I
"Simply a written statement. A public utterance from you denouncing the Catholics would prove of incalculable value to us."
John Anderson had been for an hour or more in the company of the Military Governor. Seemingly great progress had been made in the recruiting of the regiment, much of which had, of necessity, been effected in a secret manner, for now the city was under the domination of the Continental forces. Anderson had made the most of his time and was in a fair way to report progress for the past month.
"Don't be a fool, Anderson. You know that it would be the height of folly for me to make any such statement. I can do no more than I am doing. How many have you?"
"Nearly an hundred."
"There are several miserable Papists in Congress. If they could be prevailed upon to resign, it would create a considerable impression upon the minds of the people."
"I did see Carroll."
"How did he receive you?"
"He replied to me that he had entered zealously into the Revolution to obtain religious as well as civil liberty, and he hoped that God would grant that this religious liberty would be preserved in these states to the end of time."
"Confound him! We cannot reach him, I suppose."
"So it appears. He is intensely patriotic."
"You have an hundred, you say? All common folk, I venture. We should have several influential men."
"But they cannot be reached. I know well the need of a person of influence, which thought urged me to ask such a statement from you."
He looked at him savagely.
"Do you think I'm a fool?"
"'The fool knows more in his own house than a wise man does in another's.' I merely suggest, that is all."
"My answer is,—absolutely, No!"
There was silence.
"I know that Roman Catholic influence is beginning to reveal itself in the army. Washington is well disposed toward them and they are good soldiers. Time was when they were less conspicuous; but nowadays every fool legislature is throwing public offices open to them and soon France will exercise the same control over these states as she now wields across the seas."
"Would you be in league with France?" asked Anderson with a wavering tremor in his voice.
"God knows how I detest it! But I have sworn to defend the cause of my country and I call this shattered limb to witness how well I have spent myself in her behalf. I once entertained the hope that our efforts would be crowned with success, nevertheless I must confess that the more protracted grows the struggle, the more the conviction is forced upon me that our cause is mistaken, if not entirely wrong, and destined to perish miserably. Still, I shall not countenance open rebellion. I could not."
"You will continue to advise me. I am little acquainted with the city, you know, and it would be difficult for me to avoid dangerous risks."
Arnold thought for a minute, his features overcast by a scowl which closed his eyes to the merest chinks.
"I shall do no more than I have already done. I cannot permit myself to be entangled. There is too much at stake."
He was playing a dangerous game, inspirited by no genuine love for country but by feelings of wounded pride. He was urged on, not through any fears of personal safety but through misguided intimidations of a foreign alliance; not because of any genuine desire to aid or abet the cause of the enemy but to cast suspicion upon a certain unit within his own ranks. To be deprived of active duty in the field was to his warm and impulsive nature an ignominious calamity. To learn subsequently of the appointment of Gates to the second in command, the one general whom he despised and hated, was more than his irritable temperament could stand. The American cause now appeared hopeless to him, nevertheless he entertained no thought of deserting it. He had performed his duty in its behalf, as his wounded limb often reminded him, and it was only fitting that he, who alone had destroyed a whole army of the enemy, should be rewarded with due consideration. Congress had ever been unfriendly to him and he had resented their action, or their failure to take proper action, most bitterly. Throughout it all his personal feelings had guided to a large extent his faculty of judgment, and for that reason he viewed with mistrust and suspicion every intent and purpose, however noble or exalted.
He had been violently opposed to the alliance with France from the start. It was notorious that he abhorred Catholics and all things Catholic. To take sides with a Catholic and despotic power which had been a deadly foe to the colonists ten or twenty years before, during the days of the French and Indian wars, was to his mind a measure at once unpatriotic and indiscreet. In this also, he had been actuated by his personal feelings more than by the study of the times. For he loathed Popery and the thousand and one machinations and atrocities which he was accustomed to link with the name.
The idea of forming a regiment of Catholic soldiers interested him not in the numerical strength which might be afforded the enemy but in the defection which would be caused to the American side. His scheme lay in the hope that the Catholic members of Congress would be tempted to resign. In that event he would obtain evident satisfaction not alone in the weakness to which the governing body would be exposed but also in the ill repute to which American Catholics and their protestations of loyalty would fall.
Arnold deep down in his own heart knew that his motives were not unmixed. He could not accuse himself of being outrageously mercenary, yet he was ashamed to be forced to acknowledge even to himself that the desire of gain was present to his mind. His debts were enormous. He entertained in a manner and after a style far in excess of his modest allowance. His dinners were the most sumptuous in the town; his stable the finest; his dress the richest. And no wonder that his play, his table, his balls, his concerts, his banquets had soon exhausted his fortune. Congress owed him money, his speculations proved unfortunate, his privateering ventures met with disaster. With debts accumulating and creditors giving him no peace he turned to the gap which he saw opening before him. This was an opportunity not to be despised.
"About that little matter—how soon might I be favored?" the Governor asked, rising from his chair and limping with his cane across the room.
"You refer to the matter of reimbursements?" Anderson asked nonchalantly.
"I do."
He gazed from the window with his back turned to his visitor.
"I shall draw an order for you at once."
"You shall do nothing of the kind."
He looked fiercely at him.
"You are playing a clever game, are you not? But you have to cope now with a clever adversary."
He walked deliberately before him, and continued:
"Anderson," he said, "I want to tell you I know who you are and for what purpose you have been sent here. I know too by whom you have been sent. I knew it before you were here twenty-four hours and I want to tell you now before we continue that we may as well understand each other in a thorough manner. If you desire my assistance you must pay me well for it. And it must be in legal tender."
"Of course—but—but—the truth is that I am in no way prepared to make any offer now. I can communicate with you in a few days, or a week."
"Don't come here. You must not be seen here again. Send it to me or better still meet me."
"Can you trust the Shippens?"
"Absolutely."
"Why not there?"
"You mean to confer with me there?"
"If it is safe, as you say, where would be more suitable?"
"True. But I must have some money as soon as possible. The nation is bankrupt and my pay is long overdue. I cannot, however, persuade the creditors any longer. I must have money."
"You shall have it. At Shippen's then."
He rose and walked directly to the door.
"Next week."
He shut the door after him and hurried along the corridor. As he turned he came face to face with a countenance entirely familiar to him but momentarily lost to his consciousness by its sudden and unexpected appearance. In a second, however, he had recovered himself.
"Captain! I am pleased indeed."
He put out his hand.
Stephen thought for a moment. Then he grasped it.
"Mr. Anderson. What good fortune is this?"
"Complimentary. Simply paying my respects for kindness rendered."
"Have a care lest your zeal overwhelm you."
Anderson colored at the allusion.
"Thank you. I shall exercise all moderation."
Stephen watched him as he moved away, deliberating hurriedly on the advisability of starting after him. Whatever his mission or his purpose, he would not learn in this house certainly, nor from him nor from Arnold for that matter. If he was intent on securing information concerning this man he must do it in a surreptitious manner. There was no other method of dealing with him, he thought, and in view of such circumstances he deemed it perfectly legitimate to follow him at a safe distance.
The more he thought over it the more readily did he resolve to take action to the end that he might see more of him. Whatever mischief was afoot, and he had no more than a mere suspicion that there was mischief afoot, must reveal itself sooner or later. His object in all probability had already been accomplished, nevertheless his errand, if he was engaged on an errand, might be disclosed. He would follow him if for no other purpose than to learn of his destination.
Second Street was now astir with a lively procession. There, every day when business was over, when the bank was closed, when the exchange was deserted, crowds of seekers came to enjoy the air and to display their rich garments. There might be found the gentlemen of fashion and of means, with their great three-cornered cocked hats, resting majestically upon their profusely powdered hair done up in cues, their light colored coats, with their diminutive capes and long backs, their striped stockings, pointed shoes, and lead-laden cuffs, paying homage to the fair ladies of the town. These, too, were gorgeous in their brocades and taffetas, luxuriantly displayed over cumbrous hoops, tower-built hats, adorned with tall feathers, high wooden heels and fine satin petticoats. It was an imposing picture to behold these gayly dressed damsels gravely return the salutations of their gallant admirers and courtesy almost to the ground before them.
Stephen searched deliberately for his man throughout the length of the crowded thoroughfare, standing the while on the topmost step of the Governor's Mansion—that great old-fashioned structure resembling in many details a fortification, with its two wings like bastions extending to the rear, its spacious yard enclosed with a high wall and ornamented with two great rows of lofty pine trees. It was the most stately house within the confines of the city and, with Christ Church, helped to make Second Street one of the aristocratic thoroughfares of the town.
It was with difficulty that Stephen discerned Anderson walking briskly in the direction of Market Street. He set off immediately, taking care to keep at a safe distance behind him. He met several acquaintances, to whom he doffed his hat and returned their afternoon greeting, while he pursued his quest with lively interest and attention. Market Street was reached, and here he was obliged to pause near a shop window lest he might overtake Anderson, who had halted to exchange pleasantries with a young and attractive couple. On they went again deliberately and persistently until at length it began to dawn upon Stephen that they were headed for the Germantown road, and for Allison's house.
What strange relation was arising between Marjorie and that man? Anderson was paying marked attention to her, he began to muse to himself, too much attention perhaps, for one whose whole existence was clouded with a veil of mystery. Undoubtedly he was meeting with some encouragement, if not reciprocation (perish the thought!), for he was persistent in his attention. Yet this man was not without charm. There was something fascinating about him which even Stephen must confess was compelling. What if she had been captivated by him, by his engaging personal qualities, by his prepossessing appearance, by his habit of gentle speech, by his dignity and his ease of manner! His irritation was justifiable.
There was little doubt now as to Anderson's destination. Plainly he was bent on one purpose. The more he walked, the more evident this became. Stephen would be assured, however, and pursued his way until he had seen with his own eyes his man turn into Allison's house. And not until then did he halt. Turning deliberately he began to retrace his steps.