THE QUAKER SOLDIER; OR, THE BRITISH IN PHILADELPHIA. AN HISTORICAL NOVEL. BY A NOTED JUDQE. Complete in one large duodecimo volume of 569 page*, bound in cloth, for One Dollar and Twenty-five Cents ; or in two volumes, paper cover, for $1. Head the following Opinion of it by our Critical Reader. It gives us great pleasure to announce to the reading public, this new Historical Novel, called "The Quaker Soldier." It would be impossible, in this brief notice, to give a fair idea of the book ; but it may be said with safety, that it is one of the most thrilling ro mances of the Revolution that has ever been written ; and we hesi tate not to predict for it a popularity not surpassed by Cooper's " Spy." The plot is one that commends itself to the reader, and the characters are all naturally drawn ; while the descriptive powers of the Author give to the whole an interest that continues unabated through the whole story. One of the chief points of attraction is the vivid portraiture of social life among the Quakers of Philadel- ' '.. during the Revolution, and a full explanation of the political ;ion they took, with regard to the War. sarles Hazlewood, alias " The Quaker Soldier," is the only son wealthy Quaker family, who is driven from home by his father's tness. His experience, both at home and abroad, when he en- ' on a high career of fame, and his adventures in Philadelphia in the American Army, during the War, are full of exciting in- *, and reveal to the readers that part of our history in a new phase, ijor Ptobinson, the Tory Partisan; Solomon Isaakski, the Pawn- *r; Mark Bartle, the Spy; Dr. Jones, the Fighting Chaplain; Aiian M'Lane ; Charles Thomson, and General Conway, are indi viduals around whose history are clustered a thick series of exciting scenes, under every variety of form ; while the Battle of German- town, and the incidents preceding and succeeding that memorable event, are described with so much graphic power and minuteness, that you almost fancy you see the fight. The introduction of Col. Lynnford, a Continental officer of bravery and great prowess, with his negro boy Toby, is done with happy (xvii) XV1U THE QUAKER SOLDIEK. effect ; and the heroines of the story, Kate Selwyn and Ellen Hazle- wood, are. embodiments of so much female loveliness, that they in sensibly arouse in you a more than common feeling as to their fate. The history of the "Conway Cabal," and the secret movements of various high officials while Congress was at Yorktown, are deline ated with a master's pen ; and the character of the immortal Wash ington is drawn with faithful truthfulness. Many of the citizens of Philadelphia can follow the narrative from beginning to end, with the reflection that the scenes occurred on the spots where now is a populous city, while others will be attracted by events which, in themselves, contain the elements of life. We are satisfied that "The Quaker Soldier" will commend i*=> 1 * to the grave student, as well as to the lover of light literature ; and that all will feel themselves well repaid by its perusal ; and we ven ture to say that the author will not stop writing with "The Quaker Soldier." From the National Magazine for March. "It is rarely that a historical fiction of such merit makes its ance. The Author does not give his name, but he is evidently a a man of ability, and a historical student of the first class. Th> of the tale commences with the entry of the British into Philadelphia, and closes with their departure ; and we have in this interval a sories of brilliant pictures of the times, such as no preceding novelist 1 passed. The events leading to the Battle of Germantown, and tL^ battle itself, are narrated with a fidelity which proves the Author to be familiar with every foot of the ground, as well as acquainted with many authentic traditions never before in print. The book, indeed, is full of loc The Pennsylvania Dutchman, for the first time in literature, is accurately and graphically drawn. Nor is the Philadelphia Quaker less i- delineated; for the novelist has caught, not only the formal dialect of the sect, but the style, if we may so call it, in which genuine, olti Quakers talked. This is high praise, we know ; but it is deserved. There is a good deal of humor in the work ; in fact, the Author succeed? in this line better than in pathos. We thiuk the dramatic portion of th superior to the narrative. In some parts of the plot there is a hi. tie ex aggeration ; but, on the whole, the novel is one of real merit, ami will be appreciated by readers precisely in proportion to their intelligc culture." $gg* Copies of either edition of "THE QUAKER SOLDIER" sent to any person, to any part of the United States, free of on their remitting the price of the edition they may wish publishers, in a letter post-paid. Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHER No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. To whom all orders must come addressed. CHKW'S HOUSETHE BATTLE OF GERMANTOWN. THE QUAKER SOLDIER: OB, THE BRITISH IN PHILADELPHIA. " The shout Of battle, the barbarian yell, the bray Of dissonant Instruments, the clang of arms, The shriek of agony, the groan of death, In one wild uproar and continued din, Shake the still air ; while overhead the moon, Regardless of the stir of this low world, Holds on her heavenly way." Southey's Madoc. " The bayonet pierces, and the sabre cleaves, And human lives are lavish'd everywhere, As the year closing whirls the scarlet leaves When the stript forest bows to the bleak air, And groans." Byron. T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 306 CHESTNUT STREET. i ^ , , c T ' B - CONTENTS, * PS ZISI CHAPTER PAQS Introduction, ... ... xxv i. Caleb Hazlewood, 31 n. Major Robinson at the Old Coffee-House, . . 42 in. Jack Preston and the Young Quaker, . . .54 rv. A Quaker Party in 1777, 66 v. Charles Hazlewood at the Quaker Party, . . .77 vi. Major Robinson a Prisoner, 88 vn. Solomon Izaakski the Pawnbroker, . . . .95 vin. Entry of the Royal Army into Philadelphia, . Ill ix. Major Robinson Wounded, 126 x. Caleb Hazlewood and his Family, .... 135 xi. Major Robinson's Sickness, 147 xn. The Royal Army in Philadelphia, .... 162 xm. The Quaker Colonist and British Officer, . . . 177 xiv. Charles Hazlewood's History of his Life, . . 188 xv. Charles Hazlewood visits Persia, .... 208 f CONTENTS CHAPTER PAOB xvi. Charles Hazlewood an Eastern Satrap, . . 224 xvii. Mark Bartle the Spy. The Hessians at the Wissahiccon, 247 xvin. The Racket Ground at Germantown, . ' . 257 xix. Sir Charles Aston and the Young Quaker, . . 275 xx. The Camp at Skippack. Arrival of Col. Lynnford, 290 xxi. Dr. Jones, the Fighting Chaplain, .... 302 xxn. The Eve of the Battle of Germantown, ' '.'" . 316 xxin. The Battle of Germantown, ..... 334 xxiv. Chew's House. Colonel Lynnford on the Field of Battle, . . . .'."..'. 348 xxv. Colonel Lynnford Wounded. Jacob Keyser, the Mennonist, 366 xxvi. Allan M'Lane visits Lynnford. The Hessian Foray, , 378 xxvn. The Attack on Forts Mifflin and Mercer, . . 391 xxvm. Howe and Cornwallis seek the Rebel Army, . 404 xxix. Lynnford's Boy Toby, 413 xxx. Colonel Lynnford and the German Farmer, . 429 xxxi. General Washington, ...... 442 xxxii. Toby and his Fiddle, ...... 454 xxxin. Valley Forge in 1778, 460 xxxiv. Congress at Yorktown. Colonel Lynnford and Charles Thomson, . . . . . . 473 xxxv. The Conway Cabal, 485 xxxvi. Plot against Colonel Lynnford's Life, . . 493 CONTENTS. xxiii CHAPTER PAGE xxxvn. Colonel Lynnford fights a Duel with General Mifflin, 505 xxxvni. Visit from Charles Thomson. News from Home, 521 xxxix. Abduction of Ellen Hazlewood and her Mock Marriage, , . 533 XL. The Pawnbroker's Discovery, . . M . 545 XLI. The Rescue. M'Lane's Light-Horse, . , . 552 XLII. Charles Hazlewood's Return. The Denouement, 562 INTRODUCTION. AFTER London and Paris, Philadelphia contests, with our other great American city, the third rank in Christendom. More than half a million inhabitants vast domestic commerce still vaster handicraft and manufacturing industry material resources not rivaled on this Continent, if anywhere well entitle Philadel phia to feel herself one of the great cities of the world. Yet a short three quarters of a century ago she was a provincial town of under forty thousand inhabitants. This unparalleled growth has occurred in the lifetime of many of us, under our very eyes ; and does not astonish us as if it were a fact of history, seen through the vista of distance. Philadelphia is but one of many great cities which have kept even pace until a civic cluster has grown up, the like nowhere else seen now, nor ever, except in the Magna Grascia of Ancient Italy. "Where else in what single nation of modern times do we find four such cities as Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, in such close proximity ? France has her Paris, but where are her three other cities comparable to ours? Austria has her Vienna, but what else? Even England has no second city to contest the palm with the second of our glorious galaxy. (xxv) INTRODUCTION. The rise of our great cities is but one chapter. A lifetime ago reaches beyond the birth of the " Great Republic." Within that brief period that single point on the surface of history a great power has grown up, indisputably of the first class among the nations of the earth. Men have witnessed great em pires formed gradually, like Rome and Russia; or rapidly, like Alexander's, Genghis Khan's, and Na poleon's ; but they were the gathering under one government of nations already in being, without any real increase of resources, and often with a loss. Ours is a new creation, not a mere concentration ; ours is a new power, created out of the raw material of national greatness. "Where else does a single lifetime cover similar grand results ? We are not writing a treatise, but we must philoso phize a word. The astonishing rise of our great cities and of our national power, is the natural result of free institutions under favorable circumstances. If man were left to the free impulses of his natural energy and industry, the earth would be full of similar devel opments. Men are governed into national weakness. But why have not other free nations grown like us ? From special circumstances. Early Greece was free ; but, instead of a national union, she formed a confede racy like ours before the present Constitution, and naturally fell into dissensions and wars among her States, and eventual ruin. Our National Union is the groundwork of our national prosperity. If New York and Pennsylvania were merely allies, as Athens and Sparta were under the Amphictyonic League, we should not be long without a Peloponnesian war. Another word. The Great Republic is the child of INTRODUCTION. XXvii peace. She has carried on wars, but she owes none of her greatness to them. Her mission is peace. Her prosperity and her progress are founded on the arts of peace. She has always stood, and still stands, among the nations almost without an army and a navy. May it ever be so ! But we doubt : we tremble for the future. Our race is the aggressive Anglo-Saxon. Though without an army, we are an armed nation. No people on the earth has such military spirit, and such material of military success. There needs but the insane aggression of some European bureaucracy to rouse the dormant military spirit to turn to war like purposes those energies which have been so matchless in the arts of peace. The fierce passion for military glory once thoroughly roused, may never again be stilled. The tiger had one lap of blood in the Mexican war, and has been restless ever since. That was a trifle in which few felt much interest. But in a European quarrel, how easily could we throw three hundred thousand men into Italy, or Hungary, or Germany ! How easily could we rouse and arm the republican masses of Europe! A truce to philoso phizing. We sat down to write a kind of narrative. It is an especial pleasure to contrast the position our Eepublic occupies in the world now with the mean figure it cut not long ago ; just as the successful mil lionaire may recall the time when he was a pennyless errand-boy. And also in reference to our native city, we often ruminate on the humble periods of our his tory. We have talked with men who saw the first pavement laid down ; we were brought up at the feet of those who saw the " British in Philadelphia ;" who fought in the battle of Germantown, and laughed over XXV1U INTRODUCTION. " the battle of tlie kegs." We liave reminiscences of those times which have never appeared in print, and probably never will. In our day-dreams we have worked up those remi niscences into many a little romance. We have often taken an individual real sometimes, imaginary some times and placing him in contact with the incidents and the men of those times, have followed his fortunes. Our public facts would all be true ; our incidents of private life mainly so, though in novel connections, and borrowed from real personages, to adorn our ficti tious actors. Thus have we formed many a history which has been forgotten. Not all, however. There is one in our memory just now which we shall write down, whether artistically or not we do not know, for we are all unused to putting our fancies into words ; but our readers will find out for themselves. We shall write it down anyhow. We beg of you, serious reader, if you touch our narrative, not to call it unqualifiedly " a pack of lies." It is a work borrowed from our fancy a work of fiction ; but it contains more truths than half the his tories you read. Our account of the " Battle of Ger- mantown," for instance, is not only accurate, but the most accurate yet written, being founded on the pub lished histories, corrected by information from many persons who were present. We might say the same of other affairs. Our object has not been to write history ; yet when historical facts were to be recorded, we have tried to be historically accurate. Our object, we frankly admit, has been a work of fiction ; call it romance, or novel, or whatever name you prefer. We have wished to carry you back to that humbler na- INTRODUCTION. tional period when your grandfather mine certainly was a rebel against the British crown, with a reason able probability of making an acquaintance, more intimate than agreeable, with the royal hangman. Such reminiscences of the "rebellion," viewed as it appeared before success had sanctified it into a revolu tion, having been the " sweetest of our sweet fancies." Your tastes are the same we hope. THE QUAKER SOLDIER; OR, THE BRITISH IN PHILADELPHIA. CHAPTER I. CALEB HAZLEWOOD. THE twenty-fifth of September, in the year one thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven, was a memorable day in the annals of Philadelphia. The city then the metropolis of the rebellious colonies had been placed by the battle of Brandywine at the mercy of the Crown ; the rebel government had fled into the interior, and left it to its fate ; the Eoyal army was encamped on the heights of Chestnut Hill, some nine miles distant ; and their triumphant entry on this day had been duly arranged and announced. Truly, the twenty-fifth of September was to be a memorable day. As the time of the grand entry was not precisely known, the city had been all excited from early in the morning. Men singly and in groups stood at the corners, and on the street sides ; women and children thronged the open windows and front porches, and (31) 32 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. doorsteps ; boys clustered on the trees and fences ; the population was alive with expectation. Occasionally, bands of impatient spirits, weary of waiting at any one point, would rush along the streets, gathering numbers as they went, hurrying nowhere in particular, but jos tling and running over the more quiet spectators. Thus the scene of expectation continued. But the day wore away till mid-afternoon, and still there was no sight of the Eoyal army. One by one the people began to drop away, and the streets were becoming gradually empty. At length, however at the time we choose for the commencement of our narrative the flagging hopes of the still lingering masses were suddenly revived. A horseman, in the scarlet uniform, appeared galloping into the city. At some distance behind he was attended by a single follower, appa rently a mounted orderly. But, half hidden by the cloud of dust which rolled along with him, that single follower was magnified into at least a troop, and the whole army was thought to be at hand. The excite ment at once became intense. " The troops !" " The troops !" shouted and echoed in every direction, soon brought the more loyal portion of the citizens again into the streets. The horseman, meanwhile, unaware or regardless of the excitement he caused, continued onward at a rapid gallop. His course was along that street, in the prim geography of the right-angled city, termed Second, then one of the principal thoroughfares, and the route by which the Eoyal army was expected. Those who took notice of such things as some of the perceptive sex certainly did observed that he was a very handsome man, splendidly equipped and mounted, CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 33 and that lie rode like a "good cavalier," while his follower was almost equally well- mounted, though much more plainly equipped. As we have said, the horseman rode rapidly, taking heed of none, nor re garding the excitement which arose at his coming, and died away behind him. And thus he went on ward until he reached the " Old Coffee-house," then the favorite inn, as well as fashionable resort of business and pleasure. There he baited, and throwing his bridle : rein to his attendant, sprung lightly from the stirrups. " Major Robinson !" uttered by more than one of the crowd, showed that the officer was recognized. He was at once surrounded by an eager crowd, pressing on him with inquiries ; but, with a few evasive answers, he walked directly into the Coffee-house. No tidings could be got from him, and the delay of his Majesty's army still remained a mystery. The crowds now began to give up hopes for the day, and were soon retiring in earnest to their homes. Of course every one had his own opinion as to the non- appearance of the troops, and many sage conjectures were exchanged on the subject. Some of the Whigs for a few of them still remained in the city, though those of mark who were not in the service had fled to Beading and other interior towns began to crow over their loyal neighbors in their disappointment. The Tories felt chapfallen. The full flood of their exulta tion was checked and thrown back. Of the various little groups which were hastening homeward, we shall especially notice one. It was composed of three persons; an elderly Quaker, a young one, and one middle-aged man, who evidently 2 34 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. did not " belong to meeting." They were discussing the topic which occupied everybody's tongue ; but before we phonophize their talk, we will note their appearance. The elderly Quaker was a tall and portly personage, six feet at least, and stoutly proportioned ; considerably past his grand climacteric, bat so " well kept" that you could not call him old. His snuff-colored coat, drab breeches and waistcoat, and broad black beaver, all of the finest material, though quakerishly-fashioned, fitted him exactly ; while, to complete his costume, you must add long silk stockings, high quartered shoes, well blacked, and silver shoe-buckles, equally well polished. On the whole, his personality was an excellent specimen of the best class of Quakers ; an illustration, too, of the curious fact that the Quakers have the best complexions in our country, and are the " best kept" men and women, and actually the best dressed. His countenance was handsome, though fuller and rounder than the ordinary American type, which even at that early day had begun to become thinner and more intellectual looking than the parent race; and it showed a placid firmness, which those who "have had affairs" with the Friends would inter pret into inflexible obstinacy. The younger Quaker was of some indefinite age between twenty and forty. You have seen such men, I do not doubt ; at twenty you think them old-looking, at forty the reverse; and you have generally found them men of marked character. Our young Quaker was two inches at least under six feet ; broad-shoul dered, deep-chested, long-bodied, narrow-hipped, yet not heavily built. At a glance, you would pronounce CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 35 him a man both strong and active. He was not hand some, however, unless you admire a prominent nose and strongly-marked features. His face was the kind which you would not fall in love with at first sight, supposing you a young lady ; but which, supposing you a man who has given and taken hard knocks, you would look to with respect. Your wonder would be, what that face, tanned and weather-beaten, and marked with " the lines of fierce hopes," was doing under that Quaker beaver. The third personage was in the garb of the " world's people ;" rather small, rather oldish, but remarkably genteel; an " old beau" you would probably call him. And so he was. His well-powdered head and well- tied queue, his satin breeches and black-silk stockings, and golden knee-buckles and silver shoe-buckles, and three-cornered hat, were all exactly comme il faut in the dandydom of those days ; and at present, if worn, would designate a " gentleman of the old school," a little older than any existing specimens. The trio were walking side by side ; the elder Quaker next the wall, and the younger outside, with the old beau between them. In reply to some remark of the other, the old Quaker was saying, " I tell thee, George Selwyn, it matters not when his Majesty's troops march in ; to-day, to-morrow, or next day ; the rebellion is entirely suppressed." "Is it certain? Altogether certain?" interposed the old beau, who had been a Whig until the battle of the Brandywine convinced him of the superior merits of the Royal cause. " I tell thee, yes. The rebel army is entirely dis persed. George AVashington himself has fled over 36 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. the Blue Mountains, and will never be heard of again, unless he is taken. But I hope Government will deal mercifully with him and the other misguided men who have disturbed the peace of the Colonies. Gov ernment was severe when the rebellion of '45 was suppressed, but I hope there will be a more Christian spirit now." " I am afraid those will have to suffer who have been so rash as to take up arms against his Majesty God bless him!" said the old beau, taking off his hat reverently. " And those who gave the rebels aid and comfort, who were Whigs at heart eh, neighbor Selwyn ?" interposed the Quaker, stopping short and looking at the other with a smile. "Ton honor, Mr. Hazlewood," replied the other hurriedly, "I am free from the taint of rebellion." " Thou !" said the Quaker, in a tone which implied a thousand contradictions. "Do you doubt my word!" exclaimed the other, angrily ; " a gentleman's word !" " I suppose, George, thee will challenge me, if I doubt thy word," replied the Quaker, laughing ; " but thee certainly was a Whig once. We Tories thought it strange that thou, a man of fortune, of high English family noble family, in fact should join in with these low fellows to oppose Government." "I never did oppose Government," exclaimed the other. " I defy any man to prove I ever did." " Well, George, we'll not quarrel about it," replied the Quaker ; " but, any how, thee was very thick with Charles Thomson, and other noted rebels." " I defy any man to prove I was a Whig," resumed CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 37 the other. "True enough, I did think Government had no right to tax the Colonies without their being represented, and I may have said so ; but I never ap proved of arming against his Majesty God bless him !" and he took of his hat again like a true old Cavalier. " And the right to tax the Colonies, what does thee think of it now ?" said the Quaker, when the other paused while taking off his hat. " I think," replied the beau, " I think much can be said on both sides of that question." " But what does thee think of it, father ?" here in terposed the younger Quaker, who had been hitherto silent, though evidently manifesting ^interest in the conversation. "I think," replied the old Quaker, more sharply than the occasion seemed to demand, " there are some questions which need not be answered, and miglic as well not be asked." The young man was taken aback by this answer, and seemed for a moment embarrassed, but rallied; and, as if resolved, since he had begun, to continue the exercise of his tongue, he spoke to the old beau. "George Selwyn, thee is actually not a Whig?" Before an answer could be given, the old Quaker interposed, " Thee'd better not question neighbor Selwyn ; he's been but recently converted by the Brandy wine, like many others." "Base cowards!" exclaimed the young Quaker, " to desert a good cause because it is unfortunate." "A good cause, my son? What does the:; mean ?" " I mean," replied the young man firmly, looking 38 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. at his father, " that I think the cause of the Colonies just." " Tut, son, thee knows nothing about the contro versy ; thee has been out of the country until two weeks ago. Wait till thee knows before thee speaks." " But, father, if I think the home Government has no right to tax the Colonies, is it wrong to say so?" " My son, we are told to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves. We Friends render to Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and we stand by the es tablished Government for conscience' sake. Thy ques tion is an abstraction, which it is not profitable to consider. Furthermore, my son, it is not now the time to avow such sentiments as thine." " I will be discreet, father. But does thee feel per fectly certain that the rebellion is entirely repressed ?" said the young man, with an expression on his coun tenance which would have puzzled anybody not ac quainted with his history. At this instant the old beau exclaimed, " My Kate ! Miss Hazlewood !" and skipped forward to meet two young ladies who were approaching in the opposite direction. It was only his own daughter, and one of her friends, the daughter of our old Quaker. But the beau was in his element; bowing as nobody bows now-a-dayJs'/Ms'hat in hand for not to uncover to a lady would have utterly shocked the preux chevalier of a "lifetime a'gb" and complimenting, and "making the amiable,- ;;|; <' Those young ladies are figures in our reminiscences, and we must give you an idea of their appearance. Can we describe a lady ? Doubtful. CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 39 Ellen Hazlewood was a type of Quaker beauty, some would say of female loveliness. Rather taller than the middle height, regular features, clear, red, and white complexion, a figure full, but gracefully moulded voluptuously, we would say, were it not that the contour was chastened by the perfect inno cence of her face. Her whole expression so pure, so unconscious even of its own loveliness, that you would say it had never been soiled by an evil thought. Her costume was the ordinary Quaker garb of the present day, as it was of the times we are describing, as it has been of the sect since its origin, when it was the dress of the Anglo-Saxon middle-classes, as the " thee" and " thou" was their general style of address ; but she wore the Quaker garb without being disfigured by it, which we hold for a true test of female beauty. The other lady, Catherine Selwyn, was almost a perfect contrast. Much smaller, a dark complexion, irregular and not handsome features, eyes, eyebrows, and hair of the darkest hue, hands and feet extra ordinarily small ; a figure, however, exquisitely moulded. At first acquaintance you would call her ugly ; but when her face and eyes were lighted up from within, you would find that she was nearly the most beautiful and quite the most fascinating woman you had ever seen; the woman to inspire a grand passion of the pure Eros : the woman to lose a world for. While her father was bowing and speaking, Cathe rine Selwyn's face kindled up, and the expression changed several times, as if mirroring a rapid succes sion of bright thoughts. " I declare, pa," she said, as soon as an opportunity 40 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. was given her, "your bow is perfect ; the best about town. I wish you would teach it to some of the rising generation Mr. Charles Hazlewood, for instance." " Kate ! why, Kate !" interrupted her father. " Indeed, pa," resumed she, " I am pert ; I know it ; but I cannot help it. When funny thoughts come, I must let them out. But do, pa, consider the scene. There you stood, making the best bow in the world ; your hat gracefully waved off your head, and grace fully returned. There stood Mr. Hazlewood ; he did not bow, nor take off his hat, but he nodded gracefully, and he stood like a graceful man. But Mr. Charles Hazlewood ! Excuse me, pa, if I do not say how he looked." It was a fact. The young Quaker, Charles Hazle wood, did look, just then, amazingly unlike a graceful man. When he first saw the ladies he started ; then looked around as if seeking a hiding-place ; then stood like an awkward school-boy, blushing and changing countenance. But Catherine Selwyn, if she knew the cause, as, wicked baggage ! she probably did, ought to have been the last person to ridicule his awkward confusion. The old Quaker probably suspected the cause ; for your old Quakers are not blind in such matters, and interposed by inquiring what Catherine and Ellen were doing in the street. " On very serious business, I assure you, Mr. Hazle wood," she answered. " We are going to a tea-party, or some other merry-making, at Mr. Pennington's. We ladies go at four ; and you gentlemen will come at six, I suppose. We'll see you there, of course, Mr. Hazlewood. The officers were to have been there CALEB HAZLEWOOD. 41 but have not arrived, and so the jubilee in their honor must go on without them. I hope nobody will kill the fatted-calf for them again." " Hush, Kate !" said her father, looking timidly around. " Why, pa ?" " You'll get yourself into trouble." "Not by talk, pa. The tongue is a woman's weapon ; and I cannot believe even the British officers would be so ungenerous as to trouble me for using it frankly. 1 shall try them, any how. If I hear them talking of hanging "Washington, I will laugh at them for braggarts." " Fortunately, Kate, none will be there to-night but Major Robinson." " Walter Robinson !" exclaimed old Mr. Hazlewood, interrupting him. " When did he arrive ? Where is he?" At the name of Walter Robinson the young Quaker girl turned pale, followed by a flush of the deepest hue, and for a moment seemed sinking down. There was evidently a secret there. /* =' CHAPTEE II. MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. A WORD, now, of the officer who had alighted at the Coffee-house. Major Robinson was in command of a partizan corps called the " Colonial Rangers," raised from the Tory population of the Colonies, though on the regular pay-rolls of the Royal army. From the unwillingness, perhaps, of the better class of Tories to serve against their own countrymen, troops of this kind were gene rally mauvaiscs si/jets ; quite as ready to plunder and burn and rob, as to fight ; and Major Robinson's com mand was no exception. A very little more would have made them regular banditti. Their commandant, however, was an officer bearing the king's commission ; and being of a very gentlemanly address, even stood high in the service. "What his real character was will appear hereafter. Against his appearance certainly not a word could be said. The host of the Coffee-house ushered him into a private apartment, with that peculiar attention which "mine host" pays only to one who is "every inch a gentleman" in his appreciation. Major Robinson or dered refreshments ; a bottle of Madeira at once ; dinner as soon as possibly it could be ready, and the best in the house. He then disencumbered himself of his equipments ; his heavy silk scarf; his sword, with (42) MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 43 its belt and scabbard ; a pair of pocket-pistols ; and his massive silver spurs. Before he parted with the sword, he glanced over the scabbard of black morocco, half covered with silver mountings ; drew the blade, a light cut-and-thrust too light for service, unless in the hands of one who trusted more to skill than to strength then laid the weapon down on a small table, with the hilt carefully clear of the belt. The pistols also were carefully scrutinized ; the primings examined ; the bullets felt with the ramrod ; and then they were carefully laid down beside the sword. The scarf was thrown carefully though with great appa rent carelessness over the whole, so as to hide the weapons almost, but not entirely. The whole manner showed that Walter Robinson was a man accustomed to keep himself and his weapons ready for whatever might happen. Being disencumbered, the officer walked up and down the room several times, pausing occasionally before a small circular mirror to take a glance at himself. That mirror had often reflected a worse figure and face. Major Robinson would have passed anywhere for a handsome man. Not half an inch under six feet ; a face of Nature's finest fashioning, though almost feminine in some of its lines; a person elegantly formed, with grace in every limb and muscle ; broad shoulders, relieved by a waist narrower than usual in strong men. Add, what contributes not a little to a man's personal appearance, that he had all the accom plishments of the day, and " the habit of society," then rare in the Colonies. He danced well, rode well, fenced well, talked well ; and could flirt " like an angel," as we once heard an old Frenchwoman say. He could turn 44 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. over music ; could cut-out patchwork, or wind silk, or thread a needle, or talk soft nonsense, or sing snatches of tunes, or repeat ends of verses, or imitate musical instruments, or look lackadaisical ; in fine, he was the very pink of agreeable men. Just now, however, his thoughts were not exactly on carpet-knight accomplishments. After walking a few minutes he began to show considerable impatience, relieved at last by a small oath, which we shall nol repeat. " The fellow ought to be here ought to have beer here as soon as I. Where can he be loitering ? Bu1 ha, that must be he !" While he was speaking thug to himself a light knock at the door was given and repeated, and immediately a person entered. " Ha ! Captain Preston ! Come at last but late ?' " Could not be helped, major ; had to take a round to avoid observation." " Where are the men ?" "The place I cannot exactly describe, but I can have them here in half an hour." " I do not want them till after dark : be sure they are in readiness then." " Are we not always ready ?" " I do not dispute it." "But what is in the wind now? What special duty for us to-night ? To forage among the rich Qua kers ? I have marked several houses where I think something can be got." " Public duty to-night, Captain Preston." "But, major but you've not asked me yet to taste your Madeira," said the captain. MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 45 " Help yourself, of course ; then sit down until I explain what I want done." " Your good health, major," said the captain, pouring out a glass of the wine, and taking a seat at the table, near the bottle and wine-glasses. Major Robinson sat down on the other side, and poured out a glass for himself ; but took a gentle sip, with a genteel smack of the lips, instead of the single gulph of his ruder companion. " I have information," resumed the major, "of several noted rebels still in the town, and I know where they will lodge to-night. I mean to ijab them." Captain Preston gave a kind of smothered whistle, and quietly said : " Will it pay, major ?" " It is my duty, as a Eoyal officer, to arrest them." " But will it pay ?" repeated the captain. "I receive my pay in his Majesty's service, and that is enough pay for me." u Major, are you funning me ? You look serious. Are you going to try the game of propriety once more ? I'll not stand it ; I tell you, I'll not." " What do you mean, Captain Preston ?" said Major Eobinson, apparently excited. " You know what I mean. I mean exactly this. I do not care a fig for the Royal cause ; nor do you. We serve the king, because it is a very good cloak for the profitable business we carry on sttb rosa. In public, put on what appearances you please ; but among our selves, put on your own looks. You do not care for the king's cause, or you would not allow us to plunder the king's friends." " Captain Preston, tell me when I ever countenanced any plundering of the king's friends V" 46 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. " Major, you receive regularly one-fourth the plun der we get, the rest being divided among us ; and you know perfectly it must be squeezed out of friend and foe." " You certainly do not tell me that what I have been receiving from the corps as spoils of legitimate warfare is plunder ; plunder, too, of the king's friends ! Certainly you do not suppose that I could have been aware of the fact ? Eemember, captain, I am a gen tleman by birth, and an officer ; how can you suppose I could countenance what would be no better than robbery I" " This is carrying the joke too far, major," exclaimed Captain Preston, rising angrily from his chair. " Sit down again, my friend, and hear a word of reason. Do you remember the first time we ever met ? I do. Soon after I took command of the Colonial Eangers, in New York, we were involved in a skir mish with a superior force of rebels. I was cut off from the corps, and with my back to a tree was mak ing the best fight I could against numbers. Do you remember?" "Yes; and how astonished I was to see our new commandant so effeminate-looking turn out a gal lant soldier." "In my utmost strait I saw a tall man making way through the enemy, wielding a musket grasped at the muzzle, and striking down a rebel at every blow. That man was Jack Preston. You saved my life, Jack Preston; we cannot quarrel." The major sprang up and grasped Captain Preston's hand. " We cannot quarrel," said the captain, with more emotion than you would have suspected, if you knew MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 47 his character. " You found me in the ranks ; you made me a sergeant ; got me my commission as lieu tenant, and as captain." "Now listen to me," said Major Robinson, when they had resumed their seats, and filled up the glasses. " Perhaps, Jack Preston, I am as bad as you are ; as the corps generally ; but I try to persuade myself otherwise. I have prejudices of birth and of associ ating with gentlemen, which you have not. Do let me try to deceive myself if I can. You feel free, as the Quakers say, to do things which I can not call exactly right. Take your own course; I have not hindered you, and I shall not. But indulge me in this. Do not tell me that any of the spoils you give me is plunder of the king's friends." " Well," said Captain Preston, with a laugh, " we never plunder anybody but rebels, 'pon honor, major ! And we plunder them because it is oar duty to weaken his Majesty's enemies. Is that the right footing for the corps to be placed on?" " That will do," replied Major Eobinson. " Now, major," resumed Captain Preston, " you will tell me how the corps I do not speak of the com mander but how the corps is to gain any thing by nabbing rebels '/" "Besides several members of Congress, there is Allan M'Lean, and the fighting-parson, Dr. Jones : a heavy reward is on their heads." " If we can nab Captain M'Lean, that will be some thing worth while." " But, Preston, do not you see that catching any of 48 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. these rebels will raise the credit of the corps, and cover a multitude of sins." " I see ; I see ; but are you sure of them ?" " I have their holes all marked, as we fox-hunters used to say. As soon as it is dark, you can post the men so as to catch every one of them." "I hope you will not detain us long on the ser vice." " Why so ?" " We are tired, and wish to go to sleep to sleep, of course. What else should our moral, orderly corps be doing ? You do not suspect us certainly of intending to use the present opportunity, when there is no police and no patrols, to visit some of the well-filled Quaker strong-boxes ; you do not suspect us, do you, major?" The host of the Coffee-house now entered, followed by a servant to lay a table for dinner. Captain Pres ton accepted an invitation to remain, and the dinner was duly served. Those were days when gentlemen all gentlemen sat over their wine ; and the two officers of the Hangers were certainly not averse to the fashion. " The ladies !" said Captain Preston, filling up his glass after the cloth was removed, or rather running it over ; that worthy, though not already drunk, being somewhat in the vinous state. " The ladies ! Major Kobinson ; the ladies, with all the honors !" " The ladies ! the lady ! rather, I should say," re sponded Major Robinson, who had sipped several glasses in a gentlemanly way, and felt good-natured and friendly. " The lady ! Ha, major the lady ! Narrowed down to one, I see?" MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 49 u Yes, captain, narrowed down to one one luscious morsel, Jack Preston !" " Who is it, major ?" " None of my old affairs, Jack ; one I want to marry." " Pfu y marry ! You marry, major 1" "She's rich, and her fortune will set me on my feet." " Money, not love, major ? All right. A man a wise man may marry to get money ; but only a boy and a foolish boy, too marries for love." " Yes ; but I do love her! Oh, Jack Preston " We cannot bring ourself to write down the sensuous rhapsody which Major Eobinson a true worshiper of the Anti-Eros poured into the ears of his even more sensuous comrade. " Besides, she's rich." " Worth how much, major ?" interrupted Captain Preston. " Her father, old Caleb Hazlewood, a kind of left- hand uncle of mine, has some hundred thousand pounds ; and there is but one child, a son, besides her." "A brother to share the fortune. Is he man or boy?" " A man by this time, I suppose ; but I've never seen him. Six years or more ago he went away, be fore I came to the Colonies; and until lately has been absent." "You have never seen him, major; and, cousin though he is, you of course care nothing about him ; in fine, would just as lief he'd staid away altogether. Not so ?" 3 50 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. " Exactly." "Major, you must have the whole of that for tune." " How will I get it ?" "I'll sell you his half for five thousand pounds." " You ! How will you do that ?" " No matter. Is it worth five thousand pound ?" " What do you mean, Jack ?" " Yes or no. Is it worth five thousand pounds ?" " If I am to answer : yes." " It is a bargain, major. You are to give me five thousand pounds for the other half of your uncle's fortune. Let me fill up our glasses on the bargain." While the captain was proceeding to carry this proposition into effect, after a light tap at the door of the apartment, the host of the Coffee-house entered, followed by our young Quaker, whom he introduced." " Charles Hazlewood ! Major Walter Eobinson !" " My cousin Charles !" exclaimed Walter Eobinson, springing up with the utmost warmth, and extending his hand. The young Quaker stood an instant irreso lute, then coldly suffered bis hand to be taken ; but his face was partly turned away, and his whole manner impersonated aversion. " My father has sent to invite thee, Walter Robin son, to take up thy lodgings at his house. He says his sister's son will always find an apartment ready under his roof." " He might have sent a more pleasant messenger," muttered Captain Preston to himself. "What does thee say?" said Charles Hazlewood, who partly overheard the remark, low as it was MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 51 spoken, and turned round to the captain ; dropping, at the same time, the hand of his cousin. The captain was a little confused, for he had not meant to be overheard, but rallied immediately ; and, rising from his chair, answered : " I will repeat the remark, since you wish it. Your father might have sent a more pleasant messenger. Are you satisfied now ?" " I am satisfied that thou art a rude and unmannerly person ; but my business is not with thee," answered the Quaker, turning again to his cousin. " But my business is with you, now ! How dare you call a gentleman rude and unmannerly?" As the captain spoke, which he did in an excited tone, he laid his hand on the arm of the young Quaker, as if to turn him round face to face. " And how durst thou touch my person ? It is assault and battery," said the Quaker, jerking his arm quickly from under the hand of the other, and turning full front toward him. The men stood looking into each other's faces. Captain Preston was a much taller man, and stoutly built ; but the Quakers are a fearless race ; and Charles Hazlewood's eye met the other's with a calmness which could not be mistaken. The gaze of a minute or less satisfied the officer ; and in a much lower tone he spoke : " Mr. Hazlewood, you forget that we officers ar obliged to resent such terms as you applied t< me." " And that we Quakers are not responsible person in a military sense," interposed Charles Hazlewoou " That's true. I was wrong. We Quakers shoul 62 THE QUAKER SOLDIEK. not apply terms which the usages of society oblige officers to resent. I beg thy pardon." " I am glad to hear your apology. I should have been sorry to crop the ears of a respectable young man nearly related to my commanding-officer," said the captain, encouraged by the Quaker's apology. "I tell thee, neighbor," said Charles Hazlewood, nettled by this last remark, " it is thy turn now. Thou owest me an apology for interfering in the way thou did with me in the first instance." " You expect an apology from me ? What, if I don't make it ?" " I shall think thee not a gentleman . a gentleman always makes an apology when it is due." " Do you say I am not a gentleman ?'' exclaimed the captain. " If thou refuse me an apology, I might say it." " I do refuse. I will not make an apology." " Then I say : thou art not a gentleman." The captain turned hastily to a table where his sword was lying ; drew it from the scabbard, and strode back toward the Quaker, exclaiming : " I must punish the insult : I will crop his ears. Do not interfere, major !" The Quaker, apparently not at all alarmed by the rage of the officer, stood composedly watching his movements ; adding, however, as sauce to what he had said before : " Now must I call thee coward also ; thou hast drawn on an unarmed man." Captain Preston approached with a grand flourish of his weapon, as if he meant to frighten rather than to hurt, and possibly such was his real purpose ; but MAJOR ROBINSON AT THE OLD COFFEE-HOUSE. 53 his downward cut seemed directed at the ear or the head. The Quaker sprung lightly back ; dashed his broad beaver over the point of the sword ; and at the instant, while the weapon was entangled in the hat, dealt a heavy left-hander on the pit of his opponent's stomach. The officer fell heavily on the floor. CHAPTEE III. JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. DURING the colloquy between the Quaker and the tall Captain, Walter Eobinson had been weighing the invitation to his uncle's house. It was an important matter, and must be settled at once. During his former residence there, he had gained the good opinion of everybody. By dint of the utmost self-restraint, by concealing the greater part of himself, he had showed a character not altogether out of place in a pious, well- ordered household. His deficiencies were salved over in the view of his uncle by his punctual attendance at meeting on "first days," and his decorous behavior there. At the worst, the good paterfamilias thought of him as gay and worldly, but right at bottom ; and likely to settle down some time into a staid business man. This was the character Walter Eobinson was aiming at; and insinuating, plausible, adroit at deception, he acquired it fully. The real facts: his having spent his ample fortune in England, to which he had been taken young by his father a royal officer married in the colonies to a beautiful Quaker girl his after pro fligacy, his life as gambler, pimp, bully for women of the town, his having fled the mother-country under sus picion of murder, all were entirely unknown. As was also the fact, that his present commission in the army was the reward of disreputable services, formerly ren- (54) JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 55 dered to an influential owner of half-a-dozen English members of Parliament. In their ignorance of what he had been, "Walter Eobinson not only passed muster among his colonial relatives, but was looked on with sympathy and interest; having come to Philadelphia, he said, as a penitent, disgusted with the vices and follies of London, and sorry for his own share in them. Most especially did he gain the sympathy of his beautiful cousin, with whom he held long talks on his misfortune in kaving been exposed so young to the temptations of the world, and having been carried away by them on the superior pleasure he felt in his present virtuous life on his hope to become some day as good a man as her revered father. Add, that he was two years in the house with her ; paid her those little attentions, which she was unused to from others, be cause the young men of her society were not accus tomed to render them to any; read books with her, walked with her, rode with her; shared in her sym pathies, or affected to share. Add, that her young heart was free, and the result may be imagined. That pure girl loved Walter Kobinson not the real Walter Eobinson, the debauched profligate; but the interest ing phantom of virtuous penitence he had adroitly substituted. On his part there was love also, so to be called we suppose ; that kind of love which the satyrs felt for the maidens of early Greece. Walter Eobinson and his cousin were not exactly engaged lovers, but there was a tacit understanding ; and her parents had held many anxious family councils on the subject, with the ultimate decision that, at the proper time, if Walter should become a steady business man, no obstacle would be opposed to the course of events. Of 66 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. all this, however, Charles Hazlewood through his absence was ignorant. Such had been Walter Eobinson's position when he left his uncle's roof to enter the Koyal service. Should he accept the invitation, and return to reside there again? He was strongly tempted; and yet, would he not lose would he not run great risk of showing more than he wished? The visits of his comrades, of the officers of his corps some accident, might develop too much of his real character. That invitation was tempt ing, but it must be declined. So he at length resolved after deliberating, unusually long for him, during the scene between his cousin and Captain Preston. He was roused by the violent demonstrations of the captain, and proceeded, rather deliberately, a friend of Charles Hazlewood would have thought, to get his sword, with the view of striking up the drawn weapon, exclaim ing at the same time : " Hold, Jack Preston ! Hold ! don't strike !" However, before he was near enough to interpose, the blow was aimed and foiled in the manner we have related. When Captain Preston fell under the powerful blow of the man of peace, the latter stood an instant, still looking the fierce determination with which he had acted; then his visage relaxed, and turning to the other officer he very composedly spoke. " Thou art my witness, Walter Eobinson, that I struck in self-defense, if the matter come before meeting?" Walter Eobinson stood perfectly amazed; looking from the apparently lifeless body to the rigid figure of his cousin, almost equally quiet and calm after such .astonishing energy looking from one to the other for JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 57 some minutes, before he found presence of mind to speak. "Is lie killed?" "A man defending his life, does not measure the exact force of his blow. He may possibly be killed. Any how, his blood is on his own head." "And you, cousin Charles, where did you learn to strike such a blow?" "We Friends are not strikers; but sometimes the flesh gets the better, and we hold people very hard: even strike occasionally." " Cousin Charles, the flesh never taught you that kind of blow; there was regular science; a scientific hit of the hardest kind. I know it too well to be mistaken." " We'll not discuss that point, Walter Robinson. I will leave thee with thy friend, to recover him. Let me examine." As he spoke he felt the wrist of the captain: "Not dead; a feeble pulse tho'. Unloose his neckcloth and garments, and let him lie quiet. But the invitation: does thee accept my father's invitation?" "Give my uncle my best regards and tell him, if you please, that I feel much obliged to him ; but my mili tary duties are such, it will disturb his house too much for me to make it my quarters." "I thank thee, Walter Robinson, for thy answer," said the young Quaker, his face showing pleasure for the first time during the interview. "Thou hast answered well ; thou are not a fit inmate of our quiet house." "What do you mean, sir?" exclaimed the officer, his face flushed with anger. "I mean," said the Quaker, and paused an instant, long enough to see the folly of expressing an opinion 58 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. on his cousin's general character, " I mean, that a sol dier is not a fit inmate of a Quaker family." " Ha ! that's it ! That's nothing personal, any how." "I will take thy answer to my father," said the Quaker, and without any words of leave-taking, stiffly left the room. "What am I to do with this low beast," said, or thought, Walter Robinson, touching the prostrate body with his foot. "I almost wish my Quaker cousin had struck a little harder, hard enough to cheat the hang man out of 'a subject. Still, beast though he is, the fellow is useful to do jobs which a gentleman can not be concerned in. The fellow is useful ; particularly useful. There's nothing he would not do, if I pay him for it ; he hasn't a scruple about him. He will certainly kill Charles Hazlewood if I don't interfere. Must I interfere ? My cousin is no friend of mine ; I see it by his whole manner; he is rather my enemy. Am I bound to interfere to save the life of an enemy, from the revenge of a friend who has j ust ground of resent ment, who has been severely maltreated and naturally wishes to revenge himself? It's perfectly clear I am not bound to interfere. If Captain Preston kill the man who knocked him down, it is no affair of mine. I'll not meddle." "Jack Preston," continued he, after a moment's in terval, stirring the body with his foot, "are you dead, or a living man?" The prostrate officer drew a deep breath like a sigh, but showed no other signs of life. " I wonder," resumed Walter Eobinson, speaking to himself, or musing, "where my Quaker cousin learned to use his hands so scientifically, and his wonderful quickness of eye and body, only to be got by school- JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 59 ing and practice? He must have been staid as he looks, sowing wild oats somewhat like myself. It cannot be otherwise. Ten to one, but watching him close, I'll find his morals about as good as my own." "But hey, Jack! Jack Preston! get up! Do not let the Quaker's blow kill you!" While speaking, he shook the body roughly. Captain Preston breathed hardly several times, and opened his eyes. " What has happened, Major Kobin- son?" spoke he at length, faintly. " Don't you remember ? You got yourself knocked down by my Quaker cousin by a Quaker, Jack!" The captain raised himself feebly on his elbows, and gradually was able to sit upright, and to look around him in a bewildered way. All at once his recollection came to him, and he broke out into a most horrible volley of oaths, which we do not record; though we would have the countenance of some of our clerical friends, who never detail an anecdote spiced with oaths, without mixing in the seasoning. It was swearing, however, we assure you! such swearing as a Southern blackleg on a race-course, or a Northern " ancient mari ner," would envy. Volley after volley ; sometimes in the same words, sometimes with variations and grace notes ; volley came after volley, until the major, himself an adept in the art, but having enough now even of a good thing, interrupted him. "Jack," he said with a laugh, "you've sworn the hair off my head. If swearing and cursing would give you your revenge on the Quaker, you'd have had satis faction long ago ; but you'd better depend on something else. Now, however, let me help you up. But take a glass of wine, first." f)0 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. " Cogniac, if you please, major." The medicine was administered accordingly, and tne patient being wonderfully revived by the potent stimu lant was soon able, with the help of the major, to sit on a chair. Captain Preston was scarcely well seated, when the landlord entered, followed by a roughly clad person. Major Eobinson turned round rather angrily to the intruders, and inquired what was wanted. "I was directed to be here about this time, to meet Major Eobinson yourself, I suppose," said the stranger. "Mark Bartlel" said Major Eobinson; and turning his eyes fully on the individual, scrutinized him care fully from his face downward. He was not a very elevated specimen of Adam's pos terity. The man himself, about five feet seven high and rather spare; was dressed in a walnut-dyed linsey- woolsey coat, half worn and shrunk much too small for him; trousers of the same linsey-woolsey, also short, showing a goodly length of his blue yarn stockings, and the full of his cowhide shoes; an old blue vest, held together by a single button, and displaying his open tow shirt, and not a little of his tawny skin ; a broad beaver, of all shapes, which evidently had seen bet ter days, either as the Sunday hat of its present wearer or more probably in the service of some more wealthy person. But the face. Major Eobinson dwelt on it some time without making up his mind. It was a difficult face; not handsome certainly on that point there was no doubt but the trustworthiness was very questionable. You have seen such an expression of faces on reformed rogues, who are tolerably honest at JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 61 present, but have not lost the lines of their old habits. Major Robinson shook his head doubtingly, and renewed his scrutiny. " What do you think of me ? No beauty, sure ! I don't pretend to that; but I guess you'll find me a rough cocoa-nut, all good inside," said Mark Bartle at length, growing restless under this long-continued inspection, and, while he spoke, looking up with a peculiar kind of half-smile. "You are well recommended, Mark, by good friends of his Majesty, and I hardly think you can be other wise than true. You know the penalty of playing us false?" said Major Robinson, still fixing his eyes on the linsey-woolsey worthy. "A short rope and a ready tree, I s'pose. But why do you s'pect me, major?" "Who told you that I do suspect you?" "It don't take a witch to see that." "Answer me a few questions, fairly, and I shall give you my word that I do not suspect you. Were you born in this colony?" "Yes, sir; in Chester county." "What relatives have you ?" "Brothers, and sisters, and cousins, and " " That's enough ; are they Whigs or Tories ?" "You'd hardly b'lieve it, sir, but rough as I look, my relatives are mostly Quakers. My father was read out of meetin' for for " he raised his hand to his lips as if drinking, "and went down, and we are still where he left us." "Do you drink, Mark?" "My father took enough for us all. I drink nothing gtronger n'or milk or cider." 62 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. "You are a colonist; why do you engage against your countrymen?" "I've hearn tell, major, that you were born in the colonies too," answered Mark, looking the major full in the face, for the first time since the colloquy began. "A home-cut !" interposed Captain Preston. "True, Mark," resumed Major Eobinson, "but I am in his Majesty's service altogether. I do not live among the rebels as you do ; I am not in constant danger of their vengeance." "No danger at all, I guess. I start from home with my marketing in my wallet no harm in that, major! nobody knows whether I'm going to the Royal camp or to the camp of the rebels, oddrot 'em ! Well, I git into the right place and I ask for Major Robinson, or for General Howe. I want, you know, to sell 'em some of my butter." "But General Howe don't buy butter, nor Major Robinson either," interposed the major, laughing. " How do we country folks know that 1" said Mark, making his expression still more bumpkinish than usual. "I guess I'll git to see General Howe, or Major Robinson, in some way, and nobody '11 be the wiser whether they buy my butter or not. And my purse will jingle quite as well." "No doubt of the latter point. Now, Mark, we may come to an understanding. As the commander of a partizan corps, I am expected to furnish intelligence to Head-quarters. You have been recommended to me as a person well qualified for my purposes. I wish to engage you in my service, my service, remember, not General Howe's, and I will be your paymaster. I JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 63 will give you five guineas a week, and extra for any important intelligence. Here's earnest." As the major spoke, lie told out five guineas. " One, two, three, four, five, five golden guineas !" exclaimed Mark, counting them carefully, one by one. " I never had so many in my life !" "Are you satisfied, Mark," resumed the major; "satisfied to engage in my service?" "Ask a cow if she's satisfied in a clover-patch ! Only tell me exactly what I am to do." " I want you to find out where the rebel army is, and how much of it is left; not much, I suppose?" "So the tories here say," said Mark with an expres sion which looked like incredulity, and being observed by Major Robinson, led him to ask, ' " But what do you say." " That's 'cording as you wish ; real fact, or fact to flatter your own notions, as most persons prefer?" " Real fact, certainly." " Then I must tell you, major, that the rebels are not near as much down as people here think. They'll fight you agin some day, before you know it." "Nonsense, Mark, I don't believe a word of it!" "There now," said Mark, "the fact don't flatter your own notions, major, and you'll not believe it ; next time I'll know better what you want." " I do not believe it, because I do not think you are well informed at present. However, you will visit their camp wherever it is and bring me accurate intelligence. I also wish you," resumed Major Rob inson, after a moment's deliberation, "to watch the movements of any noted rebels who may be travers- 64 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. ing parts of the country where I can pounce on them." "Also," interposed Captain Preston, who had been rather patiently listening, and thought it time to thrust in his oar, "also, major, don't forget the interests of the corps. If the man find out any rich rebels in town or country worth levying contributions on, he must let us know." "Yes, Mark; this suggestion of Captain Preston's may be taken as if it came from me the captain is my second in command. Now, Mark, do you remember all I have mentioned ? I shall rely on your earning your wages, and on your being true. If you are not " Major Robinson did not finish the sentence. " Five golden guineas !" said Mark Bartle, chinking the coin in his hand; "you pay well, major; you en courage one to work for you." "It will be better still when some service is ren dered. I gave ten guineas yesterday for information which enables me to catch some rebels who have remained in town to-night. But, Mark, I've busi ness; I'll not detain you longer. Take a glass of wine and go, and let me be able to give you ten guineas soon." " No wine, major, no wine, but a glass of cider if you have it." When cider had been procured and duly disposed of, the linsey-woolsey colonist departed. It was now the dusk of the evening, and Major Robinson felt some anxiety about his arrangements failing, through the disablement of his officer. But at the first hint of this, Captain Preston got up, walked about the room ; tried his breast by drawing a huge JACK PRESTON AND THE YOUNG QUAKER. 65 breath and forcing it out again, took a glass of Maderia, \vith a vigorous smack of the lips ; and pronounced himself perfectly well. " So be it," said his commandant, and proceeded to explain in detail the measures he wished taken. It .*< CHAPTER IV. A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. IT is not our purpose to describe an evening party as it appeared " a lifetime ago." We leave sucli remi niscences to our worthy friend, " the Annalist of Phi ladelphia," or his successor, the present annalist, if successor has yet arisen. On this occasion, how ever, we shall ask you to follow our narrative to a party the party referred to some pages back. It was not late in the evening as lateness is counted now-a-days but every body had come, and the party was in the full tide of success. The company was mixed ; not mixed as the word is understood in some quarters ; but mixed of sober Friends and gay people of the world what was then called a " gay Quaker" party ; the most agreeable kind of party you could have been invited to, or can yet, for it has not entirely vanished. No dancing that physical substitute for intellectual occupation that confession of inability to "make up" a company adepts, in the " art of society," able to amuse and be amused ; but flirting plenty, talking plenty, and refreshments plenty. Do not for a moment suppose such a party prim, or formal, or silent. The most lively and gabblesome evenings we have ever spent, have been at " gay" Quaker par ties. True, we have often found a row of demoiselles and dames ranged formally along a favorite wall, and (66) A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 67 looking as prim as their well-starched cambric 'ker chiefs and lead-colored silks, but not a whit infecting the rest of the company. To just such a party our narrative will conduct you on the evening of September twenty-fifth, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven. Sad- colored Quakers were mixed miscellaneously with fashionably-dressed people, and were talking miscel laneously. Flirting, too, was going on, of course. That respectable old gentleman, your grandfather, whom you remember in silver knee-buckles and drab shorts, and whom you followed to the corner of Fourth and Arch, some twenty years ago, was mak ing " sweet eyes" on your venerable grandmother, whom you never saw, but have often heard of, though he had not yet been introduced to her. Many a young heart which fluttered as warmly then as yours ever does now, has long since ceased to beat ; or, if it still beats on earth, it is with the measured pulse of aged worldliness. With all this, however, we have nothing to do at present. Our narrative is interested only in three or four persons ; and we mean to confine ourself, except when we forget our intention, to their sayings and doings. Imagine yourself at a very large house; not so large nor so magnificently furnished as Mr. 's, but larger and more stately than most other people's of the present day ; for, with all our increased pride and greater wealth, we do not build as gentlemanly houses as our fathers. It was set back from the street, as all good houses should be ; as we hope you will build yours, when ever you can afford it, entre cour etjardin, according to 68 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. the old French rule, being the true test that a man's taste is as patrician as his fortune. "When you entered the broad hall, and ascended the broad staircase, with its massive balusters, to your dressing-room, you felt that you were in a gentleman's house, even before you came down into the large wainscoted parlors. Imagine yourself, or imagine our narrative we don't care which in the large parlors of that old- fashioned wainscoted house ; but you need not trouble yourself about the company numerous and select as it was except the friends you have been already in troduced to. Major Robinson entered in full-dress uniform ; and, gorgeous with scarlet and gold lace, the only military man present and a very fine looking person, as we have already said he was naturally a marked figure. Many a snowy bosom beat flutteringly under the white 'kerchief as the dashing officer approached ; for the fair Quaker maidens, vowed devotees of peace though they are, were like the rest of the sex, nothing averse to smile on the sons of Mars ; but, with a gentle bow as he passed, he made his way to the mistress of the evening, paid his respects to her, and immediately Bought his cousin Ellen. Beautiful and rich, Ellen Hazlewood was of course surrounded by beaux, making the agreeable according to the right-angled gallantry of the "plain people." But she appeared absent-minded. In fact, she was ex pecting Walter Robinson. She knew of his having reached the town, and she felt that he ought to have come immediately to her. He had not done so ; and he would meet her here, in public, the first time for near two years : for, since he joined the Royal army, A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 69 be had not been able to visit Philadelphia: the first time, too, since he had donned the garb of war, so irreconcileable with the principles of her sect. How should she receive him ? As a cousin, certainly, was her conclusion. Still she was anxious, and scarcely answered those that addressed her. When he actually entered she was watching, and saw him from the first she could scarcely realize that it was her cousin- lover, so different was his appearance. It was he, nevertheless, as she felt when he came nearer to her. Her heart beat violently ; her color came and went ; and she fell to talking rapidly with a young person, whom a moment before she had entirely disregarded. Walter Robinson was a perfect specimen of a man of society : self-possessed ; always at ease ; always ready with a compliment or a repartee ; an adept at hiding his sentiments, or feigning the exactly opposite ; and graceful withal. As he approached Ellen, there was nothing different in his manner, from what it would have been toward any other woman. But she talked the more eagerly, even turned her head partly away, and did not appear to notice him, even when he came directly before her and paused. " Your Cousin Walter !" said some one to her. " Where 1" exclaimed she, and looked everywhere but in the right direction. " Cousin Ellen 1" said Walter Robinson, holding out his hand to her. "Cousin Walter! It is long since we have seeu thee," said she, in a low tone, as she turned toward him and gave her hand. There was nothing which a looker-on could have construed beyond a very cold meeting of relatives. 70 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. Yet Walter Eobinson was satisfied. The hand he held in his gently returned his pressure, and even clung fast a moment when he disengaged his clasp : the un gloved hand, we might add white kids, though generally worn in those days, not being so all-essen tial at parties that a lady must cover her hands as watchfully as a Persian demoiselle vails her face ; and it happened that neither Ellen nor her cousin, at that precise moment, had gloves on their right hands. " Thee has not seen my father, Cousin Walter," said Ellen, rising, after a moment's pause. " I will take thee to him. He'll be glad to see thee. And my new brother new to thee, I mean, for he was absent when thee was here before he, too, will be glad to see thee." Walter Eobinson offered his arm ; and, laying her hand lightly on it, she proceeded to her father. " I am glad to see thee, Walter," said the old Quaker, whom they found comfortably seated on a couch, the predecessor, " a lifetime ago," of our modern sofa, and more modern lounge. He was sitting between his wife, Eebecca, and another comely Quaker dame, dis cussing, very agreeably to them, we hope, some staid and sober topic ; but, when his nephew approached, he rose and shook him heartily by the hand. " Always welcome, Walter," continued he ; " though I'd rather see thee in any garb than this. Why thee is as gay as a peacock ! What does thee think of him, Eebecca ?" " Fine feathers make fine birds," said Eebecca Hazle- wood. " Yes, but aunt," interposed Walter, " fine feathers A QUAKER PAKTY IN 1777. 71 do not make the pheasant any the worse bird. I hope you will find me no worse than I used to be." " Take a seat, Walter, with us, and tell us something of thyself," resumed Caleb Hazlewood. Ellen sat down beside her mother ; Walter Kobin- son brought a chair in front of the couch, and sat down. " I cannot help looking at thee, Walter," continued the old Quaker,'" thou art so much like thy father, only a little taller ; and a handsomer man, I would say, if it would not make thee vain. I hope thee may be like him in every respect. He was truly an upright man ; one who would keep a bargain to his own hurt. I hope thee may be like him, Walter." " I will try, uncle." " Thee treadest in his steps in one respect ; thee hast become a soldier." " And I will imitate him in another. I will retire from the army, as he did, as soon as the occasion allows." " Thee will, Walter, will thee ? It grieved me much when thee became a soldier ; but thee followed thy convictions, and I could not gainsay thee. Thee put on the uniform in a good cause ; and it was right, since thee feels free to bear arms." " I thought it right, uncle, to assist in putting down this rebellion, and I still think it right ; but, as soon as it is over very soon it will be I shall resign, and never more bear arms." " Oh, Walter 1" interposed Eebecca Hazlewood, " I hope thee is not obliged to take life, is thee ?" " An officer, Aunt Hazlewood, is not obliged to kill anybody," replied Walter, adroitly framing an answer 72 THE QUAKER SOLDIEB. which was true, and yet a lie, in order not to shock her prejudices. " I think it my duty," continued he, " to moderate the horrors of war as much as possible. Still, aunt, it is a terrible business ! I wish I was honorably out of it. However, the rebellion must be put down by somebody ; and I do not see how I can honorably re fuse to do my part. You wish the rebellion put down, do you not, aunt?" " I hardly know what I want, Walter," replied Ee- becca Hazlewood. "Friends are subject to Govern ment for conscience' sake ; and yet it seems wrong to kill our countrymen misguided though they are and to burn their houses. It does seem wrong ; does it not ?" " I almost think so myself, aunt ; and yet, how can it be helped ? Fortunately, it is almost over now ; the rebellion is the same as repressed. I begin to feel as if I were already on a quiet farm in the country." " A pretty farmer thee will make, such a gay but terfly as thee 1" interposed the old Quaker. " Do not laugh me out of my good resolutions, uncle," said Walter. "I've picked out my farm next to thy country place. There is a fine old stone house, in a grove of walnut trees ; a beautiful spring bubbles up on one side ; a sweet brook, lined with blue .lilies, runs a few yards in front ; behind is a copse of wood, and the fields stretch off as far as you can see, dotted with trees and groves. You know the place, uncle ?" " My Brookfield farm, certainly "I have been there often with Ellen, and always admired the place. Do you recollect Cousin Ellen ?" A QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 73 The maiden blushed as she answered affirmatively. " Well, there I mean to live, as soon as the rebellion is over, if you will sell me the farm, or give me it. Which will you do uncle ?" "That depends on circumstances," answered Caleb Hazlewood. " Do you not think such a quiet, peaceful life, favor able to virtue, aunt ? Do you not think I shall be able to carry out some of my good intentions ?" But enough of this colloquy for our purpose, which is to convince you that Walter Robinson is certainly a very excellent young man. You expect to find him hereafter joining Meeting " on convincement," and changing his scarlet into drab. Do you not ? A very edifying incident in our narrative, when it takes place, but wait. Some half hour afterward, Walter Robinson was standing by the side of Ellen Hazlewood in earnest conversation. His voice was so low, that amid the buzz and clatter of the party the most convenient place in the world for special talk none heard it but she for whom the words were meant. And she lis tened; her eyes cast down, and half vailed by the long silken lashes, with occasionally a quiet, timid glance around. " Now, Ellen," resumed he, after a short pause, " I feel there is but one place in the world for me. It is where you are, and nowhere else. To be near you always always would be such perfect happiness ! I would ask for nothing else nothing else on earth nothing else in heaven." " Oh ! Walter," half whispered she ; " thee is wrong to speak so ; thee should not speak so irreverently." 74 THE QUAKER SOLDIEB. " I was carried away by my feelings my love for you, dearest Ellen, and I forgot." " I wish thee could feel on this point exactly as I do ; then then my happiness would be as much as much, perhaps, as is allowed us on this earth." " Ellen, you are an angel, and I am only a man ; a poor, weak, penitent man. But I know that I am I am growing better and better every day. I have been growing better ever since I have associated with you. Your influence, Ellen, reformed me at first, and it will make me, continually, until I shall be not like you but not altogether unworthy of you. When I am away from you, Ellen when I am away from you, is the danger." " Hast thee kept the pocket Bible I gave thee, Wal ter?" " Certainly I have." " Does thee read a chapter every morning, as thee promised me ?" " Oh, certainly I do." " Does thee" as she spoke she laid her hand on his arm, and looked earnestly into his face " does thee pray for instruction to understand what thee reads, and aid to do conformably ?" " Certainly I do. Of course of course." He answered without hesitation, or the slightest change of countenance. " Oh, Walter, then thee is not far from the kingdom of Heaven ! Thee has knocked at the door, and assuredly it will be opened to thee, for He has said it. Dear, dear Walter, how happy thee makes me ! It matters not now, that thee wears a scarlet coat, and follows the cruel business of war. Thee is in the right way, A. QUAKER PARTY IN 1777. 75 and certainly will be taught from above what is right. How it will rejoice my father to learn all this, and my mother." "Does your brother Charles ever read the Bible?" interrupted "Walter Kobinson. "I asked him myself soon after he returned, and he told me that was a question which ought to be left to his own conscience." " Skillfully answered. But do you know, Ellen, where your brother was during his long absence?" " Nobody does. He mixes but little with the family, and hardly seems one of us." " Tells nobody where he was, nor what he was doing ! That doesn't look well ; doesn't look as if he had been well employed." " He is very kind and affectionate." " Of course your affections toward him are not par ticularly strong, having seen so little of him these many years?" "He is my brother, Walter!" said she, quickly, looking up in his face. " Your step-brother only." " I have never known the difference. He was my dear, dear brother, before he went away." " If you were told that he spent his years of absence as a gay man of the world in the dissipation of Eu rope, what would you think ?" " I would not believe it. But thee has not heard it, has thee?" " I cannot say altogether that I have. But I heard of a very wild dissipated young colonist named Ha- zlewood being in Paris. Whether it is my cousin or not, I do not know. But why doesn't he tell where 76 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. he actually was ? Is there any other family of Hazle- woods in the Colonies but yours?" " My father's cousin is in the rebel service ; but I do not know of any young men of the name who have been home to England, or away from Philadel phia, except my brother Charles. It was not he, I am sure." " It was not he, certainly ; and yet what other Hazlewood was in Europe ? Why does not he tell what he was doing, if he was reputably employed ?" " Oh, Walter, thy doubts distress me very very much! How can it be possible that my brother Charles could be a profligate person ? Thee cannot think so, can thee ?" " Now, Ellen, I must read you a lesson out of your own book. The heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, says the Bible ; and it is so. Charles may have been carried away by the allurements of Europe, in spite of his virtuous habits in your father's house, and he may now be here a re formed rake. I do not say it is so, Ellen ; but it may be it may be, and you none the wiser." " No, no ; Charles could not have been that, and appear among us as he is." " He may even be a rake not reformed, masking himself for some purposes." At this moment the subject of their conversation approached, with Catherine Selwyn on his arm. CHAPTEE V. CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. AT an earlier period of the evening, Charles Hazle- wood had been as many a good man has been alone in the crowded company. At best he was not a "man of society." He could not walk gracefully across a carpet, nor fly to pick up a lady's handkerchief, nor achieve any one of the important trifles which make a man the lion of " society." Neither could he talk about nothing. His conversational coin was not the currency of the ball-room, where electrotyped farthings pass better than guineas. "Worst of all, he felt him self out of place; and that very consciousness added greatly to his unfitness. It is very annoying, cer tainly life has few worse minor annoyances to a man of thought and action than to come as a novice amid the graceful frivolities of society, and to find himself, there of less mark than those he so much overtops in the broader field of the world. Charles Hazlewood wished himself anywhere else. The young man, however, did the best he could. He became an active looker-on. He walked about among people, and he looked amused, and he listened wherever he could without impropriety. One con versation between his father and another old friend, with occasional interpolations from others of a little knot around them, interested him very much. (77) 78 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. "I fear, friend Jones," said Caleb Hazlewood, look ing all over very grave, except a little twinkle in his eyes, " that thee does not rejoice as thee should at the success of Government in suppressing the rebellion; does thee, now?" "What does thee mean, friend Caleb," answered the other, a tall, slender, sharp-featured Quaker ; " what does thee mean ?" "Thee is very slow at understanding. I mean, Jonathan Jones, that thee has cause not to rejoice altogether at the suppression of the rebellion: thee has cause, I say.' 1 " Thee is too deep for me, Caleb ; thee is too deep for me." "Does thee forget, Jonathan, that thee will have to account for certain moneys? eh! Thee had money in thy hands as treasurer of the colony; what did thee do with it, Jonathan ?" " Thee knows perfectly well, that I paid it over to the Congress." " Thee did, did thee ! But does thee think Govern ment will recognize that payment ; does thee think so, Jonathan ?" "Any how, I have the bond-security of Charles Thomson and Robert Morris, and others ; all good for the money : the bond-securities are good." "Does thee think so? Ha! ha!" It was a quiet, almost silent laugh: a kind which the Quakers enjoy heartily. " Charles Thomson, or Robert Morris, either is good for the whole." " Was thee means, Jonathan : was, before the rebel lion!" " What does thee mean, Caleb ?" CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 79 " Why Jonathan, does thee not see, that all thy bond-securities, being notorious rebels, are not worth a farthing now ; their property will be confiscated of course " " Does thee think so ?" answered the colonial trea surer, taken aback by a view which had never occurred before. " Such is the law. And in the rebellion of '45 bet ter estates than Charles Thomson's were forfeited. But thee can plead the force put upon thee." "I will not do that, Caleb; I will lose the money first. But Government will not surely be so harsh as to confiscate all Charles Thomson's property ; surely not. He is a very upright man, and engaged conscien tiously on the side of the colonies. " The very man that Government will be likely to punish to make an example of. One such man a man of his property and character misleads thou sands." " Well, Caleb, any how I can repay the money and I believe it was spent in a good cause," answered the ex-treasurer, slowly but resolutely. " Hush 1" said Caleb Hazlewood, looking around to see who overheard the remark ; for tho' willing to have a joke, he did not wish his friend to compromise himself. Charles Hazlewood heard no more of the conver sation, for at this instant a hand was laid gently on his arm, and a voice spoke gently to him. He started and turned round ; it was Catherine Selwyn on the arm of her father. " Mr. Hazlewood Charles, I mean you have not spoken to me, this evening !" 80 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. "Haven't I!" he answered, in his confusion, scarcely knowing what he said. He had been trying all the evening to rally courage to speak to her, but had not yet succeeded. Charles Hazlewood did not know how to be in love ; a very common case with people of deep feelings. Be assured, fair lady, that the lover who approaches you unhesitatingly compliments you glibly, and is as unembarrassed with you as with other women loves you "wisely," but not "too well." He will marry you if you let him, and your fortune, or beauty, and justify his wisdom, but six months after marriage he will let you pick up your own handker chief: that is, unless you too have loved " wisely," and have had your fortune tied up by a strict settlement. You like "attention," I am aware; and yet you may set down particularly much attention in public to the score of particularly little love. We do not know exactly what Catherine Selwyn thought of the young Quaker's embarrassment, but we more than half believe that she suspected the real cause. She answered, looking with a smile into his face: "No, you have not; and I certainly have reason to be offended. However, I must forgive you for old acquaintance' sake. So give me your arm, and escort me about the room. Good-by, pa." As she took the arm of the young man, she parted from her father with what we may call " a make-believe" courtesy if you know what that is. Her gloved hand rested on his arm the first time. Do you recollect your sensation, my good friend, the first time such an event happened in your own case. If you do, I need not describe the young man's feel ings ; if you do not, you would not understand me ; CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 81 and so in either case I need not say how much he was thrilled through by that light touch of the small gloved hand. "Charles," she resumed as soon as they were walk ing promenading we ought to say "I may call you Charles may I not? It does seem natural to call you as I used, when we were children together! Do you remember that we were children together? I do, any how. But you seem to have forgotten it; or why do you not call to see us oftener? Pa says he thinks you must have forgotten your old friends. Have you really, Charles? But you do not answer me I" She paused an instant for the first time ; but he did not avail himself of the opportunity to speak, and she resumed. "How we read together! How many books! There was Dante and Ariosto and Tasso do you remember what a rebellious scholar I was? How I used to dispute your translation; yet I knew all the time you were right ! only I liked to teaze you! Have you forgiven rne yet, Charles?" "While Catherine Selwyn rattled on thus, she occa sionally was looking innocently into the face of her victim, we almost said but that would be unjust or ungentlemanly ; and occasionally she gave him one of those glances which the French elegantly name ks yeux douces, and for which the Anglo-Saxon is rather too homely for our pen. We admit, however, that our heroine for the heroine of our narrative, we think she is entitled to be did resort to manifestations, which savored somewhat of coquetry. Poor Charles Hazelwood ! The old reminiscences her talk called up those looks he felt through and through. It was a great shame ; that is, supposing her not in earnest ; 5 82 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. but women women of the world you do such things, and always have, and always will. Catherine Selwyn's excuse would have been, that she liked to flirt and chose to flirt but she knew it was wrong. With Major Eobinson, and such like men, there would be very little harm done, if any; but toward Charles Hazlewood a real lover of the deepest dye it was worse than wrong. He had loved that lady from childhood, with feelings strengthened by absence and there is no wonder that he took " trifles light as air" for " confirmations," and felt that he was loved in return. So convinced was he, that he would not have hesitated to "tell his love," if he could have sum moned couraged. But what were the lady's real feel ings? Catherine Selwyn was not old only twenty not old in years, but very old in the world. She was said to have rejected more men than any other lady in the colonies; so many, in fact, that her character was ever so little damaged ; it being reported that she drew on admirers with the sole object of obtaining declarations in order to reject. One thing was certain, she had had every body at her feet, and was still not engaged. Many thought there was some old attachment in the way. Whether it was so, and whether her early play mate, Charles Hazlewood, was the object is a point which we postpone until he himself asks her. However the truth might be whether she will say "Yes," when he is able to "put it on the touch, that wins or looses all" he was now in the blissful realization of the grand dream of his life: he thought himself loved. It had been his first, his only passion. He had loved her from infancy. Six years of absence CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 83 of activity, of excitement, of danger had not changed him the slightest. It was one of those passions, the blessing or the curse of human nature which govern, for good or ill, a man's whole life. Some of us fall in love as we call it; are disappointed; console ourselves with a second or, a still subsequent passion ; and finally marry very happily. But there are pas sions which can never be repeated ; there are men who can love but once. Such was the case with Charles Hazlewood. No marvel then, that in the realization of his love being returned as he thought he was (how shall I express it?) in a trance of bliss. He did not speak; and well for him; for, if he had, ten to one but he would have said something very silly. He was soon awakened, however, very rudely, as he thought. Walter Eobinson came up, and in the blandest manner, said : " Your father is inquiring for you, Miss Selwyn ; shall I take you to him?" There was nothing in the matter to be quarreled with ; yet the young Quaker was bitterly provoked at what he felt to be an interference, whether it was meant so or not, and he fixed his eyes belligerently on the officer with a most unquaker-like look. The young men stood an instant, face to face. As a rival, that gay man of the world, splendidly dressed and graceful and polished, was a formidable contrast to the plain Quaker. It would be grace against strength; the gentleman against the man ; flattering tongue against true heart ; ten to one on the tongue, when the arena is society and the judges are ladies. Charles Hazlewood, how ever, gazed steadily and sternly until the officer drop- 84 THE QUAKER SOLDIEE. ped his eyes, and turned away with Catherine Sel- wyn on his arm. " What does my father want with me ?" said she to her new escort, commencing the conversation as soon as they were alone. "Your father! did I say your father? So I did! Ha, ha ! All's fair in love ; I meant myself. I want to promenade with you." As Walter Robinson spoke, he gave her a look a look we suppose it may be called of admiration. "Mr. Robinson, none of this!" she said seriously. " Mr. Robinson Mr. Mr. I do not know him. My name is Walter ; call me Walter, and tell me what you are objecting to !" " To your manners !" " To my manners ! They are generally thought pretty good." " To your levity, then. I want a little rational seri ousness." " Serious ! I will be serious. I will ask you a serious question. Do you love me as well as I love you?" "Provoking plague!" exclaimed she, laughing, and dropping his arm " I'll not promenade with you." " No scene, I beg, Catherine ; take my arm again ; people will say I've just been rejecting you." "Incorrigible! I suppose I must take you in your own way." " Take me any day of the year, it will be the hap piest day of my life." "What would you say, if I were to believe some of your gallant speeches the last one for instance and answer: I'll take you now to-day; you'd be nicely caught." CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 85 " I would go down on my knees and kiss your hand, and call myself the happiest man in the world." " You cannot help it, I suppose ; but it is certainly very wrong. You cannot speak to a woman without making love to her. What will Ellen think of you?" "Ellen " said he, then paused in a moment's em barrassment, but with him it could be but for a mo ment; "I will now speak seriously. Ellen knows that I am in earnest with her and will not mind a little make-believe toward others." " Man of the world ! How little do you know of the pure heart of a young girl. How unworthy you are of possessing it ! How utterly unable you are to appreciate it to count even the treasure which I am sorry to say, is yours." "Sorry! sorry! I thought you were at least my friend," said he, somewhat piqued. " Yes, I am sorry. No good can come of the dissi pated man of the world being united to that innocent girl. Ellen's happiness must be shipwrecked ; I know it" "And I know I shall make her a good husband. 'Reformed rakes make the best husbands,' is the old saying and it's true. We have sown our wild oats before marriage, and sink afterward into quiet domes tic men." "But are you reformed entirely reformed? Your morals may be, but your manners are not. You flirt with every body. That is what Ellen cannot under stand. She is pure and true, and will be deeply wounded by your making professions to others. You must quit flirting altogether." " My conscience !" (we substitute this exclamation 86 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. for the real expression used, which was much stronger) "you are very severe on the harmless amusements of society. These things are perfectly understood and deceive nobody." " Not understood by Ellen " Their conversation was broken up at this point by a general movement as of the company retiring. " Now," said she, "I'll dismiss you and find another escort home; go look for Ellen." Charles Hazlewood was standing not far off, for his eyes had been on them constantly since Walter Robin son had joined her. " Charles, the company is breaking up where is my father?" she said. The young Quaker hesitated. This was the moment he had been all the evening looking forward to the decisive moment of the even ing of his life, perhaps. He had prepared a speech for the occasion ; prepared it beforehand ; and repeated it over so often that it could not but be ready at hand, now when it was wanted. It was too short to be for gotten: "Catherine, will thee allow me to take care of thee home ?" but when the moment came, it had slipped away. You laugh at him, our gay young friend. You have never had the slightest hesitation about offering your services, at the breakiug-up of an evening, to the lady you are in love with; not you. But you are not our hero ; and not likely to be any body's hero except your own. Charles Hazlewood could not, for the life of him, think of the neat little speech he had prepared for the occasion, and after considerable confusion and hesita tion, he found himself saying. "I'll find him for thee, CHARLES HAZLEWOOD AT THE QUAKER PARTY. 87 Catherine." On which mission he immediately went ; feeling strange as you may think it very much relieved. After some time spent in the search of her father, he returned to report himself unsuccessful. She was by this time be-shawled, and ready to go, but stood waiting for an escort. The young Quaker did not actually think of offering his services, but stood expressing his regrets at his not finding her father, until she was obliged to ask him to see her home. Of course, you expect an account of the explana tion, which he was so anxious to make, and which took place on the way. But it did not take place. Beforehand, he would have given a finger for the opportunity; but now, he postponed and postponed and postponed beginning, until he found himself raising the ponderous knocker at her door. It was too late for a formal declaration, now; but in order not to loose the t6te-a-tete altogether, he pressed her hand with his arm as she withdrew it: which he thought at the time wonderfully bold. He could not, however, find courage to walk in, though she invited him. So ended the bashful cousin's first opportunity. CHAPTER VI. MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. WALTER ROBINSON was a lover of a different stamp. Without the slightest hesitation he offered his services as the escort of Ellen Hazlewood from the evening party. The conversation was such as you may imagine, if you have ever escorted a young lady " peculiarly related to you" from a party; and if you have not, it would not interest you at all. In either case we may omit it. After he parted from Ellen, the young officer looked at his watch, and uttering an exclamation which sounded like a smothered oath, at the lateness of the hour, quickened his pace. His arrangements for cap turing the rebels had been made, but he wished to ascertain whether his men were at their places, ready to act when the time should arrive. He was walking rapidly along, the light very imperfect, (for in those days the city fathers trusted to the moon and stars even more than at present,) his thoughts vibrat ing between Ellen Hazlewood whom he had just left, and the rebels whom he hoped to surprise in their lodgings, when he jostled against some men coming in the opposite direction. Exclamations not very polish ed were uttered by both parties, followed by one of the others saying: "An officer! I see his uniform! A (88) ' MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 89 Royal officer !" while at least two pair of hands roughly grasped his person. "What does this mean! Who are you?" exclaimed the Royal officer, indignantly, and attempting to shake himself free. "No you don't!" replied one of the others: "you may as well consider yourself as a prisoner, and be quiet." "A prisoner?" said the officer, not a little mystified. "A prisoner; how can that be? I am in Philadelphia, I think, and Philadelphia is in the possession of the Royal army." "You are a prisoner, nevertheless; and the sooner you make up your mind to walk peaceably with us, the better: otherwise we'll have to be harsh." "But who are you? Really rebels, here in Philadel phia?" "If it will do you any good to be satisfied on that point, I can assure you we are really rebels, here in Philadelphia." "But you are liable to be taken, any minute, by his Majesty's troops and hung." "Thank you for the information; but I rather think his Majesty's troops are liable to be taken by us one of them any how do not you think so? Ha, ha!" The laugh was echoed by the others. "Pooh! my good fellows, you are in a trap without knowing it. I've marched my corps in since night fall. If I whistle, you will be surrounded in an instant. But I'll make a treaty; if you do not attempt to make me a prisoner, I'll let you withdraw from the city in safety." " I should be sorry to call a gentleman a liar," said 90 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. one of the party who had not yet spoken, " especially a prisoner ; but what you have just said is certainly not the truth to put it on the mildest footing. "We know that no Eoyal troops are in the city, except a party of Eobinson's Tories. I hope you do not belong to that infamous corps ?" " Certainly not," replied "Walter Eobinson. " I am a major of the guards ; look at my uniform." It was rather dark, and the rebel little initiated in the mysteries of various uniforms; so he was obliged to take this reference on trust. " But why did you tell us you had marched your corps into the city? We know the regiment of guards are still at Chestnut Hill." "What a silly question! It was only a military ruse." "Perhaps your calling yourself an officer of the guards, may also be what you call a military ruse." " I never resort to a ruse without necessity ; and I see no necessity for my denying being one of Eobin son's corps, if I really was." " You do not ! I see a wide difference between a British officer doing his duty to his government, and a Tory fighting against his own countrymen. At all events, we make a difference. If you were one of Eobinson's corps, I think it very likely you would meet with some accident, before you reached our camp." " How so ! What do you mean ?" "I mean, that Tory prisoners are unlucky in our hands : a pistol goes off accidentally or something else happens to them, and they do not get into camp. I MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 91 do not know why it is, but Tories are unlucky in the hands of M'Lane's light troops." "M'Lane's light troops!" repeated the Royal officer, while a cold chill ran through him; "you are some of M'Lane's men, are you? one of the best corps in the service of the Congress ! But why are you so bitter against Robinson's rangers?" "Because they are rascally marauders, who rob, murder, burn, plunder and ravish and are banditti rather than soldiers and particularly because they took one of our men a fine young fellow as ever you saw and hung him up on a high tree, about a week ago." "What! hung a prisoner, did they?" said Major Robinson, affecting great indignation. "Give me tha circumstances I will report to General Howe, and have the persons who did it court-marshaled." "We'll not trouble you, sir. We mean to court- marshal them ourselves. Captain M'Lane has sworn and when Allan M'Lane swears to a thing you may consider it as already done has sworn to hang every man of the corps he can catch, until he is sure of hav ing punished the right ones." " Has he hung any yet ?" "When your troops march in to-morrow, they'll know something. We've marked some of 'em, and before morning, I guess you'll hear of their ornament ing the trees along the route of the Royal troops to morrow." " Is it possible !" exclaimed the officer, thrown off his guard by this unexpected information, but imme diately recovering himself, he continued in a quiet tone. "Is it possible that you would have the audacity 92 THE QUAKER SOLDIEB. to do what you say: to hang up his Majesty's loyal sub jects along the streets which our victorious troops will be entering! General Howe would hang every man of you in retaliation. I hope you'll not try that game !" "Why not? Those Tories are planning to catch M'Lane himself and others of our people this very night, and threaten to hang him on the spot. "Why shouldn't we turn the tables, and hang them if we catch 'em ? Why shouldn't we ?" "How do you know there is any plan to catch M'Lane and hang him ?" said the Eoyal officer, per fectly amazed at his arrangements being known, and resolved to fish out as much as he could from the rebel. "You'll have to ask Captain M'Lane himself, as soon as you get a chance which will be some time to morrow, I think. At least, we shall take you to his head-quarters, over the Schuylkill; where we shall ex pect him to-morrow." At this point of the colloquy, the party had reached a spot called the Potter's Field. It was a large plot of pub lic ground, a deposit of rubbish, and affording many eligible wallowing places well known to civic unclean beasts, and properly used by them : this one corner was set apart and fenced off for paupers' graves. The place struck Major Eobinson as offering a good oppor tunity for escape; and at the sudden thought, he sprung from the midst of his captors right into the waste ground. Before the rebels recovered from their surprise at this sudden movement of their prisoner, he was several yards away. They soon sprung after him however, MAJOR ROBINSON A PRISONER. 93 and there was a regular run, which gave the officer an idea, perhaps for the first time in his life, of the feel ings of the interested party in a fox-chase. It was equally a run for life. And the pursuers animated the fun by hot exclamations and hasty pistol-shots. The Tory officer was swift of foot, and found himself distancing his pursuers. Unfortunately for him, in springing over a heap of rubbish, he alighted on the miry edge of a puddle and slipped and fell. To floun der out took time, and before it was effected, he was again a prisoner. "lam sorry for you," said one of the captors, who seemed in command "but there's no help for it: a prisoner who attempts to escape is out of mercy and liable to be shot. Shoot him through the head, Wil liams, and make sure of his not escaping." The man who received this order, raised his pistol, and held it an instant, then dropped it to his side, with the exclamation : " I cannot ; I cannot do it, sir ; I cannot shoot a man in cold blood." "Pooh! you are particularly squeamish! I must do it myself, then." Major Eobinson had not spoken a word since he was recaptured. Indeed, it was some time before he was able to speak, so completely was he subdued by his condition; his face plastered over with filth, his ears and even mouth full, his nose and chin and hair dripping. Nor did he speak now, when he heard the savage intimation, but suddenly throwing his arms around one of the men, he began to struggle violently as if he wished to throw him down, though his real object was to embarrass the aim of the other man. Accordingly the pistol was pointed several times and 94 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. withdrawn, until it became apparent that, as the parties were, it was impossible to shoot the Eoyal officer without endangering the man he had hold of. " Throw him loose from you ! throw him loose !" Major Robinson felt himself thrown violently off; but saw his danger and attempted again to close. Before he could effect it, his eyes were dazzled by a stream of fire, lighting up the darkness for an instant, and he felt the sharp whirr of a bullet. But he was not hit. Firing in haste and betrayed by that treacherous weapon, the pistol, the man had missed. "This however, at all events, is sure!" exclaimed the rebel, and struck the Tory officer on the head with the butt of his weapon, so hard that the wood was shattered. CHAPTEE VII. SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBKOKER. THE Royal officer was not the only one of that evening company who "walked o' nights." About the time of the catastrophe just mentioned, our young Quaker was also in the street, though at some distance from the scene. Rather curiously occu pied however; suspiciously some would have thought, who were not aware of his entire respectability. He was standing in front of a large mansion ; his person pressed close to the trunk of a tree, as if seeking con cealment, while his eyes were fixed on a light which wrinkled faintly through the curtains of an upper window. How long he had been standing thus, mat ters not ; but you may imagine why, when we tell you that it was the residence of Catherine Selwyn. Oh the bliss of making a fool of oneself about a woman ! It certainly was any thing but wise to stand there by the hour gazing on that window; yet you have done the same thing, we'll wager you a bet at least we have, and felt ourself about the happiest man in the Great Republic. Charles Hazlewood had as much right as either of us. His happiness was cut short, by the light behind the curtain being extin guished. He then did what was, if possible, still more foolish. He sprung up the door-steps, and stooping, kissed, yes kissed the threshold : the most (95) 96 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. respectable word we can find to designate the lowly spot where his lips were pressed. If it had been Catherine herself he could not have started back in greater fright at his own boldness, and springing at one bound to the pavement he hastened rapidly away. But in a few minutes his speed slackened, and after a moment's hesitation he turned around and began to retrace his steps. "No no no! I will not go there again to-night," he murmured to himself, and again halted. "My friends are still at the Jew's, I presume; I'll go there." His pace was soon rapid. But either from the habit of being always on his guard, or from some par ticular cause, he cast a quick but scrutinizing glance on every object he passed. He held in his hand, too, used as a walking-cane, a rather stout hickory stick; even then a wood of reputation, though not yet canonized as the type of the strong but elastic Ameri can as the oaken staff characterizes the more unbend ing Briton. At a particular spot he observed a man lurking in the shadow of a house, and instantly grasped his cane at quarter length, so that a moment could bring it to a guard, while his eyes were fixed watchfully to detect the slightest movement. The man did not move and the Quaker passed quickly by. At length he reached a spot near the river bank, and paused to reconnoitre. Lamps were then even more "sparse and inadequate" than at present in Phila delphia, but there was one which threw a feeble light on the door of a house. It was a clingy-looking edi fice, a story and a half high, with a very lofty, SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 97 double-hipped roof, crowned by a huge dormer win dow; the walls checker-built of glazed bricks; the window shutters cross-barred with iron, and studded, as the door was also, with large-headed nails. Noth ing was ruinous, though old, and the whole bore the air of decayed gentility. Not a gleam of light shone from the inside; and it might well be supposed, from the lateness of the hour, that every creature within was abed. The young Quaker gazed at the house an instant; looked around him; saw no one, and then knocked at the door three peculiar knocks as if some concerted signal. A few minutes delay, and a step was heard approaching on the inside, and a voice spoke: "Who is dare?" "A friend." " Vat for friend ?" "One you know." First the sound of bars taken down, and bolts grat ing in their catches ; then the upper half of the door which, like many of that day, was douole opened to the length of a short chain; which prevented its going further. "Now who is you?" " Charles Hazlewood." " Oh yes." The person on the inside was in total darkness and reconnoitered an instant through the chained door : "oh yes in trut mine yurik friend." More fastening was unloosed and the upper half of the door opened : then another bar and divers bolts were withdrawn and the under half of the door fol lowed : and Charles Hazlewood entered. The door 6 98 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. was shut after him, and the next instant, the place was lighted up from a dark lantern, which was sud denly opened. The place where Charles Hazlewood found himself was a kind of vestibule, or short entry; a square hole closed by a slide in one side of the wall and a door at the further end ; apparently the entrance of a pawn broker's shop. While the owner was returning the bolts and bars of his outer doors. Charles gazed on him with deep interest; not so much on account of his appearance as from his character. Yet his appearance was sufficiently peculiar ; a large oval head was set on a very large oval body ; the neck so short, that the short oval seemed to rise immediately out of the larger ; the legs so inconsiderable, that the two ovals together made a man under five feet; while the arms were long and muscular. But the face and forehead were grand; full of intellect and benevolence, with a slight season ing of something like cunning, though not enough to impair the general effect : you could not but wonder what those features were doing on the shoulders of a pawnbroker. Yet Solomon Isaakski was more than a pawnbroker, and it was of this Charles Hazlewood was thinking. He was a very wealthy Polish Jew, whom sympathy with the revolted Colonies, struggling for the rights of man against the gigantic power of Britain, had drawn to America. In support of the cause, no son of the soil was more zealous, and none more ready to sacrifice what men hold most precious; few were more meritori ous. His ease no slight matter with him his money still more precious was lavished unsparingly. Many a time when Morris and Reed and Thomson were at SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 99 fault, the Polish Jew stepped forward and advanced the funds to carry on the war to move the army, or equip the fleet; and, as a parenthesis, we may add that down to the present day those loans are said to be not repaid. For his services he was honored and a great honor he considered it with the esteem and friend ship of the Commander-in-chief. The pawnbroker's shop was more a pretext than a real business; though possibly with his noble qualities he mingled some of the hereditary habits of his race. Not much to his gain however. For the business was left in the hands of a poor Jew, who under the name of clerk received the profits as his salary. These facts were not all known at this time to the young Quaker, who merely looked on the Jew as a rich pawnbroker, ardent in the Whig cause ; but enough was known to excite his interest. The last bolt of the outer door was carefully drawn ; the second door passed and bolted behind them with equal care ; and they were in a room of considerable size, filled with a most miscellaneous collection of articles; through which they found, with some difficulty, a meandering way. At the farther side the pawn broker opened a door, and a blaze of light shone out from an exceedingly well-lighted apartment. The young Quaker entered and found himself in a com pany rather extraordinary for a pawnbroker's house, at midnight. There were three persons present : the most striking, a tall and rather slender man, some forty years old, or thereabouts ; with a face remarkably handsome, except the nose, which was rather prominent, eyes keen and bright, and his general appearance manifesting great 100 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. vigor and energy. He was dressed in full black, but his coat of a military cut was evidently a chaplain's uniform. Near by him sat a man, not quite so tall and considerably younger, but not unlike him in figure and general appearance except the prominent nasal sign. He was in the blue and buff of the Continental service ; his epaulettes at least a captain's, and a pair of hand some steel-cut pistols with a serviceable-looking sword were stuck in his sash. The third of the trio was the man in linsey-woolsey, who had been with Major Rob inson at the Coffee-house; and whom we then intimat ed to look at best like an equivocal piece of honesty. The three were seated at a table covered with papers, and at the entrance of the young Quaker, the two officers sprung up to welcome him ; being evidently old acquaintance. "Dr. Jones! Captain M'Lane !" exclaimed the Quaker. "I am glad to see you indeed ; but you run great risks. Robinson's Tories are in town looking for you; on the wrong track, however." "Ha, ha, ha!" sounded in a low chuckling laugh from the man in linsey-woolsey. "Our friend here, Mark Bartle," said Captain M'Lane " could tell you something of that, since he sent them astray. Let me make you acquainted with Mark: a true man though you may see him under various colors. And Mark, let me make you acquain ted with Mr. Hazlewood ; that rare animal, a Quaker Whig rari aves how is it doctor? you are a Latinist as our old schoolmaster had it." "Never mind the Latin, M'Lane" replied the chap lain "stick to the English stick to the English." SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 101 "Stick to the English! rather curious advice from you, doctor eh!" " Do be serious for once, M'Lane. We wish our Quaker Whig to know Mark and trust him ; he may have occasion for his services." "You may trust him implicitly, as a true Whig," resumed the chaplain. "I can vouch for him; I have known him from infancy; know his father well, and all his kin ; so you need not suspect him when you see him as you often will under Tory colors." "On your assurance, Doctor, I will trust him" said the young Quaker, offering his hand. Mark Bartle took the hand thus offered, and held it an instant with Borne emotion; then said; "You doubt me, sir; you doubt me, I see you do ; I wish oh ! how I wish, every true Whig to know me as I really am." "Tut, Mark," said the chaplain, "what nonsense! We know what you are. General Wayne knows what you are. Even his excellency, the commander-in-chief, has heard of you " "What! Washington himself?" " Himself. I have spoken of you to him. I shall men tion your services to-day " "Will you, Doctor; will you? And he has heard of me he that's enough for me; I'll never, feel bad again at being a spy. But, Doctor, did not I trick the Tory major ; sent him down to old mother Pieroe's to catch Whigs ! How he'll rout the old woman out of bed to search her house !" "Mark," said the chaplain seriously, "you tangled your business too much when you enlisted as Major Robinson's spy; it was dangerous enough to pass your self off as a Tory, in order to gain intelligence. You 102 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. will find yourself strung up some of these days a foot or so too high." "I like it, Doctor; I like to handle a tangled skein. As to the hanging, I don't believe hemp harder than lead ; and would as lief die by one as by the other. In the cause of our country you do not fear a bullet, and I don't fear a rope." "That's a new view of the matter," interposed M'Lane; "and philosophically considered, perhaps right. But Doctor to show you I can be serious let us finish our business." "Yes well," resumed the chaplain. "Mr. Isaakski will receive the reports of our city agents, and for ward the intelligence through Mark and other men. All is arranged I think ; is it not, M'Lane ?" "I do not recollect any thing else." "And now, Mark, you may go. And we may go also. I shall leave the town immediately. When do you set off M'Lane, with me?" " To tell you the truth, Doctor, I mean to sleep in town ; and to-morrow I mean to hold possession until the British march in and drive me out." "You '."exclaimed the chaplain; "one of your hair- brained adventures is in the wind, I suppose." "But Eobiuson's Tories are already in town," said Mark. "It must be only a marauding excursion; they will be withdrawn before daylight," replied M'Lane. " What force have you ?" "Fifteen; the rest are escorting the stores up the river." "But where are they in your breeches pocket?" "At a good Whig tavern in Sassafras street. The SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 108 men are in the hay-mow ; the equipments under the hay ; the horses in the stable beneath." "Hah!" laughed the chaplain; "but, Mark, you may go. And remember when you come to Mr. Isaakski by night, you give three distinct knocks. Now go." Mark Bartle was conducted out of the house by a back door which led toward the river. "Does the Jew know you, Hazlewood?" said M'Lane. "Only as a Whig Quaker. I was introduced to him by a letter from his Excellency." " Do you mean to tell him who you really are ?" " While I remain in Philadelphia, I am nobody but Charles Hazlewood even to my most confidential friends." " Yet Mark Bartle knew you ; I could see he did. But you can trust him; your secret is safe in his keeping." The pawnbroker now returned, and at his entrance spoke : " Gentlemens, vill you break bread mit me ? You be hungry rnens I knows ; come mit me." " True enough. I have been too busy to eat much to-day," said M'Lane, as they all rose from their seats and followed the Jew. The place he led them to, was up a short flight of stairs, in the back buildings of the house. "Here is mine library and dining-room," said the Jew. As they approached, the door was thrown suddenly open by some machinery we suppose and a perfect blaze of light flashed into the dark entry. The young Quaker was perfectly dazzled and astonished, and at every step as he entered, his astonishment increased. Never 104 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. in the colonies never anywhere had his eyes be held any thing like the scene. His companions, who were untraveled men, used only to the homely things of a new country, uttered an involuntary exclamation. The apartment could have been fitted up only in a dream, or by the gorgeous tastes of the Orient. They were in a tent surpassingly magnificent. Crimson cloth of cashmere flowing from the centre gracefully to the walls, was gathered there by a golden cord into Saracenic arches, each forming with its drapery a gentle alcove ; and in each alcove was a divan of some unknown, but rich and lustrous fabric; between every alcove, all around, hands of burnished silver stretched forth, holding each a lighted waxen torch. In one of the alcoves hung a magnificent Turkish sabre the cold blue light of its Damascus blade, chastening the sparkling diamonds of its jew eled hilt; and beneath, an equally splendid dagger and a pair of plain but costly pistols ; but no other furniture of any kind appeared. Neither doors nor windows were seen, and even their place of entrance was hidden by the drapery which fell behind them as they advanced. Following their host, they walked across the mid dle of the tent, their feet at every step sinking deep into a luxurious Persian carpet. At the further end, the drapery of the back of an alcove rolled up, by some invisible means, and displayed through the open arch, another tent even more gorgeous, though smaller. In place of divans were cushioned arm-chairs of rare workmanship and luxurious pattern, and the back of each alcove was a single mirror ; but there seemed no other difference in the furniture. "Dis ish me dining-room, toder ish me library vare SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 105 I pass me solitude," said the Jew. " Pray sit down, and honor me bread." The guests saw no signs of table, nor preparations for a feast, but they felt a little as if they were in an enchanted land, and each chose an arm-chair. " Not in dat one," said the host, pointing to a chair marked SACRED, "dat ish his chair; Vashington sat in dat chair ven he honor me roof, and none oder ever sits dare." " Noble fellow !" exclaimed M'Lane. "You ought to have lived in the days of your great forefathers," said the chaplain; "you are worthy of the best of the Bern Israel." The Jew seemed moved, but merely said after a moment's pause, "Pray be seated, gentlemens." As they sat down, a table rose from beneath the centre of the floor, chastely set out with plain silver plates and goblets and other table furniture, and sup plied with substantial viands, such as a "good-man's" larder might supply on a sudden call. At the same instant, their chairs began to move, and slowly approached the table. " This is magic," exclaimed M'Lane. "Your machinery is perfect," said the young Quaker; " as noiseless as the movements of the stars." But it was some time before any of the company, not even the chaplain and captain, could do justice to the good cheer before them so struck were they all with a scene, which none of them had ever dreamed of. The first who recovered himself com pletely was the young Quaker, who spoke. "You are a Sybarite, Mr. Isaakski." " I do love mine ease," answered the Jew. " Vy not ? 106 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. vat for ish de monies but to enjoy dem; ve cannot take dem mit us ven ve dies." "Few have such taste in providing enjoyment. See here, Captain M'Lane," he touched the spring, which rolled down the back of his arm chair and converted it into a lounge ; " see here." " My yung frend," said the Jew, " you ish prema ture, finish your meat first and den lie down." "Ha, ha! but now tell me about these tents. What is your fancy for fitting up your apartments like tents ?" "I vill tell you. I love de tent; me faders dwelt in de tent, tree tousand year ago, and a curse has been on de Beni Israel since ve leave de tent and live in de house. I do love de tent, and here I lives in me tent, ven not busy ; dough none comes here but mine chosen friends; here I lives and fancies meself in de desert of the Holy Land. Oh! mine yung frend do not laugh at me tent." "Laugh at your tent! If I were like you, a descen dant of the chosen race, I would worship the tent or weep over it as a symbol of our departed greatness. And your tent ! it is worthy of Solomon ben David ; the summer tent of the Grand Seignor is not more magnificent." " Have you been in de East ?" The young Quaker replied in some language, guttural enough for Arabic, and a short conversa tion ensued in the unknown tongue, closed by the remark in English: "Excuse us, gentlemen, we for got that we are not now in the East." 11 Me yung friend astonishes rne," added the Jew, " he has been all over the Eastern land ; even among SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 107 the Hebrews of Balk ; and he speak all de language. But you no vare see Hebrews not oppressed ?" "Nowhere!" " He no vare see Hebrews not oppressed." The Jew paused as if under a new train of thought and a cloud darkened the usual joyousness of his countenance; then his voice burst forth: "Oh me frends, dis cause must not go down ! It is de cause of me own race and peoples ; it is mine own cause. Every vare ve Hebrews are treated as brute-beasts, not as mens ; ve hab no rights, but de right to make moneys for de oppressors. If dis cause succeed ve vill be mens, and citizens, and freemens ; den you vill see vat ve Hebrews can be. Oh ! mine frends, ve vill be like oder mens, ifoder mens vill let us. Me frends! me frends ! dis cause must not go down ! ve mus fight for it till de death I Meself vill fight too !" He sprung up with an activity no one could anticipate in his unwieldy figure and rushed into the other tent, to the great astonishment of his guests, whence he returned in a minute or two, fully armed with pistols, dagger and sabre ; his countenance lighted up with enthusiasm, and his whole appearance martial. " Me vill fight too! Me bear arms once ! Me vill fight in dis cause till de death." The chaplain sprung to his feet, exclaiming : li My noble friend ! My brother in that vow ! I also am of a proscribed race the Puritans proscribed since the Eestoration, as yours has been since the great siege. Side by side we fight the battle of proscribed and oppressed men, and we will fight to the death ! We cannot be coaauered. We cannot be conquered! Never ! never 1" 108 THE QUAKER SOLDIER. " Ve cannot be conquered ! Never ! never !" exclaimed the Jew. "Never! never!" added the young Quaker and the captain. This burst of enthusiasm was followed by a moment of silence; which was first broken by the Jew: "I vish Vashington could have held Philadelphia." "A fig for Philadelphia," said the chaplain, snapping his fingers. " It only gives the enemy winter-quarters, no more: their only gain is to lodge in houses instead of lodging in the fields as we must. Why, Mr. Isaakski, they have not opened the Delaware, and they cannot; but if they do, their only gain will be feeding their troops by water. What do you say, M'Lane ?" "I see no reason to be discouraged by the loss of the Brandy wine and the fall of Philadelphia. Indeed their occupation of this city will injure more than help them. They cannot keep it, and by abandoning it they will lose more character than if they had never taken it at all." It was now very late, and after a few more general remarks the company separated. The Jew carefully locked and bolted and barred his doors after his retiring guests, returned again to his dining-room, divested himself of arms, and of coat, shoes and neckcloth unclasped his knee-buckles, drew on a rich oriental gown, a pair of slippers and a turban. Then he sat down on one of the chairs ; changed it into a lounge; adjusted the cushions under his head and back and shoulders, so that gently reclin ing, he could reach the table with his right hand. A plate of Smyrna figs and a bottle of Shirauz wine were drawn near enough to be reached ; he filled a goblet and took a gentle sip, followed by a gentle taste of SOLOMON ISAAKSKI THE PAWNBROKER. 109 one of the figs. Thus he continued sipping the Shirauz and tasting the figs; his whole countenance a mirror of gratified wishes ; and his meditations as, luxurious as his outward comforts. "Solomon, son of David, you were a wise man," ran the tenor of his musing, " and you enjoyed the good things of life ; you took your ease your ease and you were right. You had a kingdom to trouble you however, and I have not! I am luckier than you. I have nothing, nothing, nothing but these revolted colonies ! and a great fool I was to bring this trouble on myself. What were they to me that I should sacrifice my ease to them ! my ease to them !" the chain of thought was gradually fading into the obliv- iousness of sleep, but ere entirely unconscious, he touched a spring in the table. As if under magic, tables and viands sunk gradually downward through the floor; and in their place, after a few minutes, appeared a marble stand with a basin and ewer of oriental fashion, and every convenience for drink or ablution. But ere this the luxurious Israelite was entirely asleep. Shortly afterward a female, exquisitely beautiful, in fact the fairest of Circassians, entered the room, fol lowed by an aged Nubian. Softly as their steps could fall, they walked up to the Israelite. The Circassian looked at her husband a moment in silence, made a sign to the negress, and softly retired. The negress extinguished the waxen torches ; except a single one in a distant corner, which shed a soft twilight through the tents, and she too retired. Such were the domestic habits the private life of the rich Polish Jew ; a type of the oriental man for