Page:The part taken by women in American history.djvu/181

154 "How long do you intend to continue so, Mrs. Wilkinson?"

"Until my countrymen return, sir."

"Return as what, madam, prisoners or subjects?"

"As conquerors, sir."

The officer affected a laugh. "You will never see that, madam."

"I live in hopes, sir, of seeing the thirteen stripes hoisted once more on the bastions of this garrison."

"Do not hope so, but come, give us a tune on the guitar."

"I can play nothing but rebel songs."

"Well, let us have one of them."

"Not to-day—I cannot play—I will not play; besides, I suppose I should be put into the Prevost for such a heinous crime as chanting my patriotism!"

Like many others, Mrs. Wilkinson refused to join in the amusements of the city while in possession of the British but gave her energies to the relief of her friends. The women were the more active when military efforts were suspended, and we learn through Mrs Wilkinson's letters of the many ingenious contrivances they adopted to carry supplies from the British garrison to the gallant defenders of their country. Sometimes cloth for a military coat, fashioned into an appendage to feminine attire would be borne away unsuspected by the vigilant guards whose business it was to prevent smuggling, the cloth afterwards being converted into regimental shape. Boots "a world too wide" for the small feet that passed the sentry in them were often conveyed to the partisan who could not procure them for himself. A horseman's helmet has been concealed under a well-arranged head-dress, and epaulettes delivered from the folds of a matron's ample cap. Other articles in demand for military use were regularly brought away by some stratagem or other. And one can well imagine the cheer diffused about a desolate camp by the visits of women as sprightly and courageous as Mrs. Wilkinson.

The last of her letters of public interest is joyous with congratulations on the glorious victory of Washington over Cornwallis, so that the woman who had lived a brave, helpful life, through the darkest trial of her country, lived to know the glory of its independence and peace.

All who admire examples of courage and patriotism, especially those who enjoy the fruits thereof, must honor the name of Lydia Darrah. In 1777 she was living in Philadelphia—then under British occupation—with her brother. They were both members of the Society of Friends. Their house, selected, perhaps, on account of the unobtrusive character of its inmates, whose religion inculcated meekness and forbade them to practice the arts of war, had been chosen by the superior officers of the British army for private conference, whenever it was necessary to hold consultations on subjects of importance. On the second of December of that year the order to prepare her house for such a meeting concluded with these words: "And be sure that your family are all in bed at an early hour. We shall expect you to attend to this request. When our guests are ready to leave