Barclugh took his meals regularly at the Boar’s Head Tavern, and lived industriously attending to his plot, and to his speculations in privateering.

He was busy organizing his bank, the capital of which was mostly subscribed and whose charter was drawn and placed before the Council of Pennsylvania for legal authority to do business. The corporation was to be known as the Bank of North America; Thomas Milling was to be its first President. Every detail was copied as closely after the corporation of the Bank of England as possible; that was Barclugh’s plan.

If Barclugh had confined himself to his plot with Arnold and to his plans in financiering, he would have been better off. But the allurements of commerce had also attracted his attention.

Ships of all descriptions were in the stream, awaiting a berth to load or unload. Some were at the wharves of Milling & FitzMaurice, loading or unloading merchandise and munitions of war. Privateers and merchantmen, brigs and barques, full-rigged ships and sloops,—all were a kaleidoscope of the cosmopolitan elements of Philadelphia. The Malay, the Portuguese, the Negro, the Indian, the Caucasian, the Creole, were all bartering and seeking adventure on the seas. They were in a harbor where war now offered all of the prizes and all of the calamities of life. The calamities claimed the greater share in the final results.

Among all this motley crew lurked disease, lust, and greed. The leaders of the enterprises reeked in greed, the hirelings exceeded in lust, but disease had no favorites.

Diseases were cosmopolitan like the people. Cholera from the Orient, peste from the West Indies, scurvy from the Antipodes, fevers from the ships and the camps of armies kept the city in continuous mourning. Though disease played the heavy role in this drama of life, still it acted its part when least expected.

Barclugh desired to buy a ship of Milling and FitzMaurice, and send her out to the West Indies with a cargo of flour, and return with rum and sugar. The profits would be large. He now had much money at command and no use for it. He thought that a few dollars turned over for a profit would not come amiss when he began his career after the Colonies were turned over to the mother country.

There was a ship, the Sea Nymph, lying in the Delaware, a prize belonging to Milling & FitzMaurice which had been bound from Havana to London, laden with rum and molasses; but her crew was attacked with the peste and inside of a week two thirds of her men were stricken with the disease.

In this critical condition the Independence, privateer of Milling & FitzMaurice, ran upon the Sea Nymph, and she struck with no resistance. Enough of the crew of the Independence who were immune to the disease were put aboard to take her into Philadelphia. The Sea Nymph was a new and handsome ship. She was lying in the stream waiting for her turn to discharge cargo, when Barclugh learned about her, and, although advised of the perils of the dreaded peste, he offered to buy her. Barclugh’s impatience to be doing business prevailed against his friends’ judgment, and he went aboard of her to inspect the ship.

His weakened physical condition put him under susceptible conditions to take the disease, and in ten days thereafter, Roderick Barclugh was stricken with the peste.

However, before this event, matters had culminated fast in Barclugh’s affairs. The tenth day of July, 1780, had arrived, and communication had been opened up between Barclugh and Andre at New York. By means of a few hundred pounds sterling, Barclugh had arranged to have letters addressed to John Anderson, Esq., New York, delivered to a boat from the Albatross, that landed at the Swede’s fishing hut on the Little Egg River. In return the fisherman brought a sealed package addressed to Mr. Gustavus, Philadelphia. Gustavus was the name of the Swede.

This line of communication was maintained at regular intervals,—whenever a load of fish came from Little Egg Harbor inlet, a sealed letter was delivered to Barclugh and an answer returned.

When Roderick Barclugh fell ill, he awoke in the early morning with terrible pains in his back and loins. He found that he was unable to arise, suffering intensely with a fever and pains in his joints. His man-servant went as usual to the door of Mr. Barclugh’s sleeping apartment but he did not find him astir, and as he listened, he heard slight groans. When he gently opened the door, there was Barclugh, helpless, breathing heavily, his eyes bulging. The only thing to do was to bring Doctor Biddle.

When Dr. Biddle arrived, a hurried examination of pulse, eyes and tongue soon convinced his experienced eye that the patient had the most dreaded of diseases in the seaport of Philadelphia,—the peste. By this time the sick man was unconscious, and the Doctor turned to the servant and said:

“I am sorry to inform you, but this gentleman has the peste. Who has charge of his affairs? We shall have to procure him nurses and medicines.”

As though a thunderbolt had come out of a clear sky, James, the servant, stood speechless and perfectly colorless at this announcement. At last he regained his self-possession and said:

“I will notify Mr. Milling; he knows Mr. Barclugh best. But I can not stay here and nurse him myself. My wife and children would die of fright.”

“But,” remarked the Doctor, “you have been exposed.”

“All right! all right! Doctor, but you see there’s a mighty difference betwixt the nursing of it and the staying away from it. Let these rich men who can afford to die, be having the risks. I will go and tell Mr. Milling.”

With that he put on his hat and ran to the office of Milling & FitzMaurice, and without any ceremony rushed into the presence of Mr. Milling, simply announcing:

“Mr. Barclugh, my master, has the peste.”

James then rushed out of the office of the merchant prince, and up Front street, telling every person that he met:

“My master, Mr. Barclugh, has the peste.”

Thus, inside of an hour, the whole town was put in a fever of excitement. Soon the number of cases was reported as a score; rumor had it that every one had been exposed.

At the office of Milling & FitzMaurice, a hasty consultation was held between the partners. The conditions under which the ship, Sea Nymph, had come into port, and how Mr. Barclugh had inspected her and had arranged to buy her, were discussed. The cargo of the Sea Nymph was in their warehouse, and no one could foretell the consequences.

During this discussion of their own affairs, Milling & FitzMaurice did not think of Barclugh. The Doctor waited and waited for some one to come, but no one came to his relief. The accountant, Mr. Hopewell, had heard the news on his way to the office, then had gone home to consult with his wife.

At last the Doctor became worried, and leaving his patient alone, he went to the office of Milling & FitzMaurice.

As he entered the accounting room, he walked quietly up to Mr. Milling and said:

“Sir, I sent Mr. Barclugh’s servant to tell you that that gentleman had the peste, and that he must have nurses and attention for he is a very sick man.”

“Oh, the man did not ask us for nurses,” contended Mr. Milling. “He simply told us that Mr. Barclugh was sick with the peste, and we had no idea that our services were needed for a mission of that kind.”

“There is no time to talk, gentlemen. Mr. Barclugh lies unconscious with fever, and I do not know to whom he can appeal in his distress but your house. Good day, gentlemen, I must be with my patient.”

As soon as the Doctor had left, Mr. Milling looked at Robert FitzMaurice as he said:

“Robert, what shall we do about this? I can not tie myself up for three weeks and be exposed to this fever, and neither can you. Our affairs can spare neither you nor me. Is there not some poor devil whom we can get to nurse him? Barclugh has plenty of money with us.”

“Yes,” responded FitzMaurice. “There is Barton, he needs the money, and he owes us; he ought to go and do this; he could then square our account.”

Barton was one of the men in the warehouse of the firm and had a young wife and four children. When the offer was made to him in the office of his employers, he answered:

“Gentlemen, my life and my family are just as dear to me as either of yours. I would not risk my life in that service for all of your combined wealth. My life is exactly as dear to me as to any prince or potentate.”

Mr. Milling looked at Robert FitzMaurice with a dissatisfied air, as he followed Barton’s footsteps and closed the door behind him, while he said:

“I believe Barclugh will be in pretty bad shape, before we can get any one to nurse him.”

In the meantime, however, the news of the fever began to travel outside of Philadelphia. Express messengers went on horseback to the north and to the south, and on the way to Germantown, the news of Barclugh’s fever reached Dorminghurst.

Dr. Greydon at once notified his wife and daughter. In less than half an hour his carriage was ready, and he had left, prepared with delicacies and medicines to succor a fellow being. There was no calculation of consequences on his part.

Mollie asked her father if she might accompany him, but he explained that she could be of little assistance, so she stood on the portico, and watched her father’s carriage until it had reached the road through the avenue of hemlocks.But no sooner had her father’s carriage vanished through the trees, than she ran with all of her might to the lodge of Segwuna.

With eyes full of despair, she ran up to Segwuna, and exclaimed:

“Segwuna! Segwuna! I have just learned that Mr. Barclugh has been stricken with the peste, and father has started to go to him.

“Oh! Segwuna! what shall I do? What shall I do? I am fearful that something will happen to him, and father would not let me go to help nurse him,” as she burst into a fit of heart-rending sobs and buried her head on Segwuna’s breast.

“Do not weep, my sweetheart. If you cannot go, Segwuna can go. I will go and take the medicine that will save him. Do not fear, my dear.

“Segwuna will nurse him back to you. Be calm and let me get ready. It will not take me long to reach his side.”

Segwuna went to her mother and gave her a few directions; in a few minutes she was ready with a bundle of herbs, and with light step, and the light of a guardian angel shining out of her beautiful eyes, she and Mollie took the winding path down to the Wingohocking, then through the avenue of hemlocks to the highway that led to Philadelphia.

Mollie stopped at the huge gate at the roadside and kissed Segwuna thrice, as she bade her Godspeed, and prayed silently:

“That the sick one would have the protection of Divine Providence in his affliction, and that God would bless the efforts of her friend, Segwuna, to lead the sick one out of the ‘valley of the shadow of death,’ and bring him nearer to his God and His Son, Jesus Christ.”

“God bless you,” was the parting salutation to Segwuna as Mollie stood and watched the Indian maiden go lightly on her mission of mercy.

She watched her until Segwuna was a mere speck in the roadway, and then turned silently to go to her bed-chamber to pray for the man, whom she felt was dear to her, yet she could not tell why.