“One year after,” said Helen, who could not resist giving historical information. “The first real American Congress after the separation of the country from England met here in Philadelphia in 1789, and elected Washington as President.”
“You can’t escape a little history as long as Sister Helen is around,” murmured Roger.
“It wasn’t I who started it,” retorted Helen.
“Now, children, be quiet. You may thank your stars that your sister knows so much about history,” said Mrs. Morton; “it would be an excellent thing, Roger, if you stowed away some of it in your brain, too.”
“Yes’m,” answered Roger meekly.
It was while the car was on its way to the second old church of their search that the chauffeur asked James, who was sitting beside him, if he knew that “Hail Columbia” was written in Philadelphia.
“I certainly didn’t,” said James. “Helen, did you know that ‘Hail Columbia’ was written in Philadelphia?”
“No, I didn’t know that,” said Helen. “Tell me about it.”
With his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel the chauffeur told James, who repeated the story over his shoulder to those in the back of the car, that while John Adams was president, there was a war scare, because French vessels were supposed to be off the coast ready to attack American merchant vessels. A man named John Hopkinson wrote the poem, which was sung one night at the Chestnut Street Theatre.
“You mean our ‘Hail Columbia’—the regular ‘Hail Columbia’?” asked Ethel Brown.