Lydia Darrah had the reputation of being a Whig, and she gloried in it. She made no secret of her feelings to her lodger, and one day when he reproached her with her want of loyalty to the mother country, she exclaimed with spirit:
“I hope thee is beaten—thee deserve to be for coming across the ocean to subdue a liberty-loving people.”
He laughed at this outburst and remarked:
“I was beginning to flatter myself that you and your husband looked upon me as a friend.”
“And so we do. We detest the sin while pitying the sinner. Though we consider thee as a public enemy, we regard thee as a private friend. While we detest the cause thee fights for, we wish well to thy personal interest and safety.”
“Oh!” he cried, jovially. “That sounds better. You are really a friend of the King.”
“Thee must not feel flattered,” she said gravely. “We are for the Colonists. Thee knows that every unnecessary expense has been retrenched in this house. Tea has not been drunk since last Christmas. Nor have I bought a new cap or gown since your defeat at Lexington. Be assured that such is the feeling of American women.”
The Adjutant-General could not but admire the spirit of such a woman. Whatever else she might be she was not deceitful. She did not attempt to curry favor with the British. It rather pleased him to permit her to indulge in what might be considered treasonable sentiments. No matter how radical might be her views there could be no danger from this sweet-faced little woman with the poke bonnet and the drab dress. And, moreover, even when most spirited, there was no bitterness or vindictiveness in her tone or manner. As he gazed at her he felt that the serenity of her countenance was truly an outward sign of the tranquillity of her life.
Among other things, the Adjutant-General had arranged for a room on the first floor to be used as a sort of conference chamber for the British officers. Here groups of the leading redcoats were wont to assemble, by candle-light, for the purpose of discussing plans of campaigns. Several of these gatherings had been held without attracting any particular attention from Lydia Darrah.
Early in December, 1777, there was a strange halt in the round of pleasure among the British officers in Philadelphia. The men were drilled and organized as if in anticipation of a coming movement. The indifference and indolence of the previous months gave way to activity all along the line. Lydia, who was a true patriot, observed these signs with genuine distress. She could not but feel that it boded ill to her countrymen.