*
While I did not regret joining Alexander in Philadelphia—I never in our life together regretted being with him, only being apart—I will concede that it was not an easy time for either of us. Alexander’s numerous responsibilities were taking their toll on his person and I worried again for his health; his hours were long and thankless, with seemingly insurmountable challenges.
Mine were of a more domestic nature. While there were some ladies in Philadelphia whom I’d recalled from my earlier visit with my father, many had retreated to their estates outside the city. We could not afford to keep a carriage, nor did I wish the expense of hiring one, and so I restricted my circle of acquaintance by the distance I could walk.
This was not such a grave hardship for me, realizing the circumstances, but poor little Philip had neither the understanding nor the patience to cope with his newly limited world. At The Pastures, he’d been accustomed to the constant amusement and attention of our large family and the spaciousness of our house and property. Now most days his company was limited to me and Rose, and his boundaries had shrunk to the two small rooms of our lodgings, and he was most vocal in his unhappiness.
Our only solace came at night—and sometimes very late it was, too—when Philip and I were rejoined by Alexander. Then, as a family and as husband and wife, we took comfort in one another, and the cares of the day faded away.
Nor was it an easy winter for our country. The unhappiness of the soldiers at what would be the final winter encampment at Newburgh continued to fester. The soldiers realized that there would likely be no further use for their services, and their sole concern was to be paid what was owed them. Discontent was being sowed freely among the ranks, and yet the states continued to deprive Congress of funds to pay the soldiers.
For his services during the war, Alexander himself was entitled to a handsome pension as an officer of five years’ standing. Yet to make certain there were absolutely no hints of partiality or special treatment attached to his name as a member of Congress, at this time he renounced all claims to this pension, a noble and selfless act that astonished his peers.
But this wasn’t his only action in regard to the army. Although Alexander had had no communication with His Excellency since resigning his commission a year earlier, he took it upon himself to write directly and confidentially to the general, explaining the dire situation from the view of Congress. While Alexander harbored hope that the general would himself pressure the states, instead in March His Excellency chose to address the rebellious troops directly, successfully counseling them toward peace rather than rebellion.
But relief was only temporary. In April, Congress ratified the provisional peace treaty with Great Britain, finally bringing our long war to a close; yet despite desperate measures and resolutions aimed at producing more revenue to pay the army before sending them home, Alexander feared there would simply not be enough.
I had planned to remain in Philadelphia with my husband until the first week of July, and leave with Philip for Albany before the city’s heat became intolerable and the air unhealthy with the summer miasma from the docks. But by the middle of June, the political circumstances were growing so desperate and uncertain that Alexander decided it would be unwise for us to remain in the city, and he hired a carriage for us to depart the following Monday.
On the Thursday before we were to leave, news reached Congress that a group of disgruntled soldiers was marching toward the city from Lancaster. On behalf of Congress, Alexander asked Pennsylvania’s Supreme Executive Council (such a grand name for such a cowardly group!) to call out the militia to defend Philadelphia. They refused, saying there was insufficient cause, but the next day there were rumors that the dissidents were on the very edges of the city.
The rumors also claimed that if the soldiers received no satisfaction from Congress, they were then prepared to attack and pay themselves from the Bank of North America. In a curious twist of coincidence, the bank’s president and largest shareholder was Alexander’s friend and supporter Robert Morris, and the second largest shareholder was my sister Angelica’s husband, John Church.
“It’s a good thing that you’re leaving with Philip on Monday,” Alexander said as we took breakfast together. “My heart will go with you, of course, but I want you and Philip removed from any possibility of danger.”
“But what you, my love?” I asked, unable to keep the fear from my voice. “You have been so much at the front of this conflict that I worry you’ll be made a target.”
He shrugged, gulping the rest of his coffee before he rose to leave for the day.
“I’ll be safe enough,” he said. “I’m hardly worth their trouble.”
I found it difficult to be reassured. If the city were too dangerous for me to remain, then how could it be safe for him? Still, the streets appeared to be at peace, and I wondered if the alarms had been exaggerated. I’d planned to call upon Mrs. Mary Morris, the wife of Alexander’s supporter Robert Morris, to bid her farewell. She was a gracious lady who had shown me much kindness whilst I’d been in Philadelphia, and her own young children had become Philip’s playmates. The Morris house was not far from our lodgings, and so with Rose to carry Philip (who was growing larger by the day, and had become a robust armful), we set out.
As we waited in the parlor for Mrs. Morris to join us, I reflected on how swiftly this war, wrought by men, had forced changes upon us women. The Morris house was sizable and elegant, as was to be expected, but it had not always belonged to them. One of the more recent residents had been the military governor, General Benedict Arnold, who had lived here when he’d wed Peggy; now he was a traitor who’d be hung without a trial if he ever dared return, and they lived as exiles in London. How could she have known when she lived here that her life would take such a twisted turn?
Even Mrs. Morris, who lived here now, had seen her family’s fortunes tumbled by the war as well. According to Alexander, her husband had extended vast loans to the army that were likely never to be repaid, and he’d also lost over a hundred of his merchant and privateering ships to capture.