It was on the 2nd of December that the Adjutant-General sent for her. She noticed that he was serious and preoccupied.
“I wish to tell you,” he said, “that we will require the use of the sitting-room at seven o’clock this evening. We may remain late and it is important that we should not be disturbed. For this reason I would ask you to have all of the members of your family retire early. When we are through and it is time for us to leave I will call you so that you may let us out. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” she replied, with downcast eyes. “I will see that everything is prepared, and after that shall retire and wait until thee summons me.”
On the night in question she carried out all of the orders with literal exactness. But she could not rest. The words of the British officer had filled her with curiosity and uneasiness. What did it mean? What was the object of this mysterious conference? Finally she could remain in her room no longer. She crept silently downstairs in her stockinged feet and took up a position outside of the door where the officers were assembled. By pressing her ear close to the crevices of the panels she could hear the talk from within. The words “Washington” and “Whitemarsh” attracted her attention and presently she obtained a connected story of their plans.
She was shocked, and with reason. What she had heard was an order for all the British troops to march out on the evening of the fourth to attack the army of General Washington, then encamped at Whitemarsh. She knew what that would mean only too well. Taken unawares by superior numbers, the patriot army would be destroyed. And that destruction meant that the torch of liberty would be extinguished—the hope of freedom would be destroyed.
Lydia Darrah crept silently upstairs again and went to bed, but not to sleep. She was depressed and disheartened. The thought that the lives of Americans might be lost in vain was intolerable. And while the members of her family slept soundly, and the officers in the room below perfected their plans, she wondered what could be done to avert the threatened calamity.
While her mind was filled with conflicting thoughts there came a rap at her door and the voice of the Adjutant-General saying that they were ready to leave. She remained perfectly quiet and then he knocked a second time and louder than before. Still no answer and this time he pounded with his fists. She arose, and taking her time to dress, appeared at the door, candle in hand, and pretended to be very drowsy. He apologized for having aroused her from sleep and left the house with his companions.
From that moment she was so agitated that she could neither sleep nor eat. The question was how to get the information to General Washington. She dare not confide in any one—not even her husband. She decided to go to Whitemarsh herself. In order to furnish a plausible excuse she informed the members of her family that it was necessary to get a sack of flour from the mill at Frankford. Her husband protested.
“Send one of the servants,” he said. “There is no good reason why thee should make such a long trip.”
“No,” she replied resolutely. “I shall go myself.”