University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Thaunus.

It was on a beautiful afternoon towards the
latter end of September, 1777, that Lord Cornwallis,
at the head of his grenadiers, led the
van of the British army, in triumphal procession
into Philadelphia. And, in truth, the numerous
gay and finely appointed battalions
of both horse and foot, which followed him,
made, that day, a splendid and gallant appearance.
Thousands of the inhabitants of both
the whig and tory parties, covered the side-ways
and filled the balconies and windows of the
streets, to witness the imposing spectacle.
What various and opposite emotions, on that
occasion, agitated the bosoms of those spectators!
From patriotic hearts, notwithstanding
the novelty and brilliancy of the scene, what
sighs did it draw! and how many generous and
virtuous bosoms swelled with sadness on comparing
the gay and comfortable appearance of
those enemies of their country's rights, with

the almost destitute condition of her armed
defenders! On the other hand, such were the
divided sentiments of the time, that many
hearts, attached to the cause of British greatness,
felt elated at this display of her martial
grandeur, and welcomed the warriors of the
“ocean-cinctured isle,” whose name they had
so long venerated, with animated cheers, as
conquering friends who had delivered them
from the rule of an insurrectionary party that
had seized the government of the country, and
overturned those political institutions which
they revered, and under which they were still
desirous to live.

To the cheering of these were added the acclamations
of a still more numerous class of
citizens—the thoughtless, the giddy, and the
indifferent, who cared little respecting the final
success of either party. To them the gaudy
dress and glittering arms, the stately and well
regulated march, the animating and “spirit-stirring”
music, the magnificent standards
waving radiantly in the air, and all the other
pompous pageantry of exciting war, were objects
of admiration which drew forth their vociferous
applause.

The state of the city was, indeed, at this
time favourable to this display of cordiality in
the reception given to the royal army. As
soon as the result of the battle of Brandywine

was known, the speedy occupation of the city
by the victors, was expected by all parties. The
greater portion of the whig population, therefore,
with their families and effects, retired from
it without delay, and left their political opponents
and those who were but lukewarm patriots,
to yield the invaders whatever reception
they might think proper.

Thus Sir William Howe, at length, gained
the dazzling prize for which, during two hard-fought
campaigns, he had lavished so much
blood and treasure—the Capture of Philadelphia.
And what did he or his government
profit by this anxiously desired and much
vaunted achievement? Did it, in any degree,
facilitate the subjugation of the young nation
with which they were combatting? Did it,
in any manner, contribute to the extension of
British power or influence over this or any
other country? No;—its effects were the very
reverse of all this. It, for many months, paralyzed
the efforts of a large and well-appointed
army. It did more. It corrupted the martial
spirit of that army by exposing it to the enervating
influence of a gay and luxurious city,
which, in fact, became the fascinating Capua
that rendered the warlike officers of Britain
effeminate, and her private soldiers impatient
of discipline. This solves the riddle of America
having been a gainer by the loss of her chief

city, and proves the accuracy of the remark
made by the sagacious Franklin, when he first
heard of the event,—that Sir William Howe
had not taken Philadelphia, but that Philadelphia
had taken Sir William Howe.

In this view of the matter, it might be questioned
whether the obstructions which Washington
so anxiously threw in the way of
Howe's obtaining the city, were judicious, or
worth the sacrifices which they cost? I have
no hesitation in saying that they were decidedly
judicious. It was the duty of Washington
to obstruct the invaders in all their views, and
to harass and annoy them in all their movements,
not only because it diminished their
power and embarrassed their operations, but because
it acquired a reputation for the American
cause which was then very desirable, both to
inspire confidence in its friends at home, and
to secure the aid solicited from other countries.
There is, indeed, good reason to believe
that, had the Americans not appeared
able to do something for themselves, the
powerful assistance which was, soon after this
period, received from a great European monarchy,
would never have been obtained.

But I have unwarily plunged into a strain
of political speculation which the limits prescribed
for this work will not permit me to
prolong, and which, perhaps, may not be altogether

suited to its character. I shall, therefore,
return to my narrative.

It has been already mentioned, that as soon as
the neighbourhood of the Brandywine became
likely to be the seat of war, Mrs. Meredith had
for greater security removed to Philadelphia.
Her feelings and wishes respecting the belligerent
parties were now much changed from
what they had been at the commencement of
hostilities. It is true, there still lurked in her
mind, many prejudices in favour of the British
name and character. But she had now begun
to identify herself with the American cause.
Her only son, on whom she looked with all a
mother's pride and fondness, was one of its
defenders; and for his sake she could not but
wish it success. Besides, the credit he had
gained as a patriot soldier, had elated her feelings
and warmed her heart for the cause in
which he had acquired so much honour.

Her friend, Josias Ellwood and his family,
with whom she resided, were of the Quaker
persuasion, and ahhorred war. Their sentiments
were, therefore, like those of the majority
of their sect, in opposition to the resistance
which had been made to the claims of England.
But their opposition, like their manners, was
mild, and consequently ineffective; and they
bore no one any personal hostility for opinions
differing from their own. The pleasure, therefore,

which Mrs. Meredith could not sometimes
refrain from expressing at any success
which attended the American arms, gave them
no dissatisfaction, while she, on the other hand,
from long habit and the remains of a prejudice
still far from extinct in her bosom, could listen
with complaisance and good feeling to encomiums
on the government, the policy and
the greatness of the British nation. It was
with no unpleasant emotions, therefore, that
she witnessed from the balcony of her friend's
house, the triumphal entry of the British army
into the city.

There was in company with Mrs. Meredith
on this occasion, a young lady whose feelings,
though essentialy patriotic, were not so inveterately
such as to prevent her from enjoying
the brilliant spectacle, and bestowing admiration
on the gallant bearing of many of the officers,
and the martial appearance of the whole
army. To this lady, Mrs. Meredith was much
attached, for she was no other than Miss Lewis,
the fair sovereign of her son's heart.

A long line of infantry had just passed them,
and a regiment of cavalry was approaching, when
Miss Lewis observed, “Mrs. Meredith, yonder
comes an officer whom, no doubt, you know.
He is a relation of mine, and of yours too, I
believe.”

Mrs. Meredith looked in the direction pointed

out by her young friend, and beheld Captain
Harris, who that instant recognising the
ladies, bowed to them with a gallant air. Miss
Lewis returned the salutation; but the feelings
of Mrs. Meredith would not permit her to be
so complaisant to a man who had, according to
information she had recently received, repaid
the uniform kindness with which she had
treated him, by the wanton destruction of her
dwelling near the Brandywine. But her
thoughts dwelt only for a moment on Harris,
for she had encountered the gaze of an officer
who rode beside him, which brought a crowd
of disagreeable remembrances to her mind, and
communicated to her an alarm which she endeavoured
in vain to conceal. Miss Lewis perceived
her agitation.

“You are fatigued, Mrs. Meredith,” said
she, “with this martial parade. Since it does
not amuse you, let us retire from it.—But ah!
do you see that noble looking officer beside
Harris, who is gazing at us so intently? If
he were not so bold, I should think him venerable,
though it cannot be altogether with age.”

“I know that man; at least, I am greatly
mistaken, if I do not,” said Mrs. Meredith in
a low voice? “and notwithstanding your favourable
impression of him, the cause of my
uneasiness is that he seems to know me, for I
have suffered much at his hands.”

“I am sorry you should have cause to complain
of such a brave looking man,” returned
Miss Lewis. “When his eyes caught mine
they beamed with so much kindness and good-will,
that I was sorry when he rode past so
that I could see them no longer.”

Mrs. Meredith had by this time recovered
her self-possession, and was unwilling to damp
the enjoyment of her young and lively friend.
She therefore in a tone of cheerfulness replied:

“Miss Lewis, I did not imagine that you
had such a taste for antiquity. The object of
your present admiration is assuredly more than
twice your age.”

“He is, therefore, the more fit to teach me
wisdom,” observed the young lady. “He appears
neither handsome nor sprightly enough
to win my heart—but I perceived something
so kind and fatherly in his countenance, that
I could readily yield him my reverence.”

“It is well,” returned Mrs. Meredith.
“Since your heart is safe, you can lose but little
by bestowing your reverence. But has no
other of the gallant warriors in this brilliant
cavalcade been able to vanquish you?”

“Not one, in truth,” said Miss Lewis, gaily,
well pleased to see that her respected companion
had recovered her cheerfulness. “My whiggism
is sufficiently strong to defy their whole
army. I am resolved to yield to the attacks
of no royalist, till the war be over.”

“Hush! hush! you are speaking treason,
child!” said Mrs. Meredith, playfully. “Remember
you are now once more under the authority
of king George. Behold the ensigns
and the instruments of his power! How daring
you are to speak so disloyally in the presence
of so many thousands of his army, and
in the hearing too of me who am one of his
dutiful and liege subjects.”

“Oh! I beg pardon!” cried the young lady,
as a regiment of Hessians was passing. “I
really forgot your toryism, and from complaisance
to you I will not abuse those morose
looking barbarians with the huge brass caps,
terrific mustachios, and horrible music, sounding
no note but `plunder! plunder! plunder!'
with horrible discord. Must I really call the
monsters beautiful Christians, because they are
servants of king George?”

“Oh, no!” returned Mrs. Meredith. “Do
not offer violence to your conscience. I cannot
carry my loyalty so far as to exact that.
As for praising those outlandish, grim-visaged
Vandals, why I would rather turn whig myself
than commit such an offence against good
taste.—But since the spectacle no longer affords
us visions of the gallant and gay, let us
retire from it while any agreeable impression
of it remains on our minds.”

“Yes; let us go. I am quite tired of the

affair,” said Miss Lewis, “though I am glad
that those frightful barbarians came in aid of
my whiggism, lest the noble bearing of your
bold Britons should have converted me into a
tory.”

“That compliment is for me; thank you,
my sprightly whig,” returned Mrs. Meredith,
bowing, and they withdrew from beholding a
scene with which each had now become heartily
fatigued.

The next day, the officers of the army were
billeted on the most respectable families of the
city, and to the great surprise of Miss Lewis,
he who had been the companion of Harris, and
had excited so much of her attention and partiality,
during the procession, presented his
billet, announcing his name to be Sir Robert
Radnor, and took his lodging at her father's
house. Although she had received an account
of him, from Mrs. Meredith, sufficiently unfavourable
greatly to diminish her first partiality,
yet in his manner of accosting her there was an
undefinable something—a tenderness—a solicitude—mingled
with a dignity of demeanour,
which in defiance of her opinion of his unworthiness,
restored him to her good graces, and
awakened in her mind feelings of respect which
seemed even to herself unaccountable.

Sir Robert was three or four days a lodger

in the family, before he spoke to Miss Lewis
respecting Mrs. Meredith, although he well recollected
to have seen them together on the
balcony. At length he, apparently by accident,
alluded to the circumstance, inquiring whether
the lady's name was not Meredith, and whether
she was a resident of the city? He received
a suitable answer to the first question;
but was informed that she had left town the
day before, accompanied by several of her
friends under protection of a passport from
General Howe, for the residence of her brother-in-law,
her own having been lately destroyed
by her kinsman, Captain Harris, while
he lay with his troop in the neighbourhood of
the Brandywine.

“That was an unnecessary piece of wanton-ness
on the part of Harris, for which he has
since had good reason to be sorry,” said Sir
Robert. “It came to the general's ears, who
reprimanded him severely; and were it not that
Harris makes a good foraging officer, a qualification
now of great value to our army, it is
probable he would have been deprived of his
commission. But Harris is a wild, thoughtless
young man, and the lady's son is a violent
rebel, which he thought justified the transaction;
and which, perhaps, had in reality a
palliating effect in the general's eyes.”

“Then,” observed Miss Lewis, “Harris

has been acquitted of an acknowledged criminal
and malicious act, because he is a good
plunderer, and the individual who has chiefly
suffered from his malice is what you are pleased
to call a rebel?”

“My fair young lady,” said Sir Robert,
“permit me to remind you, that the morality
of peaceful times, cannot be always adopted in
a period of war. Hence what is uniformly
crime at the one time, may often be justified
by imperious necessity, at the other.”

“Sir Robert,” replied Miss Lewis, “your
greater knowledge of human affairs and usages,
renders you so much my superior on these
subjects, that I cannot pretend to argue them
with you; but I believe, that the burnings and
plunderings of predatory warriors, often do
more injury than good to the side which resorts
to them, by rendering the sufferers, and all
who sympathize with them, more indignantly
hostile than they would otherwise be.”

“There is much truth in your remark,”
said Sir Robert, “and I must profess myself
at least half a convert to your opinion. At all
events it is an opinion so becoming your tender
age and sex, that I should be truly sorry
if you did not entertain it.” So saying, he
cordially shook hands with the fair moralizer,
and departed to attend on some convivial entertainment,

a mode of expending time, which
from the example of Sir William Howe, was
now becoming very prevalent among the British
officers in America.