He placed the dispatch in his pocket and sat awaiting a response. There was a long silence: each man seemed to prefer that his neighbor speak first. There was none of the eagerness of real patriotism which once impelled men to rush to the defense of their native land; their manners were more like those of gloomy pessimists who foresaw nothing but disaster and whose remembrance of self impelled them to think only of what might be saved from the ruins of their cause. Keen-eyed Robert Morris perceived this at once; it was nothing more, apparently, than he had expected; but like the courageous man that he was, he continued to strive, even in the face of defeat.
Picture after picture was drawn by him of what would befall should the army not receive the required money; he left nothing to the imagination; Washington would be driven beyond the western mountains; Philadelphia would fall; taxation would hang upon them like a chain upon a felon.
But his eloquence failed to move them; their heavy faces ringed about him unbelievingly; the doubt in their hearts seemed to fill the room. At length Morris arose.
“Well,” said he, “I cannot remain to reason with you longer, friends. The money must be had swiftly, if it’s to do any good; so I must call upon some one more promising before it is too late. Should any of you chance to alter your minds,” he added, pausing at the door, “you know where I live. I shall be very glad, indeed, to see you.”
With Ben Cooper at his side he left the house of Jethro Sharpless, and proceeded to another house at no great distance; but with no better fortune. Then began a hurried round from house to house, a hammering at knockers and a rousing of quiet citizens from their beds. Excuses, apologies and promises were many.
“But no hard money,” said the financier to Ben. “Nothing that will help an army desperately circumstanced for arms and clothing and food.”
The dawn had passed, and the streets were well peopled by those starting upon the early duties of the day when Robert Morris with empty hands and haggard face gave up the hopeless task.
“I am ashamed of my fellow townsmen,” he said. “They are without a particle of that daring necessary to bring a cause to the point where success may be had.”
Side by side he and Ben walked back toward the Morris house; the merchant’s head was bent, his moody eyes were upon the ground.
“I will write a letter to the general which you will be good enough to carry,” he said. “Perhaps in a few days I shall be more fortunate in my appeals for help, and will say so in the letter; if you are asked any questions, it will be as well, perhaps, if you place the matter in as hopeful a light as you can. It will not do to allow any definite discouragement to gain circulation at this——”