“Today I want you to take a load of fruit and cider into Philadelphia, to the City Tavern.”
“The City Tavern?” my mother said, a puzzled expression on her face. “But I thought they were too elegant to serve country brews. Why, they always have the finest wines from Europe—or so Mistress Derry tells me,” she added hastily when Father looked surprised at her unexpected worldly knowledge.
“What with the rebels lobbing cannonballs from Fort Mifflin and putting barricades across the channel, no British ships have been able to bring supplies up the Delaware River to the city, all fall. And even though Fort Mifflin fell a fortnight ago, the taverns in the city must lack sufficient drink. They’ll be happy enough to buy from us.” Father scraped his trencher clean.
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