This night in Philadelphia, when the British, after having long held possession of the city, had so far progressed in the evacuation that only the officers were yet in town, was both a happy and an anxious one to the inhabitants.
Those people who had remained true to the American cause rejoiced that their friends would soon be in possession of the chosen capital of the country, and were looking forward eagerly to the morrow when the Continental forces should enter to take possession of their own once more.
Hundreds of patriots confined in the prisons for no other crime than that of loyalty to their country were waiting eagerly for the morning when their cell-doors would be unlocked by friends, and they free at last to render aid to that cause so near their hearts.
In the homes of the Tories all wore an anxious look; they had spent a winter of gayety, while the representatives of the king held the city, and probably fancied the spirit of freedom would be so thoroughly crushed that Philadelphia would always be loyal to the English government.
Now they knew that everything was to be changed, and, as in many instances, having oppressed their neighbors who favored the struggle for independence, feared that reprisals would be demanded. Hundreds of Tories—delicately nurtured women, men accustomed to every luxury, and children whose every desire had been gratified—were about to follow the army on its march across New Jersey, or, as their means and the possibility would permit, intended to travel by various conveyance to New York.
These last were particularly sad because of the severing of all home ties for an indefinite period—perhaps forever—and to those who were anxious, as well as to those who were happy, slumber did not come on this night.
The happiness and the grief were too great to permit of the unconsciousness of sleep.
In Mrs. Ball's home, mother and son, reviewing again and again the events with which the boy had been intimately connected, put off the time for retiring yet a little longer at each stroke of the clock, until Enoch finally said:
"It's no use, mother, I can't go to bed. I shouldn't sleep if I tried, and on this night of all others it seems as if we might keep watch."
"For what purpose, my son?"