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[Published: Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & Co., 1873.]

Despite some serious age warts on its sociological commentary, this century-plus old book is an unexpectedly delightful find, and a better read than many which are far more recent because it actually introduces some gray-shading and complexity into its story.

Set in Philadelphia and New York from the battle of Germantown until the end of the war, it focuses on a wide-ranging cast of original and historical characters. As frequently happens, there is no high-concept plot that can be reduced to a two-sentence description. The story is the sweep of events, and how they affect the lives of the cast. As a pleasant change, the author actually makes a reader care what happens to them.

The title character, Arthur Pemberton, is the rebellion-minded son of a prominent Philadelphia Loyalist. He acts as a spy for Washington during the winter of 1777-8, yet he's also a close friend of John André and other British officers, and a man of conscience who refuses to betray his sense of honor even in the cause of politics. He sends to Washington what information he can glean through public or honorable (by his own definition) means, and maintains private trusts even when it would be to his advantage to betray them. This odd, sometimes confused double-standard produces a character which is far more interesting than the norm.

Also prominent among the fictional cast is Pemberton's friend, Phillip Morris, a rebel cavalry officer with a puckish sense of humor and a love for danger. When he's wounded at Germantown, his life is saved by Loyalist belle Helen Graham. Morris promptly attaches himself to her with quixotic stubbornness, even though she hates his politics and is in love with John André. Since it is (unfortunately) a foregone conclusion that Helen's relationship with André is doomed to tragedy, I have to admit that I ended up cheering for Morris in the romance department. After a few hundred pages of watching him follow her around like a beagle, wagging his tail hopefully whenever she smiled at him, I began to feel quite sorry for him -- and he really is a charming character. Again, the author manages to come up with a resolution to their situation which is both palatable and a little off the predictable path.

Speaking of off the predictable path, the strangest (and most entertaining) of the fictional cast is a high-spirited, cross-dressing double-agent who thinks the whole war is both the greatest lark imaginable and a piece of total insanity. He (I use the pronoun loosely) sells information in both directions across the lines yet refuses to betray the trust of any individual, on either side, whom he(?) likes personally.

Peterson's above-average characterization even extends to the female cast. Helen and her sister, Isabella, who is engaged to Pemberton, are surprisingly well written for a Victorian author. They have quite a bit of personality and only on rare and special occasions indulge in wild hysterics and fainting fits. If the author put far too much Ophelia into Helen's response to André's death, even that seems restrained when compared to a similar incident in Cooper's The Spy.

Unlike Simms or Cooper, Peterson mixes his own cast and real people about half and half. André, obviously, is a major player, suffering the usual overly romantic whitewash but still recognizable and entirely charming. Colonel Musgrave and various others on both sides of the conflict put in appearances. Even Benedict Arnold gets an unusual (and unusually complex) presentation, providing Peterson with a natural forum for airing his opinions on honor and rebellion.

Peterson's Tarleton is a good counter-example to the comment I made in the introduction to these reviews. He's definitely the villain, but he's neither dull nor two-dimensional. It's an interestingly different portrayal. Peterson makes Ban both clever and dangerous, fitting into the plot as Pemberton's nemesis in Philadelphia, who is convinced of Pemberton's traitorous activities and slowly fitting together evidence against him. In the end, his pursuit is stymied only by purely random events, outside the control of either man.

I must admit, I would love to see the basic story and cast of this novel modernized in a film (or even a rewritten novel), provided it could keep its strong points and only lose the bits that haven't aged well. Unfortunately, given the material that's coming out nowadays, I'm pretty sure it would end up in worse shape than it began.

After making my eyes cross reading this on a microcard, I discovered the University of Michigan's digital library has it online. Check out "Making of America" on the links page.