[Singularly enough, this identical effigy of a grenadier has been preserved by the owner of the manuscript, and, by permission, we are enabled to present a drawing of it, colour and all. It is admirably painted on half-inch board, carved out at the edges, and may have been from the brush of Major Andre.—ED.]
In a moment his ears were saluted with, a "Is there any rebel officers here?" in a thundering voice. Not waiting for a second word, he darted like lightning out of the front door, through the yard, bolted o'er the fence. Swamp, fences, thorn-hedges, and plough'd fields no way impeded his retreat! He was soon out of hearing. The woods echoed with, "Which way did he go? Stop him! Surround the house!" The amiable Lipscomb had his hand on the latch of the door, intending to make his escape; Stodard, considering his indisposition, acquainted him with the deceit. We females ran down stairs to join the general laugh. I walked into Jesse's parlour. There sat poor Stodard, (whose sore lips must have receiv'd no advantage from this) almost convuls'd with laughing, rolling in an arm-chair. He said nothing; I believe he could not have spoke. "Major Stodard," said I, "go to call Tilly back. He will lose himself,—indeed he will;" every word interrupted with a "Ha! ha!" At last he rose, and went to the door; and what a loud voice could avail in bringing him back he tried. Figure to thyself this Tilly, of a snowy evening,—no hat,—shoes down at heel,—hair unty'd,—flying across meadows, creeks, and mud-holes. Flying from what? Why, a bit of painted wood! But he was ignorant of what it was. The idea of being made a prisoner wholly engross'd his mind, and his last resource was to run!
After a while, we being in more composure, and our bursts of laughter less frequent, yet by no means subsided,—in full assembly of girls and officers,—Tilly enter'd! The greatest part of my risibility turn'd to pity. Inexpressible confusion had taken entire possession of his countenance,—his fine hair hanging dishevell'd down his shoulders, all splashed with mud; yet his bright confusion and race had not divested him of his beauty. He smil'd as he trip'd up the steps; but 'twas vexation plac'd it on his features. Joy at that moment was banish'd from his heart! He briskly walk'd five or six steps, then stop'd, and took a general survey of us all. "Where have you been, Mr. Tilly?" ask'd one officer. (We girls were silent.) "I really imagin'd," said Major Stodard, "that you were gone for your pistols. I follow'd you to prevent danger!"—an excessive laugh at each question, which it was impossible to restrain. "Pray, where were your pistols, Tilly?" He broke his silence by the following expression: "You may all go to the D—-l!" I never heard him utter an indecent expression before.
At last his good nature gain'd a compleat ascendence over his anger, and, he join'd heartily in the laugh. I will do him the justice to say that he bore it charmingly. No cowardly threats, no vengeance denounced. Stodard caught hold of his coat,—"Come, look at what you ran away from,"—and drag'd him to the door. He gave it a look, said it was very natural, and, by the singularity of his expressions, gave fresh cause for diversion. We all retir'd to our different parlours, for the rest of our faces, if I may say so.
Well, certainly these military folks will laugh all night. Such screaming I never did hear!! Adieu to-night.
December 13th.—I am fearful they will yet carry the joke too far. Tilly certainly possesses an uncommon share of good nature, or he could not tolerate these frequent teazings. Ah! Deborah, the Major is going to leave us entirely,—just going. I will see him first.
Seventh day noon.—He has gone! I seen him pass the bridge. The woods which you enter immediately after crossing it hinder'd us from following him further. I seem to fancy he will return in the evening.
Seventh day night.—Stodard not come back! We shall not, I fancy, see him again for months, perhaps for years! unless he should visit Philadl. We shall miss his agreeable company. But what shall we make of Tilly? No civil things yet from him. Adieu to-night, my dear.
December 14th.—The officers yet here. No talk of their departure. They are very lively; Tilly's retreat the occasion,—the principal one at least.
First day night.—Capt. Lipscomb, Seaton, and Tilly, with cousin H. M., dined with us to-day. Such an everlasting bore as Tilly I never knew. He caused us a good deal of diversion while we sat at table. Has not said a syllable to one of us young ladies since sixth day eve. He tells Lipscomb that the Major had the assistance of the ladies in the execution of the scheme. He tells a truth!
About four o'clock, I was standing at the door, leaning my head on my hand, when a genteel officer rode up to the gate and dismounted; "Your servant, ma'am," and gave me the compliment of his hat; went into aunt's. I went into our parlour. Soon Seaton was call'd. Many minutes had not elapsed before he enter'd with the young fellow whom I had just seen. He introduced him by the name of Capt. Smallwood. We seated ourselves. I then had an opportunity of seeing him. He is a brother to Gen'l Smallwood,—a very genteel, pretty little fellow, very modest, and seems agreeable, but no personal resemblance between him and the Major. After tea, turning to Tilly, he said, "So, sir, I have heard you had like to have been taken prisoner last Friday night!" "Pray, sir, who informed you?" "Major Stodard was my author." "I fancy he made a fine tale of it. How far did he say I ran?" "Two miles, and that you fell into the mill-dam!" He rais'd his eyes and hands, and exclaimed, "What a confounded falsehood!" The whole affair was again reviv'd. Our Tillian here gave a mighty droll account of his "retreat," as they call it. He told us that, after he had got behind our kitchen, he stop'd for company, as he expected the others would immediately follow; "but I heard them scream, 'Which way did he go? Where is he?' Aye, said I to myself, he is gone where you shan't catch him, and off I set again." "Pray," ask'd mamma, "did thee keep that lane between the meadows?" "Oh, no, ma'am! That was a large road, and I might happen to meet some of them. When I got to your thorn-hedge, I again stop'd. As it was a cold night, I thought I would pull up my shoe-heels, and tie my handkerchief round my head. I began to have a suspicion of a trick, and, hearing the Major hollow, I came back."
I think I did not laugh more at the very time than to-night at the rehearsal of it. He is so good-natur'd, and takes all their jokes with so good a grace, that I am quite charm'd with him. He laughingly denounces vengeance against Stodard. He will be even with him. He is in the Major's debt, but he will pay him, &c.
December 15th.—Smallwood has taken up his quarters with us. Nothing worth relating occur'd to-day.
3d, 4th, and 5th day.—We chatted a little with the officers. Smallwood not so chatty as his brother or nephew. Lipscomb is very agreeable; a delightful musical voice.
Sixth day noon, Dec. 19th.—The officers, after the politest adieus, have left us. Smallwood and Tilly are going to Maryland, where they live; Seaton to Virginia, and Lipscomb to camp, to join his regiment. I feel sorry at this departure, yet 'tis a different kind from what I felt some time since! We had not contracted so great an intimacy with those last.
Seventh day, December 20th.—General Washington's army have gone into winter-quarters at the Valley Forge. We shall not see many of the military now. We shall be very intimate with solitude. I am afraid stupidity will be a frequent guest. After so much company, I can't relish the idea of sequestration!
First day night.—A dull round of the same thing over again! I shall hang up my pen until something offers worth relating.
February third and fourth.—I thought I never should have any thing to say again. Nothing happen'd all January that was uncommon. Capt. Lipscomb and Mas stay'd one night at Jesse's, and sup'd with us. How elegant the former was dres'd! And indeed I have forgot to keep an exact account of the day of the month in which I went down to G. E.'s, with P. F.; but it was the 23d or 24th of February. After enjoying a week of her agreeable company at the Mill, I return'd with her to Whitemarsh. We went on horseback,—the roads bad. We however surmounted this difficulty, and arrived there safe.
Second day eve.—G. E. brought us a charming collection of books,—Joe Andrews, Juliet Grenville, and some Lady's Magazines. P. T. sent us Caroline Melmoth.
4th day, 26th.—I thought our scheme of going to Fr'd F.'s was entirely frustrated, as S. E. was much indispos'd. About 12 she got better. We made some alteration in our dress, step'd into the carriage, and rode off. Spent a most delightful day. As we approach'd the house, on our return, we perceiv'd several strangers in the parlour. Polly's face and mine brighten'd up at the discovery. We alighted. Polly swung open the door, and introduc'd us to Major Jameson and Capt. Howard, both of the dragoons,—the former from Virginia, the latter a Marylander. We all seem'd in penseroso style till after supper. We then began to be rather more sociable. About ten they bid us adieu. I dare say thee is impatient to know my sentiments of the swains! Howard has very few external charms; indeed, I cannot name one. As to his internal ones, I am not a judge. Jameson is tall and manly,—a comely face, dark eyes and hair,—seems to be much of a gentleman,—no ways deficient in point of sense, or, at least, in the course of the evening I discover'd none.
5th and 6th day, and 7th day, pass'd away very agreeably. No strangers.
First day eve.—This day my charming friend and self ascended the barren hills of Whitemarsh, from the tops of which we had an extensive prospect of the country round. The traces of the army which encamp'd on these hills are very visible. Rugged huts, imitations of chimneys, and many other ruinous objects which plainly show'd they had been there. D. J. S. dined with us.
Second day.—Very cold and windy. I wonder I am not sent for. Read and work'd by turns.
Third day.—A raw, snowy day. I am sent for, nevertheless. Adieu. North Wales,—at my old habitation at the Mill.
March 1st, 1778, Third day eve.—Such a ride as I have had, O dear Debby! About 2 o'clock the sleigh came for me. Snowing excessively fast, though not sufficiently deep to make it tolerable sleighing; but go I must. I bid adieu to my agreeable friends; and with a heavy heart and flowing eyes, I seated myself in the unsociable vehicle. There might as well have been no snow on the ground. I was jolted just to pieces; but, notwithstanding these vexations, I got safe to my home, when I had the great pleasure of finding my dear parents, sisters, and brothers well,—a blessing which I hope ever to remember with thankfulness.
Well, will our nunnery be more bearable now than before I left it? No beaus since I left here; so I have the advantage of the girls. They are wild to see Major Jameson.
May 11th, 1778.—The scarcity of paper, which is very great in this part of the country, and the three last months not producing any thing material, has prevented me from keeping a regular account of things; but to-day the scene begins to brighten, and I will continue my nonsense. In the afternoon, we were just seated at tea,—Dr. Moore with us. Nelly (our girl) brought us the wonderful intelligence that there were light horse in the road. The tea-table was almost deserted. About fifteen light horse were the vanguard of 16 hundred men under the command of Gen'l Maxwell. I imagin'd that they would pass immediately by, but was agreeably disappointed. My father came in with the Gen'l, Col. Brodhead, Major Ogden, and Capt. Jones.
The Gen'l is a Scotsman,—nothing prepossessing in his appearance; the Col. very martial and fierce; Ogden, a genteel young fellow, with an aquiline nose. Capt. Cadwallader Jones! If I was not invincible, I must have fallen a victim to this man's elegancies; (but, thank my good fortune, I am not made of susceptibilities!) tall, elegant, and handsome,—white fac'd with blue regimentals, and a mighty airish cap and white crest: his behaviour is refin'd,—a Virginian. They sat a few minutes after tea, then bid us adieu.
This brigade is encamp'd about three miles from us.
First day evening.—This afternoon has been productive of adventures in the true sense of the word. Jenny R., Betsy, Liddy, and I, very genteely dress'd, determin'd to take a stroll. Neighbour Morgan's was proposed. Away we rambled, heedless girls; pass'd two picket-guards. Meeting with no interruptions encourag'd us. After paying our visit, we walk'd towards home, when, to my utter astonishment, the sentry desir'd us to stop!—that he had orders not to suffer any persons to pass but those who had leave from the officer, who was at the guard-house surrounded by a number of men. To go to him would be inconsistent with propriety; to stay there, and night advancing, was not clever. I was much terrified. I tried to persuade the soldier to let us pass. "No; he dared not." Betsy attempted to go. He presented his gun with the bayonet fix'd. This was an additional fright. Back we turn'd; and, very fortunately, the officer, (Capt. Emeson,) seeing our distress, came to us. I ask'd him if he had any objection to our passing the sentry? "None at all, ma'am." He waited upon us, and reprimanded the man, and we, without any farther difficulty, came home.
Third day, June 2d, 1778.—I was standing at the back window; an officer and private of dragoons rode by; I tore to the door to have a better view of them; they stop'd; the officer rode up, and ask'd for Jesse, who was call'd.
Afternoon, 4 o'clock.—Oh, Deborah! what capital adventures! Jesse came. The idea of having Light horse quarter'd at the farm was disagreeable,—the meadows just fit to mow; and we had heard what destruction had awaited their footsteps. This was the dialogue between Jesse and the officer:—"Pray, sir, can I have quarters for a few horsemen?" "How many?" "Five and twenty, sir. I do not mean to turn them into your meadows. If you have any place you can spare, any thing will do." And he dismounted and walk'd into aunt's parlour. I—determin'd to find out his character—follow'd. "I have," reply'd Jesse, "a tolerable field that may perhaps suit." "That will do, sir; but if you have any objection to putting them in a field, my men shall cut the grass and bring it in the road. I am under the necessity of quartering them here, but I was order'd; I am only an inferior officer." Some elegant corporal, thought I, and went to the door. He soon join'd me: speaking to his man, "Ride off, and tell Mr. Watts we rendez-vous here."
He inquir'd the name of the farmer, and went into aunt's; I into the back room. The troop rode up. New scenes, said I, and mov'd up-stairs, where I saw them perform their different manoeuvres. This Mr. Watts is remarkably tall, and a good countenance. I adjourn'd to our parlor. The first officer march'd up and down the entry. Prissa came in. "Good, now, Prissa. What's the name of this man?" "Dyer, I believe." "Capt. Dyer. Oh, the name! What does he say?" "Why, that he will kiss me when he has din'd." "Singular," I observ'd, "on so short an acquaintance." "But," resum'd Prissa, "he came and fix'd his arm on the chair I sat in: I Pray, ma'am, is there not a family from town with you?" "Yes." "What's their name?" "Wister." "There's two fine girls there. I will go chat with them. Pray, did they leave their effects in Philadelphia?" "Yes, every thing, almost." "They shall have them again, that they shall." There ended the conversation. But this ugly name teaz'd me! "Oh, Sally, he is a Virginian that's in his favour greatly." "I'm not sure that's his name, but I understood so." Prissa left us. I step'd into aunt's for Johnny, and desir'd him to come home. Up started the Captain: "Pray, let me introduce you, ma'am." "I am perfectly acquainted with him," said I, and turn'd to the door. "Tell your sister I believe she is not fond of strangers!" I smil'd, and return'd to our parlour.
Third day night, nine o'clock, aye, ten, I fancy.—Take a circumstantial account of this afternoon, and the person of this extraordinary man. His exterior first. His name is not Dyer, but Alexander Spotswood Dandridge, which certainly gives a genteel idea of the man. I will be particular. His person is more elegantly form'd than any I ever seen; tall and commanding; his forehead is very white, though the lower part of his face is much sunburn'd; his features are extremely pleasing; an even, white set of teeth; dark hair and eyes. I can't better describe him than by saying he is the handsomest man I ever beheld! Betsy and Liddy coincide in this opinion.
After I had set a while at home, in came Dandridge. He enter'd into chat immediately. Ask'd if we knew Tacy Vanderen; said he courted her, and that they were to be married soon. Observ'd my sampler, which was in full view; wish'd I would teach the Virginians some of my needle wisdom; they were the laziest girls in the world; told his name; laugh'd and talk'd incessantly. At last, "May I" (to mamma) "introduce my brother officer?" We assented; so he call'd him. "Mr. Watts, Mrs. Wister, young Miss Wister; Mr. Watts, ladies, is one of our Virginia children." He sat down. Tea was order'd. Dandridge never drank tea; Watts had done; so we set to the table alone. "Let's walk in the garden," said the Captain; so we call'd Liddy, and went, (not Watts.) We sat down in a sort of a summer-house. "Miss Sally, are you a Quaker?" "Yes." "Now, are you a Quaker?" "Yes, I am." "Then you are a Tory." "I am not, indeed." "Oh, dear!" replied he, "I am a poor creature! I can hardly live!" Then, flying away from that subject, "Will you marry me, Miss Sally?" "No, really! A gentleman, after he has said he has not sufficient to maintain himself, to ask me to marry him!" "Never mind what I say. I have enough to make the pot boil!"
Had we been acquainted seven years, we could not have been more sociable. The moon gave a sadly pleasing light. We sat at the door till nine. Dandridge is sensible, and (divested of some freedoms which might be call'd gallant in the fashionable world) he is polite and agreeable. His greatest fault is a propensity to swearing, which throws a shade over his accomplishments. I ask'd him why he did so. "It is a favorite vice, Miss Sally." At nine, he went to his chamber. Sets off at sunrise.
Fourth day morn, 12 o'clock.—I was awaken'd this morn with a great racket of the Captain's servant calling him; but the lazy fellow never rose till about half an hour eight! This his daylight ride! I imagin'd they would be gone before now, so I dress'd in a green skirt and dark short-gown. Provoking! So down I came, this Captain (wild wretch!) standing at the back door. He bow'd and call'd me. I only look'd, and went to breakfast. About nine I took my work and seated myself in the parlour. Not long had I sat when in came Dandridge,—the handsomest man in existence, at least that I had ever seen. But stop here, while I just say, the night before, chatting upon dress, he said he had no patience with those officers who, every morn, before they went on detachments, would wait to be dress'd and powder'd. "I am," said I, "excessively fond of powder, and think it very becoming." "Are you?" he reply' d. "I am very careless, as often wearing my cap thus" (turning the back part before) "as any way." I left off at where he came in. He was powder'd very white, a (pretty coloured) brown coat, lapell'd with green, and white waistcoat, &c., and his
"sword beside him negligently hung."
He made a truly elegant figure. "Good morning, Miss Sally. You are very well, I hope." "Very well. Pray sit down;"—which he did, close by me. "Oh, dear!" said I, "I see thee is powder'd." "Yes, ma'am. I have dress'd myself off for you." Will I be excused, Debby, if I look upon his being powder'd in the light of a compliment to me? Yes, Sally, as thee is a country maid, and don't often meet with compliments. Saucy Debby Norris!
'Tis impossible to write a regular account of our conversation. Be it sufficient to say that we had a multiplicity of chat.
About an hour since, sister H. came to me and said Captain Dandridge was in the parlour and had ask'd for me. I went in. He met me, caught my hands: "Oh, Miss Sally, I have a beautiful sweetheart for you!" "Poh! ridiculous! Loose my hands." "Well, but don't be so cross!" "Who is he?" "Major Clough! I have seen him. Ain't he pretty, to be sure? I am going to head-quarters. Have you any commands there?" "None at all; but," (recollecting,) "yes, I have. Pray, who is your commanding officer?" "Col. Bland, ma'am." "Please give my compliments to him, and I shou'd be glad if he would send thee back with a little more manners!" He reply'd wickedly, and told me I had a little spiteful heart. But he was intolerably saucy; said he never met with such ladies. "Not to let me kiss you! You're very ill-natur'd, Sally!" and,—putting on the sauciest face,—"Sally, if Tacy V*nd*u*n won't have me, will you?" "No, really,—none of her discarded lovers!" "But, provided I prefer you to her, will you consent?" "No, I won't!" "Very well, madam!" And, after saying he would return to-morrow, among a hundred other things, he elegantly walk'd out of the room. Soon he came back, took up a volume of Homer's Illiad, and read to us. He reads very well, and with judgment. One remark he made, that I will relate, on these lines,
"While Greece a heavy, thick retreat maintains,
Wedg'd in one body, like a flight of cranes."
"G-d knows our army don't do so. I wish they did." He laugh'd, and went away.
Four o'clock, afternoon.—Major Clough, Captain Swan, and Mr. Moore, a Lieutenant of horse, din'd with Dandridge. The latter, after dinner, came in to bid us adieu. He sat down, and was rather saucy. I look'd very grave. "Miss Betsy, you have a very ill-natur'd sister. Observe how cross she looks!" He pray'd we might part friends, and offer'd his hand. I gave him mine, which he kiss'd in a very gallant manner; and so, with a truly affectionate leave, he walk'd to the parlour door; "God Almighty bless you, ladies;" bow'd, went into the road, mounted a very fine horse, and rode away: leaving Watts and the troop here, to take care of us, as he said. "Mr. Watts, Miss Sally, is a very worthy man; but, poor soul, he is so captivated with you,—the pain in his breast all owing to you,—he was caught by this beauty-spot,"—tapping my cheek. He could not have thought it was meant for an addition, as the size of it shew'd the contrary. But he is gone; and I think, as I have escap'd thus far safe, I am quite a heroine, and need not be fearful of any of the lords of the creation for the future.
Six o'clock, evening.—Watts drank tea with us. A conversible man. Says that the Dandridges are one of the genteelest families in Virginia,—relations of General Washington's wife. He appear'd very fond of the Captain, who has had a liberal education. Very sensible and brave. I sat in the entry all last evening, as did Betsy. But first let me say, fifth-day morn we chatted on a variety of subjects; and, amongst others, he mention'd the cruelty of the Britons, which, I agreed, were very great. He said he would retaliate whenever he had an opportunity. I strenuously opposed such a procedure, observing that it would be erring in the same way, and, tho' they might deserve it, yet it would be much nobler to treat them with lenity. Remember the lines of Pope,
"That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me."
"I perfectly remember them. Your sentiments are noble; but we must retaliate sometimes."
A horseman deliver'd this message:—"Let the troop lie on their arms, and be ready to march at a moment's warning." He immediately gave these orders to the sargeant. Every soldier was in motion. I was a good deal frighten'd, and ask'd Watts the reason. He fancy'd the British were in motion, tho' he had not receiv'd such intelligence. "What will thee do if they come here?" "Defend the house as long as I can, ma'am." I was shock'd. "Bless my heart! What will become of us?" "You may be very safe. The house is an excellent house to defend: only do you be still. If the British vanquish us, down on your knees, and cry, 'Bless the King!' If we conquer them, why, you know you are safe." This added to my fright. I called my dear mamma, who was much indispos'd. Dadda was gone to Lancaster. Mamma ask'd him the same questions, and he gave her the same answers. I was in a fearful taking, and said if I thought such a thing would happen I would set off, though 9 o'clock, and walk to uncle Foulke's. "No! don't go to-night, Miss Sally! I will take you there to-morrow. Don't be uneasy. This is nothing. I often go to bed with my boots on upon some alarms." "But will thee take off thy boots to-night?" "Yes, I will, indeed." "Is thee really in earnest about defending the house?" "No, madam; for, believe me, if I hear the enemy is in motion, I will immediately depart, bag and baggage."
This dispell'd my fears, and, after wishing me a good night, he retir'd to his chamber. Imagine my consternation, when our girl came running in and said the lane was fill'd with light horse! I flew to the side-door. It was true! My joy was great when I heard Major Clough ask if this was Capt. Dandridge's quarters. I answer'd in the affirmative. He rode round to the other door. Watts, though gone to bed, was call'd. He chatted apart to the Major a while, then went off towards Skippac road, follow'd by a large party of horse and waggons. My fears were all renew'd; and, as if we were to be in perpetual alarms, by came another party, much larger, in dark clothes. These we all thought were British. They halted. All as still as death. The officer rode up to the door. "Does Mr. Foulke live here?" "Yes," said somebody. "Is there not a family from town here,—Mr. Wister's?" I recollected the voice, and said,
"Captain Stodard, I presume?" "Yes, madam. Are you Mr. Wister's wife?" "No: his daughter."
"Is your papa at home?" "No," I reply'd, but invited him in to see mamma. He agreed; dismounted, as did many other officers; but he alone came into our parlour. Watts follow'd to bid us adieu. They sat a few minutes; told us that two of their men had deserted, and when that was the case they generally moved their quarters. Watts told him how I was frighten'd. He said I paid but a poor compliment to their cavalry! I only smil'd. The alarm had partly deprived me of the power of speech!
They sat about fifteen minutes, then rose, and, after the politest adieus, departed. All the horse follow'd, about one hundred and fifty. I never seen more regularity observ'd, or so undisturb'd a silence kept up when so large a number of people were together. Not a voice was heard, except that of the officer who gave the word of command. The moon at intervals broke thro' the heavy black clouds. No noise was perceiv'd, save that which the horses made as they trotted o'er the wooden bridge across the race. Echo a while gave us back the sound. At last, nothing was left but the remembrance of them. The family all retir'd to their respective chambers and enjoy'd a calm repose.
This Captain Stodard is from New England, and belongs to Col. Sheldon's regiment of dragoons. He made an acquaintance with my father at Germantown, whilst our army was at that place, and had been here once before. He is clever and gentlemanly.
Fifth day, June 4th, 2 o'clock.—Oh, gracious! how warm is this day! But, warm as it is, I must make a small alteration in my dress. I do not make an elegant figure, tho': I do not expect to see the face of a stranger to-day.
Sixth day, June 5th, morn, 11 o'clock.—Last night we were a little alarm'd. I was awaken'd about 12 with somebody's opening the chamber door. I observ'd cousin Prissa talking to mamma. I ask'd what was the matter. "Only a party of light-horse." "Are they Americans?" I quickly said. She answer'd in the affirmative, (which dispell'd my fears,) and told me that Major Jameson commanded, and that Capts. Call and Nixon were with him. With that intelligence she left us. I resolv'd in my mind whether or not Jameson would renew his acquaintance; but Morpheus buried all my ideas, and this morn I rose by, or near, seven, dress'd in my light chintz, which is made gown-fashion, kenting handkerchief, and linen apron. Sufficiently smart for a country girl, Sally! Don't call me a country girl, Debby Norris! Please to observe that I pride myself on being a Philadelphian, and that a residence of 20 months has not at all diminished the love I have for that place; and as soon as one capital alteration takes place, (which is very much talk'd of at present,) I expect to return to it with a double pleasure.
Dress'd as above, down I came, and went down to our kitchen, which is a small distance from the house. As I came back, I seen Jameson at the window. He met me in the entry, bow'd:—"How do you do, Miss Sally?" After the compliments usual on such occasions had pass'd, I invited him into our parlour. He follow'd me in. We chatted very sociably. I inquir'd for P. F. He said he had seen her last first-day; that she was well. Her mamma had gone to Lancaster to visit her daughter Wharton, who, as I suppose, you have heard, has lost her husband.
I ask'd him whether Dandridge was on this side the Delaware. He said, "Yes." I wanted sadly to hear his opinion, but he said not a word. The conversation turn'd upon the British leaving Philadelphia. He firmly believ'd they were going. I sincerely wish'd it might be true, but was afraid to flatter myself. I had heard it so often that I was quite faithless, and express'd my approbation of Pope's 12th beatitude, "Blessed are they that expect nothing; for they shall not be disappointed." He smil'd, and assur'd me they were going away.
He was summon'd to breakfast. I ask'd him to stay with us. He declin'd the invitation with politeness, adding that he was in a hurry,-oblig'd to go to camp as soon as he could. He bow'd, "Your servant, ladies," and withdrew immediately. After breakfast they set off for Valley Forge, where Gen'l Washington's army still are.
I am more pleas'd with Major Jameson than I was at first. He is sensible and agreeable,—a manly person, and a very good countenance. We girls differ about him. Prissa and I admire him, whilst Liddy and Betsy will not allow him a spark of beauty. Aunt's family are charm'd with his behaviour,—so polite, so unassuming. When he disturb'd them last night, he made a hundred apologies,—was so sorry to call them up,—'twas real necessity oblig'd him. I can't help remarking the contrast between him and Dandridge. The former appears to be rather grave than gay,—no vain, assuming airs. The latter calls for the genius of a Hogarth to characterize him. He is possess'd of a good understanding, a very liberal education, gay and volatile to excess: he is an Indian, a gentleman, grave and sad, in the same hour. But what signifies? I can't give thee a true idea of him; but he assumes at pleasure a behaviour the most courtly, the most elegant of any thing I ever seen. He is very entertaining company, and very vain of his personal beauties; yet nevertheless his character is exceptionable.
Sixth day, noon and evening.—Nothing material occurr'd.
Seventh day night.—A dull morn. In the afternoon, Liddy, Betsy, R. H., and self went to one of our neighbours to eat strawberries. Got a few; return'd home; drank tea; no beaus. Adieu.
First day evening. Heigh-ho! Debby, there's a little meaning in that exclamation, ain't there? To me it conveys much. I have been looking what the Dictionary says. It denotes uneasiness of mind. I don't know that my mind is particularly uneasy just now.
The occurrences of the day come now. I left my chamber between eight and nine, breakfasted, went up to dress, put on a new purple and white striped Persian, white petticoat, muslin apron, gauze cap and handkerchief. Thus array'd, Miss Norris, I ask your opinion. Thy partiality for thy friend will bid thee say I made a tolerable appearance! Not so, my dear. I was this identical Sally Wister, with all her whims and follies; and they have gain'd so great an ascendancy over my prudence, that I fear it will be a hard matter to divest myself of them. But I will hope for a reformation.
Cousin H. M. came about nine, and spent the day with us. After we had din'd, two dragoons rode up to the door,—one a waiting-man of Dandridge's, the faithful Jonathan. They are quarter'd a few miles from us. The junior sisters, Liddy and Betsy, join'd by me, ventur'd to send our compliments to the Captain and Watts. Prissa insists that it is vastly indelicate, and that she has done with us. Hey-day! What prudish notions are those, Priscilla? I banish prudery. Suppose we had sent our love to him,—where had been the impropriety? for really he had a person that was love-inspiring,—tho' I escap'd, and may say, Io triumphe. I answer not for the other girls, but am apt to conclude that Cupid shot his arrows, and that may-be they had effect. A fine evening this. If wishes could avail, I would be in your garden with S. J., R. F., and thyself. Thee has no objection to some of our North Wales swains,—not the beau inhabitants, but some of the transitory ones. But, cruel reverse! instead of having my wishes accomplish'd, I must confine myself to the narrow limits of this farm.
Liddy calls: "Sally, will thee walk?" "Yes." Perhaps a walk will give a new turn to my ideas, and present something new to my vacant imagination.
Second day, third day, fourth day.—No new occurrences to relate. Almost adventureless, except Gen'l Lacy's riding by, and his fierce horse disdaining to go without showing his airs, in expectation of drawing the attention of the Mill girls, in order to glad his master's eyes. Ha! ha! ha! One would have imagin'd that vanity had been buried within the shades of N. Wales. Lacy is tolerable; but, as ill luck would order it, I had been busy, and my auburn ringlets were much dishevell'd: therefore I did not glad his eyes, and cannot set down on the list of honours receiv'd that of a bow from Brigadier-General Lacy!
Fifth day night, June 18th.—Rose at half-past four this morning. Iron'd industriously till one o'clock, din'd, went up-stairs, threw myself on the bed, and fell asleep. About four, sister H. wak'd me, and said uncle and J. F. were down-stairs; so I decorated myself, and went down. Felt quite lackadasical. However, I jump'd about a little, and the stupid fit went off. We have had strange reports about the British being about leaving Philadelphia. I can't believe it. Adieu.
Sixth day morn, June 19th.—We have heard an astonishing piece of news! The English have entirely left the city! It is almost impossible! Stay. I shall hear further.
Sixth day eve.—A light horseman has just confirm'd the above intelligence! This is charmante! They encamp'd yesterday. He (the horseman) was in Philadl. It is true! They have gone!! Past a doubt. I can't forbear exclaiming to the girls, "Now are you sure the news is true? Now are you sure they have gone?" "Yes, yes, yes!" they all cry; "and may they never, never return!"
Dr. Gould came here to-night. Our army are about six miles off, on their march to the jerseys.
Seventh day morn.—O. F. arriv'd just now, and related as followeth:—The army began their march at six this morning by their house. Our worthy Gen'l Smallwood breakfasted at uncle Caleb's. He ask'd how Mr. and Mrs. Wister and the young ladies were, and sent his respects to us. Our brave, our heroic GENERAL WASHINGTON was escorted by fifty of the Life-Guard, with drawn swords. Each day he acquires an addition to his goodness. We have been very anxious to know how the inhabitants have far'd. I understand that General Arnold, who bears a good character, has the command of the city, and that the soldiers conducted with great decorum.
[Since my writing the above, Gen'l Arnold has forfeited all right to a good character, by the shameful desertion of his country's cause, joining the British, accepting a command, and plundering and distressing the Americans.]
Smallwood says they had the strictest orders to behave well; and I dare say they obey'd the order. I now think of nothing but returning to Philadelphia.
So I shall now conclude this journal, with humbly hoping that the Great Disposer of events, who has graciously vouchsaf'd to protect us to this day through many dangers, will still be pleas'd to continue his protection.
SALLY WISTER.
NORTH WALES, June 20th, 1778.
MY DEAR MADAM
Your very friendly letter of the 27th of last month has afforded me much more satisfaction than all the formal compliments and empty ceremonies of mere etiquette could possibly have done. I am not apt to forget the feelings that have been inspired by my former society with good acquaintances, nor to be insensible to their expressions of gratitude to the President of the United States; for you know me well enough to do me the justice to believe that I am only fond of what comes from the heart.
Under a conviction that the demonstrations of respect and affection which have been made to the President originate from that source, I cannot deny that I have taken some interest and pleasure in them. The difficulties which presented themselves to view on his first entering upon the Presidency seem thus to be in some measure surmounted. It is owing to this kindness of our numerous friends in all quarters, that my new and unwish'd-for situation is not indeed a burden to me. When I was much younger, I should, probably, have enjoyed the innocent gaities of life as much as most of my age; but I had long since placed all the prospects of my future worldly happiness in the still enjoyments of the fireside at Mount Vernon.
I little thought, when the war was finished, that any circumstances could possibly have happened which would call the General into public life again. I had anticipated that from this moment we should have been left to grow old in solitude and tranquility together. That was, my dear madam, the first and dearest wish of my heart; but in that I have been disappointed. I will not, however, contemplate with too much regret disappointments that were inevitable. Though the General's feelings and my own were perfectly in unison with respect to our predelection for private life, yet I cannot blame him for having acted according to his ideas of duty in obeying the voice of his country. The consciousness of having attempted to do all the good in his power, and the pleasure of finding his fellow-citizens so well satisfied with the disinterestedness of his conduct, will doubtless be some compensation for the great sacrifices which I know he has made. Indeed, in his journeys from Mount Vernon to this place,—in his late tour through the Eastern States,—by every public and every private information which has come to him,—I am persuaded that he has experienced nothing to make him repent his having acted from what he conceived to be alone a sense of indispensable duty. On the contrary, all his sensibility has been awakened in receiving such repeated and unequivocal proofs of sincere regard from all his countrymen.
With respect to myself, I sometimes think the arrangement is not quite as it ought to have been; that I, who had much rather be at home, should occupy a place with which a great many younger and gayer women would be prodigiously pleased.
As my grandchildren and my domestic connections made up a great portion of the felicity which I looked for in this world, I shall hardly be able to find any substitute that would indemnify me for the loss of a part of such endearing society. I do not say this because I feel dissatisfied with my present situation. No. God forbid! for every body and every thing conspire to make me as contented as possible in it. Yet I know too much of the vanity of human affairs to expect felicity from the splendid scenes of public life. I am still determined to be cheerful and to be happy, in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the other about with us, in our minds, wherever we go.
I have two of my grandchildren with me, who enjoy advantages in point of education, and who, I trust, by the goodness of Providence, will continue to be a great blessing to me. My other two grandchildren are with their mother in Virginia.
The President's health is quite re-established by his little journey. Mine is much better than it used to be. I am sorry to hear that General Warren has been ill: hope, before this time, that he may be entirely recovered. We should rejoice to see you both. To both I wish the best of Heaven's blessings, and am,
My dear madam,
With esteem and regard,
Your friend and hble sert,
M. WASHINGTON.
Mrs. WARREN.