Appearances to the contrary, our soldiers with the poles were directing our craft and turning the will of the tide to our profit, and at last we were on the shore. Safe in our wet ambulance, we started on our way again. I was never so cold, so wet, so everything wretched in my life, and what should Lieutenant Johnston do but propose to go out of our way to see St. Peter’s Church.
“An old colonial relic,” he said. “You ladies ought not to miss it now that you are so near.”
“I don’t want to see any relics,” I answered promptly. “The only thing I want to see is a fire and something to eat.”
But he would drive out of our way to show us that old church. I was too wretched and miserable to look at it with proper interest. I don’t remember how it looked—I only know that I had to go there and see it whether I would or no. George Washington had done something or other there—got married, I believe. I think the church had some very fine ivy on it, but I am not sure. I thought it was old and small, and that it might do very well in summer, but that under present circumstances Washington himself would forgive me for being wholly in the thought of getting to a fire. Hunger and cold, cramped positions and rain dripping in on me had blunted everything in me except longings for creature comforts. The lieutenant drove all around the church religiously before starting on our way again.
“I don’t believe you saw it at all,” he said to me with real concern.
“Oh, yes, I did!” I answered promptly, terrified lest we should be turned back to look at it again, “I saw it thoroughly.”
Of course, Milicent had looked the old church over and talked intelligently about it, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember whether it was made of brick or wood. And I didn’t care, either.
The rain had dwindled into a drizzle, night was coming on, and I began to grow more and more anxious to find a stopping-place.
“I do hope we shall get into a place where they keep good fires,” I said. “If we should get into a place where they burn green pine, I should lie down and die. Wet, green pine,” I continued dolorously, “that smokes and never burns, and raw, clammy biscuit is about what we’ll get to-night.”
The lieutenant looked as if he was very sorry for me.