Ethel Morton at Sweetbriar Lodge Part 16

Helen smiled at her mother's understanding of her, and the car sped northwards along the river front, now given over to business and tenements. At the Treaty Park they looked about them with their imaginations rather than with their eyes, for there was little of interest before them, while the Past held a vision of the elm tree under which the group of broad-hatted Friends discussed terms with the copper-colored natives. Lieutenant Morton's children were interested in seeing not far away the s.h.i.+p building yards where many an American battles.h.i.+p had slipped from the ways to pursue her peaceful course upon the ocean.

Returning as they had come, they pa.s.sed on Second Street the site of a house in which the Great Settler had lived, and promised themselves to remember that in Independence Hall they were to look for a piece of the Treaty Tree.

"Everything that isn't called 'Penn' in this town seems to be called 'Franklin,'" said Ethel Blue, after reading many of the signs on the buildings.

"That's because the great Benjamin lived here for most of his life," said James, by way of explanation. "He was born in Boston, but he soon deserted those cold regions for a warmer clime, and made a name for himself here."

"I should say he left it behind him," commented Ethel Blue again as she read another sign, this time of a "Penn Laundry."

"Penn and Franklin are the two great men of old Philadelphia, without any doubt," said Mrs. Morton, as the machine stopped before Carpenters' Hall.

"Help! Help!" cried Tom. "I blush to state that I don't know Carpenters'

Hall from a ham sandwich."

Helen looked at him with horror on her face.

"Stand right here before we set foot inside and let me tell you that I am perfectly shocked that any American boy, old enough to have graduated from high school and to be going to Yale in a few weeks, should make such a statement as that!"

She was genuinely troubled about it and Tom flushed as he saw that she really was scornful of his ignorance.

"Now, next," she said, "do you know what the Boston Tea Party was?"

Tom meekly said that he remembered that in December, 1773, a number of Boston men disguised as Indians had thrown overboard from a s.h.i.+p in the harbor, boxes of tea on which they refused to pay the British duty.

Helen nodded approvingly.

"I'm glad you remember that much," she said tartly. "After that Tea Party there was a continual and rapid growth of dislike for the Old Country, which was trying to tax the colonists, without allowing them any representation in the Parliament which was governing them. The feeling grew so strong that a Continental Congress, made up of delegates from the thirteen original Colonies, was called to meet here in Philadelphia, in September, 1774. It met here at Carpenters' Hall," she concluded triumphantly.

Tom glanced up at the Hall with an entirely new interest.

"In this same old building?" he asked.

"In this very identical place," said Helen, and then she allowed the procession to enter the building.

"September 17, 1774," repeated Ethel Brown thoughtfully. "Why, that was the autumn before the battles of Concord and Lexington."

"Yes, the Revolution had not yet begun. The Continental Congress met to talk over the situation, and here are the very chairs the members used."

Ethel Blue touched one of them with the tips of her fingers.

"I'm glad I've touched anything as interesting as this," she said.

"Look at the inscription," said James, calling their attention to the lettering. "WITHIN THESE WALLS HENRY, HANc.o.c.k AND ADAMS INSPIRED THE DELEGATES OF THE COLONIES WITH NERVE AND SINEW FOR THE TOILS OF WAR!"

"John Hanc.o.c.k was my great-great-grandfather's brother," said James proudly.

"Good for you, old chap," exclaimed Roger, thumping him on the back, while Helen beamed at Margaret.

"How long did these Congressmen chat here?" meekly asked Tom of Helen.

"After about a month they agreed on what they called a Declaration of Rights, and they sent it over to Franklin, who was in England, and asked him to present it to the House of Commons."

"In the light of after events I suppose the House of Commons didn't take a look at it," said Roger.

"They certainly did not," replied Helen, "and the battles of Lexington and Concord were the result. You remember they were fought in April of 1775. Ticonderoga was captured in May of the same year and the battle of Bunker Hill was fought in June."

"And Congress kept on sitting while all this fighting was going on?"

"Yes; the men discussed each new move as it was made. Early in June one of the members made a motion before the Congress that 'these Colonies ought to be Independent.'"

"That idea seems simple enough to us now," said Tom, "but I dare say it was startling when a mere colonist proposed to break off with the mother country."

"It seems to me it's about time for Grandfather Emerson to have some poetry on this period of history," said Ethel Brown. "If he were here, I'm sure he would never have let this Congress sit for eight or nine months without discovering something in poetry about it."

Helen laughed.

"You certainly understand Grandfather," she said. "In just about a minute, while we're going over to Independence Hall, I'm going to read you some verses that belong right in here. On the first of July they began to debate about this proposal that the colonists should be independent. It was a mighty important matter, of course, because if they adopted it, it certainly meant war, and if they did not beat in the war, it might mean a worse state of affairs than they were in at the present moment. So there was much to be said on both sides and it looked as if the vote was going to be very close. Here's where Rodney the delegate did some hard riding," and Helen took out one of the type-written sheets, which her grandfather had given her.

"What Colony did he represent?" asked Ethel Blue.

"Rodney was from Delaware," she returned, "Now listen, while I read you this poem."

"RODNEY'S RIDE

"In that soft mid-land where the breezes bear The North and South on the genial air, Through the county of Kent, on affairs of state, Rode Csar Rodney, the delegate.

"Burly and big and bold and bluff, In his three-cornered hat and coat of snuff, A foe to King George and the English State, Was Csar Rodney, the delegate.

"Into Dover village he rode apace, And his kinsfolk knew, from his anxious face, It was matter grave that brought him there, To the counties three on the Delaware.

"'Money and men we must have'm,' he said, 'Or the Congress fails and the cause is dead: Give us both and the King shall not work his will.

We are men, since the blood of Bunker Hill!'

"Comes a rider swift on a panting bay: 'Ho, Rodney, ho, you must save the day, For the Congress halts at a deed so great, And your vote alone may decide its fate.'

"Answered Rodney then: 'I will ride with speed; It is Liberty's stress; it is Freedom's need.

When stands it?' 'To-night. Not a moment to spare, But ride like the wind from the Delaware.'

"'Ho, saddle the black! I've but half a day, And the Congress sits eighty miles away-- But I'll be in time, if G.o.d grants me grace, To shake my fist in King George's face.'

"He is up: he is off! and the black horse flies On the northward road ere the 'G.o.d-speed' dies; It is a gallop and spur as the leagues they clear, And the cl.u.s.tering mile-stones move a-rear.

"It is two of the clock! and the fleet hoofs fling The Fieldboro's dust with a clang and a cling; It is three; and he gallops with slack rein where The road winds down to the Delaware.

"Four; and he spurs into New Castle town, From his panting steed he gets trim down-- 'A fresh one, quick! not a moment's wait!'

And off speeds Rodney the delegate.