“But at least,” he pleaded, “take one of the servant maids with thee.”
“I shall go alone,” she insisted with a determination that surprised and conquered him.
William Darrah learned on that occasion that a Quakeress, though placid in appearance, can be quite as obstinate as other members of her sex. He gazed wonderingly at the poke-bonneted woman as she left the house and started in the direction of General Howe’s headquarters in order to get the requisite pass to get through the British lines.
General Howe received her kindly, if not almost jovially. He knew that the Adjutant-General of his army was quartered at the Darrah home, and he looked on Lydia as an interesting but harmless rebel. He was surrounded by members of his staff and they, like their superior, were disposed to jest with the Quakeress. But finally the coveted pasteboard was handed to her.
“Don’t stay long,” he smiled. “Your British guests will miss you.”
The moment she received the pass she hurried away and once out of sight of the general’s headquarters she almost ran until she reached Frankford. She left her bag at the mill, and saying she would return for it in a little while, continued her journey to Whitemarsh.
Washington had camped at this place after resting for a few days at Perkiomen Creek. He was reënforced by 1200 Rhode Island troops from Peekskill, under General Varnum, and nearly 1000 Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania soldiers. He was now within fourteen miles of Philadelphia. By a resolution of Congress all persons taken within thirty miles of any place occupied by the British troops, in the act of conveying supplies to them, were subjected to martial law. Acting under the resolution, Washington detached large bodies of militia to scour the roads above the city, and between the Schuylkill and Chester, to intercept all supplies going to the enemy.
This served a double purpose. It harassed Howe by preventing him from receiving the supplies and gave them to the Continentals. All this time Washington was observing a prudent policy. He was anxious to fight, but he was only willing to do so under circumstances that would be advantageous to himself. He had many critics of this policy, and some of them said nasty things, but Washington held steadily to his purpose in spite of good and evil reports.
Lydia Darrah plodded along to Whitemarsh, oblivious alike of the inclemency of the weather and her personal discomfort. Her one thought was to get the warning to Washington, for whom she had a respect and reverence that bordered on veneration. After leaving the mill at Frankford she encountered but few persons, and these looked upon the little Quakeress with only a listless curiosity.
It was when she had almost reached her destination that she began to feel footsore and weary. She was filled with a great desire to sit by the roadside and rest, but she resisted the natural inclination and kept on to the end. Within that frail body and beneath those modest and peaceful garments there was a grim determination that was Spartan-like in its persistence and its ignoring of pain and suffering.