It was late in the day before we drove into the courtyard of a house very similar in character to that we had lately left. We were not expected, but a note from Mr Plowden explained matters, and we were cordially received by the ladies of the family. The master was with the army, so were his sons. One had already fallen in the unfortunate strife. I at first was received with some stiffness. I could not expect it to be otherwise; but that soon wore off, and I felt myself as one of the family. I must not delay in describing each event of our journey.
A truly Indian summer morning ushered in the next day. In high spirits Miss Carlyon mounted her horse, as did her aunt, and with kind well-wishes from our late hosts we trotted out of the courtyard. They felt great relief from the noise and jolting of the old coach. The old black coachman gazed after us with a look of reproach, as if he thought we had no business to be merry after we had deserted him. That day’s ride was to me one of the most perfect enjoyment. Scarcely for a moment did I leave Madeline’s side, and every instant knit my heart closer and closer to her. I forgot all that the future might bring forth, all the difficulties to be encountered; the months, perhaps years, of separation, before I could hope by any possibility to call her mine, and revelled only in the present. I could not tell what she might think or feel. I dared not ask, lest the delightful enchantment by which I was surrounded might be rudely broken. She eagerly listened to all I said, smiled and blushed and—but I won’t go on. I knew that I loved her, and I thought she loved me. Spinks was an excellent companion on such an occasion; silent and phlegmatic, he occasionally only would ride up to offer a few remarks to Mrs Tarleton, and then would drop astern and seem lost in his own reflections. As the day advanced, signs of war’s malign effects began to appear. Poor fellows, with bandaged heads and arms in slings, were met limping and crawling along. Hedges and walls, overturned cottages, and whole hamlets burned to the ground. The tide of war had during the summer swept over this part of the Jerseys. The mischief we saw was, however, chiefly effected by foraging parties from the British forces, especially by the Hessians, so dreaded and hated by the colonists.
“Two causes have alienated all true hearts from the British crown in this country,” observed Mrs Tarleton. “The supercilious manner of the civil and especially of the military officers sent from England towards the colonists, and the attempt to coerce them with foreign mercenaries. We could have borne unjust laws and taxes, because they could be repealed; but the pride of all the gentlemen of the land has been aroused not to be quelled, except by entire separation from those who could thus insult them.”
We were within a few miles of that magnificent stream, the Delaware River, when we gained sufficiently exact information to enable us to guide our future course. The British fleet, under Lord Howe, had complete command of the lower part of the river. The city of Philadelphia, lately the seat of Government, had fallen into the hands of the army under General Howe, after the battle of Brandywine, when Washington had been compelled to retreat. General Howe, it appeared, had neglected to take advantage of his success, and the patriot forces, emboldened by, his inaction, were about to attack him again, when a terrific storm of rain prevented the engagement. After this the British troops, having advanced to Germaintown, were vigorously attacked by the whole patriot army, and victory seemed inclined to their standard when, the Americans becoming separated by a thick fog, a panic seized them, and they made a precipitate retreat. General Washington’s army, we heard, was now at a place called White Marsh, about fourteen miles from Philadelphia. Thither Mrs Tarleton resolved immediately to proceed, in the hopes of meeting her brother, who, though wounded, was still, she heard, with his regiment.
As both shores of the Delaware were now in possession of the British, there was much chance of our falling in with some of their troops. Strange as it may appear, I felt very anxious to avoid them. I could not bear the idea of exposing my charges to the scrutiny and the inquiries to which they would be subject, though my presence would, I trusted, prevent their being exposed to any personal annoyance. We accordingly turned our horses’ heads to the north, intending to cross the river at a spot a considerable distance above Philadelphia. We had travelled some miles without meeting anyone from whom we could make inquiries. I began to be somewhat anxious, fearing that the peasantry might have concealed themselves in consequence of the approach of an enemy, and I was on the point of begging Lieutenant Spinks to ride forward and make inquiries, when a cloud of dust rose up from a valley before us, and the dull heavy tramp of a body of men was heard ascending the winding road up the hill. I instantly reined up and drew my companions on one side, where they were concealed by a small clump of trees, while I advanced with Spinks a little way in front, each of us waving a white handkerchief, to show that we were there with no hostile intent.
“They are the enemy!” cried Spinks. “Oh, the villains! May they all be—”
“Which enemy?” I asked, forgetting for a moment that he was an American.
“The scoundrel Hessians,” he answered with an oath. “They are the last people I would wish to have met.”
I agreed with him, but there was no time to be lost, as we could distinguish the advanced guard with their glittering arms and dark uniforms coming over the brow of the hill. No sooner were we perceived than several men advanced at double quick step and surrounded us. We could not make ourselves understood, so, holding Sir Peter Parker’s letter in my hand, and pointing to my uniform, I signified that I wished to be conducted to their colonel. By this time a halt was called. A light company was sent out as skirmishers into the wood through which we had passed, and the officer I asked for rode up in front. He looked at my naval jacket, and then at the militiaman’s uniform, and evidently regarded us with no little suspicion. I found, however, that he could speak English, and I endeavoured rapidly to explain matters.
“A very odd story this you tell me,” he answered. “How can you expect me to believe you?”