Then and there the Quakeress told him all that had taken place in her house at the conference among the British officers. She had an excellent memory and was able to give him all the details of the proposed attack. As she concluded she said:
“You must not reveal my identity—even to your men.”
“It shall be as you wish, and now you must rest and have food.”
She protested feebly, but he was not to be gainsaid, and insisted upon escorting her to a nearby farmhouse where she might obtain food and also rest for a while before taking the long walk back to the city. She urged him to go to Washington at once, saying the message he had to convey was more important than her personal comfort. But he was a gentleman as well as a patriot and he did not leave her until she had been safely housed and her wants attended to. On leaving he stooped and kissed her hand.
“You have saved the army,” he said, “and you will not be forgotten as long as liberty endures.”
She did not stay long, and, after a light meal, left for the return to Philadelphia. She paused at Frankford to get the sack of flour, which she carried with her as a proof of the statement that she had gone to the mill. Fortunately she reached her home safely, and apparently the incident after that was forgotten by the other members of the household.
But she was in a state of high nervous tension until she could be assured of the safety of the Continental army. She waited eagerly for the departure of the British. It was about forty-eight hours after her return from Whitemarsh that the beating of drums and the marching of many feet announced the departure of the troops for the purpose of surprising Washington. Lydia Darrah stood on the sidewalk as the glittering cavalcades passed by, apparently a non-important unit in the mass of spectators, but actually the heroine, if not the most important figure, of the drama that was to be enacted. After the last of the soldiers had departed she retired to her room in a fever of apprehension that was not to be allayed until she had received definite news of the encounter between the two armies.
General Howe was in high good spirits. He felt that he was going to catch the “old fox” sleeping, and the thought made him chuckle with delight. The town was full of Tories, too, and many of them would not have been displeased if the “rebels” received a crushing blow. But Lydia Darrah, in her darkened chamber, hoped and prayed that all might go well with Washington and his men.
In the meantime, at Whitemarsh, preparations for meeting the enemy were going on in the Continental army. Washington was impressed with the information brought to him by Lieutenant Colonel Craig. On the day of the 4th the Commander-in-chief received word from Captain Allen McLane, a vigilant officer, which confirmed the warning carried to the camp by Lydia Darrah. He made his dispositions to receive the meditated assault, and in the meantime sent McLane, with 100 men, to reconnoiter. This gallant officer met the van of the enemy at eleven o’clock at night on the Germantown road, attacked it and forced it to change its line of march.
But it was three o’clock in the morning before the alarm gun announced the approach of the main body of the British army. They appeared at daybreak and took their position at Chestnut Hill within three miles of Washington’s right wing. Here the invaders met with a second surprise. Far from being unprepared, a detachment of the Pennsylvania State Militia sallied forth and gave battle to the redcoats. It was a draw, with a few dead and wounded on each side, and the British general in charge exclaimed: