The Boy Spies of Philadelphia

It seemed to him as if he had been absent from home an exceedingly long time, and he was not only eager to see his mother, but to tell her of the praise he had won from the "only man in all the country" to him.

Greene, however, was inclined to be garrulous. He told stories of his army life; related incidents regarding this officer or that, and, finding he was not attracting his companion's attention, changed the subject abruptly by saying:

"And now, lad, it can't be many days before we'll have a pitched battle, and I hope to see you in it on General Washington's staff, rather than as a private."

"But that would be ridiculous, Mr. Greene. What could I do in such a position?"

"Very little, lad, I'll admit; but still I'm hoping to see you there for the honor of it, and I shall be claiming my share since you are my subordinate."

Although Enoch did not believe such an event probable, he could not prevent himself from speculating upon the possibility, and very pleasant to him were these speculations.

The journey from the farmhouse to the city was not accomplished in as short a time as usual; perhaps because Greene was weary with much walking, and not until nearly an hour after sunrise did they arrive within sight of Philadelphia.

Then Greene threw his hat high in the air, dancing and capering like a crazy man, for, dotting the surface of the Delaware thickly, could be seen boats carrying the troops named in the first general order, and the evacuation had begun.

"I want to do my crowing now," the spy said in explanation of his conduct, "for we shall be forced to wear long faces when we come into town. There are Britishers enough left behind to put us in the pillory and seam our backs with their whips of wire as a pleasant diversion in case we make ourselves too conspicuous. I don't allow there's any danger of being overhauled by the patrol if we exercise ordinary caution, and I surely shan't take any risks. We'll skirt around to the right, and slip in to Letitia Street as quietly and modestly as the Tories will behave from this time out."

"Wait a few moments. Let us enjoy this sight while we can, Mr. Greene," and Enoch gazed intently at the retreating forces.

"To-morrow there will be a brave spectacle, lad, when the last boatload of redcoats has pushed off, and we can stand on the bank and cheer and hoot to our heart's content without fear of being clapped into a guardhouse. It's when every mother's son of 'em leaves Pennsylvania soil that the city will be a comfortable abiding place."

Enoch was not willing to forego the pleasure of seeing that which was already spread out before him, although there was promise of a much finer spectacle, and he remained silent and motionless ten minutes or more, until his companion said impatiently:

"I am sorry to interrupt you, lad, especially when you are looking on such a scene; but it must be done. We should not lose any more time."

"But surely you don't expect there will be work to do now the Britishers have really begun to go?"

"I don't expect it, lad; but yet at the same time something of importance might happen, and I must be where I can hear all the news."

Enoch could not well linger after this, and turning irresolutely, as if it cost him some effort to shut out such a view, he followed the spy.

By making a wide detour they entered the town from the rear, and walked through the almost deserted streets without molestation.

Every person able to be abroad on that morning, whether patriot or Tory, was assembled on the river bank to witness the departure of the troops, and even General Washington himself might have walked through a goodly portion of the city at that time without attracting attention.

The meeting between Enoch and his mother was, as may be fancied, particularly affectionate, and while each was clasped in the other's embrace Greene left the house.

During an hour or more Enoch told in detail all his adventures, and then, when that subject was exhausted, began to wonder why Greene did not return.

Not until night had come did the spy enter the house, and then it was to greet his young comrade with a hearty hand-clasp, as he said:

"There will be no hitch in the programme, lad. At daybreak to-morrow the last redcoat will go. This evening such of the troops as remain were drawn up into line, and without warning marched down the river a mile or more, where they are bivouacked on the shore."

"Why was that done?" Enoch asked quickly.

"It is what we must thank Clinton for, and I allow it's the only thing we have to be grateful about, so far as he is concerned. The soldiers, knowing they were to leave in the morning, might, as has been done in other cases, run wild over the city and do much damage. Anything of that kind has been prevented. Then again, the British commander isn't so certain he'll be followed by all his men, for it's said that desertions have been great since morning; but taking them unawares as he did, he has been able to partially check the defection."

"You haven't learned anything new?"

"No, lad, nothing of importance. When the last boatload has left the shore I shall make for Valley Forge at full speed, although there's little need of doing so, since General Washington understands that the order you heard read is being carried out, unless one of us should report to the contrary in the meanwhile. What do you say for a walk about town?"

"Is it safe?"

"Safe, lad? Why, there are no soldiers in the city, although a good many of the officers have not left their quarters yet, and I guarantee that the Tories will keep their heads under cover mighty snug from this out."

Enoch would have accepted the invitation but that he saw his mother was disturbed at the idea of his doing what seemed venturesome.

"I will wait until morning, Mr. Greene, and then we'll post ourselves somewhere near the Middle Ferry, where we shall see the ending of it all."

"Very well, lad, as you please. Perhaps it is foolish for you to venture too much, seeing that the Britishers have still got the upper hand of us here, and might pay off an old score or two on your back. If I am not at the house sooner, I'll call before daylight, and then we'll enjoy ourselves as hasn't been possible since General Howe took possession of this town."

CHAPTER XIV.

LORD GORDON

This night in Philadelphia, when the British, after having long held possession of the city, had so far progressed in the evacuation that only the officers were yet in town, was both a happy and an anxious one to the inhabitants.

Those people who had remained true to the American cause rejoiced that their friends would soon be in possession of the chosen capital of the country, and were looking forward eagerly to the morrow when the Continental forces should enter to take possession of their own once more.

Hundreds of patriots confined in the prisons for no other crime than that of loyalty to their country were waiting eagerly for the morning when their cell-doors would be unlocked by friends, and they free at last to render aid to that cause so near their hearts.

In the homes of the Tories all wore an anxious look; they had spent a winter of gayety, while the representatives of the king held the city, and probably fancied the spirit of freedom would be so thoroughly crushed that Philadelphia would always be loyal to the English government.

Now they knew that everything was to be changed, and, as in many instances, having oppressed their neighbors who favored the struggle for independence, feared that reprisals would be demanded. Hundreds of Tories – delicately nurtured women, men accustomed to every luxury, and children whose every desire had been gratified – were about to follow the army on its march across New Jersey, or, as their means and the possibility would permit, intended to travel by various conveyance to New York.

These last were particularly sad because of the severing of all home ties for an indefinite period – perhaps forever – and to those who were anxious, as well as to those who were happy, slumber did not come on this night.

The happiness and the grief were too great to permit of the unconsciousness of sleep.

In Mrs. Ball's home, mother and son, reviewing again and again the events with which the boy had been intimately connected, put off the time for retiring yet a little longer at each stroke of the clock, until Enoch finally said:

"It's no use, mother, I can't go to bed. I shouldn't sleep if I tried, and on this night of all others it seems as if we might keep watch."

"For what purpose, my son?"

"I don't know. It appears to be a fact that the city will be entirely evacuated by the enemy in the morning, and yet I can't prevent fears that something may happen to change General Clinton's plans. At all events, Greene will be here at least an hour before daylight, and it is now nearly midnight, therefore why should we make any attempt at sleeping?"

A knock at the door, loud, quick, and, if such could be, one might almost say joyous, and Enoch answered it without hesitation, for he fancied he knew who would demand admittance in such a fashion.

"Not in bed yet, good people?" and Greene seated himself near the window.

"Enoch was just saying he could not sleep, and proposed that we sit up until morning."

"I venture to say there will be no slumber in nineteen houses out of every twenty in the city this night, and yet we who love the cause should be able to sleep now, if ever."

"You do not appear to be doing much in that line," Enoch suggested with a smile.

"Well, no, I am feeling too good just now to want to surrender consciousness, even for the sake of a rest. Such an experience as this doesn't come more than once in a person's lifetime, and he shouldn't lose any of the pleasurable sensations. I'll join your vigil as if it was New Year's eve, and we'll watch the British out and the Americans in."