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Two days later, she writes, “Liddy, Betsey, Stoddard and myself, seated by the fire chatted away an hour in lively conversation. I can’t pretend to write all he said, but he shone in every subject we talked of,” and again, “As often as I go to the door, so often have I seen the Major. We chat passingly, as ‘A fine day, Miss Sally,’ Yes, very fine, Major.

“Another very charming conversation with the young Marylander, He has by his unexceptionable deportment engaged my esteem.”–Lucky Major!

All too soon for the girls at the farm came a command from head-quarters that the Army was to march on to Whitemarsh, and the soldiers’ two weeks of playtime was over. On the day before the leave-taking, Liddy, Betsey and Sally, the latter dressed in a white muslin gown, a big bonnet, and long gloves, started down the garden path to take a walk. On the porch stood two officers watching the retreating figures. One was the Major of Sally’s fancy, the other a Major Leatherberry, of whom she tersely says, “He is a sensible fellow who will not swing for want of a tongue!”

In describing the incident, Sally says, “As we left the house, I naturally looked back (of course you did, little coquette) when behold, the two majors came fast after us, and begged leave to attend us. No fear of a refusal!” she adds, and together the four young people rambled through the woodland, flaming with autumn tints, by the bank of the overflowing Wissahickon, and Sally says that they shortened the way with lively conversation, and that nothing happened that was not entirely consistent with the strictest rules of politeness and decorum, but tells of pouting when Major Stoddard tried to console her for tearing her muslin petticoat, and of flouting Major Leatherberry, when noticing the locket against her white throat, he gallantly quoted:

“On her white neck a sparkling cross she wore,
That Jews might kiss or infidels adore,”

but remarks that as a whole the little excursion was full of delights for each one of the party, and it was the last good time they had together for several weeks, as the farewell came on the next day. Sally and the Major seem to have felt the parting keenly, and Sally acknowledges to Debby, “I am sorry, for when you have been with agreeable people, ’tis impossible not to feel regret when they bid you adieu, perhaps forever. When they leave us we shall be immurred in solitude,” adding tersely, “The Major looks dull.”–Poor Major!

Later she adds, “It seems strange not to see our house as it used to be. We are very still. No rattling of waggons, glittering of musquets. The beating of the distant drum is all we hear.”

The journal records no other item of special interest for several weeks, except the arrival of two Virginia officers, which somewhat cheers Sally, although she describes them in none too glowing terms. She says, “Warring, an insignificant piece enough. Lee sings prettily and talks a great deal–how good turkey hash and fry’d hominy is!–A pretty discourse to entertain ladies! Nothing lowers a man more in my estimation than talking of eating. Lee and Warring are proficient in this science. Enough of them!”

On the 5th of December, Sally has forgotten all trifling details in a new excitement. She writes, “Oh gracious, Debby, I am all alive with fear. The English have come out to attack (we imagine) our army. They are on Chestnut Hill, our army three miles this side. What will become of us, only six miles distant?

“We are in hourly expectation of an engagement. I fear we shall be in the midst of it. Heaven defend us from so dreadful a sight. The battle of Germantown, and the horrors of that day are recent in my mind. It will be sufficiently dreadful if we are only in hearing of the firing, to think how many of our fellow creatures are plung’d into the boundless ocean of eternity, few of them prepared to meet their fate. But they are summoned before an all merciful Judge from whom they have a great deal to hope.” (Dear little Sally, you are not so frivolous, after all!)