
might judge from their comments. My aunt walked 
with them in silent wrath, and after I had met them 
at the door, turned aside with me and hade me go 
with her on the lawn, where the grass was already 
green. 
" I have held my tongue," she said. u These people 
have neither manners nor hearts. I told Mr. Shippen 
as much. And where does your general get all his 
money ? It is vulgar, this waste. Look ! " she said; 
" look there! It is well to feed the poor after a 
wedding; I like the old custom; but this is mere 
ostentation." It was true; there was a crowd of 
the neighbouring farm people about the detached 
kitchen, eager for the food and rum which I saw 
given daily in absurd profusion. My Aunt Gainor 
shook her head. 
" It will turn out badly, Hugh. This comes of a 
woman marrying beneath her. The man may be 
a good soldier,-oh, no doubt he is,-but he is not a 
gentleman. You must get away, Hugh." Indeed, 
I much desired to do so, but until now had been de- 
tained, despite repeated applications to my chief. 
My aunt said no more, but went into the house, 
leaving me to await the coming of the many guests, 
men and women, gentlemen of the Congress, with 
officers in uniform, who flocked to this too hospitable 
mansion. I had just heard from Jack, and the con- 
trast shown by his account of the want of arms, 
126 FREE QUAKER 
clothing, and food seemed to me most sad when I re- 
flected upon the extravagance and useless excess I 
had seen throughout the winter now at an end. I 
did not wonder at my aunt's anger. Her fears were 
but the vague anticipations of a wise old woman 
who had seen the world and used good eyes and a 
sagacious brain. How little did she or I dream of 
the tragedy of dishonour into which the mad waste, 
the growing debts, the bitterness of an insulted and 
ambitious spirit, were to lead the host of this gay 
house! 
As I turned in my walk I saw the general dis- 
mount, and went to meet him. He said: "I shall 
want you at nine to-night at my quarters in town- 
an errand of moment into the Jerseys. You must 
leave early to-morrow. Are you well horsed ? " 
I said yes, and was, in fact, glad of any more ac- 
tive life. Before nine that night I went to head- 
quarters, and found a number of invitations to dine 
or sup. It may amuse those for whom I write to 
know that nearly all were writ on the white backs 
of playing-cards; but one from Madam Arnold was 
printed. I sat down, facing the open doorway into 
the general's room, and began to write refusals, not 
knowing how long I might be absent. 
Presently looking up, I saw the general at his 
desk. I had not heard him enter. Two candles were 
in front of him. He was sitting with his cheeks rest- 
ing on his hands and his elbows on the desk, facing 
me, and so deep in thought that I did not think fit to 
interrupt him. His large, ruddy features now were 
127 HUGH WYNNE: 
pale and sombre, and twice I saw him use his kerchief 
to mop his brow as if it were moist from overheating. 
At last he called me, and I went in. His forehead 
and the powdered hair about it were in fact wet, like 
those of a man who is coming out of an ague. In- 
deed, he looked so ill that I ventured to ask after his 
health. He replied that he was well. That infamous 
court-martial business annoyed him, and as to Mr. 
Reed, if there were any fight in the man, he would 
have him out and get done with him-which seemed 
imprudent talk, to say no more. 
" Captain Wynne," he went on, " early to-morrow 
you will ride through Bristol to the ferry below 
Trenton. Cross and proceed with all haste to South 
Amboy. At the Lamb Tavern you will meet an 
officer from Sir Henry Clinton. Deliver to him this 
despatch in regard to exchange of prisoners. He 
may or may not have a letter for you to bring back. 
In this package are passes from me, and one from 
Sir Henry Clinton, in case you meet with any Tory 
parties." 
"I shall be sure to meet them in west Jersey. 
Pardon me, sir, but would it not be easier to pass 
through our own lines in the middle Jerseys?" 
"You have your orders, Mr. Wynne," he replied 
severely. 
I bowed. 
Then he seemed to hesitate, and I stood waiting 
his will. " The despatch," he said, " is open in case 
it becomes needful to show it. Perhaps you had 
better read it." 
128 FREE QUAKER 
This sounded unusual, but I opened it, and read 
to the effect that the exchanges would go on if Sir 
Henry did not see fit to alter his former proposal, but 
that some time might elapse before the lists on our 
side were made out. " The officer charged with this 
letter will be unable to give any further information, 
as he has no powers to act for me. 
" I have the honour to be 
" Your obedient, humble servant, 
" Benedict Arnold, 
" Major-General in command of 
Philadelphia and the icestern Jerseys." 
I looked up. 11 Is that all ? " 
" Not quite. If it chance that no officer appears to 
meet you at Amboy, you will return at once." 
Very glad of relief from the routine of rather dis- 
tasteful duties, I rode away at dawn the next day up 
the Bristol road. I was stopped, as I supposed I 
should be, by a small band of Tory partisans, but 
after exhibiting my British pass I was permitted to 
proceed. Between Trenton and Amboy I met a party 
of our own horse, and had some trouble until I 
allowed their leader, a stupid lout, to read my open 
despatch, when he seemed satisfied, and sent on two 
troopers with me, whom I left near Amboy. 
At the inn I waited a day, when a ketch appeared, 
and an officer, stepping ashore, came up from the 
beach to meet me. I saw, as he drew near, that it 
was Arthur Wynne. 
" Glad to see you," he cried, in a quite hearty way. 
129 HUGH WYNNE: 
" It is an unexpected pleasure. Andre was to have 
come, but he is ill. He desires his regards and par- 
ticular compliments." 
Was I always to meet this man when I was so 
hampered that to have my will of him was out of the 
question? I said the meeting could not be unex- 
pected, or how could Andre have known ? At this I 
saw him look a bit queer, and I went on to add that 
the pleasure was all on his side. 
" I am sorry," he returned. 
Not caring to hear further, I said abruptly: "Let 
us proceed to business. Here is a despatch for Sir 
Henry. Have you any letter for me ? " 
"None," he replied. 
" Then I am free to go." 
"Pardon me; not yet," he said. "I beg that for 
once you will hear "what I in person have to say. I 
have been greatly misrepresented." 
" Indeed ? " 
" Yes. Pray be patient. I meant to write to you, 
but that has been difficult, as you know." 
" Of course. And what have you to say, sir ? " 
" You have misunderstood me. There have been 
reasons of difference between us which, I am happy 
to say, are at an end for me." He meant as to 
Darthea. " I made a mistake in the prison such as 
any man might have made. I have been sorry ever 
since. I made an effort to arrest you in the garden; 
I did my duty, and was glad you escaped. If you 
are not satisfied, a time may come when I can put my- 
self at your disposal. Our present service and our 
130 FREE QUAKER 
relationship make me hope that you may never 
desire it." 
He was quiet, cool, and perfectly master of himself. 
It did not suit him to have a break with me, and I 
well knew why. It would end all chance of his future 
intercourse with my father, and why he did not wish 
this to happen I now knew pretty well. 
I said, " Mr. Wynne, the arrest is a small matter. 
Thanks to Miss Peniston and to Major Andre, it 
came to nothing." At my use of Darthea's name I 
saw him frown, and I went on: 
"You have lied about the prison, sir. If Mr. 
Delaney, who heard you ask my name, were here, I 
should long ago have exposed you and your conduct 
to all who cared to hear. You were shrewd enough 
to provide against the possibility of my telling my 
own story. I can only hope, at no distant day, to 
have the means of unmasking a man who-why, I 
know not-has made himself my enemy. Then, sir, 
and always I shall hope to ask of you another form 
of satisfaction." 
" Cousin Hugh," he returned, " I shall be able to 
prove to you and to Mr. Delaney, when he can be 
found, that you are both mistaken. I trust that you 
will not for so slight a reason see fit to disturb my 
pleasant relations with your father." They were, I 
thought, profitable as well as pleasant. 
" I shall use my judgment," said I. 
"I am sorry. I hoped for a more agreeable end- 
ing to our talk. Good-evening." And he walked 
away. 
131 HUGH WYNNE: 
Before nightfall of the day after I was again at 
home, and had made my report, little dreaming of the 
innocent part I had played in a sorrowful drama, nor 
how great was the risk I had run. Concerning this 
I was not made clear for many a day. I had carried 
a letter which was not what it seemed to be, but was 
really a means of satisfying Clinton that Arnold in- 
tended to betray us, and had accepted his terms. Had 
this been known when the great treason came, I 
should no doubt have got into serious difficulties. The 
unreasoning storm of anger which followed General 
Arnold's treachery spared no one who was in any 
way involved, and no appearance of innocence would 
have saved even so loyal and blameless a soldier as 
I from certain disgrace. 
I have at times wondered that a man to outward 
seeming so kindly and so plainly attached to me as 
Arnold apparently was should have used me for such 
an errand; but he who could value lightly the respect 
and friendship of Washington and Schuyler may 
have had few scruples as to the perils to which he 
might expose a simple officer like myself. Who bore 
his later missives no one knows. I have never 
thought, as some do, that any Eve was active in the 
temptation which led to the dark treachery of the 
saddest hour of that weary war. Arnold's first 
downward step was taken months before he knew 
Margaret Shippen, as Sir Henry Clinton's papers 
have now most clearly shown. 
Of my personal regret as to Arnold's disgrace I 
have said little in these pages, and shall say but little 
132 Le General ARNOLD . 
/e 'S Orfe Are FREE QUAKER 
more. His generosity may have been but a part of 
his lavishness in all directions; but this was he who 
for years cared liberally for the destitute children of 
his friend Warren after his death at Bunker Hill; 
and this was he who, as Schuyler has told me, saved 
the life of the soldier who had just shot him on the 
field at Saratoga. Surely the good and the bad are 
wonderfully mingled in our humanity ! 
Early in June of '79, and after repeated requests 
on my part to rejoin my regiment, I received orders 
to report to the colonel in command of the Third 
Pennsylvania foot, then lying at Ramapo, New 
York. I took leave of my people, and, alas! of 
Darthea, and set out with a number of recruits. I 
was glad indeed to be away. Darthea was clearly 
unhappy, and no longer the gay enchantress of un- 
numbered moods; neither did my home life offer me 
comfort or affection. 
If, however, I looked for activity in the army, I 
was greatly mistaken. Sir Henry held New York; 
our own people had the Jerseys. A great chain of 
forts limited the movements of the British on the 
Hudson. Our general seemed to me to have a 
paralysing influence on whatever British commander 
was matched against him. As it had been with Gage 
in Boston and with Howe in Philadelphia, so was it 
now with Clinton in New York. From Danbury in 
Connecticut to Elizabeth in New Jersey, a thin line 
watched the pent-up enemy, who to seaward was 
guarded by a great fleet. North of the Potomac he 
held New York alone, but on the frontier a savage 
133 HUGH WYNNE: 
contest raged, and in the South the war everywhere 
went against us. 
Occasional skirmishes, incessant drill, and a life 
of expedients to shelter, clothe, and feed my men, 
filled the tedious winter of '79 and '80, but affords me 
nothing of interest to add to the story of my life. In 
August General Arnold passed through our forces to 
take command of the forts at West Point, having de- 
clined a command in the field on account, as he said, 
of continued suffering from his wounded leg. I fear 
it was a mere pretence. 
We were lying about Middlebrook, New Jersey, 
when, a few days later, Colonel Alexander Hamilton 
came to my quarters, evidently much amused. He 
said the videttes had captured a batch of letters, 
mostly of no moment, but some too mischievous to 
be let to pass. 
"Here," he said, "is one which concerns you, 
Wynne. You need have no scruple as to the read- 
ing of it. It has much entertained the mess of the 
headquarters guard." 
He sat down with Jack and a pipe to keep off the 
Tory mosquitos, while I fell to reading the letter. 
The same buzzing Tories were busy about me also 
with bugle and beak, but when, as I glanced at the 
letter, I caught Darthea's name on the second page, 
I forgot them and hesitated. "Still," thought I, 
"others have read it, and it may be well that I 
should do so." It was no longer private. I went on 
to learn what it said. It was from Miss Franks in 
New York to some young woman of her set in my 
134 FREE QUAKER 
own city, but to whom was not clear, as an outer 
cover seemed to have been lost or cast away. 
a My dear Pussy," it began: "1 hope you will 
get this despite the rebels, else you will lose much 
that is useful in the warfare with our dear enemy, 
the unfair sex." After this was an amusing record 
of the latest modes and much about gowns, pin- 
cushion hoops, and face-patches. 11 Also the gentle- 
men of New York wear two watches, which with you 
is not considered genteel, and the admiral has intro- 
duced the fashion of dining by candle-light at four. 
It is very becoming, I do assure you. 
"How is the pretty boy-captain? Does he still 
blush ? " This was clearly Jack, but who was Pussy ? 
"And Mr. Wynne-not Darthea's Mr. Wynne, but 
the perverted Quaker with the blue eyes ? " It was 
plain who this was. 
" Darthea's captain-but I must not tell tales out 
of school; -indeed he needs to be dealt with. Tell 
the witch if she will stay among the R. R.'s-which 
is what we call them-Ragged Rebels it is-she 
must look to suffer. I am not as sure she does. Oh, 
these men! Between us, there is a certain Olivia 
L who is great friends with Mr. Wynne. She 
hath a winning air of artless youth. I am pleased to 
hear from my colonel, whom you must soon know, 
that we shall soon be with you in our dear Philadel- 
phia, and Mr. G. W. hoeing tobacco, or worse, poor 
man. Dear me ! I have quite lost my way, and must 
look back. 
" I can fancy Darthea weeping. She hath small 
135 HUGH WYNNE; 
need. It is my way to love to tease whom I love, and 
the more I do love the more I do love to tease. I can- 
not believe any would be false to Darthea, nor 
is he, I am sure; but thou dost know (as Mistress 
Wynne's Captain Blushes would word it. 'Thou' 
and 1 thee ' are sweet. I would I had a Quaker lover) 
-thou dost know that the she who is here is always 
more dangerous than the she who is there. That is 
Darthea, dear. 
" I forgot to say stays is wore looser, which is a 
mercy; also the garters must be one red and one 
blue." 
When, amused, I read a bit to Jack, he declared 
we ought to read no more, and if he had been of the 
mess which did read it, he would have had reason out 
of some one. Indeed, he was angry-red, and begin- 
ning to twitch in his queer way, so that I feared he 
would bring about a quarrel with Mr. Hamilton, 
who knew neither woman and was still shaking with 
laughter. 
I liked it no better than Jack did, but he had said 
enough, and I shook my head at Hamilton as I lay 
on the floor of the hut behind Jack. Mr. Hamilton, 
who was a very model of good breeding, and despite 
his vivacity never forgot what was due to others, said 
at once: "I ask pardon, Mr. Warder. I did not know 
either of the ladies was known to you. Had I been 
aware, no one should have read the letter." 
Then Jack said he had been hasty, and hoped Mr. 
Hamilton would excuse him. 
"There is nothing to excuse, Mr. Warder; but I 
136 ALEXANDER HAMILTON FREE QUAKER 
must tell you the rest, for it much delighted his Ex- 
cellency. It is but a madcap account of how Miss 
Franks tied our own colours all over Mr. Andre's 
black poodle, and let him loose at a ball the De 
Lanceys had in honour of Sir Henry Clinton. Our 
Excellency says it is a pity we had not captured the 
fair writer. That is as near to a jest as he ever 
comes, but he can enjoy our staff nonsense for all 
his gravity. I leave you the letter; you may like 
some day to deliver it. I hope we shall move soon. 
This camp life is devilish dull. And here is the 
British mouse in a hole and won't come out, and our 
serious old cat a-watching. Lord, the patience of the 
man! Come over and see us soon, Mr. Warder, and 
you too, Wynne." 
"I wish Miss Darthea had the letter. But she 
never can have it now," said I. 
"Hardly," says Jack, blushing sweetly. I think 
the garters were on his mind. 
Early in August Jack's command was sent to join 
the army on the Hudson, and, as I learned later, was 
camped with the bulk of our forces about the former 
seat of the Tappan Indians, among the old Dutch 
farms. These changes of troops from place to place 
were most perplexing to us, who did not comprehend 
the game, and were now at Hartford, and a month 
later at Elizabeth in the Jerseys. My own regiment 
had seen little service beyond the Jersey line, and was 
willing enough to get out of reach of those summer 
pests, the mosquitos. We were soon gratified. 
137 IX 
ST the 20th of September I was desired by 
my colonel to conduct two companies 
from Newark, where we lay, through the 
gap at Ramapo, New York, to the main 
army, which at this date was camped, as 
I have said, about Tappan. Being stout and well, I 
was glad to move, and glad of a chance to see the 
great river Hudson. We were assigned camp-ground 
back from the river, on a hill slope, in a long-settled 
country, where since early in the seventeenth century 
the Dutch had possessed the land. Having no tents, 
on arriving we set to work at the old business of hut- 
building, so that it was not until the 26th of Septem- 
ber that I had an idle hour in which to look up Jack, 
who lay somewhere between Tappan and the river. 
It was, as usual, a joyous meeting, and we never 
did less lack for talk. Jack told me that he was 
ordered on an unpleasant bit of business, and asked 
if I could not get leave to go with him. Orders were 
come from West Point to seize and destroy all 
periaguas, canoes, and boats in the possession of the 
few and often doubtfully loyal people between us 
and King's Ferry. He had for this duty two sail- 
138 FREE QUAKER 
rigged dories with slide-keels, and would take two 
soldiers in each. 
Upon his representing my skill as a sailor, and the 
need for two officers, I was allowed to turn over my 
command to the junior captain and to join Jack. 
We set off on the 27th of September with prov- 
ender and two small tents, and went away up the 
river with a fine wind. The water was a dull gray, 
and the heavens clouded. The far shore of Dobb's 
Ferry and Tarrytown was already gaily tinted with 
the hues of the autumn, and to south the bleak gray 
fines of the Palisades below Sneedon's Landing lay 
sombre and stern under a sunless sky. One of my 
men was a good sailor, and I was thus enabled to 
spend most of the day in Jack's boat. 
I mention all these details because of a curious 
coincidence. I said to Jack-I was steering-that I 
had had since dawn a feeling that some calamity 
was about to happen. Now this was, as I recall it, 
a notion quite new to me, and far more like Jack 
himself. He laughed and said it was the east wind. 
Then after a pause he added: " I was trying to recall 
something I once heard, and now I have it. This 
waiting for an idea is like fishing in the deep waters 
of the mind: sometimes one gets only a nibble, and 
sometimes a bite; but I have my fish. It was Dr. 
Rush who told me that the liver was the mother of 
ghosts and presentiments. When I told him I was 
afflicted with these latter, he put on his glasses, 
looked at me, and said I was of a presentimental 
temperament." 
139 HUGH WYNNE: 
" And he was right," said I, laughing. Then Jack 
declared the weather was sorry enough to account 
for my notion. I made answer, as I remember, that 
I was not subject to the rule of the weather-cock, 
like some fellows I knew, nor to thinking I was 
going to be shot. This shut up Jack for a while, and 
we got off on to our own wise plans for capturing 
Sir Henry and all his host. 
At last we ran ashore at a settled point called 
Nyack, and thence we went to and fro wherever we 
saw the smoke of men's homes. We broke up or 
burned many boats and dugouts, amid the lamenta- 
tions of their owners, because with the aid of these 
they were enabled to take fish, and were ill off for 
other diet. We had an ugly task, and could only 
regret the sad but inexorable necessities of war. 
We camped ten miles above Tappan, and next 
day, near to dusk, got as far as King's Landing, 
having pretty thoroughly attended to our ungracious 
task. 
As the tall promontory of Stony Point rose before 
us, dim in the evening light, we talked of Wayne's 
gallant storming of this formidable fort, and of his 
affection for the bayonet, which, he said, was to be 
preferred to the musket because it was always loaded. 
"We of our State had most of that glory," said 
Jack; " and all our best generals, save the great chief, 
are men of the North," which was true and strange. 
We had at this place a strong force of horse and 
foot, and here we meant to pass the night with some 
of our officers, friends of Jack's. 
140 FREE QUAKER 
It was quite dark, when, running in with a free 
sheet, we came close to a large barge rowed by 
six men. As we approached I heard a stern order 
to keep off, and recognised in the boat, where were 
also armed men, Major Tallmadge, whom I knew. I 
called to him, but as he only repeated his order, I 
answered, "Very well, sir;" and we drew in to the 
shore some hundred feet away. 
Jack said it was queer; what could it mean ? We 
walked toward the small blockhouse in time to see 
Tallmadge and several soldiers conduct a cloaked 
prisoner into the fort. A little later the major came 
out, and at once asked me to excuse his abruptness, 
saying that he had in charge Sir Henry Clinton's 
adjutant-general, who had been caught acting as a 
spy, and was now about to be taken to Tappan. I 
exclaimed, " Not Major Andre! " 
"Yes," he returned; "Andre. A bad business." 
And I was hastily told the miserable story of Ar- 
nold's treason and flight. I turned to Jack. " There 
it is," said I. " What of my presentiment ? " He was 
silent. "You know," I added, "that to this man I 
owed my life at the Mischianza ball; here he is in 
the same trap from which his refusal to aid my 
cousin saved me." I was terribly distressed, and at 
my urgent desire, in place of remaining at the fort, 
we set out after supper, and pulled down the river 
against the flood-tide, while my unfortunate friend 
Andre was hurried away to Tappan, guarded by a 
strong escort of light horse. 
We reached Sneedon's Landing about 5 a. m., and 
141 HUGH WYNNE: 
I went up with Jack to his hut. Here I got a bit of 
uneasy sleep, and thence set off to find Hamilton; 
for the whole staff, with his Excellency, had made 
haste to reach the camp at Tappan so soon as the 
general felt reassured as to the safety of West 
Point. 
I walked a half-mile up a gentle rise of ground to 
the main road, about which were set, close to the old 
Dutch church, a few modest, one-story stone houses, 
with far and near the cantonments of the armies. 
At the bridge over a noisy brook I was stopped 
by sentries set around a low brick building then 
used as headquarters. It stood amid scattered 
apple-trees on a slight rise of ground, and was, as I 
recall it, built of red and black brick. Behind the 
house was the little camp of the mounted guard, and 
on all sides were stationed sentinels, who kept the 
immediate grounds clear from intrusion. For this 
there was need; soldiers and officers were continu- 
ally coming hither in hopes to gather fresh news 
of the great treason, or curious as to this strange 
capture of Sir Henry Clinton's adjutant. General 
officers came and went with grave faces; aides 
mounted and rode away in haste; all was excite- 
ment and anxious interest, every one asking ques- 
tions, and none much the wiser. With difficulty I 
succeeded in sending in a note to Hamilton along 
with Jack's report. This was nigh to nine in the 
morning, but it was after midday before I got a 
chance to see my friend. 
Meanwhile I walked up and down in a state of 
142 LANDING OF MAJOR ANDRE, NEAR HAVERSTRAW. 
From a pen-and-ink sketch made by Andre, and found on his table the day of the execution. FREE QUAKER 
such agitation and distress as never before nor since 
have I known. When I had seen Major Tallmadge, 
he knew but little of those details of Arnold's treason 
which later became the property of all men; but he 
did tell me that the correspondence had been carried 
on for Sir Henry by Andre in the name of Ander- 
son, and this brought to my mind the letter which 
the Quaker farmer declined to surrender to me at the 
time I was serving as Arnold's aide. I went back 
at last to Jack's hut in the valley near the river and 
waited. I leave Jack to say how I felt and acted that 
day and evening, as I lay and thought of Andre 
and of poor Margaret Shippen, Arnold's wife: 
" Never have I seen my dear Hugh in such trouble. 
Here was a broken-hearted woman, the companion 
of his childhood; and Andre, who, at a moment which 
must have called upon his every instinct as a soldier, 
held back and saved my friend from a fate but too 
likely to be his own. Hugh all that evening lay in 
our hut, and now and then would break out declar- 
ing he must do something • but what he knew not, 
nor did I. He was even so mad as to think he might 
plan some way to assist Andre to escape. I listened, 
but said nothing, being assured from long knowledge 
that his judgment would correct the influence of the 
emotion which did at first seem to disturb it. 
"Now all this miserable business is over, I ask 
myself if our chief would have tried to buy an Eng- 
lish general, or if so, would I or Hugh have gone 
on such an errand as Andre's. To be a spy is but 
a simple duty, and no shame in it; but as to the 
143 HUGH WYNNE: 
shape this other matter took, I do not feel able to 
decide." 
Still later he adds: 
" Nor is my mind more fully settled as to it to-day; 
some think one way, some another. I had rather 
Andre had not gone on this errand with the promise 
of a great reward. Yet I think he did believe he was 
only doing his duty." 
After an hour or more of fruitless thinking, not 
hearing from Mr. Hamilton, I walked back to head- 
quarters. Neither in the joy and pride of glad news, 
nor when disaster on disaster fell on us, have I ever 
seen anything like the intensity of expectation and of 
anxiety which at this time reigned in our camps. The 
capture of the adjutant-general was grave enough; 
his fate hung in no doubtful balance; but the feeling 
aroused by the fall of a great soldier, the dishonour 
of one greatly esteemed in the ranks, the fear of what 
else might come, all served to foster uneasiness and 
to feed suspicion. As the great chief had said, whom 
now could he trust, or could we ? The men talked in 
half-whispers about the camp-fires; an hundred wild 
rumours were afloat; and now and again eager eyes 
looked toward the low brick church where twelve 
general officers were holding the court-martial which 
was to decide the fate of my friend. 
It was evening before the decision of the court- 
martial became generally known. I wandered about 
all that day in the utmost depression of mind. 
About two in the afternoon of this 29th of Septem- 
ber I met Hamilton near the creek. He said he had 
144 FREE QUAKER 
been busy all day, and was free for an hour; would 
I come and dine at his quarters? What was the 
matter with me? I was glad of a chance to speak 
freely. We had a long and a sad talk, and he then 
learned why this miserable affair affected me so 
deeply. He had no belief that the court could do 
other than condemn Mr. Andre to die. I asked anx- 
iously if the chief were certain to approve the sen- 
tence. He replied gloomily, "As surely as there is a 
God in heaven." 
I could only wait. A hundred schemes were in 
my mind, each as useless as the others. In fact, I 
knew not what to do. 
On the 30th his Excellency signed the death-war- 
rant, and, all hope being at an end, I determined to 
make an effort to see the man to whom I believe I 
owed my life. When I represented the matter to 
Mr. Hamilton and to the Marquis de Lafayette, I put 
my request on the ground that Mr. Andre had here 
no one who could be called a friend, excepting only 
myself, and that to refuse me an interview were 
needlessly cruel. I wrote my application with care, 
the marquis, who was most kind throughout, charg- 
ing himself with the business of placing it favourably 
before our chief. The execution had been ordered 
for October 1, but, upon receipt of some communica- 
tion from Sir Henry Clinton, it was postponed until 
noon on October 2. 
On the 30th I rode out into the hills back of Tap- 
pan, and tried to compose myself by my usual and 
effective remedy of a hard ride. It was useless now. 
145 HUGH WYNNE: 
I came back to my friend's quarters and tried to read, 
finding a stray volume of the " Rambler " on his table. 
It was as vain a resort. 
Never at any time in my memory have I spent two 
days of such unhappiness. I could get no rest and 
no peace of mind. To be thus terribly in the grip 
of events over which you have no control is to men 
of my temper a maddening affliction. My heart 
seemed all the time to say, " Do something," and my 
reason to reply, "There is nothing to do." It was 
thus in the jail when my cousin was on my mind; 
now it was as to Andre, and as to the great debt I 
owed him, and how to pay it. People who despair 
easily do not fall into the clutches of this intense 
craving for some practical means of relief where 
none can be. It is the hopeful, the resolute, and such 
as are educated by success who suffer thus. But why 
inflict on others the story of these two days, except 
to let those who come after me learn how one of 
their blood looked upon a noble debt which, alas! 
like many debts, must go to be settled in another 
world, and in other ways than ours. 
Hamilton, who saw my agitation, begged me to 
prepare for disappointment. I, however, could see 
no reason to deny a man access to one doomed, when 
no other friend was near. Nor was I wrong. About 
seven in the evening of the 1st, the marquis came in 
haste to find me. He had asked for my interview 
with Mr. Andre as a favour to himself. His Excel- 
lency had granted the request in the face of objec- 
tions from two general officers, whom the marquis 
146 FREE QUAKER 
did not name. As I thanked him he gave me this 
order: 
" To Major Tallmadge: 
11 The bearer, Hugh Wynne, Esq., Captain, Second 
Company, Third Regiment of Pennsylvania foot, has 
herewith permission to visit Major Andre. 
"Gteob Washington. 
" October 1, 1780." 
I went at once-it was now close to eight in the 
evening-to the small house of one Maby, where the 
prisoner was kept. It was but an hundred yards 
from his Excellency's quarters. Six sentries marched 
to and fro around it, and within the room two officers 
remained day and night with drawn swords. My 
pass was taken at the door of the house, while I 
waited on the road without. In a few minutes an 
officer came to me with Major Tallmadge's compli- 
ments, and would I be pleased to enter ? 
I sometimes think it strange how, even in partic- 
ulars, the natural and other scenery of this dark 
drama remains distinct in my memory, unaffected by 
the obliterating influence of the years which have 
effaced so much else I had been more glad to keep. 
I can see to-day the rising moon, the yellowish 
road, the long, gray stone farm-house of one story, 
with windows set in an irregular frame of brickwork. 
The door opens, and I find myself in a short hall, 
where two officers salute as I pass. My conductor 
says, "This way, Captain Wynne," and I enter a 
147 HUGH WYNNE: 
long, cheerless-looking apartment, the sitting-room 
of a Dutch farm-house. Two lieutenants, seated 
within at the doorway, rose as I entered, and, salut- 
ing me, sat down again. I stood an instant looking 
about me. A huge log fire roared on the hearth, so 
lighting the room that I saw its glow catch the bay- 
onet tips of the sentinels outside as they went and 
came. There were a half-dozen wooden chairs, and 
on a pine table four candles burning, a bottle of 
Hollands, a decanter and glasses. In a high-backed 
chair sat a man with his face to the fire. It was 
Andre. He was tranquilly sketching, with a quill 
pen, a likeness of himself.1 He did not turn or leave 
off drawing until Captain Tomlinson, one of the 
officers in charge, seeing me pause, said: 
11 Your pardon, major. Here is a gentleman come 
to visit you." 
As he spoke the prisoner turned, and I was at once 
struck by the extreme pallor of his face even as seen 
in the red light of the fire. His death-like whiteness 
at this time brought out the regular beauty of his 
features as his usual ruddiness of colour never did. 
I have since seen strong men near to certain 
death, but I recall no one who, with a serene and un- 
troubled visage, was yet as white as was this gentle- 
man. 
The captain did not present me, and for a moment 
I stood with a kind of choking in the throat, which 
came, I suppose, of the great shock Andre's appear- 
ance gave me. He was thus the first to speak: 
1 My acquaintance, Captain Tomlinson, has it. 
148 FREE QUAKER 
"Pardon me," he said, as he rose; "the name 
escaped me." 
" Mr. Hugh Wynne," I said, getting myself pulled 
together-it was much needed. 
" Oh, Wynne! " he cried quite joyously; " I did 
not know you. How delightful to see a friend; how 
good of you to come ! Sit down. Our accommoda- 
tions are slight. Thanks to his Excellency, here are 
Madeira and Hollands; may I off er you a glass ? " 
"No, no," I said, as we took chairs by the fire, on 
which he cast a log, remarking how cold it was. 
Then he added: 
"Well, Wynne, what can I do for you?" And 
then, smiling, " Pshaw! what a thing is habit! What 
can I do for you, or, indeed, my dear Wynne, for any 
one ? But, Lord! I am as glad as a child." 
It was all so sweet and natural that I was again 
quite overcome. " My God ! " I cried, " I am so sorry, 
Mr. Andre! I came down from King's Ferry in 
haste when I heard of this, and have been three days 
getting leave to see you. I have never forgotten 
your great kindness at the Mischianza. If there 
be any service I can render you, I am come to 
offer it." 
He smiled and said: "How strange is fate, Mr. 
Wynne! Here am I in the same sad trap in which 
you might have been. I was thinking this very 
evening of your happier escape." Then he went on 
to tell me that he had instantly recognised me at the 
ball, and also-what in my confusion at the time I 
did not hear-that Miss Peniston had cried out as 
149 HUGH WYNNE: 
she was about to faint, " No, no, Mr. Andre! " After- 
ward he had wondered at what seemed an appeal to 
him rather than to my cousin. 
At last he said it would be a relief to him if he 
might speak to me out of ear-shot of the officers. I 
said as much to these gentlemen, and after a moment's 
hesitation they retired outside of the still open door- 
way of the room, leaving us freer to say what we 
pleased. He was quiet and, as always, courteous to 
a fault; but I did not fail to observe that at times, 
as we talked and he spoke a word of his mother, his 
eyes filled with tears. In general he was far more 
composed than I. 
He said: " Mr. Wynne, I have writ a letter, which 
I am allowed to send to General Washington. Will 
you see that he has it in person ? It asks that I may 
die a soldier's death. All else is done. My mother 
-but no matter. I have wound up my earthly affairs. 
I am assured, through the kindness of his Excellency, 
that my letters and effects will reach my friends and 
those who are still closer to me. I had hoped to see 
Mr. Hamilton to-night, that I might ask him to de- 
liver to your chief the letter I now give you. But 
he has not yet returned, and I must trust it to you 
to make sure that it does not fail to be considered. 
That is all, I think." 
I said I would do my best, and was there no more 
-no errand of confidence-nothing else? 
" No," he replied thoughtfully; " no, I think not. 
I shall never forget your kindness." Then he smiled 
and added, "My 'never' is a brief day for me, 
150 FREE QUAKER 
Wynne, unless God permits us to remember in the 
world where I shall be to-morrow." 
I hardly recall what answer I made. I was ready 
to cry like a child. He went on to bid me say to the 
good Attorney-General Chew that he had not for- 
gotten his pleasant hospitalities, and he sent also some 
amiable message to the women of his house and to 
my aunt and to the Shippens, speaking with the 
ease and unrestraint of a man who looks to meet 
you at dinner next week, and merely says a brief 
good-by. 
I promised to charge myself with his messages, 
and said at last that many officers desired me to ex- 
press to him their sorrow at his unhappy situation, 
and that all men thought it hard that the life of an 
honest soldier was to be taken in place of that of a 
villain and coward who, if he had an atom of honour, 
would give himself up. 
"May I beg of you, sir," he returned, "to thank 
these gentlemen of your army ? 'Tis all I can do; 
and as to General Arnold-no, Wynne, he is not one 
to do that; I could not expect it." 
Before I rose to go on his errand I said,-and I was 
a little embarrassed,-" May I be pardoned, sir, if I 
put to you a quite personal question ? " 
" Assuredly," he returned. " What is it, and how 
can a poor devil in my situation oblige you ! " 
I said: "I have but of late learned that the ex- 
changes were all settled when I met my cousin, 
Arthur Wynne, at Amboy. Could it have been that 
the letter I bore had anything to do with this treason 
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of General Arnold? Within a day or two this 
thought has come to me." 
Seeing that he hesitated, I added, " Do not answer 
me unless you see fit; it is a matter quite personal 
to myself." 
" No," he replied; " I see no reason why I should 
not. Yes, it was the first of the letters sent to Sir 
Henry over General Arnold's signature. Your cousin 
suggested you as a messenger whose undoubted posi- 
tion and name would insure the safe carriage of 
what meant more to us than its mere contents seemed 
to imply. Other messengers had become unsafe; it 
was needful at once to find a certain way to reply to 
us. The letter you bore was such as an officer might 
carry, as it dealt seemingly with nothing beyond 
questions of exchange of prisoners. For these rea- 
sons, on a hint from Captain Wynne, you were se- 
lected as a person beyond suspicion. I was ill at the 
time, as I believe Mr. Wynne told you." 
" It is only too plain," said I. " It must have been 
well known at our headquarters in Jersey that this 
exchange business was long since settled. Had I 
been overhauled by any shrewd or suspicious officer, 
the letter might well have excited doubt and have 
led to inquiry." 
" Probably; that was why you were chosen-as a 
man of known character. By the way, sir, I had no 
share in the selection, nor did I know how it came 
about, until my recovery. I had no part in it." 
I thanked him for thus telling me of his having 
no share in the matter. 
152 FREE QUAKER 
" You were ordered," he continued, " as I recall it, 
to avoid your main army in the Jerseys; you can 
now see why. There is no need of further conceal- 
ment." 
It was clear enough. "I owe you," I said, "my 
excuses for intruding a business so personal." 
"And why not? I am glad to serve you. It is 
rather a relief, sir, to talk of something else than my 
own hopeless case. Is there anything else ? Pray 
go on; I am at your service." 
" You are most kind. I have but one word to add; 
Arthur Wynne was-nay, must have been-deep in 
this business?" 
"Ah, now you have asked too much," he replied; 
"but it is I who am to blame. I had no right to 
name Captain Wynne." 
" You must not feel uneasy. I owe him no love, 
Mr. Andre; but I will take care that you do not 
suffer. His suggestion that I should be made use of 
put in peril not my life, but my honour. It is not 
to my interest that the matter should ever get noised 
abroad." 
" I see," he said. " Your cousin must be a strange 
person. Do with what I have said as seems right to 
you. I shall be-or rather," and he smiled quite 
cheerfully, " I am content. One's grammar forgets 
to-morrow sometimes." 
His ease and quiet seemed to me amazing. But 
it was getting late, and I said I must go at once. 
As I was in act to leave, he took my hand and said: 
" There are no thanks a man about to die can give 
153 HUGH WYNNE: 
that I do not offer you, Mr. Wynne. Be assured 
your visit has helped me. It is much to see the face 
of a friend. All men have been good to me and kind, 
and none more so than his Excellency. If to-morrow 
I could see, as I go to death, one face I have known 
in happier hours-it is much to ask-I may count on 
you, I am sure. Ah, I see I can ! And my letter- 
you will be sure to do your best ? " 
11 Yes," I said, not trusting myself to speak further, 
and only adding, 11 Good-by," as I wrung his hand. 
Then I went out into the cold October starlight. 
It was long after ten when I found Hamilton. I 
told him briefly of my interview, and asked if it 
would be possible for me to deliver in person to the 
general Mr. Andre's letter. I had, in fact, that on 
my mind which, if but a crude product of despair, I 
yet did wish to say where alone it might help or be 
considered. 
Hamilton shook his head. "I have so troubled 
his Excellency as to this poor fellow that I fear I can 
do no more. Men who do not know my chief cannot 
imagine the distress of heart this business has caused. 
I do not mean, Wynne, that he has or had the least 
indecision concerning the sentence; but I can tell you 
this-the signature of approval of the court's finding 
is tremulous and unlike his usual writing. We will 
talk of this again. Will you wait at my quarters ? 
I will do my best for you." 
I said I would take a pipe and walk on the road 
at the foot of the slope below the house in which 
Washington resided. With this he left me. 
154 FREE QUAKER 
The night was clear and beautiful; from the low 
hills far and near the camp bugle-calls and the sound 
of horses neighing filled the air. Uneasy and restless, 
I walked to and fro up and down the road below 
the little farm-house. Once or twice I fancied I saw 
the tall figure of the chief pass across the window- 
panes. A hundred yards away was the house I had 
just left. There sat a gallant gentleman awaiting 
death. Here, in the house above me, was he in whose 
hands lay his fate. I pitied him too, and wondered 
if in his place I could be sternly just. At my feet 
the little brook babbled in the night, while the camp 
noises slowly died away. Meantime, intent on my 
purpose, I tried to arrange in my mind what I would 
say or how plead a lost cause. I have often thus pre- 
arranged the mode of saying what some serious 
occasion made needful. I always get ready, but when 
the time comes I am apt to say things altogether 
different, and to find, too, that the wisdom of the 
minute is apt to be the better wisdom. 
At last I saw Hamilton approaching me through 
the gloom. " Come," he said. " His Excellency will 
see you, but I fear it will be of no use. He himself 
would agree to a change in the form of death, but 
Generals Greene and Sullivan are strongly of opinion 
that to do so in the present state of exasperation 
would be unwise and impolitic. I cannot say what 
I should do were I he. I am glad, Wynne, that it is 
not I who have to decide. I lose my sense of the 
equities of life in the face of so sad a business. At 
least I would give him a gentleman's death. The 
155 HUGH WYNNE: 
generals who tried the case say that to condemn a 
man as a spy, and not at last to deal with him as 
Hale was dealt with, would be impolitic, and unfair 
to men who were as gallant as the poor fellow in 
yonder farm-house." 
" It is only too clear," I said. 
" Yes, they are right, I suppose; but it is a horrible 
business." 
As we discussed, I went with him past the sentinels 
around the old stone house and through a hall, and 
to left into a large room. 
"The general sleeps here," Hamilton said, in a 
lowered voice. "We have but these two apartments; 
across the passage is his dining-room, which he uses 
as his office. Wait here," and so saying, he left me. 
The room was large, some fifteen by eighteen feet, 
but so low-ceiled that the Dutch builder had need to 
contrive a recess in the ceiling to permit of a place 
for the tall Dutch clock he had brought from Hol- 
land. Around the chimney-piece were Dutch tiles. 
Black Billy, the general's servant, sat asleep in the 
corner, and two aides slumbered on the floor, tired 
out, I fancy. I walked to and fro over the creaking 
boards, and watched the Dutch clock. As it struck 
eleven the figure of Time, seated below the dial, swung 
a scythe and turned a tiny hour-glass. A bell rang; 
an orderly came in and woke up an aide: " Despatch 
for West Point, sir, in haste." The young fellow 
groaned, stuck the paper in his belt, and went out 
for his long night ride. 
At last my friend returned. " The general will see 
156 WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS AT TAPPAN. FREE QUAKER 
you presently, Wynne, but it is a useless errand. 
Give me Andre's letter." With this he left me again, 
and I continued my impatient walk. In a quarter 
of an hour he came back. " Come," said he; "I have 
done my best, but I have failed as I expected to fail. 
Speak your mind freely; he likes frankness." I went 
after him, and in a moment was in the farther room 
and alone with the chief. 
A huge fire of logs blazed on the great kitchen 
hearth, and at a table covered with maps and papers, 
neatly set in order, the general sat writing. 
He looked up, and with quiet courtesy said, " Take 
a seat, Captain Wynne. I must be held excused for 
a little." I bowed and sat down, while he continued 
to write. 
His pen moved slowly, and he paused at times, and 
then went on apparently with the utmost delibera- 
tion. I was favourably placed to watch him without 
appearing to do so, his face being strongly lighted 
by the caudles in front of him. He was dressed with 
his usual care, in a buff waistcoat and a blue-and-buff 
uniform, with powdered hair drawn back to a queue 
and carefully tied with black ribbon. 
The face, with its light-blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, 
and rather heavy nose above a strong jaw, was now 
grave and, I thought, stern. At least a half-hour 
went by before he pushed back his chair and looked 
up. 
I am fortunate as regards this conversation, since 
on my return I set it down in a diary which, how- 
ever, has many gaps, and is elsewhere incomplete. 
157 HUGH WYNNE: 
" Captain Wynne," he said, " I have refused to see 
several gentlemen in regard to this sad business, 
but I learn that Mr. Andre was your friend, and I 
have not forgotten your aunt's timely aid at a mo- 
ment when it was sorely needed. For these reasons 
and at the earnest request of Captain Hamilton and 
the marquis, I am willing to listen to you. May I 
ask you to be brief ? " He spoke slowly, as if weigh- 
ing his words. 
I replied that I was most grateful-that I owed it 
to Major Andre that I had not long ago endured the 
fate which was now to be his. 
" Permit me, sir," he said, " to ask when this oc- 
curred." * 
I replied that it was when, at his Excellency's 
desire, I had entered Philadelphia as a spy; and then 
I went on briefly to relate what had happened. 
" Sir," he returned, " you owed your danger to 
folly, not to what your duty brought. You were 
false, for the time, to that duty. But this does not 
concern us now. It may have served as a lesson, 
and I am free to admit that you did your country a 
great service. What now can I do for you ? As to 
this unhappy gentleman, his fate is out of my hands. 
I have read the letter which Captain Hamilton gave 
me." As he spoke he took it from the table and 
deliberately read it again, while I watched him. 
Then he laid it down and looked up. I saw that his 
big, patient eyes were overfull as he spoke. 
" I regret, sir, to have to refuse this most natural 
request; I have told Mr. Hamilton that it is not to 
158 FREE QUAKER 
be thought of. Neither shall I reply. It is not fit- 
ting that I should do so, nor is it necessary or even 
proper that I assign reasons which must already be 
plain to every man of sense. Is that all?" 
I said," Your Excellency, may I ask but a minute 
more ? " 
" I am at your disposal, sir, for so long. What is it ?" 
I hesitated, and, I suspect, showed plainly in my 
face my doubt as to the propriety of what was most 
on my mind when I sought this interview. He in- 
stantly guessed that I was embarrassed, and said, 
with the gentlest manner and a slight smile: 
"Ah, Mr. Wynne, there is nothing which can be 
done to save your friend, nor indeed to alter his 
fate; but if you desire to say more do not hesitate. 
You have suffered much for the cause which is dear 
to us both. Go on, sir." 
Thus encouraged, I said, " If on any pretext the 
execution can be delayed a week, I am ready to go 
with a friend"-I counted on Jack-"to enter New 
York in disguise, and to bring out General Arnold. 
I have been his aide, I know all his habits, and I am 
confident that we shall succeed if only I can control 
near New York a detachment of tried men. I have 
thought over my plan, and am willing to risk my life 
upon it." 
" You propose a gallant venture, sir, but it would 
be certain to fail; the service would lose another 
brave man, and I should seem to have been wanting 
in decision for no just or assignable cause." 
I was profoundly disappointed; and in the grief 
159 HUGH WYNNE: 
of my failure I forgot for a moment the august 
presence which imposed on all men the respect 
which no sovereign could have inspired. 
"My God! sir," I exclaimed, "and this traitor 
must live unpunished, and a man who did but what 
he believed to be his duty must suffer a death of 
shame! " Then, half scared, I looked up, feeling 
that I had said too much. He had risen before I 
spoke, meaning, no doubt, to bring my visit to an 
end, and was standing with his back to the fire, his 
admirable figure giving the impression of greater 
height than was really his. 
When, after my passionate speech, I looked up, 
having of course also risen, his face wore a look 
that was more solemn than any face of man I have 
ever yet seen in all my length of years. 
" There is a God, Mr. Wynne," he said, " who pun- 
ishes the traitor. Let us leave this man to the 
shame which every year must bring. Your scheme 
I cannot consider. I have no wish to conceal from 
you or from any gentleman what it has cost me to 
do that which, as God lives, I believe to be right. 
You, sir, have done your duty to your friend. And 
now may I ask of you not to prolong a too painful 
interview ? " 
I bowed, saying, " I cannot thank your Excellency 
too much for the kindness with which you have 
listened to a rash young man." 
"You have said nothing, sir, which does not do 
you honour. Make my humble compliments to 
Mistress Wynne." 
160 MAJOR JOHN ANDRE'. 
Pen portrait drawn by himself the morning of the day before his execution. FREE QUAKER 
I bowed, and, backing a pace or two, was about 
to leave, when he said, " Permit me to detain you 
a moment. Ask Mr. Harrison-the secretary-to 
come to me." 
I obeyed, and then in some wonder stood still, 
waiting. 
" Mr. Harrison, fetch me Captain Wynne's papers." 
A moment later he sat down again, wrote the free 
signature, " Geo® Washington," at the foot of a parch- 
ment, and gave it to me, saying, " That boy Hamilton 
has been troubling me for a month about this business. 
The commission is but now come to hand from 
Congress. You will report, at your early conve- 
nience, as major, to the colonel of the Third Penn- 
sylvania foot; I hope it will gratify your aunt. Ah, 
Colonel Hamilton," for here the favourite aide en- 
tered, " I have just signed Mr. Wynne's commission." 
Then he put a hand affectionately on the shoulder 
of the small, slight figure. "You will see that the 
orders are all given for the execution at noon. Not 
less than eighty files from each wing must attend. 
See that none of my staff be present, and that this 
house be kept closed to-morrow until night. I shall 
transact no business that is not such as to ask in- 
stant attention. See, in any case, that I am alone 
from eleven until one. Good-evening, Mr. Wynne; 
I hope that you will shortly honour me with your 
company at dinner. Pray, remember it, Mr. Ham- 
ilton." 
I bowed and went out, overcome with the kindli- 
ness of this great and noble gentleman. 
161 HUGH WYNNE: 
" He likes young men," said Hamilton to me long 
afterward. "An old officer would have been sent 
away with small comfort." 
It was now late in the night, and, thinking to com- 
pose myself, I walked up and down the road and at 
last past the Dutch church, and up the hill between 
rows of huts and rarer tents. It was a clear, starlit 
night, and the noises of the great camp were for the 
most part stilled. A gentle slope carried me up the 
hill, back of Andre's prison, and at the top I came out 
on a space clear of these camp homes, and stood 
awhile under the quiet of the star-peopled sky. I 
lighted my pipe with help of flint and steel, and, walk- 
ing to and fro, set myself resolutely to calm the storm 
of trouble and helpless dismay in which I had been 
for two weary days. At last, as I turned in my walk, 
I came on two upright posts with a cross-beam above. 
It was the gallows. I moved away horror-stricken, 
and with swift steps went down the hill and regained 
Jack's quarters. 
Of the horrible scene at noon on the 2d of October 
I shall say very little. A too early death never took 
from earth a more amiable and accomplished soldier. 
I asked and had leave to stand by the door as he 
came out. He paused, very white in his scarlet coat, 
smiled, and said, 11 Thank you, Wynne; God bless 
you! " and went on, recognising with a bow the 
members of the court, and so with a firm step to his 
ignoble death. As I had promised, I fell in behind 
the sad procession to the top of the hill. No fairer 
162 FREE QUAKER 
scene could a man look upon for his last of earth. 
The green range of the Piermont hills rose to north. 
On all sides, near and far, was the splendour of the 
autumn-tinted woods, and to west the land swept 
downward past the headquarters to where the cliffs 
rose above the Hudson. I can see it all now-the 
loveliness of nature, the waiting thousands, mute and 
pitiful. I shut my eyes and prayed for this passing 
soul. A deathful stillness came upon the assembled 
multitude. I heard Colonel Scammel read the sen- 
tence. Then there was the rumble of the cart, a low 
murmur broke forth, and the sound of moving steps 
was heard. It was over. The great assemblage of 
farmers and soldiers went away strangely silent, and 
many in tears. 
The effort I so earnestly desired to make for the 
capture of Arnold was afterward made by Sergeant 
Champe, but failed, as all men now know. Yet I am 
honestly of opinion that I should have succeeded. 
Years afterward I was walking along the Strand 
in London, when, looking up, I saw a man and 
woman approaching. It was Arnold with his wife. 
His face was thin and wasted, a countenance writ 
over with gloom and disappointment. His masculine 
vigour was gone. Cain could have borne no plainer 
marks of vain remorse. He looked straight before 
him. As I crossed the way, with no desire to meet 
him, I saw the woman look up at him, a strange, 
melancholy sweetness in the pale, worn face of our 
once beautiful Margaret. Her love was all that time 
163 HUGH WYNNE 
had left him; poor, broken, shunned, insulted, he was 
fast going to his grave. Where now he lies I know 
not. Did he repent with bitter tears on that gentle 
breast ? God only knows. I walked on through the 
crowded street, and thought of the words of my great 
chief, " There is a God who punishes the traitor." 
164 X 
BEE long winter of 1780 and 1781, with its 
changeful fortunes in the South, went 
by without alteration in mine. There 
were constant alarms, and leaves of 
absence were not to be had. We drilled 
our men, marched hither and thither, and criticised 
our leaders over the winter camp-fires, envying the 
men who, under Williams, Marion, and Morgan, were 
keeping my Lord Cornwallis uncomfortably busy in 
the Carolinas. By the end of January we knew with 
joy of the thrashing Tarleton got at the Cowpens, 
and at last, in April, of the fight at Guilford. It 
began to dawn on the wiseacres of the camp-fires why 
we were now here and now there. In fact, we were 
no sooner hutted than we were on the march, if there 
were but the least excuse in the way of a bit of open 
weather, or a Tory raid. 
Sir Henry was kept in doubt as to whether our 
chief meant for New York from the north or from 
Jersey, and when at last he began to suspect that it 
was not a city but an army which he intended to 
strike, it was too late. Our brave old hawk, so long 
half asleep, as it looked, had begun to flutter his 
wings, and to contemplate one of those sudden swoops 
165 HUGH WYNNE: 
upon his prey which did to me attest the soldier of 
genius within this patient, ceremonious gentleman. 
He was fast learning the art of war. 
At last, as I have said, even we who were but 
simple pawns in the game of empire knew in a mea- 
sure why we had been thus used to bother and detain 
this unlucky Sir Henry, who had failed to help Bur- 
goyne, and was now being well fooled again, to the 
ruin of Lord Cornwallis. 
But all of this was chiefly in the spring. The winter 
up to February was sad enough in our waiting camps, 
what with low diet, desertions, mutinies, and the 
typhus fever, which cost us many more men than 
we lost in battle. It brought us at last one day the 
pleasure of a visit from the great physician, Benjamin 
Rush, now come to Morristown to see after the sick, 
who were many. 
This gentleman was a prime favourite with my Aunt 
Gainor, although they had but one opinion in com- 
mon, and fought and scratched like the far-famed 
Irish cats. I think, too, the doctor liked your humble 
servant, chiefly because I admired and reverenced 
him for his learning and his unflinching love of his 
country. 
At this time we lay about Morristown in New 
Jersey. There was to be a great ball on the night of 
the doctor's arrival. And just now, when his delicate 
features appeared at the door of our hut, Jack and I 
-for Jack was with me for a day-had used the 
last of our flour to powder our hair, and Jack was 
carefully tying my queue. 
166 PRESENT VIEW OF WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS AT MORRISTOWN, N. J. FREE QUAKER 
"Good-evening, Master Hugh, and you, John 
Warder. Can I have a bite?" 
We gave a shout of welcome, and offered him a 
herring-very dried it was-and one of Master Baker 
Ludwick's hard biscuits. He said we were luxurious 
scamps with our powder, until we explained it to be 
the end of a rather mouldy bag of meal. He thought 
powdering a fine custom for young doctors, for it 
gave them a look of gray hair and wisdom; and he 
was, as usual, amusing, cynical, and at times bitter. 
When we were seated and had his leave for a pipe, 
he told us there was now constant good news from 
the South, and that General Greene seemed to be 
somehow doing well, losing fights and winning 
strategetic victories. Probably it was more by luck 
than genius. By and by Gates would be heard from, 
and then we should see. On which my naughty Jack 
winked at me through the fog of his pipe smoke. 
"And why," said the doctor, "does your general 
keep so quiet? Was an army made to sit still?" 
I could not but remind him that the only lucky 
winter campaign of the war had been made by his 
Excellency, and that it was not usually possible to 
fight in the cold season; not even Marlborough could 
do that. I was most respectful, you may be sure. 
He assured me that our general would never end 
the war ■ for in revolutions it was not they who be- 
gan them who ever did bring them to auspicious 
conclusions. Our general, the doctor went on to tell 
us, was a weak man, and soon all would be of this 
opinion. 
167 HUGH WYNNE: 
As he spoke I saw Hamilton in the doorway, and 
I made haste to present him to the doctor. 
The young aide said modestly that he must venture 
to differ as to our chief. He was a man dull in talk, 
not entertaining, given to cautious silence, but surely 
not weak, only slow in judgment, although most de- 
cisive in action. 
" No great soldier, sir," said the doctor,11 and never 
will be." 
" He is learning the business, like the rest of us, 
Dr. Rush. 'T is a hard school, sir, but it is character 
that wins at last; may I venture to say this man has 
character, and can restrain both his tongue and his 
own nature, which is quick to wrath." 
" Nonsense! " cried the doctor. " The whole coun- 
try is discontented. We should elect a commander- 
in-chief once a year." 
In fact, many were of this strange opinion. Ham- 
ilton smiled, but made no reply. 
I saw Jack flush, and I shook my head at him. I 
thought what was said foolish and ignorant, but it 
became not men as young as we to contradict the 
doctor. It was Rush who, in '77, with Adams and 
others, sustained Gates, and put him in the Board 
of War, to the bewilderment of affairs. How deep 
he was in the scheme of that officer and Conway 
and Lee to displace our chief none know. My aunt 
insists he had naught to do with it. He was an 
honourable, honest man, but he was also a good, 
permanent hater, and sustained his hatreds with a 
168 FREE QUAKER 
fine escort of rancorous words, where Jack or I would 
have been profane and brief. 
The cabal broke up with Lee's trial, and when 
Cadwalader shot Conway through the mouth, and, 
as he said, stopped one d lying tongue, it did not 
change our doctor's views. When he and Dr. Ship- 
pen, who was no Tory like the rest of his family, 
quarrelled, as all doctors do, Rush preferred charges, 
and was disgusted because his Excellency approved 
the acquittal with some not very agreeable comments. 
I think he never forgave the slight, but yet I liked 
him, and shall ever revere his memory as that of a 
man who deserved well of his country, and had the 
noble courage of his profession, as he showed amply 
in the great yellow-fever plague of '98. 
He told me of my father as still much the same, 
and of my Aunt Gainor, and of Darthea, who, he 
thought, was troubled in mind, although why he 
knew not. She had long since ceased answering the 
messages we sent her through my aunt. Mr. Warder, 
he told me later, had given up his suit to Madam 
Peniston, and was now an outspoken Whig. The 
lady was disposed to seek refuge again with her De 
Lancey cousins in New York, but Darthea was ob- 
stinate, and not to be moved. And so we got all the 
gossip of our old town, and heard of Mrs. Arnold's 
having been ordered to leave, and of how the doctor, 
like our own Wayne, had always distrusted her hus- 
band. Indeed, we had asked a thousand questions 
before we let the doctor get to my bed, and we our- 
169 HUGH WYNNE: 
selves, pulling on our sherry-vallies, a kind of over- 
alls, to protect our silk stockings from the mud, were 
away to the ball. 
Despite our many cares and former low diet, we 
danced till late in the night; the good people of 
Morristown contriving, I know not how, to give us 
such a supper as we had not had for many a day. I 
had the pleasure to converse, in their own tongue, 
with Comte de Rochambeau and the Due de Lauzun, 
who made me many compliments on my accent, and 
brought back to me, in this bright scene, the thought 
of her to whom I owed this and all else of what is 
best in me. 
It was indeed a gay and pleasant evening. Even 
our general seemed to forget the anxieties of war, 
and walked a minuet with Lady Stirling, and then 
with Mrs. Greene. Very quiet and courteous he was, 
but not greatly interested, or so it seemed to me. 
Again in May we were in motion, now here, now 
there; and, with a skirmish or two, the summer was 
upon us. Meanwhile, as I have said, things went 
more happily in the South. 
Greene, continually beaten, was ever a better sol- 
dier; and at last, early in this summer of '81, my 
Lord Cornwallis, driven to despair by incessant foes 
who led him a wearisome and fruitless chase through 
States not rich enough to feed him, turned from the 
"boy" Lafayette he so much despised, and finally 
sought rest and supplies on the seaboard at York- 
town, while the " boy general," planted in a position 
to command the peninsula at Malvern Hill, sat down 
170 FREE QUAKER 
to intrench and watch the older nobleman. I have no 
wish to write more history than is involved in my own 
humble fortunes, and I must leave those for whom 
I write these memoirs to read the story of the war 
on other pages than mine. Enough to say that when 
his Excellency was sure of the French fleet and knew 
of his lordship's position, he made one of those swift 
decisions which contrasted strangely with his patient, 
and even elaborate, businesslike fashion of attending 
to all the minor affairs of life. Nor less secret and 
subtle was the way in which he carried out his plan 
of action. Leaving a force at West Point, he swept 
in haste through the Jerseys. 
Even the generals in immediate command knew 
nothing of his real intention until we were turned 
southward and hurried through the middle colonies. 
Then all men knew and wondered at the daring, and, 
as some thought, the rashness of this movement. 
Sir Henry had been well fooled to the end, for now 
it was far on in August. 
At Trenton I received an appointment which much 
amazed me. The army of our allies was marching 
with us. De Grasse, with a great fleet, was off Chesa- 
peake Bay; despatches were coming and going daily. 
His Excellency had little knowledge of the French 
tongue, and had suffered for it in his youth. Mr. 
Duponceau, of the Marquis de Lafayette's staff, was 
competent in both French and English, but, save one 
other officer, no one of his Excellency's staff spoke 
and wrote French well; and this aide was, as a con- 
sequence, much overworked. 
171 HUGH WYNNE: 
Seeing this difficulty, which occasioned much con- 
fusion, the Due de Lauzun suggested that I be asked 
to serve as a special aide-de-camp. I believe I owed 
this chance, in part, to Lafayette, and also to the fact, 
stated elsewhere, that I had had the fortune to be 
presented to the duke at our famous ball in Morris- 
town, where he was pleased to talk with me in 
French. 
My appointment reached me on August 29. His 
Excellency was then with us at Trenton, despatching 
couriers, urging haste, and filling all men with the 
great hope which his audacious action excited. 
I was ordered to turn over my command, to join 
his Excellency's headquarters staff at Philadelphia, 
and there to report to Colonel Tilghman as extra aide- 
de-camp with the brevet rank of lieutenant-colonel. 
A note from Hamilton, now with his regiment, con- 
gratulated me, and related the cause of my unlooked- 
for promotion. 
Would you see what my lifelong friend Jack had 
to say? 
"I thank God for the happy fortune which has 
again fallen to Hugh. Had it not been for his as- 
siduity in youth, and the love and respect he bore 
his mother, he would never have come by this pro- 
motion. Thus God rewards us for that we do without 
thought of profit." Alas! my dear Jack, those French 
lessons were sometimes but ungratefully learned. 
Early on September 2, having borrowed a horse 
from one of the staff, I was ferried over the Delaware, 
and, once across the river, pushed on in haste to my 
172 FREE QUAKER 
own dear city. I found the French about to enter 
the town. 
I had left home in 1777 a raw youth, and it was 
not without a sense of just pride that I returned a 
lieutenant-colonel at twenty-eight, having, as I felt, 
done my country honest service. 
Our allies halted in the suburbs to clean off the 
dust, and as they began their march I fell in beside 
De Lauzun. They made a brilliant show in neat 
white uniforms, colours flying and bands playing. 
Front street was densely crowded, and at Vine they 
turned westward to camp on the common at Centre 
Square. As they wheeled I bowed to the French 
gentlemen, and kept on down Front street to Arch, 
soon halting before my aunt's door. The house was 
closed. All had gone forth to welcome the marching 
troops. I mounted again and rode down Second 
street to my own home, left my horse at the stable, 
and, seeing no one, passed into the sitting-room. My 
father was seated at the open window, but to see him 
dismayed me. He rose with an uneasy look as I 
went toward him. He was so wasted that his large 
features stood out gaunt and prominent. His clothes 
hung about him in folds, and his vast, bony frame 
was like a rack from which they seemed ready to fall. 
I caught him in my arms, and kissed his shrunken 
cheeks, utterly overcome at the sight of this splendid 
body in ruins. Meanwhile he stayed quite passive, 
and at last pushed me off and looked at me steadily. 
" It is Hugh," he said. " Thy mother will be glad 
to see thee." 
173 HUGH WYNNE: 
I was shocked. This delusion of my mother's 
being alive greatly increased the grief I had in seeing 
this wreck of a strong, masterful man. 
I said something, I hardly know what. He re- 
peated, u Thy mother will be glad to see thee. She 
is upstairs-upstairs. She is with thy little sister. 
Ellin has been troublesome in the night." 
After this he sat down and took no more notice 
of me. I stood watching him. The dead alone seemed 
to be alive to him: my mother, and the little sister 
who died thirty years back, and whose name I heard 
now from my father for the first time in all my life. 
As I stood amazed and disturbed at these resurrec- 
tions, he sat speechless, either looking out of the 
window in a dull way, or now and then at me with 
no larger interest. At last, with some difficulty 
as to finding words, he said: " Thy mother wearies 
for thy letters. Thou hast been remiss not to 
write." 
I said I had written him, as indeed I had, and with 
regularity, but with never an answer. After this he 
was long silent, and then said, " I told her it was but 
for a week thou wert to be away. She thinks it 
more." The long years of war were lost to him, and 
as though they had not been. 
I made a vain effort to recall him to the present 
and the living, telling him of the army and the war, 
and at last asked news of my aunt. He soon ceased 
to hear me, and his great head fell forward, the gray 
locks dropping over his forehead, as he sat breathing 
deeply and long. 
174 FREE QUAKER 
I found it a sorry spectacle, and after giving some 
orders to Tom I went away. 
I learned later that my father never went out, 
but sat at the window all day with his pipe, drawing 
on it as if it were lighted, and heeding neither the 
friends who still came to see him nor the vacant days 
which went by. I had lost my father, even that little 
of his true self he had let me see. 
I went thence and reported to Colonel Tilghman 
at the City Tavern, where his Excellency had alighted, 
and after performing that duty made haste to see 
my aunt. 
There I found the love and tender welcome for 
which I so much yearned, and I also had news of 
Darthea. She, my aunt said, was well and still in 
the city, but out of spirits; as to that " villain," my 
cousin, my Aunt Gainor knew nothing, nor indeed 
Mistress Peniston much. Letters were difficult to 
get through our lines, and if he or Darthea still wrote, 
my aunt knew no more than I. When I told her in 
confidence of the errand on which, at my cousin's 
prompting, General Arnold had sent me, she ex- 
claimed : 
II Could he have wished to get you into trouble ? 
It seems incredible, Hugh. I hope you may never 
meet." 
" Aunt Gainor," said I, " to meet that man is the 
dearest wish of my life." 
11 The dearest ? " 
" Not quite," said 1,11 but it will be for me a happy 
hour." 
175 HUGH WYNNE: 
" Then God forbid it, Hugh • and it is most unlikely. 
You must go and see Darthea. 1 suppose you will 
hardly tarry here long-and get your epaulets, sir. 
I want to see my boy in his uniform. Bring Mr. 
Hamilton here, and the French gentlemen. Fetch 
some of them to dinner to-morrow." 
Then she kissed me again, and told me how strong 
and well I looked, and so on, with all the kind pret- 
tiness of affectionate speech women keep for those 
they love. 
As I knew not when we should leave, nor how 
busy I might be wdiile still in the city, I thought it 
well to talk to my aunt of my father's sad condi- 
tion, and of some other matters of moment. Of the 
deed so strangely come into my possession she also 
spoke. It seemed to be much on her mind. I still 
told her I cared little for the Welsh lands, and this 
was true. Nevertheless I discovered in myself no 
desire to be pleasant to Mr. Arthur Wynne, and I 
began to suspect with my aunt that more than Dar- 
thea, or stupid jealousy, or the memory of a blow, 
might be at the bottom of his disposition to injure me. 
It may seem strange to those who read what a 
quiet old fellow writes, that I should so frankly con- 
fess my hatred of my cousin. Nowadays men lie 
about one another, and stab with words, and no one 
resents it. Is the power to hate to the death fading 
out ? and are we the better for this ? It may be so. 
Think of the weary months in jail, of starvation, 
insult, and the miseries of cold, raggedness, filth, and 
fever. Think, too, of my father set against me, of 
176 FREE QUAKER 
the Mischianza business,-but for that I blame him 
not,-and, last, of his involving me in the vile net of 
Arnold's treason. I could as soon forgive a snake 
that had bit me as this reptile. 
"Mr. James Wilson has the deed," said my aunt; 
"and of that we shall learn more when Mr. Corn- 
wallis is took, and you come home a general. And 
now go and see Darthea, and let me hear how many 
will be to dine, and send me, too, a half-dozen of 
good old wine from my brother's cellar-the old 
Wynne Madeira. Decant it with care, and don't 
trust that black animal Tom. Mind, sir! " 
Darthea lived but a little way from my aunt's, and 
with my heart knocking at my ribs as it never had 
done at sight of levelled muskets, I found my way 
into Mistress Peniston's parlour, and waited, as it 
seemed to me, an age. 
It was a large back room with an open fireplace 
and high-backed chairs, claw-toed tables bare of 
books or china, with the floor polished like glass. 
Penistons and De Lanceys, in hoop and hood, and 
liberal of neck and bosom, looked down on me. It 
was all stiff and formal, but to me pleasantly familiar. 
Would she never come? 
Then I heard a slow step on the stair, and the rustle 
of skirts, and here was Darthea, pale and grave, but 
more full in bud, and, I thought, more lovely in her 
maturing womanhood. 
She paused at the doorway, and made as it were 
to greet me with a formal curtsey, but then-how 
like her it did seem!-ran forward and gave me both 
177 HUGH WYNNE: 
her hands, saying: " You are welcome, Mr. Wynne. 
I am most glad to see you. You are all for the 
South, I hear. Is it not so ? " 
I said yes, and how delightful it was to be here if 
but for a day or two; and then, being pretty vain, 
must tell her of my good fortune. 
" I am glad of my friend's success, but I wish it 
were with the other side. Oh, I am a mighty Tory 
yet," shaking her head. "I have seen your Mr. 
Washington. What a fine man! and favours Mr. 
Arnold a trifle." 
" Fie for shame! " said I, pleased to see her merry; 
and then I went on to tell her the sad story of Andre, 
but not of what he told me concerning Arthur. The 
tears came to her eyes, although of course it was no 
new tale, and she went white again, so that I would 
have turned the talk aside, but she stopped me, and, 
hesitating a little, said: 
"Did that miserable treachery begin when Mr. 
Arnold was in the town?" 
I said it was thought to have done so. For my 
own part, I believed it began here, but just when I 
could not say. "But why do you ask?" I added, 
being for a reason curious. 
For a little she sat still, her hands, in delicate white 
lace mittens, on her lap. Then she spoke, at first not 
looking up. "Men are strange to me, Mr. Wynne. 
I suppose in war they must do things which in peace 
would be shameful." 
I said yes, and began to wonder if she had divined 
that Arthur had been deep in that wretched plot. I 
178 FREE QUAKER 
do not know to this day. She kept her counsel if 
she did. Women see through us at times as if we 
were glass, and then again are caught by a man-trap 
that one would think must be perfectly visible. 
" And was poor Peggy Shippen in it ? " 
"Oh,no! no!" I replied. 
" I am glad of that; but had I been she, I would 
never have seen him again-never! never! To think 
of life with one who is as black a creature as that 
man! " 
" But, after all, he is her husband." I wanted to 
see what she would say. 
"Her husband! Yes. But a husband without 
honour! No ! no ! I should have to respect the man 
I loved, or love would be dead-dead! Let us talk 
of something else. Poor Peggy ! Must you go ? " 
she added, as I rose. " This horrid war! We may 
never meet again." And then quickly, "How is 
Captain Blushes, and shall we see him too ? " 
I thought not. Already the army was making 
for Chester, and so toward the Head of Elk. " No; 
I must go." On this she rose. 
" Is it the same, Darthea, and am I to go away with 
no more hope than the years have brought me ? " 
" Why," she said, colouring, " do you make it so 
hard for me-your friend ? " 
"Do I make it hard?" 
"Yes. I used to say no to men, and think no more 
of the thing or of them, but I am troubled; and this 
awful war! I am grown older, and to hurt a man-a 
man like you-gives me pain as it did not use to do." 
179 HUGH WYNNE: 
"But you have not said no," said I; " and I am an 
obstinate man." 
" Why will you force me to say no ? Why should 
I? You know well enough what I think and feel. 
Why insist that I put it in words ? It were kinder 
--not to urge me." 
It seemed a strange speech. I said I did not 
understand her. 
" Then you had better go. I am engaged to Mr. 
Arthur Wynne, sir. I have had no word of him for 
a year, and can get no letter to him." 
I might have given her Miss Franks's letter, and 
poured out to her the story of his treachery and 
baseness. I may have been wrong, but something 
in me forbade it, and I preferred to wait yet longer. 
"Shall I get you a letter through the lines? I 
can." 
"You are a strange man, Mr. Wynne, and an 
honest gentleman. No, you cannot do me this ser- 
vice. I thank you." 
" Then good-by; and it is love to the end, Darthea." 
" I wish you would go," she said faintly. 
" Good-by," I repeated, and rose. 
" Come and see me some day when you can,-not 
now, not this time,-and do not think ill of me." 
" Think ill of you! Why should I ? " 
" Yes! yes! " 
I did not understand her, but I saw that she was 
shaken by some great emotion. Then she spoke: 
" I have given my word, Mr. Wynne, and I do not 
lightly break it. Perhaps, like some men, you may 
180 FREE QUAKER 
think that women have no such sense of honour as 
men believe to be theirs." 
11 But do you love him, Darthea ? " 
u He is not here to answer you," she cried, looking 
up at me steadily, her eyes ablaze. "Nor will I. 
You have no right to question me-none! " 
" I have every right," I said. 
" Oh, will you never go away ? " And she stamped 
one little foot impatiently. " If you don't go I shall 
hate you, and I-I don't want to hate you, Hugh 
Wynne." 
I stood a moment, and once more the temptation 
to tell her all I knew was strong upon me, but, as 
she said, Arthur was not here; first I must tell him 
face to face, and after that God alone knew what 
might come. I must tell him, too, with such proof 
as neither her love nor his subtlety could gainsay. 
And when this hour came-what then? If I killed 
him,-and I meant to,-what of Darthea? That 
would end my slender chance, and yet I knew myself 
so surely as to be certain that, when the hour came, 
no human consideration would be listened to for a 
moment. I could hate in those days, and I did. If 
I had had the assured love of Darthea, I should per- 
haps have hesitated; but not having it, I only longed 
once to have that man at the point of the sword. It 
is all very savage and brutal, but in those my young 
days men loved and hated as I do not think they do 
of late. It was a strong and a choleric generation, 
but we did some things for which the world should 
thank us. 
181 XI 
Y the 7th of September Marquis Lafayette 
was holding the neck of the peninsula of 
York. A more daring man than Corn- 
wallis would have tried a fall with this 
army, but he waited for a fleet to relieve 
him, and behold! none came save that of De Grasse. 
By September 26 sixteen thousand men were added 
to those of the marquis, and lay about Williamsburg. 
Our quiet old hawk had my lord in his clutches, and 
meant no long delay. 
Not to be in advance of the army, his Excellency, 
who left Philadelphia before us, lingered a few days 
on the way to visit the home he had not seen for six 
long years, and we of the staff followed him the day 
after. Both in town and on the march through Del- 
aware I was occupied as I had never been in my life. 
The French marched with us, and to keep things 
straight duplicate orders in both tongues were 
needed, and there were notes, letters, and despatches 
to be done into French or English. An aide who 
spoke French fluently was apt to be in the saddle 
whenever his pen was not in use. 
The life was to me of advantage, because I came 
daily into contact with officers, young and old, who 
182 FREE QUAKER 
had seen the finest company in Europe, and from 
whom there was much to learn. It is Chastellux, I 
think, who has said that Mr. Washington possessed 
the charm of such manners as were rare among our 
officers. With these gentlemen, our allies, the way of 
doing every little act of the life of society seemed to 
have been studied and taught, until these gracious 
and amiable forms were become, as one may say, a 
part of the man. 
No wonder they found us clumsy fellows. Too 
many of our gentry were not in the war, or were 
opposed to it. Many regiments were strangely of- 
ficered, and this, as Graydon says in his memoirs, 
was especially the case as to the New England troops. 
But a man with no manners and with brutal habits 
may fight as well as a marquis. 
Now toward the close of the war, if we were still 
as to looks but a Falstaffian contingent, the material 
in men and officers had been notably sifted, and was 
in all essential ways fit for the perilous service to 
which we were about to address ourselves. 
At Mount Vernon we camped-we of the staff- 
in and out of the house, and were bountifully fed, 
nor did I ever see his Excellency more to advantage 
than here. He personally looked after our wants, 
and lost for a time much of the official reserve with 
which he guarded himself elsewhere. 
At table after dinner he was in the habit of asking 
one of his aides to propose toasts for him. The day 
before we left, as we were about to rise from table, 
Colonel Tilghman said, " One more toast, with your 
183 HUGH WYNNE: 
permission, Excellency," and cried out, "My Lord 
Cornwallis, and may he enjoy the hospitalities of 
our army." 
Our host laughed as he rarely did, saying, "We 
must first catch our fish, Mr. Tilghman." 
I ventured to say, " He is in the net already." 
His Excellency, looking round at me, said gravely, 
" Pray God the net hold good ! " After I had offered 
the toast of Lady Washington's health, and our 
thanks for the pleasant days of rest and good cheer, 
he left us, desiring Mr. Tilghman to see that we had 
wine enough. 
On the 14th we reached Williamsburg. The army 
rapidly came in by divisions, French and American. 
Before the 25th we had from the fleet cannon and 
intrenching-tools, and all our available force was to 
hand. 
I can make clear in a few words the situation of 
the enemy. The peninsula of York lies between the 
James and the York rivers. On the south bank of 
the latter sits the little town of York. Seven re- 
doubts surrounded it. The town was flanked right 
and left by deep ravines and creeks falling into the 
York River. Intrenchments, field-works, and abatis, 
with felled trees, lay to landward. 
Gloucester Point, on the opposite shore of the river, 
was well fortified, and before it lay a small force of 
British war-ships, the channel being obstructed lower 
down by sunken vessels. The French fleet held the 
river below the town, and we the peninsula. 
On the night of the 25th, after a brief visit to the 
184 MOUNT VERNON, FREE QUAKER 
fleet, our chief lay down in the open under a mul- 
berry-tree with one of its roots for a pillow, and slept 
well, as was audible enough to us who lay at a distance. 
That night his lordship abandoned his outworks 
and drew within the town. We seized these lines 
next day, losing Colonel Scammel, formerly of the 
staff, in whose amusing songs and gay talk our chief 
had used to take much pleasure. On the 28th the 
armies marched twelve miles down the peninsula, 
and camped two miles from the town, driving in the 
pickets and some parties of horse. 
By October 1, the weather being fine, we had com- 
pleted a half-moon of intrenchments, resting at each 
wing on the river. Two advanced redoubts we threw 
up were severely cannonaded, so as to interrupt the 
men at work. 
His Excellency, somewhat anxious, came out of his 
tent, and calling Mr. Tilghman and me, who were 
writing, rode forth, followed by his faithful black 
Billy, whom we used to credit with knowing more of 
what went on than did we of the staff. Mr. Evans, 
a chaplain, was fain to see more of the war than con- 
cerned him, and came after us. As we approached, 
Billy, riding behind me, said as the cannon-shot went 
over us: 
" Dem redcoats is p'intin' us mighty well." 
Then a shot ricochetted, striking the ground in 
front and covering us with dust. Mr. Evans, who 
was standing by, and had now seen quite enough of 
it, said, "We shall all be killed," and then looked 
ruefully at his new beaver, well dusted and dirty. 
185 HUGH WYNNE: 
11 You had better carry that home to your wife and 
children," said the chief. " This is not the place for 
you, sir." 
Neither was it much to my own liking, and I was 
not sorry when we rode back. 
On the night of the 9th of October his Excellency 
put a match to the first gun, and for four days and 
nights a furious cannonade went on from both sides. 
Late on the night of the 10th Jack came to my 
tent, and we walked out to see this terrible spectacle, 
climbing a little hill wliich lay well away from our 
lines. For a time we were quite alone. 
A monstrous dome of smoke hung over the town. 
Now and then a gust of sea wind tore it apart, and 
through the rifts we saw the silver cup of the moon 
and the host of stars. We lay long on the hillock. 
I suppose the hour and the mighty fates involved 
made us serious and silent. Far away seventy can- 
non thundered from our works, and the enemy's 
batteries roared their incessant fury of reply. 
Presently I said, "Jack, how still the heavens are, 
and under them this rage of war! How strange! " 
" Yes," said Jack; " once I said something of this 
tranquilness in the skies to our great Dr. Franklin. 
He is very patient with young fellows, but he said 
to me: ' Yes, it is a pleasing thing, even to be wrong 
about it. It is only to the eye of man that there is 
calm and peace in the heavens; no shot of cannon 
can fly as these worlds fly, and comets whirl, and 
suns blaze; and if there is yonder, as with us, war 
and murder and ravage, none can say.' It all comes 
186 FREE QUAKER 
back to me now," said Jack, " and I thought to tell 
you." 
" It is a terrible sight," said I, as the great tumult 
of sound grew louder. " Let us thank God the cause 
is a just one." 
" And there are the stars again," said Jack, " and 
the moon." And we were silent once more, watch- 
ing the death-struggle of a failing cause. 
Our own mad world was far other than at peace. 
The great bombs rose in vast curves overhead, with 
trails of light, and, seeming to hesitate in mid-air, 
exploded, or fell on town or ship or in the stream 
between. As we looked, awe-struck, hot shot set fire 
to the "Charon," a forty-four-gun ship, nigh to 
Gloucester, and soon a red rush of fire twining about 
mast and spar rose in air, lighting the sublime spec- 
tacle, amid the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, 
and multitudinous inexplicable noises, through which 
we heard now and then the wild howl of a dog from 
some distant farm-yard. 
At last the war-ship blew up, and a wonderful 
strong light lighted the town, the river, and the camp. 
As it fell the dog bayed again, a long, sharp, waver- 
ing cry. 
This seemed to me to impress Jack Warder more 
than anything else in this din of war. He said now 
and again, " There is that dog," and wondered what 
the beast thought of it all. It is curious upon what 
the minds of men fix on grave occasions. I meant 
to ask Jack why he spoke over and over of the dog 
when before us was the bloody close of a great his- 
187 HUGH WYNNE: 
toric tragedy: a king humbled; a young republic at 
sword-point with an ancient monarchy. 
It seemed to me a man's mind must grow in the 
presence of such might of events. The hill, a half-mile 
from the lines, was a good vantage-ground whence 
to see and hear. Jack and I smoked many pipes, and, 
as he was not for duty in the trenches, lay here most 
of that cool October night, wrapped in our cloaks. 
Sometimes we talked; more often we were silent, 
and ever the great cannon roared from trench and 
bastion, or were quiet awhile to let their hot lips cool. 
Once Jack fell to talk of how he and I were changed 
from the quiet Quaker lads we had been, and did I 
remember our first fight, and Colonel Rupert Forest, 
and Master Dove? That greater master, War, since 
then had educated and broadened us. He was more 
philosophic than I, and liked thus to speculate; but 
of Darthea he said never a word, though we spoke 
of many things that memorable night. 
At last, when it was near to dawn, Jack jumped 
up, crying, 11 Oh, confound that dog! " He had, 
what I never had, some remnant of the superstitions 
of our ancestors, and I suspect that the howl of the 
poor beast troubled him. I guessed at this when he 
said presently,111 suppose we shall have to carry the 
place by storm." 
" Now don't tell me you will get hit," said I. " You 
always say that. There are enough dead men to set 
every dog in Virginia a-howling." 
Jack laughed, but I had shamed him out of any 
desire to repeat his predictions of disaster, and with 
188 FREE QUAKER 
the signal-rockets in air, and the resounding thunder 
of this storm of war ever rising and falling, we went 
at last to our tents. 
For two or three days his Excellency kept me busy; 
but since, except every third or fourth day, Jack had 
no active work, his diary at this time is very fully 
kept. I see from its pages that he thought over and 
over in this leisure of what we had so largely dis- 
cussed on that night when we lay upon the hill. 
" October 11," I find written.-" Hugh and I had a 
long talk over our own lives. It is a good thing and 
wise at times to take stock, as merchants say, of one's 
self and of one's friends. Indeed, if a man could 
contrive a moral likeness of his inner self such as he 
may have of his body, and this at different ages, it 
were an interesting and perhaps, too, a useful thing. 
It might much surprise him as the years went on. 
I think of myself as not so changed as Hugh. I am 
indeed more shy. As time goes on I arrange to hide 
it. I am less ambitious. Duty seems to me more 
and more a thing which I must do by reason of habit, 
that being strong with me owing much to the con- 
stant example set by my friend's life. If I have in 
me something of the woman's nature, as Mistress 
Wynne used to declare, I do not now so much dislike 
the notion. It may explain why, as I mature, noth- 
ing in life seems to me so greatly to be desired as the 
love of my fellows. If I think a man I esteem has 
no affection for me, I will fetch and carry to get it. 
Thank God I need not for Hugh. For him I would 
give my life, should he want it, and what more can 
189 HUGH WYNNE: 
a man do for his friend? Yes, there is a greater 
test, but of that I need not think, since she does not 
love me, nor ever could I think to win her love. 
"My Hugh is a big handsome fellow nowadays, 
budded to be of the bigness of his father, but cleaner 
fashioned, from early use of his muscles. He has 
the strong passions of these hot Welsh, but is disci- 
plined to control them, though not always. He is 
more serious of late, and has thoughts which surprise 
me, and show that his mind has grown. I used to 
think he was too abrupt with people, but he has a 
gift I have not-the power to capture the fine ways 
which these French gentlemen possess, so that nowa- 
days he has quite lost the stiff ways in which we 
were brought up. But this art I have not, nor ever 
shad have." 
Now all this is more or less true, and as I have 
said whatever was ill of myself, I like to let another, 
if a too partial judge, say of me, for the flattery of 
our blood, what may one day pleasure my chddren 
to read. 
On the night of the 12th of October our second 
parallel was opened by Baron Steuben's division, in 
which was Jack's command. It brought us within 
three hundred yards of the enemy's works. Here 
our people, while at the labour of digging, were 
greatly annoyed by the flanking fire of two redoubts, 
one on each side, and lying nearly as far out to right 
and left as were now our advanced trenches. 
On the 13th Colonel Tilghman came to ask me to 
write the needed orders for an assault on these two 
190 FREE QUAKER 
redoubts. He told me that Marquis Lafayette had 
asked that his own aide-de-camp, Captain Gimat, 
should lead the storming-party of Americans from 
the troops for duty on the 14th, but Lieutenant- 
Colonel Hamilton had insisted on his own right to 
this honourable risk, he being, on the day set for the 
assault, in command in the trenches. 
This officer, my lifelong friend, had, in February 
of '81, resigned from the staff, of which resignation 
too much has been said. It in no way affected the 
regard for him which our chief entertained, and the 
occasion of his leaving the staff was not one, I 
thought, to justify my friend in so doing, as indeed 
I made bold to tell him. 
He had now written a spirited letter to our chief, 
claiming the right of command, as he had that day 
the tour of duty in the trenches. His Excellency, 
with his strong sense of justice, had decided in Mr. 
Hamilton's favour, and it was thus settled that he 
should head our assaulting column, and the marquis 
have command of the whole detachment, which was 
to be made up of picked men from the divisions for 
duty in our works. 
I wrote the required orders, and set them forth in 
the orderly-book. The same day toward nightfall 
Jack appeared at my tent. He said his company 
was selected to be of the assault, adding with a fine 
colour and very cheerful, that here in a packet were 
letters he had writ to his father and to my Aunt 
Gainor, and here, too, another-this with a little hesi- 
tation-for Miss Darthea. 
191 HUGH WYNNE: 
I laughed, and said I was a bad person to be his 
executor, as I meant in some way to contrive to be 
of the party; how, I did not yet know. He begged 
me not to risk myself on a business out of my hue 
of duty, but I was firmly set as to the matter, and he 
went away more serious than I thought worth while. 
In fact, I was tired of the every-day sameness of 
staff-duty and incessant letter-writing. 
Later in the evening I was sent for to the tent of 
his Excellency. I found him with the Comtes de 
Deuxponts and de Rochambeau. I was wanted to 
act as interpreter. Although his Excellency could 
comprehend what was said, he possessed no such 
knowledge of French as to be able to speak it. 
The business was soon despatched, and as I fin- 
gered, the general asked what other matter needed 
attention. Upon this I replied that I greatly de- 
sired to be of the storming-party. 
He returned, 111 presume of course, sir, that you 
are not for duty on the 14th ? " 
I said, " No." 
" Then your business is with the staff. I am un- 
willing to permit gentlemen to step aside out of 
their work." He spoke in his usual deliberate man- 
ner, and with a certain sternness such as he well 
knew how to assume. 
I saluted, but stood still a moment, and then said, 
" I trust, Excellency, that I have fulfilled my duties 
to your satisfaction." 
"Entirely. I should have made it plain to you 
had it been otherwise." 
192 FREE QUAKER 
« And I have never asked a favour of your Excel- 
lency. I have been twice wounded, have had no 
home leave for four years, and have spent five 
months in a British jail." 
I saw a faint smile come over his grave face. 
" You boys are all alike. Here is Colonel Hamilton 
in a rage because the marquis would have given his 
place to Captain Gimat, and now it is an obstinate 
Welshman must go and get into mischief. I wish 
the whole army had your spirit, sir." 
I ventured to observe that Colonel Armand had 
been permitted to serve as a volunteer, and that I 
had hoped that I too should be allowed a like 
favour. 
His Excellency smiled, and returned, "As a vol- 
unteer, Mr. Wynne-well, as a volunteer. Ask Colo- 
nel Hamilton. I trust that is satisfactory. Are the 
orders and detail all made out ? " 
I said yes, and, thanking him, went away. 
Colonel Hamilton, whom I saw early on the 14th, 
was as much surprised at the result of my request 
as was I, and was pleased to say he should be glad 
of my company, and would I be on hand in the 
trenches before dark? 
The French of the old regiment D'Auvergne, 
which that night won the right to be called D'Au- 
vergne sans tache, were to carry the redoubt to the 
right of the enemy's line. The Baron de Viomenisle 
wras to lead them. Gimat was to have a chance 
with us. 
" There are Connecticut men, and Massachusetts 
193 HUGH WYNNE: 
and Rhode Island men, with a reserve from Penn- 
sylvania. The North has the whole business," said 
Hamilton, "and your friend Warder has the luck 
to be with us." 
The redoubt Number Ten on the enemy's left, and 
nearest the river, fell to us, and Hamilton by no 
means meant that we should be later in the work 
than our allies. 
I am forced to be thus particular because, although 
in God's providence I knew it not, I was about to 
pass through another crisis of my adventurous life. 
Before dusk I was in the trenches, and lying down 
amid a crowd of silent men. Hamilton walked to 
and fro among them, seeing that all were ready, and 
at last tied a piece of surgeons' bandage around my 
left arm, a precaution also taken as to the men that 
they might be distinguished in the darkness from 
the enemy. 
Pioneers with fascines and ladders were a little 
later put out in front of the trenches, and with them 
the sappers and axemen under Captain Kirkpatrick. 
Within the crowded trenches and behind them the 
detachment of four hundred men lay ready. 
It was cold, and a drizzling rain would have made 
it needful, under ordinary circumstances, to keep 
the pans of the muskets dry, but all loads were 
drawn, and the marquis meant to trust to the bayonet 
alone. Jack was afoot, and in his gay fashion was 
saying something merry to his men. I heard the 
marquis cry, " Silence! " in queer English, and down 
the line I could hear officers repeating his order. 
194 FREE QUAKER 
For a little while all was still. 
" Good-by," said my Jack. His hand was damp, 
and shook. 
11 You dear old idiot! " said I. 
It was now close to eight, and of a sudden our 
cannon ceased. I dimly saw, a few yards away in 
the deep trench, the marquis looking back toward 
our camp. The enemy, glad, I dare say, of a chance 
to cool their guns, also stopped firing. I wished to 
heaven this horror of waiting were over. 
Then a rocket rose high in air over our camp. 
" Ready, men ! " said Hamilton, while I drew my 
long Hessian blade. 
Six bombs in quick succession rose and went over 
us. I heard the marquis cry out, " En avant! For- 
ward ! " 
" Forward, sappers I " cried a voice in front. 
" Come along, boys! " cried Jack. And not giving 
the sappers more than time to scramble up, we were 
off in a swift rush through the darkness. The 
quickly formed line broke irregularly, as we ran 
over the space between us and the abatis, the sap- 
pers vainly trying to keep ahead. 
As we rushed forward, my legs serving me well, 
I saw that they in the redoubt knew what was 
coming. A dozen rockets went up, Bengal fires of 
a sudden lighted their works, a cannon-shot went 
close to my head, and all pandemonium seemed to 
break loose. 
At the stockade, an hundred feet from their 
works, our men pushed aside the sappers, and tore 
195 HUGH WYNNE: 
down the rude barrier, or tumbled over it. They 
were used to fences. Here Gimat was hurt, and 
Kirkpatrick of the pioneers, and a moment later 
Colonel Barber. 
The hundred feet beyond were passed at a run, 
and the men with fascines cast them into the ditch. 
It was already half full of the wreck the cannon had 
made in the earthwork. We jumped in, and out; it 
was all mud and water. Ladders were set against 
the parapet, but the slope was now not abrupt, having 
been crumbled away by our guns, so that most of us 
scrambled up without delay. I saw Captain Hunt 
fall, the enemy firing wildly. If Sergeant Brown 
of the Fourth Connecticut, or Mansfield of the For- 
lorn Hope, were first on the parapet, I do not know. 
Hamilton got by me, and I saw him set a foot on the 
shoulder of a man, and jump on to the top of the 
redoubt. Why more or all were not killed seems to 
me a wonder. I think if the enemy had been cooler 
we had been easily disposed of. I saw the girl-boy 
leap down among the bayonets, and we were at once 
in a hurly-burly of redcoats, our men with and after 
us. 
For a little there was fierce resistance and a furi- 
ous struggle, of which I recall only a remembrance 
of smoke, red flashes, yells, and a confusion of men 
striking and thrusting. A big Hessian caught me 
a smart thrust in the left leg-no great hurt. An- 
other with his butt pretty nearly broke my left arm, 
as I put it up to save my head. I ran him through, 
and felt that they were giving way. 
196 FREE QUAKER 
To left and right was still a mad struggle, and 
what with the Bengal fires still blazing, and a heap 
of brush in flames at one side of the redoubt, there 
was light enough to see. Near about me was a clear 
space, and a pause such as occurs now and then in 
such a scrimmage. There were still men who held 
back, and to whom, as I pushed on, I called, " Come 
on ! We have them ! " A great wind from the sea 
blew the smoke away, so that it was easy to see. As 
I called out to the men who hesitated on the outer 
slope, as some will, I heard before me a voice cry, 
" This way, men ! " and, turning, caught sight of the 
face of Arthur Wynne. He too saw and knew me. 
He uttered an oath, I remember, crying out, "At 
last! " as I dashed at him. 
I heard ahead of me cries for " Quarter! quarter! " 
The mass of striving men had fallen back, and in 
fact the business was at an end. I saw Jack run 
from my left toward me, but he stood still when he 
saw what was happening, and instantly, as he came, 
Arthur and I crossed swords. What else chanced 
or who else came near I knew not. I saw for the 
time only that one face I so hated, for the heap of 
brush in the work was still blazing. 
As is true of every Wynne I ever knew, when in 
danger I became cool at once. I lost no time, but 
pressed him hard with a glad sense that he was no 
longer my master at the game. I meant to kill 
him, and as he fell back I knew that at last his hour 
had come. I think he too knew it. He fenced with 
caution, and was as cool as I. Just as I touched 
197 HUGH WYNNE: 
him in the right shoulder I felt a wounded Hessian 
clutch my leg. I fell squarely backward, my cousin 
lunging savagely as I dropped. I had been done 
for had not Jack struck up his blade as I lay, call- 
ing out: 
11 Coward! " 
I was up in a moment, pretty savage, and caught 
sight of my Jack fencing with my man, as calm as 
if we were in old Pike's gallery. As I stood pant- 
ing-it was but a moment-I saw Jack's blade whip 
viciously round Arthur's and pass through his 
breast, nearly to the guard. 
My cousin cried I know not what, fell to one side, 
and then in a heap across a dead grenadier. 
"Better I than thou," cried Jack, blowing hard. 
" He will play no more tricks. Come on ! " 
With a glance at my enemy I hurried past him 
over dead and wounded men, a cannon Tipset, mus- 
kets cast away, and what not. 
" This way, Wynne," said the marquis. " C'estfini ! 
Get those fellows together, gentlemen." 
Our men were huddling the prisoners in a corner 
and collecting their arms. A red-faced New Hamp- 
shire captain was angrily threatening Major Camp- 
bell, the commander of the redoubt, who had just sur- 
rendered. Colonel Hamilton struck up the captain's 
blade, or I do believe he would have killed the major. 
He was furious over the death of Colonel Scammel, 
who was greatly beloved, and had been killed by 
Hessians after having given up his sword. 
It was over, and I went back to see what had 
198 FREE QUAKER 
become of Arthur. He was alive, and having 
dragged himself to the inner wall of the redoubt, 
was now seated against it. Jack soon found a lan- 
tern, and by its light we looked at Arthur. He was 
covered with blood, but was conscious, and stared 
at me with dull eyes, without power to say a word. 
" Take care of him, Jack," said I, and went away 
down the crumbled slope and through the broken 
abatis, while overhead the bombs howled with un- 
earthly noises and the cannonry broke out anew. 
I was still angry that I had not killed the man, 
and went off to my tent in no very happy state of 
mind, so tired in body that I could not sleep for 
hours. 
Says Jack, " October 15.-I can never cease to be 
thankful that, when we had them driven like scared 
sheep into the far side of the redoubt, I ran back to 
see what had become of Hugh. It was but a minute 
I had missed him, and when I saw him slip I had 
only just time to catch that devil Arthur Wynne's 
blade. He was used in old days to play with me 
like a child, but either I am become more skilful or 
he was out of practice, for I knew pretty soon that 
he was delivered over to me, and had small chance 
to get away unhurt. If my friend had killed him,- 
and that was what he meant, I fear,-would Darthea 
ever have married Hugh? I know not, but it has 
been ordered otherwise. There was indeed a way 
opened, as Friends say. A nice Quaker I am 
become! " 
I was not of his opinion that night. Just before 
199 HUGH WYNNE: 
reveille I fell into a broken slumber. I awakened 
in a sweat, having dreamed that I had put a sword 
through my cousin, and was troubled that Jack 
was to tell Darthea. Thus it came to my mind 
-dulled before this with anger and unsatisfied hate 
-that I had made a fortunate escape. The morn- 
ing brought wisdom. I was beginning to think 
that all was not well between Darthea and Arthur 
Wynne, and that to kill him -would do anything but 
add to my chances with a woman so sensitive, nor 
would it much improve matters that his death had 
come out of the unhappy chances of war. 
When in happier mood I began to dress at dawn, 
I found my left arm very stiff and sore. I must 
have been much distracted overnight not to have 
felt it, and not to have seen that I was seriously 
bruised; my breeches were starched stiff with blood 
from a bayonet-prick. Jack's quarters were on the 
extreme right, and as soon as the lines broke after 
morning drill I rode over to find him. 
He told me that Dr. Rush was come to camp the 
day before with other surgeons, and that Arthur 
was in a tent and cared for by our good doctor, who 
informed Jack that his sword had traversed the right 
lung, but had not gone through, as it seemed to me 
it must have done. The doctor thought he might 
possibly get over it. Out of his affection for my 
aunt he would see that Arthur had such care as she 
would desire for one of her kin, but was it not a 
most unfortunate accident? 
"I assured him," said Jack, "that it was most 
200 FREE QUAKER 
lamentable, but might have been worse-as I in- 
tended it should be," added Jack, with a grin. He 
then asked me had I heard of that good Free Qua- 
ker, Colonel Forest, who had taken Major Campbell, 
saying, "I advise thee to surrender, or thou wilt 
repent it, d thee! " to the delight of Hamilton, 
who must tell his Excellency that night, having 
supped with him on his return. 
I made haste to write to my aunt, and was able to 
send our letters North with the general's despatches 
to Congress. I said nothing of my own encounter 
with Arthur, but made mention of Jack's affair as 
one of the chances of war. 
Dr. Rush dressed my arm, and I went back to 
duty with the member in a sling, and aching like 
mad. His Excellency, seeing my condition, asked 
me if my right arm was in good order, but made no 
reference to the left. After I took his commands for 
the morning he said, seeing me limp, "Were you 
much hurt?" 
I said, "No; I ran against something sharp in the 
bastion." 
He smiled, and that was the end of the matter. 
Fair women and brave men were to his Excellency's 
liking. 
This was my last of active warfare. The marquis 
tried his hand at a sally, and made ready too late to 
get away over the York River; but the sally came 
to nothing, and the belated effort to run to still less. 
I neglected to say that the French, having come 
to the abatis, waited in line while the pioneers used 
201 HUGH WYNNE: 
their axes to clear it away. Meanwhile, thanks to 
too good discipline, they suffered severely. As we 
rushed the whole thing, we lost far less. " It was 
very fine and en regie" said Hamilton, " but I like our 
way better." And so, I think, do I. 
The good doctor liked to come to my staff tent in 
those days, to talk to me or to others. He seemed 
to think it necessary to inform me as to my cousin, 
and I dare say thought me cool about him. 
" And if, doctor, I had stuck him through the left 
side ? " said Jack, lying at ease on a bearskin in my 
tent. 
11 In that case," said our doctor, in a quite profes- 
sional way, " the heart or the great arteries had like 
enough been pierced." 
" And what then?" asked Jack of the doctor, who 
was sitting on the camp-bed. 
" Probably death would have occurred." 
On this Jack looked up with those innocent eyes, 
and, pushing back the blond locks, said: "It is a 
great thing to know anatomy. If only I had made 
a little study of that science, Dr. Rush, I might have 
had better success at this pig-sticking business we 
call war." The sly humour of the fellow set Hamil- 
ton to laughing, but the doctor did not smile. 
" It might have been better for Hugh's cousin," he 
said. 
" Yes," said Jack, sweetly; " perhaps." 
As they talked I was automatically putting into 
fine French a letter of his Excellency to Comte 
d'Estaing, and I took in readily what was passing. 
202 FREE QUAKER 
When Jack said, " Perhaps," I cried out, " It would 
be a fine thing, doctor, to have all this saving know- 
ledge on both sides, so as to know where not to hurt 
one another." 
Hamilton was on the side of Dr. Rush. " It were 
more to the purpose," he said, " to sit down and not 
to go to war at all." This was set forth demurely, 
the colonel seeing how serious a dose our fun was 
for the great physician, who did somewhat lack the 
capacity to discover the entertainment to be found 
in this manner of jesting. 
He returned gravely that this was his opinion, 
and that had he his way, war and drinking of spirits 
should alike cease. 
To this we agreed in part as one man, for of war 
we were tired enough. As to the other matter, we did 
not mention it. To think of such a revolution was too 
astonishing in those days, nor have we come to it yet. 
After that the doctor discussed Arthur's case with 
much learning and evident satisfaction. I might 
like in a day or two to see Captain Wynne. I was 
of opinion that it would do him harm, and when the 
great doctor said, "Perhaps, perhaps," Jack began 
discreetly to talk war, and asked where was General 
Gates. 
But by this time our doctor had become cautious. 
His favourite commander was dismissed with a 
word or two, and so our chat ended, Mr. Hamilton 
and the physician going away together, each pleased 
with the other, and, despite some differences in pol- 
itics, to remain lifelong friends. 
203 HUGH WYNNE: 
On the 17th of October, the Marquis Cornwallis 
having had a stomach full of fighting, and having 
failed of his schemes to get away across the York 
River, beat a parley, and after some discussion 
signed the articles of capitulation. The soldiers 
were to remain prisoners in Virginia and Maryland, 
the officers were to return to Europe upon parole. 
The beaten army at two on the 19th came down the 
road between the French and our lines, with the 
colours in their cases, and the bands playing a Brit- 
ish march; for it is of the etiquette of such occasions 
that the captured army play none but their own 
tunes. Some wag must have chose the air, for they 
marched by to the good old English music of 11 The 
World Turned Upside Down"; such must have 
seemed sadly the case to these poor devils. 
As I was of the staff, I was privileged to see well 
this wonderful and glorious conclusion of a mighty 
strife. Our chief sat straight in the saddle, with a 
face no man could read, for in it was neither elation 
nor show of satisfaction, as the sullen ranks camo 
near. 
At the head of the line rode General O'Hara. He 
paused beside our chief, and begged his Excellency 
to receive the excuses of my Lord Cornwallis, who 
was not well enough to be present, which no one 
believed nor thought a manly thing to do. 
His Excellency bowed, trusted it was not very 
serious, but would not receive General O'Hara's 
sword. With quiet dignity he motioned him to 
deliver it to Major-General Lincoln, who now had 
204 THE NELSON HOUSE, YORKTOWN. FREE QUAKER 
these grateful amends for the misfortune of having 
had to surrender his own good blade at Charleston. 
After this the long array of chagrined and beaten 
men went by, and, returning to York, were put under 
guard. 
A day or two later a letter of my aunt's informed 
me of the disorder my father's condition had brought 
about on his tobacco-plantation in Maryland. This 
caused me to ask for leave, and, with the under- 
standing that I might be recalled at any time, I re- 
ceived permission to be absent two months. 
I set out on November 5 for Annapolis, with two 
horses and my servant. Arthur Wynne, being 
found unfit to go to Europe with the rest, was 
taken a ■week later by our doctor on a transport 
to the Head of Elk, and thence by coach to Phila- 
delphia. There, as I heard, the doctor took him to 
his own house, much amazed that Mistress Gainor 
would not receive him. Arthur won the good doc- 
tor, as he did most people, and, despite all expecta- 
tions, was said to be mending fast, being much 
petted by the Tory ladies; but if Darthea had seen 
him or not I did not then learn. 
My affairs in Maryland, where we had many 
slaves and large interests, kept me busy until near 
the close of December, when I set out to rejoin the 
staff in Philadelphia, my leave being up. 
During this winter of '81 and '82 my duties were 
light, and except to write a few despatches daily, 
and to attend his Excellency on occasions of festivity, 
I had little to do save to look after my father's affairs. 
205 HUGH WYNNE: 
It is now fit that I return to the narration of such 
things as immediately concern my personal interests. 
Arthur Wynne was able to ride out by the end of 
January, as I heard, for I did not chance to see him. 
My father remained much as he had been for a year. 
Darthea, to our great surprise, on Captain Wynne's 
return became desirous to yield to her aunt and 
to go to New York. My aunt said she would get 
them a pass through our lines in the Jerseys; but 
this proving difficult, they stayed in and about 
the city, spending much time at their old home in 
Bristol. Darthea was so clearly unwilling to see 
me that I was fain to give it up, and accept what 
I could not better. When I said I was sorry she 
wished to go away, my Aunt Gainor replied that 
I was a fool, and would never be anything else. 
I asked why, but she was away from my question 
at once, and went on to tell me what officers were 
to dine with her that day, and did his Excellency 
like Madeira? and why was her doctor so fond of 
quoting Mr. Adams's letters from Holland, where he 
now was on a mission, with his nasty sneers at 
Virginians and Mr. Washington? She gave me no 
time to reply. Indeed, this and much else I saw or 
heard in those days was quite beyond me. 
My aunt's way of dismissing a question she liked 
not was to pour out matters which were quite irrel- 
evant, when to stop her was altogether past hope. 
I had learned to wait. She, at my desire, made Jack 
her aid in her affairs, as I was fully occupied with 
my father's neglected business. Now, too, she was 
206 FREE QUAKER 
busy finding Jack a wife, and would tell me all about 
it, striding to and fro, and with vast shrewdness and 
humour discussing the young women we knew. 
" Cat " Ferguson was very humble, and the Chews 
in great favour with his Excellency. I was fain 
to dismiss my wonder as to Darthea, and, unable to 
recur to the question I had asked, I went away to 
headquarters in the great Chew house in Third 
street. 
The town was gone wild with feasting and din- 
ners, and as the general liked his staff to attend 
him, I had more of these engagements than I cared 
about. 
Arthur, still weak and on parole, lingered; but 
why he did not get permission to go to New York, 
as had been easy, I could not well understand. 
In February, '82, I came home to my father's one 
morning at an earlier hour than usual, and to my 
surprise heard my cousin's voice. 
" I fear, sir, I am not understood. I came for the 
deed you promised me." 
My poor father, a huge, wasted framework of a 
big man, was looking at him with lack-lustre eyes. 
He said, " My wife will be with us presently. Wilt 
thou stay for dinner ? " 
I went in at once, saying, "I am more than 
amazed, sir, to see you here. As to the deed you 
would have stolen-" 
" What! " he cried. 
111 said 1 stolen,' sir. As to the deed you would 
have stolen from a man too feeble in mind to guard 
207 HUGH WYNNE: 
his own property, I have only this to say " (amid con- 
stant duties it had gone from my mind): " 1 shall 
put no obstacle in the way of your seeing it." 
" I have no other purpose," he said quietly- " none. 
To you I could not go, and, sir, if you choose to 
consider my effort in any other light than an honest 
one, I have no more to say. We have enough causes 
of difference without that." 
" Quite enough," said I. I was beginning to lose 
grip of my patience. " Quite enough. That they were 
not settled long ago an accident alone prevented." 
"I am not, sir, in a way fitly to answer you. 
Neither is this a place nor a presence for this dis- 
cussion." 
" At least we can agree as to that," said I; " but I 
did not seek it. At my own leisure I shall have to 
ask you certain questions which, as a gentleman and 
a man of honour, you will find it hard to answer." 
"I fail to comprehend," he returned, with his 
grand air, looking all the better for his paleness. 
I said it was not now needful that he should, and 
that in future he would understand that he was no 
longer a welcome guest. 
" As you please," he said. 
I thought he showed little anxiety to hear at 
length what was in my mind. 
Meanwhile, as we spoke, my father looked va- 
cantly from me to him and from him to me, and at 
last, his old hospitable instincts coming uppermost, 
he said, " Thou hast not asked thy cousin to take 
spirits, Hugh." 
208 FREE QUAKER 
Arthur, smiling sadly, as I thought, said: " Thank 
you, none for me. Good-day, Cousin Wynne," and 
merely bowing to me, he went out, I ceremoniously 
opening the door. 
I had said no more than I intended to say; I was 
resolutely bent upon telling this man what he seemed 
to me to be and what I knew of his baseness. To 
do this it was needful, above all, to find Delaney. 
After that, whether Darthea married my cousin or 
not, I meant that she should at last know what I 
knew. It was fair to her that some one should open 
her eyes to this man's character. When away from 
her, hope, the friend of the absent, was ever with 
me; but once face to face with Darthea, to think of 
her as by any possibility mine became impossible. 
Yet from first to last I was firm in my purpose, for 
this was the way I was made, and so I am to this 
day. But whether I had loved her or not, I should 
have done my best out of mere friendship to set her 
free from the bonds in which she was held. 
I had heard of Delaney as being in the South, but 
whether he had come out alive from the tussles be- 
tween Morgan, Marion, and Tarleton, I knew not. 
On asking Colonel Harrison, the general's secretary, 
he told me he thought he could discover his where- 
abouts. Next day he called to tell me that there 
was an officer of the name of Delaney at the London 
Inn, now called "The Flag," on Front street, and 
that he had been asking for me. I had missed him 
by five minutes. He had called with despatches 
from Major-General Greene. 
209 HUGH WYNNE: 
To my joy this proved to be the man I wanted, 
nor was it surprising that he should thus luckily 
appear, since the war was over in the South, and a 
stream of officers was passing through Philadelphia 
daily to join the Northern army. 
For a moment he did not know me, but was de- 
lighted when I named myself. 
I said I had no time to lose, and asked him to 
meet me at my aunt's in the afternoon. I much 
feared that Arthur would get away before I was 
ready to talk to him. 
Delaney had received my last letter and had an- 
swered it, but whither his reply went I cannot say. 
At all events, he had lingered here to find me. When 
we met at my Aunt Gainor's that afternoon, it took 
but a few minutes to make clear to her the sad tale 
of Arthur's visit to the jail. 
My friend had no sooner done than the old lady 
rose, and began as usual to walk about, saying: "You 
will excuse me; I must think of this. Talk to Hugh." 
What there was to think of I could not see. 
Delaney looked on amused, and he and I chatted. 
She was evidently much disturbed, and while the 
captain and I talked, I saw her move a chair, and 
pick up and set down some china beast. At last 
she said: " Come in at nine to-night, Mr. Delaney. 
I want to think this over. I have still much I desire 
to ask you. It deeply concerns my nephew in a way 
I cannot now explain to you. May I have the priv- 
ilege of another half-hour ? " 
Delaney bowed. 
210 FREE QUAKER 
u Of course I do not want you, Hugh," she added. 
When you have known a woman as long as I had 
known my aunt, there are sometimes hints or warn- 
ings in her most casual expressions. When my 
aunt said I was not wanted that evening I knew at 
once that she was meditating something out of the 
common, but just what, I did not think to ask my- 
self. My Aunt Gainor was all her life fond of what 
she called inventing chances, a fine phrase, of which 
she was proud. In fact, this sturdy old spinster 
liked to interfere authoritatively in the affairs of 
men and women, and believed that for this she had 
a special talent, which in fact she discovered no in- 
clination to bury; but what now she had in hand to 
do I knew not. 
She was deeply grieved for a season to find that 
her plans went awry, or that men were disappointed, 
or that women would not go her way. " When she 
hurts you," said Mrs. Ferguson, " she is like a child, 
and has a dozen silly devices for doctoring your 
wounds. We have fought many times, and made 
up as often. There is no real malice in her," which 
was true. 
J ack W arder once remarked in his lively way that 
Mistress Wynne had a richly coloured character. I 
fear it may have looked at times very black to some 
and very rose-tinted to others, but assuredly never 
gray in its tones, nor other than positive. 
With me she took all manner of liberties, and 
with Darthea too, and if ever she were in doubt if it 
were well to meddle in our affairs I know not. A 
211 HUGH WYNNE: 
vast richness of human love and an urgent desire of 
rule lay underneath the life she showed the outer 
world of quadrille and dinners and gossip. 
When she hurt us, or, as Darthea said, broke her 
china in trying to wash it, she fell back on our love 
with a quite childlike astonishment that what was 
come out of affection should give rise to resentment. 
With a slight puzzle in my mind I went away 
with Delaney to dine at the London Coffee-house, 
which now showed our own new flag, where so often 
I had passed in under the cross of St. George. 
"We have a new St. George now," said Mr. John 
Adams, in one of those ill-natured letters to Dr. 
Rush which filled my aunt with rage. " Sancte 
Washington, ora pro nobis." The Massachusetts 
statesman admired our grave and knightly St. 
George, but there are those who cannot fly a kite 
without the bobtail of a sneer-which is good wit, I 
think, but not my own; it was Jack said that. 
When Delaney left me to call again upon my 
aunt, I little dreamed of what part she meant him 
to play. He left the town early next day, and had 
it not been for Jack I should not for a long while 
have known fully what an hour brought forth. 
" On the afternoon of February 28 of this 1782," 
says Jack's diary, "I got a note from Mistress 
Wynne asking me to see her on business at nine. 
I found with her, to my pleasure, the good fellow 
Delaney, and was able to thank him for the service 
he had done us all in his noble care of Hugh. We 
talked over our battles, and presently comes in 
212 FREE QUAKER 
Darthea, whom now we see but rarely, for reasons 
best known to herself. 
" I do believe Hugh has given up his love-affair 
as a thing quite hopeless, and no wonder. I think 
she still sees that rascal of an English captain, and 
perhaps he will not have her keep up a closer friend- 
ship with such as no longer desire his own acquain- 
tance. 
"Mr. Delaney was, like all men, charmed with 
Miss Peniston, and the talk went on busily enough, 
the young woman in good spirits and the captain 
most amusing. 
" By and by he spoke quite naturally of the hor- 
rors of their life in the provost's prison, and upon 
this Darthea, becoming of a sudden seriously atten- 
tive, listened with fixed gaze. Our hostess, seeing 
her chance, said;x I meant to ask you more of that 
to-day, but my nephew hates even to hear of it. 
How long were you there?' 
" ' I was taken at Germantown like Mr. Wynne, 
and was kept until June. After Wynne nearly 
killed that rascal, Cunningham, things were worse 
than ever.' 
" ' And was Hugh so very ill ? ' 
" ' He could not have been worse to live at all.' 
" ' And was there no inspection amidst all those 
horrors? Do you suppose Sir William knew noth- 
ing of them ? I can hardly credit that.' 
" Darthea looked round at Mistress Wynne. She 
had been unusually silent. Now turning to Delaney, 
she said, with slow articulation: 'I also am curious, 
213 HUGH WYNNE: 
Mr. Delaney. We heard many rumours and some 
unpleasant facts. Could Sir William Howe have 
known? I cannot think it.' 
"1 But he must, after the inspections, and there 
were three to my knowledge.' 
" ' Indeed ? ' said Mistress Wynne. ' 'T is most 
strange! ' 
" Delaney hesitated, not liking, I suppose, to men- 
tion Arthur, her cousin, of whose close relation to 
Darthea, however, he was not aware. 
"1 And one,' Mistress Wynne went on, ' was, I hear, 
made by our kinsman.' 
" ' Yes,' said Delaney,1 and that did certainly amaze 
me. Captain Wynne-' 
" 1 Captain Wynne ! ' exclaimed Darthea, and, turn- 
ing her head, she looked sharply at Mistress Wynne 
and then at me. I think that Delaney, being un- 
familiar with her habits of speech, did not notice 
how strange was the tone in which she added, 'We 
all know Mr. Arthur Wynne.' 
" ' Indeed! ' said Delaney; ' but of course I might 
have known that.' 
" 1 Yes, yes! I interrupted you. Pray, go on; it is 
most interesting.' 
"'Very,' said Mistress Wynne. And now I saw 
what a wicked trap our spinster-fox had laid for poor 
Darthea. Delaney, a bit puzzled, glanced at me. I 
made no sign. It must not stop here. 
" ' It is a queer story, Miss Peniston, and not much 
to the credit of his Majesty's officers.' 
" ' What next ? ' said Darthea. 
214 FREE QUAKER 
11 1 Oh, the tale is brief and brutal. I was seated 
on the straw one day, with Hugh's head in my lap, 
putting water on his forehead and trying to quiet 
him, when the turnkey came in with an English 
officer. This gentleman looked about him at the few 
left alive, asked carelessly who broke the window- 
panes, and then suddenly seemed to notice Hugh. 
He asked who was this poor devil. The turnkey said, 
"Name of Wynne, sir." Then the captain stood still 
a moment, staring at us, and, as if curious, bent down, 
asking me what Hugh was saying. Now my poor 
friend was muttering over and over, "Dorothea! 
Dorothea!"-some woman's name, I suppose, but 
what woman he never told me.' 
" At this I saw Darthea flush, but perhaps remem- 
bering that Mr. Delaney might know her only as 
Miss Peniston, which was the fact, she controlled 
herself and said quickly: 'He asked his name ? Are 
you sure he asked his name? Could there have 
been no mistake?' 
"Delaney looked the surprise he no doubt felt, 
and replied, 'Yes; of that I am sure.' 
" ' Do you think,' said Darthea, ' he knew how ill 
Mr. Hugh Wynne was?' 
" ' Certainly; I heard the turnkey tell him that a 
day or two would see Hugh in the potter's field with 
the rest. The doctor had said as much. This was 
true; he had told me it was useless for him to return, 
and indeed I thought so too. They buried a half- 
dozen a day. When told that this man Wynne had 
jail-fever, the captain seemed in haste to leave. At the 
215 HUGH WYNNE: 
door lie turned and took another look at Hugh, and 
then went out. I asked his name next day, but the 
turnkey laughed, and said it was none of my busi- 
ness. I had a fancy that the inspector desired to 
remain unknown. I was sure of this when, a few 
days after, I described the officer to Hugh, who was 
then quite himself. When Hugh said at last, " Had 
he a scar over the left eye ? " and I said he had, Hugh 
cried out in a rage that it was his cousin, and would 
talk of nothing else for days. I fear there can be no 
doubt that the inspecting officer was Captain Arthur 
Wynne.' 
"1 Horrible! ' exclaimed Mistress Wynne. 1 In- 
credible ! ' 
"1 Yes; it seems to me a quite inconceivable thing, 
but I am certain, though the man looked a gentle- 
man all over.' 
"1 He looked a gentleman all over,' said Darthea, 
with strange deliberateness of speech. 
"This while Mistress Wynne sat drawn up, her 
face set, and one hand moving on the arm of the 
chair, just the same queer trick her brother had. As 
for me, I watched Darthea. It was a merciless plot, 
and may have been needed; but in truth the way of 
it was cruel, and my heart bled for her I loved. 
" As she spoke her tones were so strange that Mr. 
Delaney, who was clearly but an innocent though 
sharp tool, said: 11 beg pardon, Miss Peniston. These 
sad stories are too dreadful to repeat. Miss Wynne 
would have it-' 
" But Darthea was now quite lost to the common 
216 FREE QUAKER 
ways of life. She went on like a person questioning 
herself, as it sounded to me. 1 Arthur Wynne asked 
his name. Is that so ? ' 
11 Delaney said,(Yes,' now, as I saw, quite troubled, 
and wishing himself out of it, I dare say. 
"1 And he knew he was in rags, starved, dying, 
and he left him ? ' continued Darthea. ' He left him 
-to die.' 
" ' Yes; but-' 
"'No matter. I must hear all-all!' she cried 
sharply- ' all! I am the person most concerned.' 
" ' Darthea! ' then exclaimed Miss Wynne, alarmed, 
I suppose, at her wild manner and breaking voice. 
"But Darthea went on. 'This is my business, 
madam. You are sure, sir? This is no time to 
trifle. I-I am-I must know ! I must know! Would 
you say this to Captain Wynne were he here ? An- 
swer me, sir! ' 
" ' Certainly I would, Miss Peniston.' 
" ' Mistress Wynne,' said Darthea, rising, ' I have 
been brought here to let a stranger see my-my 
weakness. It is plain. Did you think I could hide 
it, madam ? Pardon me, sir. You have done me a 
cruel service. I-I thank you. I bid you good- 
evening, Mistress Wynne. Was there no other way, 
no kinder way, to tell me ? Will you take me home, 
Jack? I-I am tired.' 
"We had all risen with her at the beginning of 
this last speech, I troubled, Miss Wynne very red, 
and only fit to say over and over, 'Darthea! Darthea! ' 
Mr. Delaney annoyed, and lacking knowledge of the 
217 HUGH WYNNE: 
situation; all of us awkward and confused save 
Darthea, who passed out into the hall, followed by- 
Miss Wynne, and saying, as she went forth, 11 will 
never forgive you, madam, never! never! You are 
a wicked old woman! I shall never speak to you 
again. I did not think it.' 
" I walked in silence beside her to Mrs. Peniston's 
home. ' Thank you, Jack,' said she, in a sweet, low 
voice. 'You did not know, did you, of this sad 
story ? ' 
" 'Yes, dear lady, but of this disgusting plot, no.' 
" ' But why did you, who are my friend, and Mr. 
Hugh Wynne, and all of you, leave me in the dark 
as to this-this man?' 
" I said quickly that it was not well to have told 
her until Mr. Delaney could be found. He had but 
just now come. She had seemed to trust Captain 
Wynne's story; Hugh's was but the hearsay of a 
man just out of a deadly fever. We had waited. 
"As I spoke, she stood with her calash bonnet 
fallen back, clear to see by the full moonlight, and 
looking with intent face across Arch street, as it 
might be with envy of the untroubled dead of gen- 
erations who lay around the meeting-house. As I 
ended, she said: 
" ' I have been a fool, Jack, but I loved him; indeed 
I did. Is there more ? I know Hugh hates him. Is 
there more?' 
" ' Too much, too much, Darthea,' I said. 
" ' Then come in. I must hear all-all.' And she 
knocked impatiently. 
218 FREE QUAKER 
11 Presently we were in the parlour. 1 Fetch a light/ 
she said to the black who opened for us. When we 
were alone and seated, she said quietly : 1J ack, you 
are my only friend. I do trust you-oh, entirely. 
Now what is it ? I must know all. Why has Hugh 
Wynne been silent? It is not like him.' 
"'I have already told you why. Partly because, 
Darthea, you were away, or would not see us. That 
you know. Partly because Hugh had only his own 
word to give; but this I have told you.' 
"1 Yes, yes,' she cried; ' but what else ? ' 
" ' I think,' said I, ' knowing him well, that Hugh 
meant, when once he had Delaney's evidence, to tell 
his cousin face to face, and so force him to release 
you.' 
"'That is my business, not his,' she broke in. 
'What has Hugh Wynne to do with it? Am I a 
child?' 
" ' It had been the kinder and the manlier way,' 
said I. ' Now there is no need; but Hugh will be 
furious with his aunt.' 
" ' I am glad of that. What else is there ? You 
are hiding something.' 
" ' There was that scene in the garden, Darthea.' 
"She coloured at this. 'Yes, I know; but there 
were reasonable excuses for that, and no one had 
time to think.' 
" ' Two people had, Darthea.' 
"'We will let that pass, Jack. Don't play with 
me.' 
" Then, driven to the wall, so to speak, I told her 
219 HUGH WYNNE: 
of the sad revelation Andre had made to Hugh, and 
how, being Hugh's enemy, Arthur had been base 
enough to involve him in an affair which might have 
been his ruin. 
"1 Yes, yes,' she said, ' I see; but who could know, 
or who think to use such knowledge ? ' 
"1 was taken aback at her seeming to have any 
doubt. I coldly set myself to tell her of Arthur's 
double dealing about the estate, and of how he 
had made Hugh's father believe he was minded 
to consider the ways of Friends, and at last of how 
he had borrowed money and had set poor Hugh's 
half-demented father against him. I did not spare 
her or him, and the half of what I said I have not 
set down. The Arnold business I did return to, see- 
ing that it struck her, or seemed to, less than it did 
me j for to my mind it was the worst. 
"1 Darthea,' I said, ' how could a man of honour 
or even of good feeling put any gentleman in such 
peril of worse than death ? There were Tories enough 
to have done his shamefid errand. But oh, dear 
Darthea, to suggest to send on such business an open, 
frank enemy,-his cousin too,-that was too bad for 
the lowest and vilest! ' 
"1 Hush! ' she said, ' I know enough. You have 
been both brave and good. You are the best man I 
know, Jack Warder, and the kindest. I wish I loved 
you. I am not worthy of you. Now go away.' 
"I obeyed her, and this was so far the end of a 
miserable affair. What Hugh will say to Miss Wynne, 
God knows. I have given a thorough rascal his 
220 FREE QUAKER 
dues; but I cannot do this and not tell him to his 
face what I have said behind his back. 
" This was at night, but I had no better counsel in 
the morning. 
"I went to find Mr. Delaney, but he was gone, 
having, as I heard later, put on paper what he had 
seen and heard in the Provostry." 
221 xn 
SEN," continues J ack, "1 found Delaney 
had gone away, I was in a quandary. 
I by no means desired to go alone to 
see Captain Wynne. At last I made 
up my mind to ask Hugh. If there 
came a quarrel it should be mine. I resolved there 
should be no fight if I could help it, and that there 
might be trouble if Hugh were first to see his cousin 
I felt sure. The small sword was out of the ques- 
tion, but the pistol was not. I intended no such 
ending, and believed I had the matter well in my 
own hands. When I found Hugh at the quarters I 
told him quietly the whole story. 
" That he was in a mad rage at his aunt I saw. I 
hate to see Hugh smile in a certain way he has, with 
his lips set close. He said nothing save that he 
would go with me, and that I was altogether in the 
right. He was reluctant to promise he would leave 
me to speak alone, but at last I did get him to say so. 
"Mr. Arthur Wynne was alone in his room at the 
inn, and would see us. He was writing, and turned 
from his table, rising as we entered. He looked red 
and angry, in a soiled dressing-gown, and I thought 
had been drinking. He did not ask us to be seated, 
222 FREE QUAKER 
and we remained standing until our unpleasant talk 
came to a close. 
"He said at once, 'My good cousin, I presume I 
owe to you the note I have had from Miss Peniston 
to-day.' 
" ' You do not,' said Hugh, not looking at aH dis- 
pleased. 
"'Indeed ? I had hoped you had come to offer me 
the only satisfaction in life your slanders have left 
me. My health is no longer such as to forbid the use 
of a pistol.' 
" ' Pardon me,' said I, ' this is my affair, and not 
Mr. Wynne's. I have had the honour of late to hear 
Mr. Delaney relate what passed in the jail.' 
" ' Have you, indeed ? An old story,' said Arthur 
Wynne. 
"1 None the less a nasty one. I had also the plea- 
sure to tell Miss Peniston that you suggested to the 
traitor Arnold to use my friend's known loyalty as 
a safe means of getting to Sir Henry Clinton a letter 
which was presumably a despatch as to exchange of 
prisoners, but was really intended to convey to Sir 
Henry the news that the scoundrel Arnold was will- 
ing to sell his soul and betray his country.' 
"1 Who told you this nonsense ? ' said the captain, 
coming toward us. 
" ' Major Andre,' said I. ' You may have my 
friend's word for that.' 
111 It is a lie! ' he cried. 
"1 Men about to die do not lie, Mr. Wynne. It is 
true.' 
223 HUGH WYNNE: 
" The man's face changed, and he got that slack 
look about the jaw I have heard Hugh describe. To 
my astonishment he did not further insist on his 
denial, but said coldly, 1 And what then ? ' 
"1 Nothing,' said I. ' Having told what I knew to 
a woman, I had no mind to have you say I had 
slandered you behind your back. That is all.' • 
" ' Is it, indeed ? And which of you will give me 
the honour of your company to-morrow ? ' 
"1 Neither,' said I. 1 We do not meet men like you.' 
" His face flushed. 1 Coward! ' he said. 
"1 If I am that,' said I, pretty cool, and shaking a 
little after my silly way, 'you know best, and will 
remember, I fancy, for many a day. Good-morning, 
sir.' 
" On this he cried out, ' By ! this shall not 
pass! I-I will post you in every inn in town, and 
my cousin too. No man shall dare-' 
" ' Stop a little,' said Hugh. 1 If it comes to that 
I shall know what to do, and well enough. I have 
no desire to put my own blood to open shame, but 
if this matter goes further, I shall publish Mr. De- 
laney's statement, and that, sir, will close to you 
every gentleman's house here and in London too.' 
" ' And shall you like it better to have it known 
that you were General Arnold's agent ? ' 
" I saw Hugh's face lose its quiet look, and again 
he smiled. ' In that case,' he said, ' I should tell my 
own story and Mr. Andre's to his Excellency, and 
then, my good cousin, I should kill you like a mad 
dog, and with no ceremony of a duel. You warned 
224 FREE QUAKER 
me once when I was a mere boy. It is my turn now. 
As there is a God in heaven, I will do as I have 
said.' 
" ' Two can play at that game,' said Arthur. Hugh 
made no reply. 
" And on this we left the man standing, and went 
forth without another word. 
" ' I think his fangs are drawn,' said Hugh. And 
indeed that was my opinion. I made up my mind, 
however, that at the least unpleasant rumour of any 
kind, I would take such a hand in the matter as would 
save Hugh from having to go to extremities." 
With the date of a week or so later I find added: 
" The man thought better of it, I dare say, when the 
drink wore off; how much of his folly was due to 
that I cannot tell. It was plain that my dear Dar- 
thea had let him go at last. Was it because her sweet 
pity distressed her to wound a man once dear that 
she was held so long in this bondage ? or was it that 
absence, said to be the enemy of love, was, in a 
woman of her sense of honour, a reason why she 
should not break her word until she had a more full 
assurance of being right ? 
" I think he slowly lost his place in the heart won 
when Darthea was younger, and perhaps carried 
away by vain notions, which lost value as time went 
on. Such men have for the best of women a charm 
we cannot understand." 
I have left Jack to tell a part of my life which I 
am glad to leave to another than I. I heard no 
more of my cousin except that he had made up 
225 HUGH WYNNE: 
his mind to go home under his parole. This did not 
fill me with grief. I had the sense to know that for 
many a day Darthea were better left alone. 
My Aunt Gainor had recovered from the remorse 
which, as usual with her, followed upon some futile 
attempt to improve the machinery of other folks' 
fates. In fact, although Darthea closed her doors 
upon Mistress Wynne and would on no account see 
her, my aunt was already beginning to be pleased 
with the abominable trap she had set, and was good 
enough to tell me as much. 
For three days after Jack had informed me as to 
the drama my aunt had planned I stayed away from 
her, being myself in no very happy state of mind, 
and unwilling to trust myself. When at last, of a 
Saturday afternoon, I came in on Mistress Wynne, 
she got up from her accounts, which she kept with 
care, saying at once: " It is a week since you were 
here, sir, and of course I know why. That long- 
tongued girl-boy has been prating, and your lordship 
is pleased to be angry, and Darthea is worse, and will 
not see me because I had the courage to do what you 
were afraid to do." 
"Upon my word, Aunt Gainor," said I, "you are 
a little too bad. I was here four days ago, and have 
I said an impatient word ? If I was angry I have 
had no chance to say so." Nor had I. 
" Then if you are not angry you ought to be." She 
seemed to me bigger than ever, and to have more 
nose than usual. "You ought to be. I made a fool 
of myself, and all for you; and because I have 
226 FREE QUAKER 
burned my fingers in pulling your goose out of the 
fire, you must get into a passion. You have no need 
to smile, sir. I suppose it were finer to say chestnuts, 
but a goose she is, and always will be, and I love her 
like a child. Your soft-hearted Excellency was to 
see me last week, and saying that he had no children, 
I, that have no right to any, said I was as ill off, and 
we looked at each other and said nothing for a little, 
because God had given to neither the completeness 
of life. Is he stern, sir? I don't think it. We 
talked of General Arnold, and of poor Peggy his 
wife, and as to all this he was willing enough, and 
frank too. Despite Dr. Rush and Mr. Adams, he 
can talk well when he has a mind to. But when I 
said a word of poor Andre, I had better have kept 
my tongue quiet, for he said quickly: 'Mistress 
Wynne, that is a matter I will never hear of willingly. 
I ask your pardon, madam.' I could do no more 
than excuse my want of thought, and we fell to dis- 
cussing tobacco-growing." 
11 But what more of Darthea ? " said I, for all the 
generals in the world were to me as nothing com- 
pared with one little woman. 
" Oh, there is no more, except that I am unhappy. 
I will never again be kind to anybody. I am only a 
miserable, useless old maid." And here she began to 
cry, and to wet a fine lace handkerchief. 
Just now comes in saucy Miss Margaret Chew,- 
we call her Peggy,-and is rather flustered by my 
aunt in tears. " O Mistress Wynne," she says, " I beg 
pardon. I-" 
227 HUGH WYNNE: 
il What for ? " says my aunt. " My Manx cat has 
eaten the raspberry jam. That is all." Whereon we 
laugh, and the little lady, being pretty-spoken, says 
she wishes she was Mistress Wynne's cat, and while 
my aunt dries her eyes goes on to say, "Here is a 
note for you to dine with us and Mr. Washington, 
and I was bid write it, and so I did on the back of 
the queen of hearts for a compliment, madam," and 
with this she drops a curtsey. 
My aunt, liking beauty and wit combined, kissed 
her, and said she would come. 
This diversion cleared the sky, which much needed 
clearing, and Miss Chew being gone away, my aunt 
detained me who would willingly have followed her. 
After that I comforted her a little as to Darthea, 
and said she could no more keep up being angry than 
a June sky could keep cloudy, and that, after all, it 
was just as well Darthea knew the worst of the man. 
I related, too, what Jack had told, and said that now 
my cousin would, I thought, go away, and we-thank 
Heaven! -be quit of him forever. 
"And yet I must see him once," she said, "and 
you too. I have put that deed in the hands of James 
Wilson, and he has taken counsel of our friend Mr. 
Attorney-General Chew." 
"I suppose you are right, Aunt Gainor," said I. 
" The man is bad past belief, but he has lost Darthea, 
which is as much punishment as I or any could de- 
sire. I think with you this estate business should 
some way be settled, and if it is to be his, I have no 
mind to leave the thing in doubt, and if it be mine 
228 PEGGY CHEW. FREE QUAKER 
or my father's, I for one do not want it. I have 
enough, and no wish to muddle away my life as a 
Welsh squire." 
"We shall see," said my aunt, not at all of my 
opinion, as I readily perceived. "We shall see. He 
shall have justice at our hands, and James Wilson 
will be here at four to-morrow, and you too, Hugh, 
whether you like it or not." 
I did not, and I said so. She had written my 
cousin that she desired to see him concerning the 
deed. Whether from interest, or what, I know not, 
he had replied that he would be with her at half- 
past four. 
Thus it happened that I was to see Arthur Wynne 
once more, and indeed I felt that my aunt was right, 
and that it were as well all our accounts with this 
man were closed. Just how this would come about 
I knew not yet, but closed they should be; as to that 
I was fully advised in my own mind. 
229 XIII 
r four punctually arrived my friend the 
famous lawyer. He was not a hand- 
some man, but possessed a certain dis- 
tinction, which he owed to a strong face, 
well-modelled head, and a neatly pow- 
dered wrig, the hair being tied back, after the fashion 
of the bar, in a black queue-bag with, at the end, a 
broad black ribbon. He took the snuff my aunt 
offered, carefully dusting the excess off the collar of 
his brown velvet coat, and sat down, saying, as he 
took some papers from a silk bag, th:A it was alto- 
gether an interesting and curious question, this we 
had set before him. And why had we held this deed 
so long and said nothing ? 
I told him of my father's and my grandfather's 
disinclination to open the matter, and why and how 
the estate had seemed of little worth, but was now, 
as I believed, more valuable. 
Hearing this he began to question my aunt and 
me. He learned from our replies that at the time 
I got the deed from my father none but my parent 
had any clear idea of what this old family compact 
meant, but that now we were in possession of such 
facts as enabled us to understand it. I then went on 
230 FREE QUAKER 
to make plain that my aunt was full of the matter, 
and eager, but that I had no inclination at any time 
to enter on a long and doubtful litigation in another 
country. 
To myself I confessed that I desired no immediate 
settlement until I saw what Arthur meant to be at. 
It was one more hold on a scamp still able to do me 
mischief. If it was clearly his father's estate and 
not ours, he should soon or late be relieved of any 
possible doubt this deed might still make as to ques- 
tions of title. 
When Mr. Wilson turned to my aunt he found a 
more warlike witness. She delighted in the prospect 
of a legal contest. 
" When a child," she said, " I used to hear of my 
father's having consented to make over or give away 
to his brother William an embarrassed estate, and 
that the crown officers were in some way consenting 
parties to the agreement, my father engaging him- 
self to go to America when let out of jail. 
" There is no doubt," she went on, " that Wyncote 
was under this arrangement legally transferred by 
my father to his next brother. Our Welsh cousins 
must have this conveyance. It seems, from the deed 
you have examined, that privately a retransfer was 
made, so as, after all, to leave my father possessed of 
his ancestral estate. If ever he chose to reclaim it 
he was free to do so. The affair seems to have be- 
come more or less known to the squires in that part 
of Merionethshire. William was, we presume, un- 
willing to take an unfair advantage of his brother's 
231 HUGH WYNNE: 
misfortune, and hence the arrangement thus made 
between them." 
"You state the case admirably," said the lawyer. 
" And what else is there ? " 
" But little. Letters of affection and esteem came 
and went at long intervals. I recollect hearing bits 
of them, but cannot say if the estate matter were ever 
mentioned. After William's death the correspon- 
dence may or may not have ceased. His brother 
Owen came into the property without interference, 
and, dying, left a young son, Owen, who is still alive. 
His son Arthur, Captain Wynne, is to be here to- 
day. There are personal matters involved, into which 
there is no need to go. The Welsh branch is no 
doubt desirous in some way to clear the matter; but 
having held the estate for a century, they are, we may 
presume, not very eager to give it up. In justice 
to Owen Wynne, I may say that it is probable that 
because of a long minority he only began, as I think, 
a few years ago to have any doubt as to his title. I 
may add," my aunt went on, "that Captain Wynne 
came and went during the war, and that only of late 
has this deed turned up." 
" And your brother is quite unfit to help us ? " said 
Wilson. 
" Yes; and unwilling if he were able." 
" I see, madam, I see; a difficult business." 
" And this deed ? " said my aunt; " you were about 
to speak of it." 
"It is," he replied, "a simple act of sale for one 
shilling, a reconveyance of Wyncote from William 
232 FREE QUAKER 
to Hugh, the date October 9, 1671. It is in order, 
and duly witnessed." 
" Well?" 
" As to its present value, Mistress Wynne, there is 
a consensus of opinion between the Attorney-General 
and myself." 
" That is to say, you agree," said my aunt. 
" Precisely, madam. It is our belief that the lapse 
of time has probably destroyed the title. There is 
no annexed trust, on William's part, to hold for his 
brother's use, and the length of undisputed, or what 
we lawyers call adverse, possession-something like 
an hundred years or more-seems to make it impos- 
sible for my friends to oust the present holder. Am 
I clear ? " 
" Too clear, sir," said my aunt. " Is that all ? " 
11 No; I said, 1 seems.' There are other questions, 
such as the mention of the matter in letters. If the 
succeeding brothers in letters or otherwise from time 
to time acknowledged the rights of Hugh Wynne, 
that might serve to keep alive the claim; if, too, it 
can be proved that at any time they paid over to 
Hugh or his son, your brother, madam, rents or dues, 
as belonging to these American claimants, this too 
would serve to give some validity to your present 
claim. It is a question of dates, letters, and of your 
possession of evidence in the direction of repeated 
admissions on the part of the Welsh holders." 
My Aunt Gainor was at once confident. Search 
should be made. She had some remembrance in her 
childhood of this and that. In fact, my aunt never 
233 HUGH WYNNE: 
admitted the existence of obstacles, and commonly 
refused to see them. Mr. Wilson shook his head 
dubiously. "There seems to have been negligence 
or a quite culpable indifference, madam. The time 
to be covered by admissions is long, and the statutes 
of 32 Henry VIII. and 21 James I., 1623, do, I fear, 
settle the matter. The lapse in the continuity of 
evidence will be found after the death of Hugh. 
Twenty years will suffice, and I am forced to admit 
that your claim seems to me of small value. It was 
simply an estate given away, owing to want of the 
simplest legal advice." 
"Wait until I look through our papers," said my 
aunt. "We are not done with it yet, nor shall be, if 
I have my way, until the courts have had a chance 
to decide." 
"It will be mere waste of money, my dear lady. 
Now, at least, you can do nothing. The war is not 
over, and when it is, none but an English court can 
settle the title. I confess it seems to be a case for 
amicable compromise." 
" There shall be none-none," said my aunt. 
"And we are just where we began," said I. 
"Not quite," he returned. "You may have a case, 
but it seems to me a weak one, and may he in 
chancery a man's lifetime. I, as a friend as well as 
a lawyer, knowing you have no need of the estate, 
hesitate to advise you to engage in a suit of eject- 
ment. I should rather counsel-ah, that may be Mr. 
Wynne." 
It was a clamorous knock at the hall door, which 
234 FREE QUAKER 
caused Mr. Wilson to cut short his advice with the 
statement that it would need longer discussion, and 
that this must be the other party. 
It was, in fact, my cousin, who was set down in a 
chair, as I saw by a glance through the window. 
When Jack and I had seen him at his inn he had 
been a little in liquor, and wore a sort of long chintz 
bedgown wrapper, with his waistcoat buttoned awry 
-not a very nice figure. He was now Arthur Wynne 
at his best. He stood a moment in the doorway, as 
beautiful a piece of manhood as ever did the devil's 
work. His taste in all matters of dress and outer 
conduct was beyond dispute, and for this family 
meeting he had apparently made ready with unusual 
care. Indeed this, my last remembrance of Arthur 
Wynne, is of a figure so striking that I cannot resist 
to say just how he looked. His raiment was costly 
enough to have satisfied Polonius; if it bore any 
relation to his purse, I know not. It was not " ex- 
pressed in fancy," as was that of the macaroni dandy 
of those early days. He knew better. As he stood 
he carried in his left hand a dark beaver edged with 
gold lace. His wig was small, and with side rolls 
well powdered, the queue tied with a lace-bordered 
red ribbon. In front a full Mechlin lace jabot, with 
the white wig above, set his regular features and 
dark skin in a frame, as it were, his paleness and 
a look of melancholy in the eyes helping the natu- 
ral beauty and distinction of a face high bred and 
haughty. The white silk flowered waistcoat, the 
bunch of gold seals below it, the claret-tinted velvet 
235 HUGH WYNNE: 
coat and breeches, the black silk clocked hose with 
gold buckles at ankle and knee, and a silver-hilted 
dress-sword in a green shagreen sheath, complete my 
picture. I wish you to see him as I saw him, that in a 
measure you may comprehend why his mere personal 
charms were such as to attract and captivate women. 
He came forward with his right hand on his heart 
and bowed to my aunt, who swept him a space-filling 
curtsey, as he said quite pleasantly, " Good-afternoon, 
Cousin Gainor; your servant, Mr. Wilson." To me 
he bent slightly, but gave no other greeting. It was 
all easy, tranquil, and without sign of embarrassment. 
As he spoke he moved toward the table, on which 
Mr. Wilson had laid his papers and bag. Now, as 
always, a certain deliberate feline grace was in all 
his movements. 
" For a truth, he is a beauty," said my Aunt Gai- 
nor after our meeting was over. " And well-propor- 
tioned, but no bit of him Wynne. He has not our 
build." Nor had he. 
" Pray be seated," said my aunt. " I have asked 
my friend and counsel, Mr. James Wilson, to be 
present, that he may impartially set before you a 
family matter, in which your father may have inter- 
est. My nephew, Hugh Wynne, is here at my earnest 
solicitation. I regret that Mr. Chew is unable, by 
reason of engagements, to do me a like favour. Mr, 
Wilson will have the kindness to set before you the 
nature of the case." 
Mistress Wynne, sitting straight and tall in a high 
cap, spoke with dignified calmness. 
236 FREE QUAKER 
"At your service, madam," said the lawyer, look- 
ing Arthur over with the quick glance of a ready 
observer. Before he could go on to do as he was 
bidden I found my chance to say, " You will be so 
good, Mr. Wilson, as to state Mr. Owen Wynne's case, 
as well as our own, with entire frankness; we have 
no desire to wrong any, and least of all one of our 
blood." 
"I think I understand you fully," said Wilson. 
" A deed has been put in the hands of Mr. Attorney- 
General Chew and myself, and as to its value and 
present validity an opinion has been asked by Mis- 
tress Wynne and her nephew." 
"Pardon me," said Arthur; "is not my Cousin 
John the proper person to consider this question?" 
"Assuredly," returned Mr. Wilson, "if his state 
of mind permitted either his presence or an opinion. 
No interests will be affected by his absence, nor can 
we do more than acquaint those who are now here 
with what, as lawyers, we think." 
" I see," said Arthur. " Pray go on." 
" This deed seems to convey to my client's grand- 
father-that is to say, Mistress Wynne's father- 
certain lands situate in Merionethshire, Wales. I 
understand that you, sir, represent the present 
holder." 
" I am," said Arthur, " the son of the gentleman 
now in possession of Wyncote, and have full permis- 
sion to act for him. If, indeed, you desire further 
to learn on what authority-" 
" Not at all, not at all," interposed Wilson. " Your 
237 HUGH WYNNE: 
presence suffices; no more is needed. This meeting 
commits no one." 
"I was about to ask the date of this document," 
said Arthur. 
" Certainly; here it is." And so saying the lawyer 
spread the deed out on the table. " It is a convey- 
ance from William Wynne to Hugh of that name; 
the date, 1671, October 9; the witnesses are Henry 
Owen and Thomas ap Roberts. It is voluminous. 
Do you desire to hear it ? " 
" No; oh no ! What next ? " 
"We believe," continued the lawyer, "that this 
deed has ceased to have effect, owing to lapse of time 
and the appearance-pray note my words-the ap- 
pearance of undisputed ownership by the younger 
branch. Neither is there any trust to hold the 
estate for Hugh; it is a mere conveyance." 
"There can be, of course, no doubt," returned 
Arthur- " I mean as to a century of unquestioned 
possession." 
" I am not secure as to the point you make," said 
Mr. Wilson, courteously. "I cannot now decide. 
I am asked to state the matter impartially. My 
clients wish justice done to all, and will take no 
unfair advantage. It may be you have no case. 
There may have passed frequent letters on both 
sides, admitting the claim or reasserting it, and thus 
keeping it alive. Rents may have been paid. Facts 
like these may open questions as to the length of 
undisputed holding. Only your own courts can de- 
cide it, and that with all the evidence before them." 
238 FREE QUAKER 
11 1 am obliged by your frankness," said my cousin. 
" I had hoped to see the matter fully settled." 
" That will never be," said my aunt, " until I have 
carried it through every court in England." 
" As you please," replied Arthur. 
" Mr. Wynne," said I, " while my father lives we 
shall do nothing; nor even afterward, perhaps. I 
do not want the money, nor the old home. What is 
done may depend much on your own actions, sir." 
I had no desire to lose this hold on him. As I spoke 
I saw him look up astonished, as was also, I thought, 
the lawyer, who knew nothing of our quarrels. 
" If," said I, " you had come to us frankly at first, 
and stated why you came, we should have said what 
I now say. No, I should have said far more. I 
believe this ends the matter for the present." My 
aunt lifted her hand, but I added, " I pray you let it 
rest here, aunt," and for a wonder she held her peace. 
Arthur, too, seemed about to speak, but his worse 
or better angel, I know not which, prevailed, and 
quietly saluting us all, he rose and took his leave. 
"We shall see when this war is over," said my 
aunt, taking the deed. " Many thanks, Mr. Wilson; 
I should like to have your opinion in writing." 
"I shall send it in a week or two. Mr. Arthur 
Wynne seems to have come over, as I judge from 
what he said, with authority to act for his father. 
Why he did not at once relate his errand I cannot 
see. Had you had no deed it would have closed the 
matter. If he found you had one he would have 
been only in the position he is now in to-day." 
239 HUGH WYNNE: 
"I fancy he may have been fearful and over- 
cautious, not comprehending the nature of those he 
had to deal with," said I. "You must have known 
him as I do, Mr. Wilson, to understand his actions. 
I was sorry you did not let him tell us what powers 
he really had. I was curious." 
" Yes, yes, I interrupted him. It was a mistake." 
And so saying he rose. 
" It shall not rest here," said my aunt. " Some- 
thing shall be done." And on this I too went away, 
declining further talk. 
When Arthur came over to learn what he could 
as to their title to Wyncote, he failed to see that we 
were people whom no prospect of gain could lead 
into the taking of an advantage. He thus lost the 
chance a little honest directness would have given 
him. When later my father threw in his way the 
opportunity of absolute security as to the title, the 
temptation to get secretly from him a legal transfer, 
or-God knows-perhaps the power to destroy the 
deed, was too much for a morally weak and quite 
reckless nature. I was the sole obstacle, or I seemed 
to be. We loved the same woman; she had begun 
to doubt her English lover. If I had died he had 
become assured, not only of the possession of Wyn- 
cote, but of being ultimately my father's heir. 
Of this Jack w'rites: "Here was a whole brigade 
of temptations, and he could not stand it. He would 
have broken that tender heart I loved. God help me! 
I think I should have killed him before he had the 
cruel chance." 
240 FREE QUAKER 
If to the estate and other worldly baits was 
added the remembrance of the blow a mere boy 
gave, I do not know. It is certain that at last he 
hated me, and as sure that I had as little love for 
him. 
241 XIV 
A.RLY in March of 1782 Jack and I con- 
cluded that the war was over, or was to be 
but a waiting game, as indeed it proved. 
After some thought over the matter we 
both resigned, and as it was desired to 
lessen the list of officers, we were promptly released 
from service. 
On March 22 his Excellency rode away from town 
under escort of Captain Morris's troop of light horse. 
I went along as far as Burlington, being honoured 
when I left by the personal thanks of the general, 
and the kind wish that I might discover it to be 
convenient to visit him at Mount Vernon. 
April was come, and we gladly turned again to 
the duties which awaited us both. His Excellency 
had gone to watch Sir Guy Carleton penned up in 
New York. Congress wrangled, our gay world ate 
and danced, and the tardy war fell to such slackness 
that it was plain to all a peace must soon come, 
although we were yet to see another winter pass 
before the obstinate Dutchman on the English 
throne gave up a lost game. 
In July my father died of a sudden afflux of blood 
242 FREE QUAKER 
to the head; and although he was blooded by Dr. 
Rush several times, never was so far bettered as to 
speak to me. Only once, as I am told is not rare, 
he so revived when in the very article of death as 
to look about and say, thinking my hand in his was 
my mother's, that she must not grieve for him. 
Alas! he had been as one dead to me for many a 
year. I wore no black for him, because I was and 
am of the opinion of Friends that this custom is a 
foolish one. My aunt was ill pleased at my decision, 
and put herself and all her house in mourning. 
None the less, for my part, did I regret, not so much 
the natural, easy death, as the sad fact it seemed to 
fetch back so plainly, that from my youth up here 
were two people, neither of them unkindly or ill 
natured, who were all through life as completely 
apart as if no tie of a common blood had pledged 
them to affection. 
I saw-I can see now-the gray and drab of the 
great concourse of Friends who stood about that 
open grave on Arch street. I can see, too, under 
the shadow of his broad gray beaver, the simple, 
sincere face of James Pemberton, my father's 
lifelong friend. He spoke, as was the custom of 
Friends, at the grave, there being no other cere- 
mony, an omission of which I confess I do not 
approve. Much moved, he said: 
"Our friend, John Wynne, departed this life on 
the 23d of July of this year [being 1782]. For many 
years he hath carried the cross of afflicting sickness, 
and hath unceasingly borne testimony to the doc- 
243 HUGH WYNNE: 
trine and conduct upheld of Friends. He was a 
man of great abilities, and, like our lamented William 
Penn, of an excellent gravity of disposition, without 
dissimulation, extensive in charity, having neither 
malice nor ungratefulness. He was apt without 
forwardness, yet weighty, and not given to unseemly 
levity. The wise shall cherish the thought of him, 
and he shall be remembered with the just." And 
this was all. One by one they took my hand, and 
with my Aunt Gainor I walked away. I closed the 
old home a day or two later, and went with my 
aunt to her farm. 
I had not seen Darthea for many a day. " Let 
her alone," said my aunt. I think Jack was often 
with her; but he knew to hold his tongue, and I 
asked no questions. At last, a week after the fu- 
neral, I recognised her hand in the address of a 
note to me. I read it with a throbbing heart. 
" Sir : I have heard of your great loss with sorrow, 
for even though your father has been this long while 
as one lost to you, I do think that the absence of a 
face we love is so much taken from the happiness of 
life. You know that your aunt hurt me as few could, 
but now I am not sorry for what then befell. The 
thought of death brings others in its train, and I 
have reflected much of late. I shall go to see Mis- 
tress Wynne to-day, and will you come and see me 
when it shall appear to you convenient ? I am for 
a little at Stenton, with Madam Logan." 
Would I, indeed? My dear old Lucy, a little stiff 
in the knees, carried me well, and seemed to share 
244 FREE QUAKER 
my good humour as I rode down the long road from 
Chestnut Hill. 
The great trees about the home James Logan 
built were in full leaf, and under their shade a black 
groom held two horses as I rode up. Darthea came 
out, and was in the saddle before she saw me. 
The rich bloom of health was again on her cheek, 
and deepened a little as I went toward her. 
I said I was glad to see her, and was she going to 
my Aunt Gainer's ? If so, and if it were agreeable 
to her, the groom might stay. I would ride back 
with her. Then Mrs. Logan, at the door, said this 
would suit very well, as she needed the man to go to 
town. After this we rode away under the trees and 
up the Germantown road, Miss Peuiston pushing 
her horse, and we not able on this account to talk. 
At last, when I declared Lucy too old to keep up the 
pace, the good beast fell to walking. 
Soon we went by the graveyard where the brave 
Englishman, General Agnew, lay; and here Darthea 
was of a mind to be told again of that day of glory 
and defeat. At the market-house, where School-house 
Lane comes out into the main street of German- 
town, she must hear of the wild strife in the fog and 
smoke, and at last of how I was hurt; and so we 
rode on. She had gotten again her gay spirits, and 
was full of mirth, anon serious, or for a moment 
sad. Opposite Cliveden I had to talk of the fight, 
and say where were Jack and Sullivan and Wayne, 
although Jack more concerned her. As we rode up 
the slope of Mount Airy I broke a long silence. 
245 HUGH WYNNE: 
" Darthea," said I, " is it yes, or always no ? " 
"Will you never be contented?" she returned. 
" Is n't it mean to say these things now ? I can't get 
away. I have half a mind to marry Jack, to be rid 
of you both." 
" Is it yes or no, Darthea ? " 
"Yes," she said, looking me in the face. I am a 
strong man,-I was so then,-but a great rush of 
blood seemed to go to my head, and then I went 
pale, as she told me later, and I clutched at Lucy's 
mane. I felt as if I might fall, so much was I moved 
by this great news of joy. 
" Are you ill ? " she cried. 
"No, no," I said; "it is love! Thy dear love I 
cannot bear. Thank God, Darthea! " 
"And do you love me so much, Hugh? I-I did 
not know." She was like a sweet, timid child. 
I could only say, " Yes, yes! " 
"Oh, Hugh!" she cried. "How can you forgive 
me ? But I am not like other women. My word- 
you will know-and then you will forgive me." 
Her eyes were full of tears, her face all aglow. 
" There is-there never will be anything to forgive." 
"But I was so foolish-and-I was so foolish." 
" Let us forget, Darthea. I have thy love. God 
knows it is enough." 
" Thank you, Hugh. Don't speak to me for a lit- 
tle, please." And under the warm August afternoon 
sky we rode on at a foot-pace, and said no word 
more until we came to my aunt's door. Then Dar- 
thea slyly put on her riding-mask, and we went in. 
246 MARKET SQUARE AND CHURCH, GERMANTOWN. FREE QUAKER 
My aunt had her in her great arms in a moment. 
The mask fell, and then my aunt held her off a little, 
looked from her to me, and said, " Has he made you 
cry, sweetheart ? He always was a fool. I am very 
glad. You have made an old woman's heart sing 
with joy. It is not your fault. Hugh's silly face 
was enough. Lord! girl, how pretty you are! Do 
you suppose I never was in love ? I never was, but 
I know the signs." Darthea, released, was pleased 
enough to be let go up to my aunt's room. By and 
by she came down, saucy and smiling, and later 
came Jack, when my aunt, being too happy to hold 
her dear old tongue, told him, while poor Darthea 
looked at him with a tender gravity I did not under- 
stand. He went away very soon, saying he had busi- 
ness in town, and this is what he writ that night: 
" And so she will have my Hugh, and he the best 
lady alive. I pray the good God to keep them from 
all the sorrows of this world. If he love her as I 
love her, she can ask no greater love; and he will- 
he cannot help it. Now I will write no more. God 
bless thee, Darthea! " It was thus a gallant gentle- 
man loved in those stormy days. 
And here, with this dear name, his records close, 
and there is the date of August 1, 1782, and a line 
drawn underneath. 
The new relation soon to be established between 
us of necessity brought Madam Peniston and my 
aunt into frequent council. There were matters of 
dress to be considerately dealt with, and I was told 
it must be six months before orders could be filled 
247 HUGH WYNNE: 
from France, England being just now out of the 
question. Where the mysteries of women's gar- 
ments are concerned a man hath no better resort 
than to submit humbly, as to a doctor or a lawyer. 
Here of a certainty knowledge is power, and as to 
this matter, a man had best learn to conceal amaze- 
ment under a show of meekness. 
When I ventured to remonstrate Darthea looked 
serious, and would I ever have fallen in love with 
her unless she had laid snares of gown and ribbon, 
and how was my love to be kept if for the future 
there were not provided a pretty variety of such 
vanities ? Even my Aunt Gainor refused to discuss 
the question. I must wait; and as this was the sin- 
gle occasion known to me when she had declined a 
hand at the game of talk, I began to perceive that 
ignorance is weakness, and so at last, calmly con- 
fessing defeat, I waited until those consulting chose 
to advise me, the patient, of their conclusions. 
Meanwhile Mrs. Peniston had ceased to grieve 
over the lost lover and the great estate-it never 
was really great. 
My aunt could not let go of the notion that we 
must have a fight for Wyncote. This tendency to 
become possessed by an idea, I came to see later, 
was a family trait, of value if wisely kept in due 
place, but capable, also, of giving rise to mischief. 
My aunt, in some of her talks with Darthea's rela- 
tive, heard of that good dame's past regrets at the 
loss of a title and estate and a British lover, and of 
how flattered we ought to be. 
248 FREE QUAKER 
I presume poor Madam Peniston was well and 
sharply answered; but it was not in my Aunt 
Gainor not to boast a little of how we were the 
elder branch, and of what might chance in the fairy 
future. When Mrs. Peniston saw the deed, and was 
told of the search my aunt was making for letters 
to support our claims, she was too excited not to let 
out enough to disturb Darthea, and this although 
my aunt told Mrs. Peniston of my dislike of the 
whole matter, and how it was never to be mentioned 
or known to any until more evidence came to light. 
Thus cautioned, she was just mysterious enough to 
excite my quick-witted maid, who was as curious as 
any of her sex. 
When of course she questioned me, and some 
notion of the mischief on hand came thus to my 
knowledge, I saw at once how it might annoy Dar- 
thea. I said that it merely concerned a question 
in dispute between Arthur Wynne's family and my 
own, and ought not, I thought, to be discussed just 
now. The mere name of her former lover was 
enough to silence her, and so I begged her to put 
it aside. She was willing enough. I had happier 
things on my own mind, and no present desire to 
stir in the matter. In fact, I wished most earnestly 
to keep it awhile from Darthea. How much she 
knew I could not tell, but I was well aware that she 
was, above all things, sensitive as to any reference to 
Arthur Wynne. That she had once loved him with 
the honest love of a strong nature I knew, and 
somewhat hated to remember; but this love was 
249 HUGH WYNNE: 
dead, and if the sorry ghost of it haunted her at 
times, I could not wonder. My aunt had once or 
twice mentioned him casually, and each time Dar- 
thea had flushed, and once had asked her never to 
speak of him again. I meant soon-or more likely 
later-to discuss the matter quietly with Darthea; 
for then, as always, I held to the notion that the 
wife should have her share in every grave decision 
affecting the honour and interests of her husband. 
After this I spoke most anxiously of the matter 
to my aunt, and entreated her to quiet Madam Pen- 
iston, and to let the thing rest in my hands. This 
she declared most reasonable, but I knew her too 
well not to feel uneasy, and indeed the result justi- 
fied my fears. 
My aunt, as I have said, had gone wild a bit over 
that deed, and when Darthea was not with her was 
continually discussing it, and reading over and over 
Mr. Wilson's opinion. I got very tired of it all. 
One night, late in October, I rode out from town, 
and, after a change of dress, went into the front 
room with the dear thought in my mind of her 
whom I should see. 
A welcome fire of blazing hickory logs alone lighted 
up the large room, for my aunt liked thus to sit at 
or after twilight, and as yet no candles had been set 
out. As I stood at the door, the leaping flames, 
flaring up, sent flitting athwart the floor queer 
shadows of tall-backed chairs and spindle-legged 
tables. The great form of my Aunt Gainor filled 
the old Penn chair I had brought from home, liking 
250 FREE QUAKER 
myself to use it. Just now, as usual, she was sitting 
erect, for never did I or any one else see her use for 
support the back of a chair. At her feet lay Dar- 
thea, with her head in the old lady's lap-a pretty 
picture, I thought. 
Darthea leaped up to run to me. My aunt said 
nothing, not so much as " Good-evening," but went 
out, and in a minute or two came back, exclaim- 
ing, in an excited way, that she had waited all day, 
and now at last she had great news, and we must 
hear it. 
I was bewildered, until I saw she had in one hand 
the deed and in the other a bundle of letters. Then 
I knew what a distressful business was to be faced, 
and that it was vain to cry " Stop ! " 
" What is it ? " said Darthea. 
" It can wait," said I. " I insist, Aunt Gainor." 
"Nonsense! The girl must know soon or late, 
and why not now ? " 
" I must hear, Hugh," said Darthea. 
"Very well," I returned, as angry with the old 
lady as ever I had been in all my life. 
" It is a thing to settle," cried Aunt Gainor, in her 
strong voice. "We must agree-agree on it-all of 
us." 
" Go on," said I. And Darthea insisting, I said 
nothing more, and was only concerned to be done 
with it once for all. 
"The war will soon end," said my aunt, "and 
something must be done. These letters I have come 
upon put a new face on the matter. I have not yet 
251 HUGH WYNNE: 
read all of them. But among them are letters to 
your grandfather of great importance." 
I was vexed as I have rarely been. "I never 
doubted, Aunt Gainor, that in my grandfather's life 
some acknowledgments may have passed ; but it is 
the long lapse of time covered by my father's life 
which will fail as to evidence." 
" It shall notI " she cried. " You shall be mistress 
of Wyncote, Darthea. These letters-" 
" I ? Wyncote ? " said Darthea. 
" Let us discuss them alone, aunt," I urged, hoping 
to get the matter put aside for a time. 
"No; I will wait no longer. I am deeply con- 
cerned, and I wish Darthea to hear." 
" Why not refer it to Mr. Wilson ? Unless these 
letters cover far more of a century than seems likely, 
they cannot alter the case." 
" That is to be determined," said the old lady. " I 
shall go to England and settle it there. You shall 
be Wynne of Wyncote yet, sir." 
" WhatI what! " cried Darthea. " What does all 
this mean ? Tell me, Hugh. Why is it kept from 
me ? " It was plain that soon or late she must 
know. 
" My aunt thinks Wyncote belongs to us. There 
is an old deed, and my aunt will have it we must go 
to law over it. It is a doubtful matter, Darthea- 
as to the right, I mean. I have no wish to stir it up, 
nor to leave my own land if we were to win it." 
I saw Darthea flush, and in a moment she was at 
my aunt's side. 
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" Stop ! " said I. " Remember, dear, I have not hid 
it from you. I desired only that some day you and 
I should consider it alone and tranquilly. But now 
there is no help for it, and you must hear. The 
deed- " 
" Is this it ? " she broke in, taking the yellow parch- 
ment off the table where my aunt had laid it. 
"Yes, yes," said my aunt; "and you must bring 
Hugh to his senses about it, my dear. It is a great 
estate, and rich, and the old house-we have its pic- 
ture, Darthea. Madam Wynne of Wyncote, I shall 
come and visit you." The old lady was flushed, and 
foolishly eager over this vain ambition. 
Darthea stood in the brilliant firelight, her eyes set 
on the deed. " I cannot understand it," she said. 
"I will send for candles," cried Mistress Wynne, 
" and you shall hear it, and the letters too; " and with 
this she rang a hand-bell, and bade Caesar fetch lights. 
I looked on, distressed and curious. 
" And this," said Darthea, " is the deed, and it may 
give you, Hugh-give us the lands?" 
"But I do not want it," cried my aunt, greatly 
excited. " It is to be Hugh's. Yours, my dear child." 
"If," said Darthea, speaking slowly, "the elder 
brother dies, as he surely will before long, it will be 
-it will be Arthur Wynne who, on his father's death, 
will inherit this estate ? " 
" That is it," said my aunt. " But he shall never 
have it. It is ours. It is Hugh's." 
My dear maid turned to me. "And it would be 
ours," said Darthea, "if-" 
253 HUGH WYNNE: 
11 Yes," cried Miss Wynne. " There are no 1 ifs.' " 
"Do you want it, Hugh-these Welsh lands?" 
asked Darthea. 
I thought she looked anxiously at the deed in her 
hand as she stood. "Not I, Darthea, and least of 
all now. Not I." 
"No," she went on; "you have taken the man's 
love from him-I think he did love me, Hugh, in his 
way-you could not take his estate; now could you, 
Hugh?" 
"No ! " said I; "no ! " 
" Darthea, are you mad ? " said Aunt Wynne. 
" I will not have it! " cried Darthea. " I say I will 
not have it, and it concerns me most, madam." I 
had never before seen her angry. " Do you love me, 
Hugh Wynne ? " she cried. " Do you love me, sir ? " 
" Darthea! " 
"Will you always love me?" 
" Dear child! " I exclaimed. " What is it ? " 
"Give me that deed," said my aunt. "Are you 
crazy fools, both of you ? " 
" Fools, Mistress Wynne ? " said Darthea, turning 
from me, the deed still in her hand. " You are cruel 
and unkind. Could I marry Hugh Wynne if he did 
this thing ? Are there no decencies in life, madam, 
that are above being sold for money and name ? I 
should never marry him if he did this thing - never; 
and I mean to marry him, madam." And with this 
she unrolled the deed, crumpled it up, and threw it 
on the red blaze of the fire. 
254 FREE QUAKER 
There was a flash of flame and a roar in the chim- 
ney. It was gone in a moment, and our Welsh lands 
were so much smoke and cinders. 
My aunt made a wild rush to rescue them, but 
struck her head against the chimney-shelf, and fell 
back into a chair, crying, "You idiot! you fool! You 
shall never marry him! " 
I picked up the slim little lady in my arms, and 
kissed her over and over, whilst, as she struggled 
away, I whispered: 
II Thank God! Dear, brave heart! It was well 
done, and I thank you." 
My aunt's rage knew no bounds, and I may not 
repeat what she said to my Darthea, who stood open- 
eyed, defiant, and flushed. 
I begged the furious old lady to stop. A whirl- 
wind were as easily checked. At last, when she could 
say no more, my dear maid said quietly : 
" What I have done, Hugh should have done long 
since. We are to live together, I trust, madam, for 
many years, and I love you well; but you have said 
things to me not easy to forget. I beg to insist that 
you apologise. For lighter things men kill one an- 
other. I await, madam, your excuses." 
It was a fine sight to see how this fiery little bit of 
a woman faced my tall, strong aunt, who towered 
above her, her large face red with wrath. 
"Never! " she cried. "I have been-it is I who 
am insulted and put to shame, in my own house, by 
a chit of a miss." 
255 HUGH WYNNE: 
" Then good-by/' said Darthea, and was by me and 
out of the house before I could see what to do or 
know what to say. 
'" She is gone! " I cried. " Oh, Aunt Gainor, you 
have broken my heart! " 
"What did I say, Hugh?" said my aunt. I do 
truly think she did not know what she had said; and 
now she was off and I after her, knocking over Caesar 
and our belated candles, and out of doors after Dar- 
thea. I saw her join her a few yards away, and did 
wisely to hold back. I knew well the child-heart my 
aunt carried within that spacious bosom. 
What the pair of them said I do not know. In a 
few minutes they were back again, both in tears, the 
whole wretched business at an end. I thought it 
better to go away and leave them, but my aunt cried 
out: 
" Wait, sir! I am an old ass! If either of you 
ever mention this thing again, I-I will wring your 
necks. I make free to say that some day you will 
both regret it; but it is your affair and not mine. O 
Lord ! if Cat Ferguson ever comes to know it-" 
" She never will," said Darthea; " and we will love 
you and love you, dear, dear mother, and I am sorry 
I hurt you; but I had to-I had to. If I was wise, 
I know not; but I had to end it-I had to." 
Never before had I heard the sweet woman call my 
aunt mother. She often did so in after-years. It 
melted the old spinster, and she fell to kissing her, 
saying: 
"Yes, I am your mother, child, and always will 
256 FREE QUAKER 
be." But ever after Mistress Wynne was a trifle 
afraid of my little lady, and there were no more such 
scenes. • 
When my aunt was gone away to bed, though not 
to sleep, I fear, my dear maid came and sat at my 
feet on a cushion, and for a time was silent. At last, 
looking up, she said, " Hugh, was I wrong to burn 
it?" 
Then I was silent a little while, but from the first I 
was resolved to be ever outright and plain with my 
lady, who was impulsive, and would need help and 
counsel and government, that her character might 
grow, as it did in after-years. I said: "Yes, Darthea. 
It was not yours, nor altogether mine; it was my 
father's land, if it belonged to any of us. It is better 
for me to tell you the simple truth. It would have 
made no difference had the deed been left unde- 
stroyed; it would only have given you the chance 
to know me better, and to learn that no consideration 
would have made me take these lands, even had our 
title been clear. Now you have destroyed my power 
of choice. I am not angry, not even vexed; but 
another time trust me, dear." 
" I see ! I see ! " she exclaimed. " What have I 
done?" And she began to sob. "I was-was 
wicked not to trust you, and foolish; and now I see 
Aunt Gainor had reason to be angry. But you are 
good and brave to tell me. I could not have said 
what you said ; I should have declared you were right. 
And now I know it was weakness, not strength, that 
made me do it. I shall pray God to forgive me. Kiss 
257 HUGH WYNNE 
me, Hugh; I love you twice as much as ever I did 
before." 
When I had done her sweet bidding, I said, " Dar- 
thea, let us forget all this. Wrong or right, I at least 
am pleased to have the thing at rest forever; and, 
wrong or right, I thank you. I was honest, Darthea, 
when I said so; and now good-night." At this she 
looked me in the eyes and went slowly out of the 
room, and, I fear, had no better slumbers than my 
Aunt Gainor. 
258 XV 
ARLY in February of 1783 we were mar- 
ried by the Rev. William White, long 
after to be our good bishop. Christ 
Church was full of my old friends, my 
Aunt Gainor in the front pew in a mag- 
nificent costume, and Mrs. Peniston with Jack, very 
grave of face, beside her. As no De Lanceys were 
to be had in our rebel town, Mr. James Wilson gave 
away the precious gift of Darthea Peniston. We 
went in my aunt's chariot to Merion • and so ends the 
long tale of my adventures, which here, in the same 
old country home, I have found it pleasant to set 
down for those who will, I trust, live in it when I 
am dead. 
In April, 1783, peace was proclaimed. In Novem- 
ber of that year I heard from Colonel Hamilton that 
our beloved general would, on December 4, take leave 
of his officers, and that he was kind enough to desire 
that all of his old staff who wished should be present. 
I was most pleased to go. 
In New York, at Fraunce's Tavern, near White- 
hall Ferry, I found the room full of the men who 
had humbled the pride of England and brought our 
259 HUGH WYNNE: 
great war to a close. His Excellency entered at 
noon, and seeing about him these many companions 
in arms, was for a little so agitated that he could 
not speak. Then with a solemn and kindly expres- 
sion of face, such as I had once before seen him wear, 
he filled a glass with wine, and, seeming to steady 
himself, said: 
11 With a heart full of love and gratitude, I take 
my leave of you, most devoutly wishing that your 
latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your 
former ones have been glorious and honourable." 
So saying, he drank his wine, and one after an- 
other went by him shaking his hand. No word was 
said, and these worn veterans of the winter camps 
and the summer battle-fields moved out, and saw 
their former general pass down, between lines of in- 
fantry, to the shore. There he got into a barge. As 
he was rowed away he stood up and lifted his hat. 
All of us uncovered, and remained thus till he passed 
from sight, to be seen no more by many of those who 
gazed sadly after his retreating form. 
There is an old book my grandchildren love to 
hear me read to them. It is the a Morte d'Arthur," 
done into English by Sir Thomas Malory. Often 
when I read therein of how Arthur the king bade 
farewell to the world and to the last of the great 
company of his Knights of the Round Table, this 
scene at Whitehall slip comes back to me, and I seem 
to see once more those gallant soldiers, and far away 
the tall figure of surely the knightliest gentleman 
our days have known. 
260 INTERIOR OF CHRIST CHURCH. FREE QUAKER 
My years go on in peace. We have enough-far 
more than enough-for all the wants and even for 
the luxuries of life. It is late in the night, and 
Christmas-time, in the great stone house at Merion. 
The noise of little ones-and they are many-has 
ceased. I hear steps and laughter in the hall. The 
elder ones troop in to say good-night. There are 
Darthea and Gainor, mothers of the noisy brigade 
now in bed, and here is Hugh, the youngest, and 
Jack, with the big build of his race. And soon all 
are gone, and the house quiet. 
I looked up where, under my dear Jack Warder's 
face, which Stuart did for me, hangs Knyphausen's 
long blade, and across it Jack's sword. Below, my 
eye lights on the Hessian pistols, and the sword-knot 
the gallant marquis gave me. 
I watch the crumbling fire and seem to see once 
more the fierce struggle in the market-place, the 
wild fight on the redoubt, and my cousin's dark face. 
The years have gone by, and for me and mine there 
is peace and love, and naught a man in years may 
not think upon with joy. 
Suddenly two hands from behind are over my 
eyes; ah, well I know their tender touch! Says a 
dear voice I hope to hear till life is over-and after 
that, I trust-"What are you thinking of, Hugh 
Wynne?" 
" Of how sweet you have made my life to me, my 
darling." 
" Thank God! " 
THE END. 
261